It was late in the Wyvern Moon, but the sun had chosen that day to pretend it was still midsummer. Not a cloud had bothered to show up, and the wind in Garreg Mach was little more than a lazy breeze. Honestly, it reminded Claude a bit of home as midday rolled around and he would've liked nothing better than to nap.

Instead he was in the training grounds, axe in hand, about to face off against Teach. Both of them were using wooden weapons, but he wasn't looking forward to what was about to happen. Especially considering that the rest of his classmates were sitting around to watch, ostensibly to wait for their own match against her, but really to see their illustrious house leader get schooled.

"You know Teach," he said, deciding to make one last ditch effort, "It's a clear day outside, barely any wind. It's perfect for archery practice."

She looked up from where she had been examining her training sword, studying him silently, and he allowed himself the faint hope that she'd agree.

"Claude's right! It's such a beautiful day, and we're spending it cooped up in the training hall. Let's do something else." Hilda chimed in sweetly from the sidelines.

Claude shot her a pained look. Her stamp of approval only made it more obvious what he was trying to do. Hilda smiled back at him, her expression suspiciously innocent, and he suppressed a groan.

"I would prefer you and the other archery students practice under adverse weather. We do not know what the conditions will be like at Grondor Field." Teach said, her monotone holding no hint of treachery, but Claude let himself feel a bit betrayed anyways as she continued, "If you do not want the first bout, however, you can switch places with another who is willing."

At that, Leonie and Felix took a step forward, but Claude avoided their gazes and shot her his best hurt look, "What are you saying? As if I would ever miss out on a lesson from my dear Teach! I'm ready when you are."

She gave him a single sharp nod, swinging her sword up into a ready position. Then, without a word, she launched herself at him.

She could have hammered him with a flurry of blows, looking for a gap in his defenses. He'd seen her do it enough times in actual battles. But, for all the speed and power she threw behind her first attack, it was just a basic lunge.

He deflected it with the haft of his axe, sliding out of the way so she brushed past him instead. Then he turned, only to be met with her bringing her sword at him in a swift, arcing sideblow; it was another basic move, using her momentum to lend even more power to the swing. Claude leaped back rather than try and block it.

Teach continued to attack with precision and purpose, but every move was one Claude had seen many times before. Moves that he knew the correct responses to because she'd drilled them into him over the last several months.

Oh, sure, it wasn't like she was simply jabbing at him mechanically. Her strikes blended into each other, creating a rhythm that was constantly changing. A rhythm that he could just keep up with; one that left him little time for making his own attacks as he was constantly blocking, parrying, dodging, and countering. But there was no creativity, no overbearing power. Only Teach testing him again and again and again.

It would just be nice to think he was making a dent. Like he had a chance at pressuring her, forcing her to bring out that ridiculous strength he saw so often in battle. But even when he managed to land a blow, her expression didn't flicker. And, honestly, he would have settled for that. It would be nice to see her react. It would be nice to tease her like he did his other opponents. To see her surprised, or riled, or rising to the bait, but against Teach words were just a waste of breath.

So instead, Claude weathered her attacks. He struck out where he could. He let his muscle memory lead him through the counters and blocks she so clearly wanted to test him on. But he knew he would start to tire soon, and his Teach wasn't slowing in the slightest, so eventually he decided to be wasteful and said, "Come on, is this all you've got? We're going to be here all day!"

Claude made sure to grin at her, but a second later her sword slammed into the haft of his axe and the side of one of his hands. He'd just slightly mispositioned it while boasting. He winced from the pain, but it wasn't a real injury.

She didn't press the attack. Instead, her movements stuttered for an instant, giving him enough time to recover. Deliberately, he was sure. Claude grit his teeth.

"And here I thought you were a good listener." He said, with wide, hurt eyes. He would have added a gasp for good measure, but his breathing was already picking up.

Teach made no expression, no response, but this time Claude executed his parry perfectly, shoving her back a step. He followed her, trying to force her on the defensive.

He managed it, and it was a wonderful change of pace to show her how well she'd taught him to attack with an axe. It would never feel as natural as using a bow, but there was something very satisfying about how the clacking of their weapons turned into crashing as his blows rained down.

He broke through her guard once, then twice, but they were only glancing hits. The rest were dodged or redirected, and all too soon she was back in control. Claude was pushed backwards, the rhythm of Teach's attacks picking up from before. Maybe he could wrest back the initiative and force her to defend again, but more likely he would just be ground down by her. A boring way to go, all things considered. If he would lose, he'd much rather do it with style. That at least might get a reaction.

He saw his chance when she came at him with a slash to his side. It was the same as she had done earlier, spinning her whole body to give the strike momentum. It was best to dodge rather than try and deflect or block, since there was so much power behind the blow. But it also meant she had to commit to it wholeheartedly. So, when Claude moved his axe to block and their weapons crashed together, she stayed locked with him, weapon to weapon.

It was just for a second, but Claude used it to headbutt her. Hard. It hurt him as much as her, but he'd known it was coming. She reeled back. He saw her eyes widen through the stars in his vision, and he wanted to laugh. Instead, he swung his axe, slamming it into her side before she could recover.

Claude was expecting a grunt of pain or maybe a stumble, but instead Teach was sent to the ground. She didn't turn it into a roll to recover, either. She just… fell, and was still.

"...What?" Claude said after a second, looking down at her.

There was no response, and around him, the other students were murmuring.

"Did anyone hear a c-crunch?" came Bernadetta's voice, "I heard a crunch. Oh— oh no! Oh no!"

The murmuring picked up, some in agreement, some not, but Claude just looked at all of them in disbelief.

"It's our Teach, you guys! She's fine." He told them, but when he looked back at her, she still wasn't moving. Ridiculous. She was fine, there was no way— he'd show them.

He started to walk over to her, his voice much quieter as he said, "You are fine, right? I didn't mean—"

Claude never got to finish his sentence. The instant he was close enough, Teach lashed out, sweeping his legs out from under him. He fell flat on his back, getting the breath knocked out of him and losing his axe for good measure.

Laughter sounded from the sidelines, and Claude would have probably joined them if he wasn't too busy gasping for breath. Before he could recover, he was cast in shadow as Teach stood over him. It might have been intimidating, but he was happy for the shade. It made blinking the lingering stars out of his eyes easier. He looked up at her. There was sand in her hair, her eyelashes, and an angry red mark was already obvious on her forehead.

Teach pressed the edge of her wooden blade lightly against his neck, looking down at him with a nearly impassive expression. Nearly. Her brows were raised a fraction with what Claude decided was amusement.

"Do you yield?" She asked.

Claude winked at her and said, "I don't know, Teach. Should I? You aren't setting a very good example by playing with my tender emotions. That was just underhanded."

The other students had plenty to say about that, but Claude tuned them out. The sound of Lorenz's scoff, however, was unmistakable.

Her gaze never wavered from his. She said, "I was merely following your example, Claude. It is a poor warrior who does not adapt to their circumstances."

"That's fair." He said, before throwing sand in her eyes.

Teach, quick as always, raised a hand in time to block, but Claude still got the opening he needed.

He darted away, trying and failing to get his feet under him as he was sent somersaulting forward by a strike from her sword. He was tumbling in the direction he wanted though, coming to a stop right next to where his axe had fallen. Claude snatched it up, spinning around just in time to block another strike from her.

The crack of wood on wood rang out with a surprising amount of noise, and Claude had a moment to grin triumphantly at her before a chorus of booing erupted from the sidelines.

"You had clearly lost, Claude. I can't believe you threw sand at the Professor!" Lysithea said, her voice carrying above the rest.

Claude's grin faded, and he almost glared over at the whole disloyal herd of them, but he wasn't about to let some heckling make him throw the match.

With a heave, he managed to shove Teach's blade away, giving him time to retreat. She didn't follow at once, instead choosing to circle him. Claude kept his eyes fixed on her as he called out, "Oh, so it's fine when she plays dead, but a little sand is going too far? I'm feeling a bit of favoritism in the crowd today."

"Turnabout is fair play, Claude. You, on the other hand—" Lorenz replied, the end of his insult lost amid another burst of playful jeering from the other students.

Before Claude could say anything, Teach spoke up, "Claude did not yield, so the match will continue, and I would encourage you all to stop ridiculing his resourcefulness."

That did a way better job at shutting everyone up than he could have, and Claude made sure to circle so they could all see the smile on his face.

He didn't get any time to savor that, though, because she closed with him again.

Her first strike slammed into the haft of his axe so hard that Claude found himself sliding backwards a few inches. He swallowed, but he didn't see any anger in her expression, and when she spoke, Claude could've sworn he heard a hint of eagerness in her voice, "I am sure there are other techniques you have yet to try. Demonstrate them for the class."

Before he could respond, she lashed out again, kicking at one of his legs. Claude barely dodged in time, breaking away from her.

She followed, unwilling to give him any time to recover now. Claude was getting his wish, sort of, anyway. She wasn't just throwing simple attacks at him anymore, and whenever their weapons connected there was a satisfying crash of wood on wood.

His hands were already going numb from it, but he grinned wolfishly at her as she bore down on him, managing to say between her strikes, "Teach, I have schemes, not techniques. And I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

That got him a round of groans and a smattering of laughs from the watching students, which was exactly as he'd hoped. At least until Claude saw Sylvain shoot him a thumbs up. Then he just felt a pang of disappointment with himself.

Only for a second, though. The next moment, Teach was taking his suggestion to heart, locking their weapons together and twisting her whole body to try and wrench the axe from his hands. It almost worked, but he disentangled himself at the last moment.

He barely had time to reset his stance before she was attacking again, and Claude felt obliged to try and return the favor.

He really did try, too. As their fight continued, he threw out sucker punches and leg sweeps, grapples and feints. He kicked sand in her face and tried to snatch her sword from her hands. He even went for another headbutt. Nothing worked.

He got close a few times, a surprise move making her stumble or almost fall. He got hits in that he wouldn't have, made narrow escapes that he wouldn't have, but it wasn't enough. It was close, though, and close was much farther than he'd gotten before. And, importantly, it was probably much farther than anyone else was going to get in their sparring matches today. So, when she swept his legs out from under him a second time, Claude was happy to rest on his laurels.

"Do you yield?" She asked, lightly smacking his knuckles with her sword as he tried to grab another handful of sand.

She wasn't a shadow looming over him this time. The sun shone on her, gilding her hair even as it highlighted every bead of sweat and speck of dirt. Her face wasn't flushed, and her breathing was nowhere near as heavy as his. She might almost look serene, but he could see the truth from this angle. Her pulse was visible on her throat, rapid and fluttering.

Claude felt himself smiling as he nodded.

Teach offered a hand to help him up, and he took it. Warmth flooded through him from where they touched. He was confused for a second, then the aches of the sparring match started to fade and he recognized the magic for what it was.

"You did well, Claude." She told him, letting go of his hand. The warmth of the magic lingered.

"Thanks, Teach. You're not so bad yourself." He said, giving her a wink. He tapped the side of his neck conspiratorially as he added, "I lost, but at least I made your heart race. I'll take the small victories."

She blinked and his smile widened. Then she said, "I am afraid that you lost twice, then. I do not have a heartbeat."

Claude's smile froze on his face.

What.

Teach's gaze was level, her expression as blank as ever. After a few moments of silence between them, she reached out to pat him on the shoulder. "Still, as I said, you did well." She told him before turning and walking away.

What.

This time, he said it out loud, but Teach didn't seem to hear him. She was already calling for her next opponent. Mercedes flagged her down to heal the mark on her forehead, and Claude was still just standing there, staring after her in total confusion.

No heartbeat? What was she even talking about?

The sun was beating down on him, which was probably why his face felt so hot. He needed to get some shade. As Claude started towards some, he caught Hilda smirking at him, and he spun on his heel towards the exit of the training grounds.

It would probably be cooler somewhere with fewer people. Yeah. Somewhere cool and quiet sounded perfect right now. He was just going to go, and then maybe consider trying to figure out what any of that meant.

—

Claude ended up not thinking about what had happened for quite a while. Oh, sure, it niggled at him here and there over the next few days, but he had more important things to do. He had classwork to complete, seminars to go to, and chores to finish. There were some books he'd wanted to look at in the library and research to do on the geography of Grondor Field. No matter how much work he did, there was always more.

Or, at least, that had always been the case before. However, a few days later Claude found himself with an irritatingly open schedule. He'd only been working a little harder than usual, but somehow his mountain of responsibilities had evaporated. He was sure it was a mistake at first, but nope. He had an entire afternoon to himself, and when he tried to spend it helping some of his fellow Golden Deer, they told him no.

"You've been so diligent recently, Claude. You deserve the afternoon off. Don't worry about us." Ignatz had told him, and Claude had decided not to try and convince him otherwise.

It wasn't like he didn't want a break, after all.

The weather had turned colder over the last few days, but sleeping the afternoon away was still pretty appealing, so Claude made his way to the forest. The tree Petra liked was secluded from anywhere people tended to head. Some rope and a bowshot later, Claude was comfortably ensconced in its boughs.

The wind whispered through the branches, its chill barely reaching him in his sheltered perch. A few beams of sunlight even managed to break through the canopy, and Claude was quick to find a spot directly under one. He leaned back against the tree's smooth trunk and closed his eyes, settling in for a restful nap.

Around him, the forest sounded gently, soothingly, and Claude quickly began to nod off. As he was just about to fall asleep, though…

I am afraid that you lost twice, then.

Claude didn't open his eyes. He didn't move an inch, in fact. He was comfortable and drowsy, and he was not going to think about this right now. He was going to sleep.

I do not have a heartbeat.

Or maybe he wasn't.

Claude sat up, shifting his position so his legs could dangle over the edge of the branch. He fiddled with the rope he'd used to climb up, trying to figure out where to go if his thoughts weren't going to let him rest.

Nothing came to mind. Or, well, nothing came to mind other than Teach's words repeating over and over, making exactly as much sense as they had the first time he'd heard them.

"It was a metaphor, right?" He said, staring quizzically at some whorls on a nearby branch, "I mean, it couldn't be anything else."

Except, since when did Teach talk in metaphor? She was probably the most straightforward person he'd ever known, and far too stoic to mince words. That was one of her good points. Even if her expression was unreadable, you could trust what she said to be sincere. So she had to have been telling the truth then, too. Just... metaphorically?

But if he was annoying her, she would have just said it outright, wouldn't she?

He looked at a sprig of leaves, keeping his face deadpan as he put on his best Teach impression, "Claude, you should remember flirtation has no place on the battlefield."

Yea, something like that, not…

Claude leaned back, letting himself fall so he hung upside down, held up only by his legs. His blood rushing to his head felt oddly pleasant in the moment.

"I'm just incapable of any sort of human emotion, you see, because I have no heart," he said, melodrama thick in every syllable. There was some bitterness in there, too, and it brought him up short.

He didn't like what thinking about this did to him, and yet here he was, talking to himself like that would get him to the right answer. He glanced around, staring at nothing in particular. His head was beginning to pound.

"I need to ask her, don't I?" He mused.

Even upside down, Claude's heart sank a little at the thought. He didn't really have another option, though. It wasn't like there was anyone else that knew what went on with Teach.

...Wait.

He pulled himself upright, ignoring his lightheadedness as his thoughts raced around one important fact. Or, well, person.

Jeralt.

Claude had been curious to get to know him when he'd first arrived, but the guy was kept busy by Rhea. Any time he'd shown up, it had usually been to talk to Teach before heading out again.

Still, Claude had learned what he could, and it had become pretty clear pretty quickly that Jeralt had secrets and they tied back to Teach. You didn't just fake your death for twenty years for the fun of it. Same with raising your kid to be able to kill ten men in as many seconds, but not know what a Crest was.

His headrush had faded. Claude pushed himself off his perch to land lightly on the ground. Straightening, he started to gather up his rope, nodding to himself.

The more he thought about it, the more Claude liked this idea. If anyone would have a clue about the stuff Teach had said, it would be Jeralt. And if he didn't, well, that was a problem for the future.

In any case, Claude had plenty of things he'd like to ask the guy. Things that were completely unrelated to his current situation. He'd never tried to ask them because it seemed better to wait for Teach to tell him herself, but this question. Well, it wasn't that important. There was no need to bother her about it.

Yeah. He'd ask Jeralt and, curiosity sated, he'd never think about this again.

Decision made, he slipped his bow over his shoulder and began to make his way back to Garreg Mach, a slight spring in his step.