"The greatest monument to honor those who have lost their lives is a world free of oppression." Plot-focused multi-muse & shipper, under 21s DNI Secondary muses avaliable in carrd.
#azurebeast âââ Â advance lit/novella, independent & selective multi-muse (check carrd) all penned by hara.
slow activity. low pressure. fe crossover and duplicate friendly. here for character exploration, plotting, & screaming about fictional people.
dni if you're under 21, thrive on discourse, or engage in purity policing. dead dove content will be present. tags are for organisation first and warnings second; if you require meticulous tagging, this probably isn't the space for you.
Dust clouds obscured his vision, the force of the mysterious impact still thundering through his ears. His legs wavered beneath him, a sudden wave of vertigo threatening to send him sprawling. Driving the tip of his sword into the earth, he leaned heavily upon it, his head hanging as he fought to steady both his laboured breathing and senses. The devastation surrounding him was staggering. Buildings had been reduced to heaps of shattered stone and clay, while Adrestian soldiers writhed amidst the rubble, their armour slick with blood as they struggled to free themselves from the fallen debris that had buried them.
Felix tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword, his gaze sweeping desperately across the wreckage in search of his allies, holding onto the hope that they had survived. He counted himself fortunate to still be standing. He was no man of faith, but by the grace of the goddess, he was shocked to somehow emerge from the catastrophe without so much as a scratch.
After a few moments the strength gradually returned to his legs. The relentless ringing in his ears faded to a dull hum, no longer feeling as though on the precipice of keeling over to vomit. Raising his head, Felix slowly pulled his sword free from the earth and turned his attention to the path where he had last seen Claude and Sylvain. He had been pursuing a mage after overhearing them receive correspondence from Cornelia. Naturally Felix had given chase, determined to capture the man before he could slip away and wring whatever information he possessed. His impulsive decision hadn't t gone unnoticed, with Sylvain immediately falling in behind him with Claude in tow.
Together, they had carved a path through the mage's personal guard. For a time it had almost seemed they might succeed, but as the battle raged on, the soldiers had begun to fan out, reinforcements flooding in from elsewhere on the battlefield to shield the fleeing mage. The three of them had been forced apart amidst the chaos, each swallowed by a different pocket of fighting.
Then something like thunder had split the air, and the scene had evaporated.
The memory returned in fractured pieces. Someone had shoved him violently aside, and then the world had gone blank. Though he'd somehow managed to keep his footing through both the impact and the force of the shove, everything after that had dissolved into darkness.
He needed to find them. Claude. Sylvain.
And Leonie. He had lost sight of her even earlier in the fighting.
Then a few short moments later, as if his prayers had been overheard, Sylvain's voice rose above the howl of the wind.
Felix forced his unsteady legs into motion, sprinting toward the sound. He rounded the corner of a collapsed building and came face to face with the man. The knot that had been previously tightening in his chest eased at the sight of the redheadĂąâŹâąs stupid face, and Felix released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
Neither of them wasted time on words. After a swift glance to confirm the other was uninjured, they immediately set off in search of Claude. They retraced the ground where they had last fought together, now no little more than a graveyard of shattered rock. Cupping their hands around their mouths, they repeatedly called Claude's name, each shout swallowed by the wind before fading into an oppressive silence.
Minutes dragged by. With every unanswered call, the hope in their voices diminished.
Just as Felix was beginning to resign himself to the possibility that Claude had died, a faint voice reached him from below. He flinched, instinctively looking around before realising the sound had come from his feet. His gaze dropped to the rubble, where the end of a boot protruded from beneath a slab of broken stone.
"Sylvain! He's here! Quickly!" As Felix shouted, he was already digging with frantic determination, tearing away chunks of masonry one after another, his breathing growing increasingly ragged as he forced his body beyond its limits. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored them, heaving aside anything he could lift.
Then at last, he uncovered one of Claude's hands through his efforts. Felix seized it instinctively, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze before releasing it to continue clearing the debris. "We've almost got you," he said, his voice firm enough to border on a command, though tempered enough to betray his concern. "Hang in there."
By the time Sylvain reached him, the two of them worked with impressive efficiency, each anticipating the other's movements as they stripped away the remaining rubble. Within minutes, they had freed Claude, only to wince at the sight that greeted them.
A lance had pierced straight through Claude's leg, pinning him in place.
"I'll heal him while you pull it out," Sylvain said, already weaving a healing spell around the wound.
Felix gave a terse nod. Waiting until the magic had dulled the worst of the damage, he braced himself, gripped the handle with both hands, and tore it free in one swift motion.
Only then did something else catch his eye.
A gemstone glinting upon Claude's finger.
Felix's eyes lingered on it for only a second before recognition dawned.
It was Dimitri's prayer ring.
His mouth parted in surprise, but he quickly schooled his expression. However many questions that discovery raised, he possessed enough sense to know that now was hardly the time to ask how Claude had come to acquire it.
Claude von Riegan has never been one to throw his life away, and he certainly doesn't intend to start now. The instant the rubble above him shifted, his sharp eyes snapped wide - dry, unblinking, calculating. His mind raced not with fear, but with odds: would any of those stones hold, or would one slip and send him crashing back to square one? He was too close to freedom to let gravity have the final say.
Then Felix's head appeared around the corner, and the swordsman let out a breath so heavy it almost sounded relieved.
There you are, Claude thought, the corner of his mouth twitching despite everything. He opened his mouth to offer some witty remark - something about Felix's impeccable timing or how touching it was to see him worried - but what came out instead was a ragged, "H-Here. I'm here..."
Strange. He'd been so certain the pain was starting to fade. But now that someone was actually here to see him, it all came rushing back with vengeance. He couldn't help grimacing with his face, catching Sylvain's attention.
"I'll heal him while you pull it out," he hears Sylvain say.
He tensed, jaw locking, as the healing spell pulled at torn flesh and knitted it back together in that sharp, searing way that always hurt more than it should. The tear was deep. He'd felt that much. And sure enough, as the green light faded, Claude glanced down at the angry, puckered line forming across his side and let out a breathy, humourless laugh.
Well. Add that to the collection.
At the very least, he hopes Dimitri will find a scar as large as that attractive to look at.
A breathy laugh escapes him as he shifts, testing his weight against the ground. His legs gave an unhelpful, trembling reminder that they were very much not on board with the whole 'evacuation' plan.
"Afraid I'm not exactly at my fighting weight right now," he said, tilting his head up at the two of them with that familiar, crooked grin, the one that always made it hard to tell if he was joking or scheming. "So unless one of you fine gentlemen feels like playing pack mule today..."
He let the suggestion hang in the air, light and teasing, as if he were proposing a friendly wager rather than admitting he couldn't take another step.
"...I might need a lift."
Sylvain is the first to make a face. Claude was about to give him the credit of not saying what he is thinking until Sylvain blurts out:
"Not a chance. I don't carry men." A roguish grin tugged at his lips as he added, utterly unrepentant, "These arms are reserved for delicate flowers: ladies and pretty boys who actually appreciate the experience."
Claude nearly chokes on his saliva. Fine, he's not delicate then. Not pretty either. But aren't you a skilled liar? He thinks of the real reason Sylvain refuses to carry him on his back, and that is because he is not enthusiastic about suffering Dimitri's wrath. He knew that his friend has an unfounded jealousy. Claude has never questioned it, and even if he were, there were a thousand other things he would like to question Dimitri about rather than his strange jealousy. But come on, he silently sighs, now isn't the time to be fearful of getting on Dimitri's nerves.
Felix didn't volunteer himself, fully expecting Sylvain to do the mature thing and offer to play muleânever mind. Of course the idiot chose now, of all times, to be unreasonable. The usually impassive expression on Felix's face darkened as he fixed Sylvain with the most venomous glare he could muster. Honestly, Sylvain was twice his stature, saddling Felix with the burden for such a frivolous reason was utterly absurd. Be that as it may, he wasn't cruel enough to waste time bickering with the buffoon while Claude was injured and in all likelihood, thoroughly miserable.
That didn't mean, however, he couldn't be petty. So, before deciding to take on the virtue of offering Claude his aid, he raised his elbow and drove a punishing blow into Sylvain's ribs. A crooked, self satisfied smirk slipped onto his lips when his friend cried out and clutched at his side.
Serves him right.
With playtime over, or divine retribution, as Felix preferred to call it, he turned his attention to the pitiful looking Alliance leader, hobbling on unsteady legs like a wounded doe.
âLet's get this over with.â Through a breath of exasperation, he crouched, resting his hands behind his back to receive Claude and support his weight as he climbed on. When the stockier man wound his arms around Felix's clavicle, Felix slipped his own beneath Claude's legs, lifting him from the ground in one swift motion.
With no willingness of his own, he was struck by a sudden bout of nostalgia, recalling simpler times when he had done this very same thing for Dimitri or Ingrid. The memory was intrusive, and though it wasn't an unhappy one, it left him frowning sullenly, a bittersweet weight settling in the pit of his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, as though the action alone could blot it from his mind's eye.
Now wasn't the time for sentimentally, though he supposed it was only natural after cheating death. Then again, perhaps they hadn't cheated death at all. Had they been any slower in clearing a path for themselves, or lingered beneath the more towering structures, the outcome might have been very different. It hadn't been fortune that had seen them through, but their combined speed and efficiency.
They eventually began making their way through the devastated city, their trek slow but constant. There was some conversation shared between them to break the monotony, but it didn't take long for it to taper off, the three of them too exhausted to maintain anything meaningful for long.
At the halfway mark of their trek, a soldier mounted on a steed appeared in the distance, silhouetted by the fading light of the sun's descent. Sylvain immediately took a defensive position in front of them, while Claude, to his credit, and Felix's amusement, readied his bow from atop Felix's back. Then, another shadowy figure glided through the air beside the soldier, and Felix quickly realized it was a wyvern. A very large one at that.
Felix lamented internally. There were very few enemies on the battlefield that could perturb him, but he absolutely hated those disgusting, scaly beasts. As a child, they had been the very source of his nightmares, and though he was far beyond that now, the sight of them still managed to make the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He wouldn't say he feared them, but seeing one was akin to spotting a large, hairy spider: nothing particularly traumatising, but enough to evoke disgust and instinctive wariness all the same.
Dorothea is nothing short of curious. One says it must kill the cat, disembowel it until there is but a warm cavity, but she thinks otherwise: why, if the cat is so nimble â an escape artist that weaves through the nooks and crannies of its obstacles â must it meet such an untimely demise? Curiosity, in fact, can benefit the cat, much like how it benefits Dorothea: a particular insight into the minds of those around her, revealing information as the layers peel away. And so, here she is, eyeing the heir to the dukedom of Fraldarius from the training grounds, mindlessly interrupting her own practice. From her two-minute observations, he seems guarded and tense; quite the wail from his body language, a tell of a jewel worth looking into. Besides, what harm could it do to keep him company?
âSo,â a melodic note in the midst of a silence near-impenetrable, âI much like to experiment with rapiers and broadswordsââ she prances to him, a sweet bit of honey to the step of her boots, and raises her head to meet what stare he prepares: disinterest, indifference, it only fuels her desire for something more. She holds the latter aforementioned sword in her hand, decorated with a thin blade that sparks minute gleams in the light and an artistic twist in the smooth bronze of its hilt, allowing for the enrapture of delicate fingers. It rests a heavy weight on her wrist, adorned with golden bangles that clang into one another with every movement, but it becomes a sort-of comfort. Emerald irises flit from the weapon to the dark-haired boy before her, all cantankerous with a focus a thousand miles away from Dorotheaâs voice. How rude: the utmost thought in her conscience. âFelix, is it? What do you think?â
Dorothea raises the sword in a decorated gesture and lowers it slowly, the gentle press of the blade against her so-called companionâs chest. (if they were the only two in the training grounds and Dorothea chose to speak between them, would it be so wrong to consider them so? Questions, questions.) she quirks a brow, tilts her head as brunette tresses fall over her shoulder, and she stands with her legs shoulder-length apart, battle-ready. Any moment to act is a moment to define oneself in front of another, and Dorothea is a master at such a craft; the very fine contortions of her countenance curl into a daring smile, eyelids hooded and shoulders squared. Confidence, Dorothea, confidence. âCare to share some sword knowledge with the class? You seem well-acquainted.â
His sword carved through the air in fluid deliberate arcs, each sweep and thrust so precise it seemed less a weapon than another limb. The blade flowed with a ribbon's grace, weaving silver patterns that vanished almost as quickly as they appeared. Every movement belonged to a composition he had spent countless hours refining, borrowing from Jeritza's ruthless efficiency and the professor's measured discipline until it became something unmistakably his own.
So consumed was he by the rhythm of his practice that the voice breaking the silence barely registered. Whoever had spoken was little more than another distraction, and the broad strokes of his blade never faltered. There was no room for interruptions while he honed a style meant for a single purpose. When he struck, it had to be decisive. One clean cut, like an axe cleaving through a thick slab of lumber. No hesitation. No resistance. Anything less left room for error, and error was the difference between walking away from the battlefield and being carried off it.
The voice returns, bright and melodic, cutting through his concentration just enough to draw a crease between his brows. His gaze settles on her with detached scrutiny, the same measured focus one might reserve for preyâor an especially persistent fly. Judging by the incessant clatter of her bangles, the comparison leaned toward the latter. Yet there was something oddly compelling about the rhythm, each metallic chime echoing the familiar ring of crossing blades. When she lowers her sword toward his chest, he raises his own without hesitation, the two blades meeting with a crisp note before hers can make contact.
He glances down at the blade resting against his own, his expression unchanged. Without delay, he nudges it aside with his sword, more dismissive than defensive. It is abundantly clear to him that she did not come here to spar, regardless of the stance she has adopted. Not when she studies him like a jewel she might turn over in her hands, deciding whether she likes the way it catches the light, or perhaps whether she likes the mere idea of owning it.
He would not call himself immune to the charms of a beautiful woman. That would be a lie. But the stories he had heard as a boy about sirens had always served as a cautionary tale, a reminder that vanity was often the first thing a person sacrificed to temptation.
If you indulge like a hedonist, you drown.
âAre you actually here to spar,â he asks, his gaze narrowing slightly, âor are you just here to waste my time?â
#CHANTEUSI âââ literate, independent, private single-muse for dorothea arnault of fire emblem: three houses/hopes.
i write when i want to, and when i have time. i like introspection, complicated plots/au's, and using too many words to make much sense. please don't interact if you're under twenty-one, or you want to tell me how to run my blog. dead dove, do not eat. too old to tag, please mind where you step.
Dimitri had intended to explain the purpose of the ring, but exhaustion was beginning to weigh heavily upon him, knowing that if he spoke now Claude would likely draw the conversation out for another hour, not having the energy left to continue indulging him. With the familiar scent of pine surrounding him, his body slipped into a state of ease, the tension leaving his muscles, breath slowing into a steady rhythm while his eyelid drooped shut.Â
No dreams came to disturb him throughout the night, though his body still shifted restlessly from time to time, his legs becoming tangled with Claude's beneath the blankets at some point. Come morning, neither of them acknowledged the fact they had somehow ended up facing one another, nor the way their eyes met the instant they awoke. Instead, they both quietly averted their gaze, choosing to busy themselves with other matters at the start of their morning.
The situation unfolding at Derdriu was laid before everyone after breakfast, Dimitri resistant to the idea of participating in the operation until mention was made of the Death Knight. The intelligence that had been gathered suggested there was a possibility the Emperor herself would make the journey to personally reinforce him, and with that, any lingering hesitation he harbored quickly fell away.
From then on, he threw himself into the preparations alongside Claude, doing what he could to hasten their departure and speaking little throughout the bustle of the camp. He offered only the occasional word when necessary, though was otherwise diligent, so much so that he could feel the stares of his own knights burning into his back.
It took them three days to reach the outskirts of Derdriu, where they established camp, shared a hearty meal, and reviewed their formations and strategies one final time to ensure they would move as a single, cohesive force when dawn broke.Â
That evening, as the camp settled and the soldiers sought what little rest they could before the coming battle, Dimitri caught Claude quietly slipping out of their shared tent. Curiosity getting the better of him, Dimitri followed at a distance as the man mounted his wyvern beneath the cover of night, concealing himself behind the tent flap. He made no attempt to stop him or call out, simply watching in silence as Claude disappeared into the darkened sky before quietly turning back.Â
By morning, Claude was once again at his side as though he had never left at all, and from there the hours seemed to pass in a blur, preparations giving way to action as their combined forces marched upon Derdriu.
Troops from House Edmund had been called upon to aid their campaign, providing the fleet Claude, Leonie, Sylvain, and Felix would use to launch a surprise assault on the port, while Dimitri advanced from the front alongside the remainder of the Blue Lions and Golden Deer, drawing the Imperial forces' attention as planned.
Despite being outnumbered, they carved through the enemy ranks with remarkable efficiency, their resolve seeming only to strengthen as the battle wore on. They reached Judith just as she was standing off against the last of the soldiers surrounding her, lending what aid they could before the skirmish could overwhelm her.Â
Dimitri however, did not remain long enough to inquire after her condition. Leaving the others to see to Judith, he pressed onward with the battalion assigned to him, his attention fixed solely on challenging Jeritza and then finding Edelgard before she slipped beyond his reach. Ashe, Ingrid, and Hilda were quick to notice and hurried after him, though he made no effort to slow his pace and allow them to catch up.
As they continued cutting through the remaining soldiers, weaving through the winding streets of Derdriu in pursuit of their target, Dimitri eventually caught sight of the man commanding the forces ahead. Yet the figure standing at the helm was not Jeritza.
It was his uncle, Arundel.
The sheer number of soldiers surrounding him prevented Dimitri from confronting him directly, forcing him to cut a path through the manâs entourage before he could reach him. Arundel, seemingly aware that he could not hold out indefinitely, did everything in his power to delay the inevitable, sacrificing the lives of his own soldiers to buy whatever time he had left.
Then something at the edge of Dimitri's vision caught his attention.
Evidently, he was not the only one to notice, as their own surrounding soldiers lifted their heads toward the object cutting across the sky above them. Confusion spread across their faces at first, uncertainty twisting into alarm as they attempted to comprehend what they were seeing until recognition struck, expressions shifting into one of dread.
Before anyone could make sense of what was happening, they were engulfed by a deafening explosion.
The force of the impact sent them stumbling backward a few steps from where they stood, while dust and debris erupted through the streets, filling the air and obscuring their vision, leaving them momentarily disoriented. Fortunately, they had been far enough from the blast that its effects were only temporary, requiring little more than a few moments to regain their bearings,clear the dust and soot from their eyes, and hack out through the remnants that had found their way into their lungs.Â
Dimitri was the first to recover, sheer stubbornness carrying him through the disorientation as he rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision, forcing himself to cough as he cleared the dust from his throat and taking in the damage surrounding them. The streets were littered with debris, the nearby buildings cracked and battered from the impact, yet amid the destruction one thing stood out immediately.
Arundel was gone, seemingly vanished among the very soldiers who had surrounded him moments before.
From a few paces away, Dimitri heard a sharp hitch of breath from Hilda and turned toward the sound, only to find her eyes already brimming with tears. âC-Claude... no... no, please...â
The words were sorrowfully spoken with a shaky sniff, the possible reality settling and overwhelming before she could bring herself to calm down. Ingrid was beside her almost immediately, pulling her into a firm embrace as she attempted to console her.Â
âEveryone... we need to go. NOW!â
The urgency in Hilda's voice was unmistakable, but the command carried little of its usual confidence. She looked unsteady on her feet, as though forcing herself to remain upright through stubborn will alone, clearly in no state to move forward. Dimitri didn't catch whatever quiet reassurances Ingrid offered her, his attention already drawn elsewhere, his feet carrying him toward the site of the explosion before his mind could fully comprehend the situation unfolding before him.
Everything felt distant.
The sounds around him dulled into a meaningless haze, like static roaring in his ears, while the reality of what might have happened remained just beyond his grasp. He felt numb, unable to confront the grim prospect forming in the back of his mind.
The girls had yet to catch up, but Ashe had already reached him, calling out orders to their combined troops before moving out to follow Dimitri.Â
Awareness comes to him in phases like winds after a breeze. The first thing his senses register is darkness. Then he imagined how Lysithea would have hated to be trapped in a place like this. Silly girl, believing in ghosts and all that gimmick meant to scare children so they'd do what their parents wanted them to do. Claude isn't any better for encouraging that fear. He only has himself to blame.
Next he knew it was pain. A steady, searing pain that spread from somewhere under all that debris. His body half-buried there and a lance sticking out. He nearly faints from pain when he touches it and it sends a tremour throughout his body. Claude groans. Figures, that that thing is impaled on some part of his body. Probably his left leg. Not that it makes his situation any different, since he can't move.
There is debris above him and below him. He's only saved by a larger boulder towering next to him when the javelin of light fell from the sky and struck everyone at the stronghold. He didn't know that Edelgard would be so willing to kill her own troops if it meant getting both Dimitri and Claude out of the game all at once, but he hopes that theory isn't true. He liked to think that he knew Edelgard - that little arrogant girl back in the academy - he'd like for all three of them to get out of this alive if it's within his power to do so.
Dimitri did seem like he cared about her back then. He might not have actually wanted her dead.
He tries to heave himself out of the debris, ignoring the pain, but every time the lance trembles, it hurt, and he stops when he sees a part of the debris stained red. He'd heard of how some people can bleed to death in a situation like this. If no one came to save them, that is. It would be foolish to die here after all that he'd survived through. He can feel his lips already turning pale.
"Claude."
"Claude."
"Claude!"
Ah... of course. He remembers now. He wasn't alone when the javelin of light fell on them. He'd been with... that Fraldarius heir, Felix. And the Blue Lion's famed skirt chaser, Sylvain.
It had been the first time Claude watched the duo's synergy on the battlefield, and knew instantly that whatever the Blue Lions understood about 'team work', it wasn't the same word in the Golden Deer knew. He'd thought of Dimitri a musclehead, knowing how fond he was to just charge into battle without a viable strategy. Turns out he(Claude)'s the odd one out. It's not just Dimitri. Never once. It's most people in the Blue Lions.
He watched as Felix charged into a group of Adrestian soldiers alone. He watches as Sylvain went after him. If anyone in the Golden Deer would get along with Felix, that person must have been Lorenz. Look at them going off alone. He'd followed along, just to find a place he could shimmy himself in between two Lions when Felix's luck ran out. He's fought with nothing but a sword, knowing no other way but forwards. Claude, on the other hand, was the sort of fighter who would never take an enemy head on, so he didn't know what else he could do except shove Felix out of harm's way before Sylvain could.
And there was when the javelin of light fell and then it was blackness and then this when he came to.
Dust clouds obscured his vision, the force of the mysterious impact still thundering through his ears. His legs wavered beneath him, a sudden wave of vertigo threatening to send him sprawling. Driving the tip of his sword into the earth, he leaned heavily upon it, his head hanging as he fought to steady both his laboured breathing and senses. The devastation surrounding him was staggering. Buildings had been reduced to heaps of shattered stone and clay, while Adrestian soldiers writhed amidst the rubble, their armour slick with blood as they struggled to free themselves from the fallen debris that had buried them.
Felix tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword, his gaze sweeping desperately across the wreckage in search of his allies, holding onto the hope that they had survived. He counted himself fortunate to still be standing. He was no man of faith, but by the grace of the goddess, he was shocked to somehow emerge from the catastrophe without so much as a scratch.
After a few moments the strength gradually returned to his legs. The relentless ringing in his ears faded to a dull hum, no longer feeling as though on the precipice of keeling over to vomit. Raising his head, Felix slowly pulled his sword free from the earth and turned his attention to the path where he had last seen Claude and Sylvain. He had been pursuing a mage after overhearing them receive correspondence from Cornelia. Naturally Felix had given chase, determined to capture the man before he could slip away and wring whatever information he possessed. His impulsive decision hadn't t gone unnoticed, with Sylvain immediately falling in behind him with Claude in tow.
Together, they had carved a path through the mage's personal guard. For a time it had almost seemed they might succeed, but as the battle raged on, the soldiers had begun to fan out, reinforcements flooding in from elsewhere on the battlefield to shield the fleeing mage. The three of them had been forced apart amidst the chaos, each swallowed by a different pocket of fighting.
Then something like thunder had split the air, and the scene had evaporated.
The memory returned in fractured pieces. Someone had shoved him violently aside, and then the world had gone blank. Though he'd somehow managed to keep his footing through both the impact and the force of the shove, everything after that had dissolved into darkness.
He needed to find them. Claude. Sylvain.
And Leonie. He had lost sight of her even earlier in the fighting.
Then a few short moments later, as if his prayers had been overheard, Sylvain's voice rose above the howl of the wind.
Felix forced his unsteady legs into motion, sprinting toward the sound. He rounded the corner of a collapsed building and came face to face with the man. The knot that had been previously tightening in his chest eased at the sight of the redheadĂąâŹâąs stupid face, and Felix released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
Neither of them wasted time on words. After a swift glance to confirm the other was uninjured, they immediately set off in search of Claude. They retraced the ground where they had last fought together, now no little more than a graveyard of shattered rock. Cupping their hands around their mouths, they repeatedly called Claude's name, each shout swallowed by the wind before fading into an oppressive silence.
Minutes dragged by. With every unanswered call, the hope in their voices diminished.
Just as Felix was beginning to resign himself to the possibility that Claude had died, a faint voice reached him from below. He flinched, instinctively looking around before realising the sound had come from his feet. His gaze dropped to the rubble, where the end of a boot protruded from beneath a slab of broken stone.
"Sylvain! He's here! Quickly!" As Felix shouted, he was already digging with frantic determination, tearing away chunks of masonry one after another, his breathing growing increasingly ragged as he forced his body beyond its limits. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored them, heaving aside anything he could lift.
Then at last, he uncovered one of Claude's hands through his efforts. Felix seized it instinctively, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze before releasing it to continue clearing the debris. "We've almost got you," he said, his voice firm enough to border on a command, though tempered enough to betray his concern. "Hang in there."
By the time Sylvain reached him, the two of them worked with impressive efficiency, each anticipating the other's movements as they stripped away the remaining rubble. Within minutes, they had freed Claude, only to wince at the sight that greeted them.
A lance had pierced straight through Claude's leg, pinning him in place.
"I'll heal him while you pull it out," Sylvain said, already weaving a healing spell around the wound.
Felix gave a terse nod. Waiting until the magic had dulled the worst of the damage, he braced himself, gripped the handle with both hands, and tore it free in one swift motion.
Only then did something else catch his eye.
A gemstone glinting upon Claude's finger.
Felix's eyes lingered on it for only a second before recognition dawned.
It was Dimitri's prayer ring.
His mouth parted in surprise, but he quickly schooled his expression. However many questions that discovery raised, he possessed enough sense to know that now was hardly the time to ask how Claude had come to acquire it.
That night, Dimitri would find a mysterious brown parcel placed outside with door with a mysterious note attached to it.
Seated at his desk, Dimitri propped his head against one hand and shook it as he read the letter. The faintest smile crept onto his lips, a soft chuckle slipping free before he could stop it, swelling with each breath until it erupted into a deep stentorian guffaw that resounded through the room.
A sharp thud rang out from the adjoining wall. Undoubtedly Felix, voicing his displeasure at the noise he was making. Dimitri hastily clapped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter, but to no avail, It continued to rack his body, escaping in barely muffled bursts.
In the months their relationship took shape neither of them had ever called the other friend, yet it was impossible to deny they were far closer to that than enemies, or even mere acquaintances. Hearing Claude finally say it aloud filled Dimitri with quiet joy, yet the words that had succeeded them left him feeling cold, not understanding why Claude had felt it necessary to understate his own importance. It wasn't that Claude was wrong; Dimitri would have done the same for any friend he had; however, he was getting the impression that Claude believed there were far more people who occupied that place in Dimitri's life than there truly were.
Without a doubt, he would have done as much for his childhood companions; though they had always been more like extended family, their parents' close ties naturally drawing them together, but they were no longer as close as they had once been, not after Duscur. Dedue was someone Dimitri considered a friend, but the man, while not entirely opposed to the notion, had all but resigned himself to being only Dimitri's vassal. He insisted on placing Dimitri's needs before his own, and though Dimitri was deeply moved by such unwavering devotion, it was never what he wanted for himself. They had never managed to see eye to eye on the matter, leaving their relationship more constrained than Dimitri wished it to be.
He wasn't sure what impression he gave at the academy, but the reality was far different from what others might have believed. Despite how much he wished otherwise, there were not nearly as many people he could comfortably turn to. The rest of the Blue Lions were precious to him and he cared for each of them deeply, but friends? He wasn't certain he could honestly call them that. Perhaps Mercede, to some extent, yet she was kind to everyone, making it difficult to tell whether she truly regarded him as a friend or was simply extending the same warmth she offered everyone else. As for the others, they remained too conscious of his status as the prince for anything to grow into the sort of honest, unguarded bond he would truly call friendship.
Perhaps he was being oversensitive, but he couldn't help it. Since Felix, Claude was the first person in a while he would akin to a kindred spirit, his company leaving him feeling lighter and whose words lingered in his mind long after they had parted, every conversation leaving him eager for the next. With his days now consumed by endless responsibilities, there were fewer and fewer moments that truly stayed with him, yet his time with Claude was not one of those fleeting memories that easily faded away.
He was then pulled abruptly from his thoughts by the unexpected warmth of Claude's hands cradling his face. His brow knited in confusion, only for his eyes to widen as he realised Claude was leaning closer.
"What are youâ"
The question never made it past his lips, as Claude's mouth met his own, cutting him off mid-sentence. It was chaste, no little more than the gentle brush of lips, but it was enough to leave Dimitri's mind utterly blank. A soft bewildered sound escaped him, somewhere between a whine and a sigh before Claude drew away. Whatever Claude said afterward didnât reach him, the words dissolving into meaningless noise beneath the frantic pounding of his heart.
Heat flooded his face until his cheeks ached with it. With trembling fingers, he reached up to touch his lips, as though he could somehow preserve the lingering warmth of the kiss.
His very first kissâŠand Claude had taken it from him so offhandedly. The thought should have bothered him, yet all he could think was how desperately he wished for Claude to do it again.
"I⊠I don'tâŠ" Dimitri swallowed, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, thoughts refusing to settle. "What was the meaning of that? I understand your promise to be more cautious, but⊠why did you take my first kiss?" He asked tentatively, voice growing quieter toward the end of his words.
His confusion and mortification warred within him, partially making him want to flee and put as much distance between himself and this bewildering encounter as possible so he could gather his thoughts in private. Yet, despite every instinct urging him to retreat, the confession spilled from his lips before he could stop them.
"Not that I⊠disliked it," he hurried to clarify, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I did... But⊠I don't understand."
It takes Claude a while, from looking at Dimitri's ocean-blue eyes and struggling not to get lost in it, from the way his expression morphs from cordial to almost horrified before its owner schools it back down to just shock. It is only then he knows that he fumbled it, ruined his chance at trying to blend in the many rules and complexity of Fodlan's culture. Dimitri's face is the very indication of an imminent defeat. He realizes, more curious than terrified, whether treating a prince like an equal a punishment worthy of death? This, of course, wouldn't be a real issue if he were to pull out his other title from his homeland across the Throat, but he'd like to keep that secret about himself for as long as possible.
And so he just stands there, while Dimitri looks bewildered, like Claude had done more than just stealing a brief kiss from his lips. A part of him is endlessly amused that, to Dimitri, it seemed like such a huge deal, when Claude would beg to disagree. It's just a kiss. Just lips touching. He wonders what Dimitri thought of it in his head, whether a greeting like that meant anything more than an earnest promise. Claude had thought: It's barely anything to write home about. Yet here he is, struggling to come up with a reason to explain what he'd just done.
In the end he says something generic, but it is safe. "You might have heard about it somewhere by now, Your Highness." The title rolls off his lips and instantly felt wrong. It puts distance between them, but that might help Dimitri to feel safer a bit. "But I didn't grow up here."
He doesn't say where where or how. That would be too risky. Instead he fixates his gaze on Dimitri's eyes and lips, finding himself suddenly becoming hyperaware of what a kiss in Fodlan could possibly mean. And if it entailed some nonsense like taking up responsibility and marrying the one you've desecrated then Claude certainly wouldn't mind having Dimitri for a wife as long as Dimitri finds no trouble in it. But, it would certainly not be now.
Ah, Fodlan nobles and their strange customs. Things is, Claude has read that book his grandfather offered about the teachings of Seiros, he really should reread it again to find out what he'd forgotten.
"Though that probably isn't the best excuse to give. If... If that is your first kiss. I'm sorry. But if it's just us, and you didn't tell anybody, no one will know." He offers, before realizing how scummy he sounded. Of course the Prince of a Kingdom built upon chivalry would not think twice to dismiss such a thought.
His eyes begin to trace the outline of Dimitri's jaw. He could see the muscles moving beneath them, could tell that Dimitri is evaluating him, just a Claude is evaluating him.
What Dimitri follows up with, strangely, surprised him. If Claude has looked stupid before this, he has no doubt that he looks studier even now.
He liked it. Was that allowed?
"I... does Fodlan allow anything beyond arranged political marriages?" He asks quietly. It surprises him how it was less diplomatic and more about curiousity. "I heard that royalties have to intermarry here to keep the bloodline strong. You know, Crests and all that..." What are the chances for a foreign royalty like me?
Dimitri vaguely recalled Claude mentioning that he hadn't grown up in Derdriu, but the way he spoke now almost made it sound as though he hadn't been raised in Leicester at all. That couldn't be right. If that were the case, how had he inherited the Crest of Riegan? If he had to make an educated guess perhaps Claude hailed from Kupala like Balthus, or one of the many secluded villages that spanned along the border between Leicester and Almyra. Dimitri had heard those settlements were remote, so far removed from the rest of Fodlan and its customs that its people were sometimes mistaken for foreigners, despite being natives of Leicester all the same.
Watching Claude stare off into the distance as though only now beginning to grasp the implications of what he'd done, Dimitri graciously decided to put the matter to rest. He was grateful at least that Claude had possessed the decency to apologise once he realised his mistake, though the resolution left a faint ache in his chest. Any lingering hope that Claude might have shared his attraction instantly dissolved.
Obviously, it had only been a misunderstanding, a cultural one, at that, as disappointing as it was.
Dimitri supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; keeping the incident between the two of them was undoubtedly the most sensible course of action. Yet, he couldn't help but mourn the fantasy of bragging that he'd been kissed by the charming heir to House Riegan, even if the kiss itself had been born of nothing more than a difference in cultural customs.
Come to think of it, he vaguely recalled reading of cultures in which a kiss was used to affirm a promise. That might explain the occasional chaste kiss he'd witnessed between Balthus and Yuri, despite there never seeming to be anything romantic between the two men.
His mind scrambled and churned to keep pace with the abrupt change in topic, mouth remaining slightly ajar as he searched for an answer, struggling to catch up with the conversation before it left him behind. He couldn't fathom where Claude was going with this, though for one dangerously hopeful moment, it almost sounded as though he were about to propose marriage. However, the rational part of his mind quickly brought him back to his senses, ridding the thought just as readily as it had come, putting it up to nothing but wistful thinking and nothing more.
A more sensible explanation was Claude had just decided to satisfy his curiosity after stumbling into such an embarrassing cultural misunderstanding. Then again, could he possibly be intending to weaponise the knowledge instead and mercilessly tease Dimitri with the prospect of marriage after so roguishly stealing his first kiss? It wouldnât be out of the realm of possibility for his characterâŠthe thought alone making his face burn anew.
He briefly considered refusing to indulge the question on principle. Yet, despite every instinct telling him otherwise, he found himself answering despite his best judgement.
"Of course. Such matters are ultimately determined by the circumstances of each noble house. In the case of House Blaiddyd, a marriage may certainly carry political significance, but I am not bound to seek a partner solely for the sake of alliance or Crest inheritance. Even so, such a union would likely be regarded favourably by the court given my position. Sylvain, however, does not carry the same expectations placed upon him. Ingrid's situation, however, differs considerably. House Galatea has never enjoyed the same financial stability as many of the other noble houses, and therefore she was expected to consider marriage as a means of securing her family's future. It was for that reason that she was arranged to marry Felix's late brother."
Itâs then he realises belatedly that heâd been rambling. Normally he could have offered his explanation far more succinctly; unfortunately he was flustered, leading his tongue to loosen and overexplain in the vain hope that it could make his nerves less obvious.
Dimitri pursed his lips, finding himself quietly at odds with what Claude had said, even if the remark seemed to have been delivered almost absentmindedly and without much conviction. Whether it was intentional or not, Dimitri had begun to notice that Claude had a habit of diminishing both himself and his own abilities. Humility was an admirable quality, but carried to excess it became little more than an unfair disservice to oneself. There was value in recognising one's own accomplishments after all, and Dimitri believed such acknowledgments were just as important to maintaining a healthy mind as modesty itself.Â
âI believe you have the wrong impression of me. Even so, please know there has never been a moment in which I regarded you as anything less than my equal.â He knew his sudden seriousness would likely catch Claude off guard, but it was important that the man understood this to be the case. Time and time again he had been described as overly generous, but what people failed to realise was that many of those instances had required little of him in the first place. They were simple matters, the sort resolved with a passing instruction or the wave of a hand before entrusting them to someone more qualified, one of the many privileges afforded to him by virtue of being the crown prince. Therefore, it had never felt particularly noble in his eyes.
When it came to his friends however, or those he held near and dear, it was different. There was no sense of obligation or expectation guiding him then, only sincerity, and whenever he was able, he preferred to see to such matters himself rather than leave them in another's hands. Yet he had never regarded that as anything worthy of praise. Was that not simply what anyone else would do for those they cared about?
It was not that Dimitri believed himself incapable of kindness, only that he struggled to understand why others seemed so determined to make it the defining measure of his character when to him it had always felt like nothing more than the natural thing to do.
âA favour? Claude, thatâs not what this wasâŠbe serious, please, and justâŠpromise me youâll keep what I said in mind?â With Claude refusing to give him an answer on whether he would ever openly oppose the Church, Dimitri could not help but feel uneased. He knew Claude wasnât the sort of person to act recklessly without first ensuring he had some means of success, but even so, he was hardly subtle in his defiance, his disdain whenever Seteth appeared to confiscate materials deemed unsuitable for consumption plain for all to see.Â
âVery well... I concede. I canât deny my own curiosity as well.â Dimitri sighed, resting his face against his palm as Claude patted his shoulder, resigning himself to the fact that they were about to undertake something reckless. He had already worked out how to slip in and out of the restricted section unnoticed on his own, but having Claude accompany him complicated matters considerably. Still, if they succeeded, they would finally have the chance to examine the contents of the higher shelves, ones that had remained just out of reach without a ladder readily available.
He stares at Dimitri, flabbergasted. Claude considers himself a chatterbox. He's been reading a lot of things with no one to talk to them about. Curious things, too. All his peers had varying interests, some made him felt like he was ruining their entire lives by just asking them to give him some time of their day. But he's used to thinly veiled grievances or unwillingness, all of that in which Dimitri's behaviours lacked. He didn't have to be so painfully sincere. That sincerity isn't something Claude is used to. Seeing all that effortless honesty just throws him off the tracks and leaves him not knowing how to act.
A part of him wanted desperately to offer Dimitri the same amount of honesty, but that kind of thing can be challenging when you're used to being independent for most of your life. "You always say the sort of thing that makes me not know what to say back, Dimitri... But I appreciate it." He reaches to the back of his neck to rub the spot there. "I'm glad to call you my friend. In any case, I've no doubt that if I were ever in trouble, you would come to my rescue for sure. Just like you would do for any of your friends." That part was easy enough to say. He never had a reason to doubt Dimitri's character. Only his eagerness to shoulder every burden onto his own shoulder and take on the responsibility of saving the lives of every Kingdom army.
He couldn't stop himself from letting an expression of surprise slip out when Dimitri holds him by his shoulder and makes him promise to keep his warnings in mind. "Whoa, whoa. You're serious about this aren't you?" He knows what he is doing, so what could Dimitri possibly meant? The prince looked so worried that it's almost impossible to say no to him.
"Ugh, fine. Sheesh. If it makes you happy."
He cups the prince's face with both hands and leans up to press his lips on the other man's lips. And instantly, Claude feels his heart beats faster and his cheeks heating up. It's the first time Claude has ever done it, but it wasn't uncommon in Almyra. "There. I promised. And I won't be able to go back on it." After a beat he finally pulls back, pursing his lips nervously. "I, Claude von Riegan, promise that I will not openly pursue the Church as long as we can confirm that their practices are not doing any harm to the people of Fodlan. That's reasonable enough, don't you agree?"
In the months their relationship took shape neither of them had ever called the other friend, yet it was impossible to deny they were far closer to that than enemies, or even mere acquaintances. Hearing Claude finally say it aloud filled Dimitri with quiet joy, yet the words that had succeeded them left him feeling cold, not understanding why Claude had felt it necessary to understate his own importance. It wasn't that Claude was wrong; Dimitri would have done the same for any friend he had; however, he was getting the impression that Claude believed there were far more people who occupied that place in Dimitri's life than there truly were.
Without a doubt, he would have done as much for his childhood companions; though they had always been more like extended family, their parents' close ties naturally drawing them together, but they were no longer as close as they had once been, not after Duscur. Dedue was someone Dimitri considered a friend, but the man, while not entirely opposed to the notion, had all but resigned himself to being only Dimitri's vassal. He insisted on placing Dimitri's needs before his own, and though Dimitri was deeply moved by such unwavering devotion, it was never what he wanted for himself. They had never managed to see eye to eye on the matter, leaving their relationship more constrained than Dimitri wished it to be.
He wasn't sure what impression he gave at the academy, but the reality was far different from what others might have believed. Despite how much he wished otherwise, there were not nearly as many people he could comfortably turn to. The rest of the Blue Lions were precious to him and he cared for each of them deeply, but friends? He wasn't certain he could honestly call them that. Perhaps Mercede, to some extent, yet she was kind to everyone, making it difficult to tell whether she truly regarded him as a friend or was simply extending the same warmth she offered everyone else. As for the others, they remained too conscious of his status as the prince for anything to grow into the sort of honest, unguarded bond he would truly call friendship.
Perhaps he was being oversensitive, but he couldn't help it. Since Felix, Claude was the first person in a while he would akin to a kindred spirit, his company leaving him feeling lighter and whose words lingered in his mind long after they had parted, every conversation leaving him eager for the next. With his days now consumed by endless responsibilities, there were fewer and fewer moments that truly stayed with him, yet his time with Claude was not one of those fleeting memories that easily faded away.
He was then pulled abruptly from his thoughts by the unexpected warmth of Claude's hands cradling his face. His brow knited in confusion, only for his eyes to widen as he realised Claude was leaning closer.
"What are youâ"
The question never made it past his lips, as Claude's mouth met his own, cutting him off mid-sentence. It was chaste, no little more than the gentle brush of lips, but it was enough to leave Dimitri's mind utterly blank. A soft bewildered sound escaped him, somewhere between a whine and a sigh before Claude drew away. Whatever Claude said afterward didnât reach him, the words dissolving into meaningless noise beneath the frantic pounding of his heart.
Heat flooded his face until his cheeks ached with it. With trembling fingers, he reached up to touch his lips, as though he could somehow preserve the lingering warmth of the kiss.
His very first kissâŠand Claude had taken it from him so offhandedly. The thought should have bothered him, yet all he could think was how desperately he wished for Claude to do it again.
"I⊠I don'tâŠ" Dimitri swallowed, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, thoughts refusing to settle. "What was the meaning of that? I understand your promise to be more cautious, but⊠why did you take my first kiss?" He asked tentatively, voice growing quieter toward the end of his words.
His confusion and mortification warred within him, partially making him want to flee and put as much distance between himself and this bewildering encounter as possible so he could gather his thoughts in private. Yet, despite every instinct urging him to retreat, the confession spilled from his lips before he could stop them.
"Not that I⊠disliked it," he hurried to clarify, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I did... But⊠I don't understand."
Dimitri doesn't think his personality is good. He worked so hard for a hot body thinking it'd be enough only for Claude to say he likes people with good personality. Bless.
Dimitri sighed internally, knowing Claude had seen through his lie, a quiet apprehension settling over him at the possibility that it might have altered the man's opinion of him. He'd grown fond of Claude in such a short time, enough that the thought of their budding friendship soured over something as insignificant as a white lie leaving an unpleasant weight in his chest. Had his investigation not been so important to him, he would've answered with complete honesty, but the fact remained that they barely knew one another, and Dimitri couldn't entirely rule out the possibility that Claude harbored motives that could clash with his own. Though it was likely improbable, with the stakes as high as they were, it seemed wiser to err on the side of caution.Â
Before he could dwell on the matter any further, he found himself being pulled away from his seat, offering only quiet protests as he asked Claude where exactly he intended to take him. They ended up in an inconspicuous corner tucked away behind the bookshelves; one Dimitri himself had used on occasion when slipping back to his room with books borrowed from the restricted section.Â
Subtly confronted with the lie he'd told earlier, Dimitri frowned, the guilt of his deception weighing on his conscience, though he found himself quietly relieved by the fact that Claude's voice carried no trace of anger or disappointment in them. The question that followed, however, gave him pause. For a moment, he remained silent, his gaze drifting away from Claude's as a faint melancholy settled over his expression. He had already revealed far more than he intended, and though he was frustrated with himself for being so easily read, he supposed there was little use in continuing to dance around the subject.Â
âYes... I am. But it actually has very little to do with the Church. I'm simply trying to cover all my basesâŠâ It was clear from his tone that he intended to offer little more on the subject, firmly resolved to disclose only what was necessary and refusing to jeopardise the integrity of his investigation in any capacity.Â
The smile he'd worn moments earlier before he had inadvertently compromised himself, slowly returned to Dimitri's features, unable to resist Claude's boyish enthusiasm and complete lack of hesitation when it came to prying into secrets never intended for their eyes. Had anyone else made such a proposition, he likely would've dismissed it outright, doubting their perspective would offer anything particularly enlightening. But Claude was different. He had a way of approaching problems from angles Dimitri never would have considered, uncovering possibilities that others overlooked and finding answers hidden beneath layers most would never think to examine.Â
With him, Dimitri knew there was value to be found, and while whatever they uncovered might not directly advance his personal investigation, he suspected the knowledge would still prove invaluable to him once he eventually took the throne. âPerhaps I could... Though I must ask, what do you intend to do once you have obtained this information? As much as I would welcome whatever truths we uncover being shared between us, I must urge you not to intentionally place yourself in opposition to the Church. While I swear that the Kingdom will stand behind you, I cannot yet wield the authority to shield you until I have come of age.â
Waitâwhat's this? For a moment there, Claude wasn't sure if he'd done something, but Dimitri is surely shaking in his boots. He isn't... frightened, was he? No one, not even the palace servants back in Almyra would even thought of him being scary. A young princeling unbeloved by the court, and should his father's concubines succeed in assassinating the one threat to the throne, their sons would have been king. So this is something new at the very least. "Hey, what did I do?" He leans against his elbow lolled at the side of Dimitri's head. "You look like you'd seen a ghost. It makes me feel a little bad. I wasn't going overboard, was I?" Oh he would loathe to make an enemy of Faerghu's future king. Who knew that Dimitri would be so delicate? "If I did, I'm sorry, alright?" Here. He places the book back in the blond boy's grasp and he leans back, though he couldn't help but feel the air between them heating up a little.
That should put them back on good terms.
"I'm more surprised that you're not angry at me for investigating the church. Isn't Faerghus the Holy Kingdom of Fodlan? By right, you would be interrogating me for questioning the church, and yet I find you on my side..." Cover his bases, huh? Sounds interesting, though Dimitri was practically shaking when he said those words. Claude tells himself that it's a secret he would love as a bed time story, but maybe now's not the time to try his luck.
Normally he would keep pushing, keep prodding. Anything that would get him the kind of information he wouldn't be hearing elsewhere. But for some reason Dimitri manages to invoke some kind of knight in shining armour instinct from within him. He decides to give Dimitri time, to not push him too far when he appears to be near his breaking point. Maybe, maybe once they're closer friends, he might ask.
Though the prince's next words were something he would never have prepared himself for.
'I cannot yet wield the authority to shield you until I have come of age.'
Claude freezes, taken aback by such bold and daring claims. They'd known each other fairly well with all things considered and the short amount of time he's spent here, but nothing would have prepared him for the promise Dimitri is making. "I - Do you make such promises for just anybody?" He sighs. "Of course you do. You are Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. What did Faerghus do to raise such a good king? I almost feel unworthy to call you my equal once we both inherit our leadership." He's not ashamed to admit it, but he could never imagine having that kind of selflessness that Dimitri does. A man has got to look out for himself. "I appreciate the effort, but it kind of makes me uncomfortable to owe you such a huge favour - I feel comfortable relying on myself, though..." He places a hand on Dimitri's shoulder. "I could use a helping hand in sneaking into the forbidden section. The books I want are on the highest shelf, you see, and I am not even two meters tall... If you lend me your shoulder to sit on, I'll tell you what it says in those books too. Shall we have a deal?"
Dimitri pursed his lips, finding himself quietly at odds with what Claude had said, even if the remark seemed to have been delivered almost absentmindedly and without much conviction. Whether it was intentional or not, Dimitri had begun to notice that Claude had a habit of diminishing both himself and his own abilities. Humility was an admirable quality, but carried to excess it became little more than an unfair disservice to oneself. There was value in recognising one's own accomplishments after all, and Dimitri believed such acknowledgments were just as important to maintaining a healthy mind as modesty itself.Â
âI believe you have the wrong impression of me. Even so, please know there has never been a moment in which I regarded you as anything less than my equal.â He knew his sudden seriousness would likely catch Claude off guard, but it was important that the man understood this to be the case. Time and time again he had been described as overly generous, but what people failed to realise was that many of those instances had required little of him in the first place. They were simple matters, the sort resolved with a passing instruction or the wave of a hand before entrusting them to someone more qualified, one of the many privileges afforded to him by virtue of being the crown prince. Therefore, it had never felt particularly noble in his eyes.
When it came to his friends however, or those he held near and dear, it was different. There was no sense of obligation or expectation guiding him then, only sincerity, and whenever he was able, he preferred to see to such matters himself rather than leave them in another's hands. Yet he had never regarded that as anything worthy of praise. Was that not simply what anyone else would do for those they cared about?
It was not that Dimitri believed himself incapable of kindness, only that he struggled to understand why others seemed so determined to make it the defining measure of his character when to him it had always felt like nothing more than the natural thing to do.
âA favour? Claude, thatâs not what this wasâŠbe serious, please, and justâŠpromise me youâll keep what I said in mind?â With Claude refusing to give him an answer on whether he would ever openly oppose the Church, Dimitri could not help but feel uneased. He knew Claude wasnât the sort of person to act recklessly without first ensuring he had some means of success, but even so, he was hardly subtle in his defiance, his disdain whenever Seteth appeared to confiscate materials deemed unsuitable for consumption plain for all to see.Â
âVery well... I concede. I canât deny my own curiosity as well.â Dimitri sighed, resting his face against his palm as Claude patted his shoulder, resigning himself to the fact that they were about to undertake something reckless. He had already worked out how to slip in and out of the restricted section unnoticed on his own, but having Claude accompany him complicated matters considerably. Still, if they succeeded, they would finally have the chance to examine the contents of the higher shelves, ones that had remained just out of reach without a ladder readily available.
Dimitri didn't react to the hand resting on his shoulder, the warmth radiating through Claude's palm and into his back proving strangely comforting, mingling with that familiar scent of pine and timber that had once possessed an uncanny ability to strip away his defenses. Its effect wasn't nearly as potent as it once had been, yet lingered all the same, refusing to yield even to his own current stubborn resolve.Â
He really shouldn't have agreed to let Claude share his bed. With the man lying so close beside him, his natural scent was intoxicating, stirring something deep and carnal in Dimitri's abdomen that he neither wished to acknowledge nor felt was appropriate under the circumstances. His lingering feelings were showing him little mercy, and the goddess even less, as though determined to compound his misery by allowing Claude to grow into precisely the sort of man who fit every one of his youthful standards. Had they met like this years ago, Dimitri doubted his younger self would've managed to meet Claude's gaze without flustering and stumbling over every other word.
ActuallyâŠwho was he trying to fool? Were his mind not occupied by matters far more pressing than his own desires, he suspected he wouldn't fare much better now.
He was surprised when the hand withdrew sooner than expected, unaccustomed to Claude relinquishing matters so easily, though he could hardly complain when it afforded him a chance to collect himself. Unsurprisingly the reprieve proved short lived as the bed shifted again, and before long Claude's hands were cupping his face, drawing the violent urge from the beastly prince to sink his teeth into the offending palm for being so audacious.
Despite himself, he resisted the impulse, opting instead to take Claude's wrist and ease his hand away from his face. As he did however, his gaze lingered on Claude's fingers, a thought settling in his mind.Â
Releasing Claude's hand for a moment, Dimitri slipped the prayer ring - a family heirloom that had been passed down through generations - from his own finger before carefully sliding it onto Claude's ring finger. Under any other circumstances, he never would've been able to so easily part with something his mother had entrusted to him. It helped knowing that Claude had never placed much value on opulent or treasured possessions, which was precisely why Dimitri found himself able to do it, knowing that should he ever ask for it back, Claude wouldn't think twice about returning it.
Though he'd heard every word Claude had rambled off, Dimitri wasn't sure how to respond. Communication no longer came as naturally to him as it once had. More often than not, his thoughts dissolved before he could settle on what was worth voicing. Then there was the simple fact that he had little desire to communicate at all, much less confide in someone whom he still harbored reservations about. He knew that eventually he would have to place his trust in Claude, but the man's insistence on cornering him for it again and again over the course of a single day was beginning to wear his patience.
In the end, he remained steadfast in refusing to indulge Claude's probing, choosing instead to turn over and face him and witness what had been made of his sudden offering.
No answer, again? Dimitri has never been the most chattiest person in the room, but the prince wasn't desert-silent either. He is ready to withdraw his hand when warmth tucks at it, dragging it to beneath the sheets. Dimitri's breath brushes his knuckles and Claude shudders for a moment. He expects a kiss; he expects Dimitri to press his lips to his palm as he works his way up his wrist as he was so fond of doing when they were still figuring out what lingered between them. But instead he feels something cold pressed onto his palm, then slips into his ring finger. He blinks, confused.
Dimitri lets his hand go and he tumbles back onto his side of the bed. The cold band clings to his finger, tighter now than it feels when Dimitri had slipped it in. Claude tries to slip it off. He tries once. Twice. Thrice. But the ring is stubborn. "What's this, Dimitri?" But the prince's humour of his whims ended minutes ago. He drags his gaze to the ring again and couldn't help admiring the ocean-blue jewel sitting in the centre of it, couldn't help noticing how much they resembled Dimitri's eyes. It looks beautiful. And it looks like it might have once upon a time belonged to a woman. And surely, that woman cannot be Dimitri's stepmother? He'd mentioned of his stepmother a couple of times, but when Claude tries to prod further for forbidden secrets, it seemed like the one thing Dimitri was adamant about keeping a secret of. No amount of sweet words and earnest promises could loosen his tongue.
Claude had to go through his life facing harsh truths. Truths he thought he could ignore if he smiled hard enough to pretend that they weren't true. Maybe that was why everyone thought of him a starry-eyed kid, thought that he's easily satisfied as long as he has a roof above his head and he didn't starve to death, but that was never quite the truth, was it? There were a lot of things Claude fantasized of having â friends, peers, classmates, hobbies, pets, books and a tea set and sometimes, even teddy bears, everything a child born of noble birth would never deny themselves of having. But this ring. Hm. It's too much of a luxury that Claude has never even considered whether he ever wanted one or not. He knew it was the sort of thing people like his grandfather would have at least three on one hand and three more on the other.
And the sort of things kings bestowed upon his subjects as a formal recognition of their contributions, their sacrifice.
He tries to take it off again to inspect how the thing worked, but with no viable success. Dimitri had gotten to sleep now, his snores not nearly as loud as Nardel's, but suffice to hear from where he laid. Claude turns on his side, pressing his back against Dimitri's to bask in the warmth it offers as he twists and turns to wrap most of the blankets around himself.
Dimitri had intended to explain the purpose of the ring, but exhaustion was beginning to weigh heavily upon him, knowing that if he spoke now Claude would likely draw the conversation out for another hour, not having the energy left to continue indulging him. With the familiar scent of pine surrounding him, his body slipped into a state of ease, the tension leaving his muscles, breath slowing into a steady rhythm while his eyelid drooped shut.Â
No dreams came to disturb him throughout the night, though his body still shifted restlessly from time to time, his legs becoming tangled with Claude's beneath the blankets at some point. Come morning, neither of them acknowledged the fact they had somehow ended up facing one another, nor the way their eyes met the instant they awoke. Instead, they both quietly averted their gaze, choosing to busy themselves with other matters at the start of their morning.
The situation unfolding at Derdriu was laid before everyone after breakfast, Dimitri resistant to the idea of participating in the operation until mention was made of the Death Knight. The intelligence that had been gathered suggested there was a possibility the Emperor herself would make the journey to personally reinforce him, and with that, any lingering hesitation he harbored quickly fell away.
From then on, he threw himself into the preparations alongside Claude, doing what he could to hasten their departure and speaking little throughout the bustle of the camp. He offered only the occasional word when necessary, though was otherwise diligent, so much so that he could feel the stares of his own knights burning into his back.
It took them three days to reach the outskirts of Derdriu, where they established camp, shared a hearty meal, and reviewed their formations and strategies one final time to ensure they would move as a single, cohesive force when dawn broke.Â
That evening, as the camp settled and the soldiers sought what little rest they could before the coming battle, Dimitri caught Claude quietly slipping out of their shared tent. Curiosity getting the better of him, Dimitri followed at a distance as the man mounted his wyvern beneath the cover of night, concealing himself behind the tent flap. He made no attempt to stop him or call out, simply watching in silence as Claude disappeared into the darkened sky before quietly turning back.Â
By morning, Claude was once again at his side as though he had never left at all, and from there the hours seemed to pass in a blur, preparations giving way to action as their combined forces marched upon Derdriu.
Troops from House Edmund had been called upon to aid their campaign, providing the fleet Claude, Leonie, Sylvain, and Felix would use to launch a surprise assault on the port, while Dimitri advanced from the front alongside the remainder of the Blue Lions and Golden Deer, drawing the Imperial forces' attention as planned.
Despite being outnumbered, they carved through the enemy ranks with remarkable efficiency, their resolve seeming only to strengthen as the battle wore on. They reached Judith just as she was standing off against the last of the soldiers surrounding her, lending what aid they could before the skirmish could overwhelm her.Â
Dimitri however, did not remain long enough to inquire after her condition. Leaving the others to see to Judith, he pressed onward with the battalion assigned to him, his attention fixed solely on challenging Jeritza and then finding Edelgard before she slipped beyond his reach. Ashe, Ingrid, and Hilda were quick to notice and hurried after him, though he made no effort to slow his pace and allow them to catch up.
As they continued cutting through the remaining soldiers, weaving through the winding streets of Derdriu in pursuit of their target, Dimitri eventually caught sight of the man commanding the forces ahead. Yet the figure standing at the helm was not Jeritza.
It was his uncle, Arundel.
The sheer number of soldiers surrounding him prevented Dimitri from confronting him directly, forcing him to cut a path through the manâs entourage before he could reach him. Arundel, seemingly aware that he could not hold out indefinitely, did everything in his power to delay the inevitable, sacrificing the lives of his own soldiers to buy whatever time he had left.
Then something at the edge of Dimitri's vision caught his attention.
Evidently, he was not the only one to notice, as their own surrounding soldiers lifted their heads toward the object cutting across the sky above them. Confusion spread across their faces at first, uncertainty twisting into alarm as they attempted to comprehend what they were seeing until recognition struck, expressions shifting into one of dread.
Before anyone could make sense of what was happening, they were engulfed by a deafening explosion.
The force of the impact sent them stumbling backward a few steps from where they stood, while dust and debris erupted through the streets, filling the air and obscuring their vision, leaving them momentarily disoriented. Fortunately, they had been far enough from the blast that its effects were only temporary, requiring little more than a few moments to regain their bearings,clear the dust and soot from their eyes, and hack out through the remnants that had found their way into their lungs.Â
Dimitri was the first to recover, sheer stubbornness carrying him through the disorientation as he rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision, forcing himself to cough as he cleared the dust from his throat and taking in the damage surrounding them. The streets were littered with debris, the nearby buildings cracked and battered from the impact, yet amid the destruction one thing stood out immediately.
Arundel was gone, seemingly vanished among the very soldiers who had surrounded him moments before.
From a few paces away, Dimitri heard a sharp hitch of breath from Hilda and turned toward the sound, only to find her eyes already brimming with tears. âC-Claude... no... no, please...â
The words were sorrowfully spoken with a shaky sniff, the possible reality settling and overwhelming before she could bring herself to calm down. Ingrid was beside her almost immediately, pulling her into a firm embrace as she attempted to console her.Â
âEveryone... we need to go. NOW!â
The urgency in Hilda's voice was unmistakable, but the command carried little of its usual confidence. She looked unsteady on her feet, as though forcing herself to remain upright through stubborn will alone, clearly in no state to move forward. Dimitri didn't catch whatever quiet reassurances Ingrid offered her, his attention already drawn elsewhere, his feet carrying him toward the site of the explosion before his mind could fully comprehend the situation unfolding before him.
Everything felt distant.
The sounds around him dulled into a meaningless haze, like static roaring in his ears, while the reality of what might have happened remained just beyond his grasp. He felt numb, unable to confront the grim prospect forming in the back of his mind.
The girls had yet to catch up, but Ashe had already reached him, calling out orders to their combined troops before moving out to follow Dimitri.Â
