#| azure.

[moliinar]

starter call @cichole​​ !​

Chef Dedue, covered in flour as he was, watched on as Flayn stomped away to tend to her equally rumpled self. In her place stood her brother ( although of this Dedue had his suspicions ) as rightfully astounded as he likely should be-- for merely this morning the Monastery's well used kitchen had been spotless and now it was a ruin. Dedue, equally baffled as he was, remained in the girls dust; appearing largely unbothered. Amused, in fact, if the slight crinkle at his eyes betrayed such.

❛You seem fond.❜

Obvious perhaps to many, yet to others it may not be so. Protectiveness could just as easily be read as overbearing, as stifling, as strict-- but Dedue, as attentive as he was, would not deem it thus. To Dedue it was clear that there was loss each little action, in each exasperated word-- and there was love in it, too. A far cry to many of the souls in this corner of the world. Since arriving in Faerghus, and since joining the Academy alongside His Highness, Dedue has witnessed further tragedy in the faces of his peers. In brothers forced to battle until either was slain. In fathers willingly abandoning their child in their haste to flee that which they suffered. In others, unsure how to communicate, some barely bothering even in that. For Dedue, who had grown within a tight support system, in the warmth of his mothers arms, within the unyielding love of his father, surrounding by the laughter of his siblings-- what he has seen since has been frustrating in the uselessness of it all. To think that one could still have their kin, in both heart and home, and yet would do little for it.

Seteth was clearly an outlier, and Dedue found himself curious. If anything, it was a boon. A refreshing sight among a field riddled with war.

[moliinar]

starter call @lasthalt​ !

❛I will not scold you,❜ Nevertheless, there is a chide in Dedue’s tone. ❛but if you wish to hide here, at least busy yourself.❜ 

A somewhat polite method of saying, quite plainly, that the other man was in the way. While the greenhouse has always been something of a sanctuary - of which was the reason Dedue had sequestered himself within the simple nature of its glass walls all those years ago to begin with - Dedue must admit that at times he would rather prefer its usual solitude. Sylvain was hardly a large menace, however. In all honesty, the man was usually something of a delight. Polite when need be. Stubborn in others. And-- in many ways, shockingly intelligent. 

Dedue had misunderstood Sylvain once, but no longer.

Still, whatever Sylvain was avoiding at present - and Dedue wished not to presume - the greenhouse had not been tended to in many a year, and Dedue was just one lone man. There was plenty to be done, little time to do it, and far too much on the mind.

And it was better to be put to work than to linger in doubt.

[moliinar]

starter call @awakenfate​ !

❛Mercedes.❜  

Although his voice remains calm, deep with the warmth of it, it’s stress that laces the typically gentle line of his mouth. Yet another battlefield conquered, and yet even more wounds spread across their force-- though no more than the usual. And while he makes his way to her side, boots upon mud and trampled grass, the injuries in which he sees are small enough in nature for the edge of worry to ease ever so slight. Mercedes was their healer, and always the fearsome force. It would not stand to leave her be when she had tended to them all so carefully in the past-- in the present, still.

It wasn’t that Dedue was alone in wishing to offer help-- rather, the others were likely busy with their own wounds, and in all likeliness had not wished to contend with his hasty footsteps: quick in action, faultless in response. His priority would always be His Highness, but after that? His concern was free to wander.

Thus Dedue kneels, hand outstretched, gaze attentive. And, confident in her ability to make it through this well and largely unscathed, a smile makes its way. She was hurt, yes, but he would lend aid-- and all would be as it should. 

And it’s through this that the smallest attempt at humor blossoms its way forth, despite the blood on their skin.

❛It seems you are the one in need of aid, today.❜   

[moliinar]

starter call @flamecrest​ !

Dedue worries, like a constant, aching thing. Yet another untouched plate and yet another wound left to fester. While Dimitri’s body had been honed into a weapon, it was rusted and mangled with misuse, ravaged with the pain Dedue saw in each snarl and raged word. Dimitri was not well - had never been, not since Dedue had known him - but this still could not be left to stand.

To witness him reduced to such a state--- it was another tragedy among many notched into already battered wood.

Oh, goddess of Fódlan. How could you let your son suffer, so?

Heavy brows even heavier now with the weight of yet another unsatisfactory evening diligently preparing a meal destined to grow cold upon the cathedral’s stone floor, Dedue reminds himself that this would just be yet another test of endurance, and that while his efforts may seem useless for the time being they would never be in vain. There was a sliver of hope that still settled across their army’s backs, still summoned that yet-untaken exhale of breath. It was that which still convinced Felix to linger nearby, as unsettled as he was-- and it was that which continued to coax the professor here, too. 

A lonely cathedral despite the number of souls that lingered within its walls. 

Quietly, as though not to disturb the haunted royal still stood deep within the buildings maw, his head fails to angle towards companion as mouth parts on a greeting. Tired as he was, Dedue speaks with the certainly of one who knows he will be heard. While others had barely offered him the time, either out of disgust or fear, such had never been the case with the professor. Another being that preferred the quiet, the consistency of it, and the straightforwardness of words not uselessly uttered.

 ❛I worry there is little else I can do.❜

[moliinar]

starter call @songbinding​ !

❛It appears to be a mild head cold, nothing more.❜ 

Dedue is no healer. He is of axe, of fire and dirt, of blood under fingernails and cracked armour ‘neath feet. His domain is the battlefield, as is all of them now-- no longer mere students living the days away, ambling by as their professors willed them to: but tools of war, aeons of vengeance and--- 

Companionship, now. 

Dedue is no healer, yet it is plants that he knows. While the stench of death clings to their feet, it is the small joys of little greeneries and sprigs and thorns that he finds his comfort. That hands like his could do more than just hurt, but could grow, could nurture, could tend. A medicinal herb could help soothe Annette’s apparent trouble, or perhaps mint, or ginger mixed with boiled water and a treat of honey. Lips remain shut about a contemplative hum, gentle hands flecked merrily with the soils in which they worked, busying themselves with a new task. Yes, ginger would do. 

He wonders why she had not simply gone to Mercedes. A ploy, then? A harmless ruse? Or perhaps the result of another unfortunate row.

[moliinar]

starter call @blaimed​ !

Here in close quarters, away from prying eyes and the expectations that followed-- His Majesty is not His Majesty, but is instead Dimitri. Saviour King is dear friend, royalty is man, and titles are striped away like a scab from irritating wound. To Dedue, Dimitri has always been this: a partner, a second half, the other side to a tragedy that had worn them down and remade them both. While mouth betrayed the mind, required to appease in order to survive-- it is only now when reparations are a steady, young construct, that title gives way to name and companionship evolves in kind. 

This new comfort, of course, allows for familiar territory to stay its root. There is a chide upon his lips, though tender in speech. He wishes not to mother, but instead to coax as ones friend would-- a worry carefully placed, mindful of the body the other man seemed all too practiced in disregarding.

❛Come now. The moon is far too high for you to be hunched over papers, still.❜