Gardening was something Dedue very much enjoyed, so whenever he was scheduled for tending to the greenhouse, it was less a chore than a pleasant reprieve from his typical routine. It could almost be said that for him, it was more of a religious experience–unlike choir practice. It perhaps ought to have been the opposite, but he had little interest in the Goddess of Fódlan. No, the direct participation in the life cycle provided by the natural world was something far more powerful for him, both because it resembled more closely his Duscur spiritual roots, but also because it was simply closer, more present and real, and tangible; it wasn’t so unreachable and abstract as some far away Goddess sitting in her heavenly theatre as the story of life played out before her.
Today, however, he would not be able to devote his full attention to such esoteric niceties, although he couldn’t say he was entirely displeased, either. The Professor had seemed to finally comprehend the most important of his duties, a task that exceeded any significance of lessons, training, and class chores: serving his Highness, Dimitri, crown prince and heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Faerghus. Truly, if he trained, it was in order to be Dimitri’s weapon and shield; if he studied, it was only to aid his soon-to-be King; and if he gardened, it was solely for the purpose of producing the highest-quality ingredients for the sake of his Highness’s health. So for the Professor to pair the two in their chores, be it in the kitchen, stables, or the greenhouse, the Duscur man was grateful, as it allowed him both to work and keep an ever-watchful eye on the only person who mattered to him in all the world.
And yet it did not come without challenges all its own…
“Dedue,” his lord called him, drawing his attention away from a small patch of root vegetables and out of his thoughts. “Shall I weed this section over here today? Or perhaps I could assist you in…” Dimitri paused a moment, fair brows furrowing as he concentrated for a moment, “…in whatever it is you’re presently doing?”
A slow blink was the most Dedue would permit himself in reaction to the blond’s eagerness to help in spite of his own naïvite toward all things proletarian.
“You needn’t trouble yourself at all, Your Highness.” he answered in his typical stern tone. “This sort of work does not befit one with such status as yourself. Please permit me to perform this lowly task in your stead. Should you wish to return the favour, then you may credit me half the work when we report to the Professor.” Of course, Dedue knew his benevolent prince would never allow such a thing. But he’d curse himself for a solid year (at least!) if he didn’t at least put in some effort to preserve Dimitri’s elevated purpose in life..
“That’s your idea of equal compensation, is it?” Dimitri chuckled. Even though it was sourced in objection, Dedue couldn’t prevent the corners of his own lips from quirking upward at the sound of his amusement. “You do all of the work, and receive half the credit? That’s hardly fair!”
“I do not recall mention of equality or fairness, Your Highness. But if we were to discuss it, then I would argue that it is indeed unfair for anyone, Professor, institution, or otherwise, to demand such menial tasks from a man who will soon be King.”
The disappointed sigh he received in answer crumbled any resolve Dedue might have otherwise possessed to argue further. But of course, Dimitri, the man who truly was far too generous to be king–too willing to lower himself for a bearer of such high status–ensured that the Duscur’s protests were as buried as they were dead.
“My friend,” he pleaded in his devastatingly charming baritone voice. “Do not make me order you to let me to assist you. I couldn’t bear it.”
“Nor could I, Your Highness.” Dedue conceded, his tone softer and gentler now, a deep melodic timbre only Dimitri’s ears were privileged enough to hear. As apology, yet not an apology in the sense that it was meant as a statement that their positions hadn’t changed despite concession–and only because the two were isolated behind closed greenhouse doors–the taller man, only lower for his kneeling over the root vegetable patch, reached out his hand toward the prince. And that tender-hearted prince, knowing full well what was and was not meant by the gesture, neared and extended his own so that his self-proclaimed vassal could slip his fingers beneath the bend of his fingers, guide his hand to his lips, and kiss the spot where there would one day rest a ring. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” A kiss of apology; it was as much a kiss of servitude.
“Only when you forgive me, Dedue.”
“But there is nothing to forgive…?”
“Then at last, we are in agreement.” The crown prince smiled, and it was the Duscur’s turn to let out a chuckle. They broke contact so that Dimitri could motion a hand over Dedue’s current project. “Now, what is it that you’re doing, and how can I be of assistance?”
“I’m merely planting root vegetable seeds, here. And then there is another clear path set aside for planting herbs. A monk reported to have done the weeding earlier today, so all that remains after planting the seeds is fertilising the new plants, and watering the others.”
“Seems simple enough.” Dimitri knelt down next to his friend. “ Alright. Show me how to plant the seeds, and perhaps I shall plant the herbs? And we could split the watering between us?”
“Indeed, but please allow me the sole task of fertilising the garden.”
There was a moment’s pause before it was Dimitri’s turn to concede, no doubt concluding it simply wasn’t worth the hassle of another argument. “…Very well.”
“Thank you. Now let us begin.”
The speed at which Dimitri could transform a simple task into absolute disaster shouldn’t have surprised him anymore, yet only a few moments had passed and to say the finely cultivated topsoil had become a mess would be an understatement to say the least. And all he could do was kneel beside his deafeningly silent friend in ungovernable shock and embarrassment. The once-neat and carefully-prepared patch of soil meant for the onion, carrot, and turnip seeds now bore a rough and cragged appearance far more suitable for stable grounds than a greenhouse–let alone one of the most well-known and most botanically diverse greenhouses in all of Fódlan! Really! How could he have possibly expected any other outcome? How was it that after all his years of accidentally snapping weapons and shattering fine glassware–and that one time he’d accidentally splintered the chestplate of his father’s ceremonial armour, costing who-knew-how-much to replace–and yet not learned his lesson? If his hands were involved, there was no small chance that, if not immediately, he would, at some point, break or ruin whatever it was he was holding or trying to do.
Dedue, having spent so much time near the young prince over the past four years, nearer than anyone had and quite possibly ever would be to him, was intimately aware of what was going on in Dimitri’s mind. The blond was no doubt burying himself in self-ridicule. He felt utterly inept–completely and undeniably worthless–for failing to perform a simple task. Perhaps he would even misinterpret the Duscur’s silence as a sign of his disappointment. This could not be further from the truth, of course; there was never a moment when Dedue lacked pride in his future king, and this would be made clear quickly enough once Dimitri recovered himself, or offered Dedue some indicator of exactly where he was in the spiral of his own mind. He’d long since discovered that anything said prior to meeting one of these conditions would yield little to no benefit.
In less than a moment, which seemed much longer to the both of them, the blond’s features faded from shock to calm resignation. After another few seconds passed, he sighed deeply.
“I… I’m sorry, Dedue. I’ve created more work for you.” He said, finally. Dedue remained still, knowing these were not words to be addressed. A few seconds later, Dimitri continued: “I did my best, truly. But I suppose you were right to suggest that I do nothing.”
“You overcorrected.” Dedue stated simply. “That is all.” He hadn’t allowed himself even to move while the young lord came back to himself, but now that there was conversation, he bent forward to gather and sweep the soil back into its assigned plot of space, carefully evening it out. He didn’t bother to search for or recover the seeds that his highness had attempted to sow; there were plenty enough in the pouch they’d been given to cover for any mishaps. He’d simply have to monitor the growth of the vegetables to make sure nothing sprouted where it shouldn’t, a task he’d have to do regardless of a few lost seeds.
“You said I was pressing too hard.” the blond said, full of regret as he began walking them through what had happened.
“And then you said I was pressing too softly.” Dimitri sounded even sadder now.
“And then…” A pregnant pause.
“You overcorrected.” Dedue repeated, not allowing his delicate lord to leap into the void of his mind a second time. “You pressed too hard into the soil again. And because it’s loosely packed when planting, you slid forward and had to catch yourself. If anything, the fault is my own for not having caught you quickly enough. How are your clothes?”
“My clothes are just fine.” the blond answered with a frown as he glanced down at his sleeves. Only the cuffs of them were dusted over. “And I cannot allow–”
“Good as new.” the taller man concluded as he finished re-setting the soil.He’d only needed those last few seconds to properly begin redirecting his friend. “Do you disagree, your highness?” His mouth was still open from his attempt to protest Dedue taking any blame. He closed it as his focus shifted to the now perfectly neat patch of soil. And before he could comment at all, Dedue placed a hand over one of the young prince’s, which had up to now been resting palm-down on the tiled floor of the greenhouse. The unexpected touch seemed to startle the blond, and he glanced up at his supposed vassal with a questioning look. “Shall I clear the dust from your hands, or do you wish to continue?”
After a few blinks, Dimitri’s brilliantly blue eyes widened as he realised what was being asked. His answer was slow to come out.
“You… You would consider continuing with me after…” His gaze slid over to the restored plot before returning to meet Dedue’s own. Secretly, Dedue delighted in watching his expression shift in the smallest ways from pure confusion to cautious hope as he struggled to comprehend the fact that he’d even been offered a second chance.
“Of course I would, Your Highness.” came the answer to that unfinished question. “You said you wished to help, did you not?”
The prince swallowed. His nod was so slight that had Dedue blinked, he might have missed it. He was grateful he hadn’t.
“Then we shall try once more.”
The second attempt to plant the root vegetable seeds yielded a far better result than the first. Dedue had come up with what he’d hoped, and what proved to be,a better method of understanding the proper manner of seed-planting than simple verbal instructions. He carried several spare hair ties on his person at all time, ever prepared in case anything should happen to the one he wore. It was generally unlikely, but after the first few times it happened, he figured it was better to be prepared than risk looking less than properly presentable next to His Highness. And this preparedness was all the more beneficial today, as they found second purpose: by loosely tying Dimitri’s fingers to his own–placing his larger fingers behind his lord’s more slender ones–he was able to simultaneously instruct him more practically and get the seeds planted. This method proved so successful that by the third row of seeds (five in all were to be planted in the patch), his adorable young lord had become emboldened enough to attempt planting a few seeds using his own strength while Duscur fingers rested against his, just in case. The third row of seeds required only minimal intervention, none for the fourth row, and the final row was planted solely by Dimitri, their hands separated.
This process was repeated when planting the herbs in the second garden patch and was even more successful than the root vegetables due to the crown prince’s gained experience. The initial blunder preceding this had long been forgotten, replaced by the joy of achievement. To say which of the two was more pleased would have been impossible. And both of their delight was sourced from and directed toward the other: Dimitri was proud of Dedue for being such a patient and excellent teacher; Dedue was proud of Dimitri for persevering and succeeding in the end.
At the planting of the final seed, the crown prince turned his head toward his friend. When the Duscur simply nodded his approval at his work, he beamed, then caught himself and laughed quietly as he shifted away from the edge of the soil so that he could stretch his legs out straight. Dedue couldn’t help but smile seeing his lord so happy, and reached for his hands so that he could clean the dirt from them. He raised a curious brow at the sound of the blond’s laughter.
“It must seem silly,” he explained, “to be so excited by planting seeds.”
“Not at all, Your Highness.” Dedue answered as he dipped a cleaning cloth into a small bowl of soapy water. He scrubbed each hand gently and thoroughly. “You did well. It would be concerning if you were not pleased by your success.”
“I suppose that’s true, but…” Dimitri paused, considering his next comment as Dedue began working to clear the dirt beneath his nails. “Well, frankly, I don’t just feel excited. I’m also, ah, a bit worn out from concentrating so hard.” He laughed again. “Otherwise I’d be fighting you over washing my own hands.” Dedue didn’t laugh, but the corners of his lips quirked upward a little more, and stayed like that until Dimitri’s hands were rinsed and pristine.
It was more or less mutually agreed that the young prince would rest while Dedue completed the remainder of the work. Dedue offered to escort him to his room for comfort, but Dimitri preferred to remain in the greenhouse so that they could leave and report to the Professor together. All in all, both left the greenhouse quite satisfied, though neither could be certain they’d want to repeat the day’s adventure.
That would be a decision (and adventure) for another day.
