#Brynn Route | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brynn-lear · 2 months ago

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Notes: @brynn-lear come get ur food. also this didn't turn into yandere but. um. well how about we talk about yandere stuff about this fic after you've read it ok I can't spoil this fic can I (gods I'm talking like this fic has some super mega twist it really doesn't---)

Now that I have more free time from hell than usual, I will now barge into your DMs for this. /hj

btw folks this is the fic that guaranteed Aventurine's route for whodrankit this was One Of The Greatest Trades Of All Time and man is it worth it, everyone better fricking read this, it's my husband—

Crispy Dandelions [Dimitri x F!Reader]

Fire is comfort. It warms your soul and eases your mind; even if there's always a little bit of ash that lands on your tongue. But some people only taste the ash, being engulfed in the flames. And sometimes, it fizzles out all too quickly. (Or: a slow burn about your first ever crush!)

Ao3

WC: 15.5k

TW: choose not to use archive warnings but tbh nothing much besides reader's family being kinda very utterly shit

White clouds dot the sky as transient wisps, frolicking in the baby blue sky. It’s innocent and immature, unable to fathom that it shall become heavy and gray. The only thing it can comprehend of this time to come is the rain that follows, and terrifyingly clear skies. As such, white clouds will always frolick in light of its youth, but gray will always loom, inescapable.

…You really need to stop procrastinating. You grimace at the paper in front of you, remarkably empty given the time you’ve spent in front of it. It’s due in a few days, and you should really just it over with; thereby giving you at least half a day of glorious, glorious idling! And also because there’s been substantial talk of a new sweets shop that has opened in town; said to rival the oneS even back at Fhirdiad! As if you’d be late to the party. You should—no, must—finish this assignment so you can get there first thing in the morning, so you may pick from the entire assortment! Plus, you may even be able to pair some up with the tea and bread served at the bakery…

Oh and you guess it’s unbecoming for you to leave work unfinished, seeing as your slated to inherit the family business…And then your thoughts drift off again.

Your mouth waters at the mere thought of such a morning. …But by thinking so much about it, your paper remains incomplete.

Life is cruel like that, you suppose.

You pack up all your materials to make way for the library. It’s quiet and full of books, not to mention a complete lack of windows. That should prevent you from zoning out and staring at some clouds.

Aside from a warm greeting from Tomas and a reminder to “keep track of the time, lest you miss the opportunity to lay your head to rest,” your entry is acknowledged by no one. Or; no one even notices. You’d prefer if it was the latter.

Suffice to say, it appears a change in scenery is what you needed. With nothing but a boring corner of books to stare into, your mind now drifts off substantially less! Apart from taking a break every now and then to stretch your legs, you and steadfast and committed to your work, and yes: your paper beams at you in its inked glory. Victory seizes your being. It was a struggle, and maybe you glossed over the fact that you took a nap and also got a snack or four, but you did it! Despite everything you did it! That sweet shop is yours for the taking now! You are supreme! You shall get everything your heart desires, and indulge! The world can go kiss your—!

“Ah, (Name). I did not expect to bump into you so late at night. Again.”

“Ah!” You jolt, nearly casing the small stack of books on the table to topple over. Who is this stranger? And how late is it? You snap your head to the direction of the voice: and you instantly feel yourself tense. “Y-your Highness!”

Dimitri doesn’t look disappointed or angry as you’d expect him to, given his discipline, but he is still your House Leader. You can escape discipline with a good excuse or two, but this is not the first time you’ve been caught for losing track of time like this. You’re in for a lecture, you just know it; you bet whatever grace period he’s granted you has ended with this one. Even if you have to wonder why Dimitri is up so late on such a consistent basis.

“I was just about to head back to the dorms!” You try, stuffing all of your things into your bag as inconspicuously as you can, “And as y-you know, the mock battle is coming up and all, so I’m merely making progress on the coming tribulations!”

He frowns, “I admire the effort you’re displaying, but not getting adequate rest will render you unable to push your knowledge to its full potential.”

“Ahaha…” you nervously smile, “That’s…yeah. That is a good point, actually,” you concede. “Still, why are you up this late, Your Highness? Surely you also need the rest? You’re amongst the few who get up so early in the morning!” At this rate, you might be even worse than Linhardt! At least he gets his sleep in the daytime; you seem to get no sleep at all!

“As I recall, you are also one of the first faces I see for the day.” He smoothly replies.

“…”

Ah, silence. The sound of an impass; for you both begin to realize pushing each other will be unquestionably hypocritical. At least, you thought you both had that understanding. Your hands slightly clam, however; you’ve regressed to t-this! Utilizing logical fallacies to win an argument? Against a prince? You honestly can say you don’t care much for the social nuances of nobility, but that doesn’t mean you can disregard the thing so many put their stock into. You’ve got to abide by them whether you like it or not. Then again, you are facing the same man who you’ve heard be rumored to insist on being on a first name basis with everyone—maybe he actually IS serious about that…? Or maybe you’re just letting a million thoughts run through your mind in order to distance yourself from this nigh on oppressive silence…

“A sleep schedule such as that…” he frowns, “Is rather unconventional.”

“And one thing we’ve got in common, I guess.” You blurt. Man. You must be really tired. You aren’t even stressing out if you’re screwed yet.

“…”

Silence reigns; yet it speaks more than words could dream of. It’s challenging to both of you. The two of you are faced squarely with the same bad habit, and to rightfully reprimand the other for it is to invite it in turn. Even if Dimitri doesn’t seem opposed to brute forcing things from what you can tell, you'd think even most muscle heads would pause to think for a few seconds in this instance.

In that case, you’ll use a surefire tactic: redirecting the flow of conversation! You’re so good at it in fact that you’re sure that you could run a dam for a week without getting it flooded! And in this instance, you immediately spot an easy one.

“Say, Your Highness?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you carrying a handful of weeds?”

“Ah,” he holds the bundle of greenery, causing a bit of dirt to fall, “on my way here, I noticed a small bed of flora overtaken with weeds.”

“So, you just weeded a flower bed just…on a whim?”

He hums, innocent in his delight, “Indeed, though I would not say it to have been on a whim. I just thought those flowers deserved a chance to bloom.”

You smile, “That is a kind thing for you to have done.”

“I’m merely doing what anyone else would,” he humblely says, eating a leaf.

“I don’t think most people would—” your eyes widen when you've processed the sight in front of you.

Eating…a leaf…?

“Um…” you swallow, staring at Dimitri’s calm face; chewing. “Your Highness…?”

His eyes widen slightly. “Ah! I should’ve offered you some first,” he apologizes, offering you the bundle of weeds, “That was rather crass of me. Please, have as much as you want.”

Your shock recedes, and your expression becomes. “Your Highness,” you say, fully standing and slinging your book bag over your shoulder. Any and all concerns you have about any sort of social barriers evaporate, as you think of one and only one thing, “Follow me. And don’t eat any more of those weeds.”

“Hold, just where do you want us to go?” He frowns.

“The kitchens. There’s better ways to eat those weeds of yours.”

—

Cooking takes up a familiar humdrum. Undoubtedly, the best part about it is starting the fire. It starts small, before crackling and flaring to passionate life. You always enjoy looking at it before starting to cook, and you put it out with a resigned attitude. Yeah, it can’t be helped, but it’s still always a bit of a bummer when the time does come around.

Dimitri stares at the plate before him in fascination.

“Huh, fascinating. I did not know people cooked weeds. I’ve only ever had them raw.”

You regard him with a sense of pride…and a little wariness. Why was a prince even eating weeds anyway? Well, it’s not uncommon for even nobility to have at least some forging knowledge, but weeds are, from what you know, a bit more on the obscure end of things. You certainly wouldn’t know if not for your father. Maybe it’s because if fewer people knew they could eat them, then there's less competition for it. It does help that you can imagine the typical noble turning their nose at them for being ‘beneath their station.’

“Dandelions, at least,” you explain, setting the pan on the drying rack, “the grass you had along with you, for instance, isn’t really good food…there’s a reason you fry dandelions and not, well. Grass. I’m pretty sure they can stain your teeth green if you eat too much.”

“Oh!” He gasps, throwing away the grass—wait, he hid some grass on him even when you had him throw it away?! Jeez, maybe the Heir to Faerghus wasn’t as uptight as you thought him to be.’ “Turning my teeth green. That…that would be most unfavorable.”

“Well, the more you know,” you hum. You take your own plate, which has a smaller serving than Dimitri’s. You weren’t very hungry, but cooking always makes you get a little appetite. He was rather amicable to it too; you’ve gotta say, he’s a pretty great guy! “Anyway, heads up: even though I’ve blanched it, it’ll still be bitter.”

You both finish the snack quickly enough. You lightly swish water in your mouth, hoping to rinse out the taste. You don’t hate the taste, but it’s not one you want to have lingering in your mouth for longer than necessary.

Dimitri on the other hand gives a satisfied hum. “That was delicious, thank you.”

Wow. Was he lying? It didn’t seem like it. But honestly, it looked like he thought nothing of it at all. Maybe he was one of those rare types who actually enjoyed bitter foods. “Really? Congrats.”

“I’m sorry?”

You cough. “Nothing. Anyway,” you dunk the dishes in water, quickly clean them, and lay them out to dry (in some vague period of time; when things are this late, the passage of time is, frankly, a meaningless thing), “Thanks for being cool about this. I didn’t expect you to be so…well, I dun—suppose. Cooking in the middle of the night sort of stuff. You just…" you think better of your words and bite your lips; heh, even now you still find ways to mitigate the words you speak, "Anyway, maybe we can be like, late-night buddies or something!" You say, hoping to sweep the earlier awkwardness under the rug.

“Late-night buddies?”

“Well, only if you want. One of the charms of doing things late into the night is being alone and having the privacy you need. Still, it get a bit unsettlingly lonely by those same merits…”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Like any normal person. Obviously. Things like this do need to be mulled over first. That still doesn’t stop your mind from running. Like, what the hell just came out of your mouth?! Dimitri may be a lot more chill than you were expecting, but for you to just. Say that?! Dear Goddess. What the actual hell were you thinking? How could you let your awareness just slip away like that?! You can’t just offer to be chummy over bad food! Maybe you should just run away from home and leave the family business to someone else more capable and—! Ok, no, that really isn’t an option, but if it was you definitely would!

Then you see something that jolts your out of your stupor: a sincere (princely) smile.

“Well, if it’s buddies you’re proposing to be…refer to me as ‘Dimitri’ instead of ‘Your Highness,’ and then I think we’ll have a deal on our hands.”

Fire burns within you, and you can do nothing but grin widely.

—

“I see. That puts it all into perspective,” Edelgard cleanly says, primly beholding the fire glyph—thrumming with the desire to release and let burn—in her hands before clenching her fist, letting it fizzle out. “Thank you for your guidance. I may have taken longer to grasp it if not for your assistance”

Despite yourself, you linger on the fire in your own hand before extinguishing it. “But of course,” you (somewhat) bashfully say. You’d be lying if your nerves weren’t all jittery around her, being so strict and well, heir to a throne, but she has been nothing but polite and courteous in turn—if blunt. “Honestly, from what I’ve seen, I think you to be a bonafide natural. I’m sure magic would pair quite well with your impressive axefaire. Heh, or you could opt for learning distant counter; though it is pretty tough to do so.”

A glint of calculation flickers in her eyes, and her mouth twitches upward. “Are you sure it’s wise to give me ideas? The Blue Lions may have won the mock battle, but that does not guarantee a victory come the Battle of Eagle and Lion.”

Ah, yes. You were not chosen to participate in the mock battle though, so it feels a little weird to count your classmate’s victory as your own…ah, whatever. Edelgard knows that too, so you might as well go along with it.

“You’re acting as if this is some underhanded exchange, Lady Hresvelg,” you chuckle, “But is it not true that many of us are here to contribute to our homelands and Fodlan as a whole? I see no reason why we shouldn’t help each other out,” yet your tongue feels like it’s been covered with sand.

“Well, I suppose I can’t argue against that. I appreciate that perspective; far too many people create unnecessary competition where collaboration merits the best results,” her mouth quirks slightly, but maybe that’s just because she’s tired, “So long as you don’t bend yourself over and back; here, as students, we all study here as equals,” She smiles ever so slightly, “so we can drop the formalities, (Name). I’ve never cared much for them.”

“Oh! Right,” you chuckle. She’s right; in this situation, casual speech is what is proper.

Well, that’s not to say you much care for ‘proper.’ You only care about not getting stuck ups fussy; it’s not you’re fault those are usually nobles. And who are extraordinarly your family's common clientele…

There’s a part of you that wants to shake your head, smile, and insist on proper decorum. It’s best to keep up appearances, as your parents say, but they’re not here, are they? Plus, who knows if you’ll get a chance to speak to nobles all casually like this ever again? And that’d be pretty rude to Edelgard, who’s the one insisting in the first place. And you did sorta end the whole proper heir act with Dimitri a few nights ago.

“Sorry. It’s still a little weird. It’s just…I’m way too used to stuck-up nobles; not that you’re that sort, Lady—I mean, Edelgard.” And it’s true, given her last sentence.

“Ah, right. You’re from a family of merchants; House Brunelle, correct?” she hums, “I believe my uncle is acquainted.”

You suppress the urge to frown. “Your uncle…” you briefly wrack your brain, “Oh, do you mean Lord Arundel? Hm, I think my parents have mentioned him once or twice; never met the man myself, though,” you recall, “I usually stay in Deirdru to manage our main shop. Lord Arundel’s territory is quite far from us, and they don’t trust anyone else to keep shop for the time it takes to travel to and back.”

Edelgard narrows her eyes, ever so slightly, “I see. Do you think—”

The bell tolls; you’re grateful.

“That’s all for today,” Hanneman claps, halting all chatter, “please review chapter 3 for the next lecture, and with that, I bid you all a good rest of your day. Be extra sure to attend to your assigned duties!”

Your bag is readied the instant he finishes. You smile, “Alrighty, have a good rest of your day, Lady H—Edelgard. I’ve got to go help Alois sort out the stock of weapons. It’s the kinda thing that’s best to get things over with.”

“Ah, I see. I was assigned to attend to the greenhouse.” She smiles politely at you. “There are some rather beautiful red flowers beginning to bloom there. I'm more than happy to point them out for you.”

A nervous lump forms in your throat. You should nod and agree immediately (gold is a heavy thing), but…This is…weird. Shouldn't the roles be reversed? You feel like she’s trying to fish something out of you, but you also tell yourself suspicion isn’t evidence. Whatever boat she’s set sailed for you two, it’s best not to rock it. “Ahaha, maybe. We’ll see!” And with that, you hurry to the training grounds; hopefully you won’t keep Alois waiting for long. You can feel a mildly interested gaze bore into you as you leave the room amidst the chattering students, but fire is fire and it burns all the same: no matter its intensity. Damning in its familiarity.

Ash dances on your tongue. It tells you to follow her. But you don’t like the taste, even if it’s ever looming over you.

—

There’s blood on your hands.

Even if it’s been washed away, you help but clench at your own hands, remembering the sticky, wet, acidic liquid that coated it. Maybe that’s why the enemy went so close to you. If they had to go out, they could at least burn their enemy a little; to let their death eat you up bit by agonizing bit. Even if the acid is long gone from your skin (burned away with the fire you would use to kill even more) it doesn’t bring back what has been eaten away.

You cannot help but have your hand drift to the azure night sky, to stain the silver moon with your bloodied hands. It feels wrong to be surrounded by peace and quiet now. You…you all took lives, and you end up rewarded? Sure, they were bandits, they were sinners, but, still…You killed them all the same…and for what? As far as you can tell, the academy is just utilizing you all to fulfill the Knights’ busywork.

You sigh, shaking your head. Don’t be such a baby. People are killed all the time for reasonable enough reasons. It’s not a big deal. You've seen plenty of people killed before too.

But, should such a thing be something one can get used to?

Disgust permeates in your gut. You want to balk and throw up, but your stomach has long since been emptied. Nor do you really feel like remedying its condition. You don’t know if you deserve it. …That’s a little far, isn’t it? Well, regardless of whatever’s objective here, you still feel garbage about it all.

You sigh and bury your unoccupied hand into your pocket. You’ve always had trouble sleeping, but this is even worse than usual. It’s doubtless you’ll not get even a wink of sleep today, even after working so much. At least some have gone to bed a little less overworked for the small price of your own sleep. Hopefully Professor Manuela wouldn't get on your case much, but as for Professor Byleth…a good few pots of tea are in order if you don't want her to notice your sleep deprived body sluggishly moving itself around.

As your thoughts progress, fire eventually alights within your palm, engulfing the moon. You feel your mind steady into an uneasy but enticing calm.

What does it say about you to mourn destruction, yet adore one of its many instruments?

“(Name).” A voice emerges.

You jump, nearly throwing the fire in your hands at the offender. “Oh—! Who the—Wah?! Your Hi—Dimitri?!” The comforting fire fizzles out.

His Hig—Dimitri himself stands behind you, slightly frowning. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“With how suddenly you showed up, might as well actually have been a ghost,” you mutter under your breath, “Haunting me for my sins.”

“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t catch that.”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. I was just entranced in thought…" you trail, staring at the small bag Dimitri holds. "What's that you're holding?"

Dimitri notices you staring, and raises it up to gesture toward it, "Oh, are you hungry? There's more than enough flour in here for the both of us," he offers, "I have oranges as well."

You feel your face stiffen, and your mind goes blank with utter dumbfoundedness. "You're. You're eating. Flour. Raw flour."

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

"How. Like. How. How do you not. Choke. Or die."

He frowns, "Die? Choke? I eat flour like I would anything else." And as if your soul needed to be tortured any more, he demonstrates by taking a bit of flour and eating it with a completely straight face. "See? I am perfectly fine. You do not need to worry so."

"Alright. I see." You are too tired to scream in complete and utter shock and insanity. You don't think you can handle trying to deconstruct how someone's life could get to the point where consuming raw flour seemed like a good idea. You slowly nod and look away. "Well. It is your life."

By looking away though, your previous thoughts begin to return, though it is still slow.

"You act as though I've set an ill omen upon myself…"

"No, no, of course not! You have the right to make your own decisions, is all."

"Decisions you don't appear to approve of either way…"

You shrug, giving a noncommital hum.

"Anyway, what are you doing out here? You’re usually cloistered in the library or making the training ground’s budget weep.”

Dimitri is his usual prim self. Cool, calm, and regal. And without his house uniform, he almost looks relaxed.

…Though, his mouth does quirk slightly in a strange way. Likely at the reminder of all of the weapons he’s managed to snap in half and the grief he’s caused the training ground staff. The only exception was the tournament holder, who heavily encouraged the prince to participate when he could. The arm merchants don’t mind it either; your parents would be more than delighted about the affair should they have been here, for certain.

“I’m just taking a stroll for some fresh air,” he explains, “I was considering whether to turn in for the night or not, but…” his eyes land squarely on yours. You don’t flinch, but you feel like the more you look into them, the more you see signs of…emptiness. Like fire reflected in glass. Yet for that very same reason, you find comfort in them. A bit ironic you suppose, to see flames in a gaze as blue as the sky.

“Then go to sleep,” you insist before he can continue, “we’ve all had a long day today anyway. In fact, I should do the same. Lest I take a makeup lecture with Linhardt…if he's even awake to attend them.”

“Well, although rest is what I was about to advise,” Dimitri begins, “I wanted to know if you were alright. I noticed you were doing quite a bit around the monastery; even Cyril was slightly taken aback.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, “Just relaxing, you know? Long day and all.” And you aren’t sleepy either from the looks of it.

He arches an eyebrow. “Is that so? Then was I just imagining that pensive expression on your face?”

“Umm…maybe? The lighting is pretty weird?”

He gives you a look (™). It’s not hostile or anything, but it’s almost stern, in the way a concerned parent is. You bristle at it, but remind yourself that this is Dimitri: your House Leader, but first and foremost your classmate. “I won’t pry for details,” he says, voice dripping with conviction, “but as your House Leader, it’s my duty to ensure the wellbeing of my peers. And as a friend, I cannot stand idly by as I see a dear friend’s mind being plagued.” and he lets his voice become gentler, softer, but no less determined and kind than before, “So, I ask you again, as a friend: are you sure you’re alright?”

Ah, fine. You kind of did want to get this off your chest, anyway. You just weren't about to go to the Church confessionals when they, well, were the ones who assigned you to do the killing in the first place. Besides, your parents always warned you against going in them from a young age; admitting guilt leaves one vulnerable. “…You got me,” you admit. Though, you do not taste defeat on your tongue. “It’s just…after our mission earlier I…” You look down at your feet, unable to bring yourself to say it. It’s a little weird, isn’t it? It’s practically all you’ve been thinking about, yet the moment you need to verbalize it, the words fizzle to dust.

“It always feels weird, you know? To enjoy the peace we’ve deprived others of ever experiencing ever again. To kill people for the sake of keeping that peace, even if the very act of killing goes against that peace.”

The instant he understands what you’re talking about, his expression turns a little grim. But you don’t take note, not when you feel so glad that he caught on so swiftly. “Our assignment."

You nod glumly. “I can’t stop thinking about it…honestly, I might not get any sleep at this rate.”

Dimitri frowns, mouth forming into a somber line. “Yes…I understand completely. It never gets easy, even if necessary. But it's one of those things that should never be easy.”

You swallow. “I mean, yeah. But sometimes…I dunno,” you swing your leg, letting it thud back and forth against stone, “Sometimes I think if things had gone differently for those people, if things were just…better, maybe they wouldn’t have to have been killed.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not the kind of world we live in. As it stands, the strong trample over the weak, often leaving them with little choice but to reckon with poverty and injustice,” Dimitri grimly says. It almost takes you aback, to hear something so blunt from him. Yet, he’s able to turn it into something short-lived, following up with: “But, knowing this, I believe it’s our responsibility to make this world as best we can, in the wake of the fallen.”

All you can muster in response is an awkward quirk of your mouth. A crooked smile, if you’d have to guess. “That’s…Yeah, I guess you can put it that way,” you look up, feeling a newfound sense of admiration and guilt.

"Indeed. But I believe you could've said those words yourself."

You startle. "Uh, what?"

"You were helping the monastery staff today, were you not? I heard you were assisting Professor Manuela at the infirmary. Then I saw you in the kitchens; the greenhouse; the training grounds: helping everyone there."

You frown. "Those words of yours are quite grandiose compared to all of that stuff. I just used a bit of magic, watered the plants, sorted weapons, and prepped some food; nothing in this world has so much as changed because of that."

"Such contributions may be small in the grand scheme of things, but not every contribution can be so grandiose and sweeping. Those small acts of kindness are just as imperative," he boldly proclaims, "There are many things wrong in this world, but kindness is not one of them. Anyone who is able to choose kindness in the wake of wrongdoing or tragedy are people worth respect. People whom I believe wish for the world to be a better place."

You frown, guilt fully overtaking you. Your mouth burns, and ash flakes over your tongue. "Well, I'm not one of those people. While many are forced to steal from each other for the sake of survival, I…my family amasses so, so, so much wealth, and for what? To lavish and indulge ourselves? To watch people come to us when their swords rust from blood?" Your brows and mouth are weighed down by anger, "I've seen some truly deplorable people, but…weapons are but a tool of such things, and I…" you bite your lip, "Don't…don't make me out to be better than that." And then when those words have spilled out you immediately begin to belittle yourself for letting that slip. Stupid stupid stupid. You should've gone to bed. You're clearly not in your right mind, you fool.

"How…no," he mutters. Dimitri shakes his head. "But, my friend, if you know them to be wrong, then…can you not be better than them? Forgive me if I seem presumptuous, bu I sincerely believe that you are a kind person. A person able to march onward even with the burden of the dead. Your fate is not set in stone."

Burden of the dead? He sounds serious when he says that. He sounds expecting. He sounds hopeful, even. You falter. "I—well. Even if I take over things, my parents aren't really going to let me do as I please…to be honest, I think I'll be nothing more than a figurehead. It's no use."

"Enough of that," he insists. "With talk like that, you serve only to dissuade yourself from your convictions."

"But—"

"No buts! If you cannot cut your own path yet, then I will be more than happy to help you in the ways I can. And I'm sure our classmates would as well. After all, if we both wish for the same thing, then there is no reason I should turn my back on you."

You can only stare at him, mouth slightly agape, before you finally muster the words you need. All of these words just for some girl he's known for a few months…? If you weren't certain before, then you are now: Dimitri was truly one of a kind.

“You know…I feel like I have to admit this to you,” you lick your lips. “I almost couldn’t believe you were real for a time.”

Dimitri frowns perplexedly. Or grimly? “Do you mean…? Did I cause you some sort of trouble? If so, I apo—” If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he sounded a little…haunted?

You shake your head furiously, “No, of course not! I mean,” you begin to explain, “you’re just a lot more…honest, in a sense. Most nobles I’ve dealt with are rather—well, you know the type. I’m glad I was wrong. I think the Kingdom is lucky to have a prince like that, is all.”

“There’s still much I must accomplish and learn if I am to properly govern Faerghus and its people,” he insists.

“Well, with whatever path you’re taking, I think you’ll end up in a pretty good place,” you chirp. “If anything, I’m a bit more assured that you aren’t boasting with complete confidence. It’s usually those types who end up falling the furthest down.”

“Well, I thank you for your confidence in my ability to lead,” he replies, rather stiffly, rather formally—you can tell it’s a reaction halfway between sincerity and subconscious deflection; nothing wrong with that. “I will do my utmost to ensure it isn’t misplaced.”

“Pretty formal of you. Weren’t you the one who insisted on casual speech?” You hum, “Still, guess it’s on me that I brought such a serious topic in the first place. I know pretty well just how exhausting it can be to keep up appearances.”

"Still, I can’t help but treat Kingdom matters with anything but diligence; even outside of governance, there is the matter of how people are to perceive me—I am the Prince, after all. They would be most reassured if they knew their future King treated any matters relating to Faerghus with weight and consideration. So I don’t believe that can be compromised.”

“That’s fair,” you hum, "But now I think you've got even more admiration from me now! You're really something special, Dimitri!" you laugh. “But it is late, so we should probably switch to something more lighthearted to do. I assume you aren’t sleeping anytime soon, so I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the greenhouse? La—Edelgard mentioned that there are some red flowers coming to bloom. I don’t think it would hurt them if it were two rather than one to behold them.”

Dimitri hums, in brief completation, and nods.

“Beautiful flowers are never one to hamper the spirit,” he says, meeting your eyes, “Like y…" he breaks your gaze with the shake of his head, "ah, nevermind. I am more than happy to accompany you, if that’s what you desire.”

Desire? “Thanks. It’s never a bad thing to share beautiful things with friends.”

“Heh,” he grins, “The sentiment is shared, my fellow late-night buddy.”

On one hand, you desire to groan at yourself for coming up with such a phrase. But the other, much bigger hand, prefers to latch onto the innocent cheesiness of it all.

“Then let’s get going, my dear late-night buddy!”

—

“Edelgard wasn’t wrong. These are some really pretty flowers,” you marvel.

He hums. Soaring a glance, you see the corners of his lips are raised ever so slightly. “Indeed. One must imagine they’ve been tended to a great deal. In fact, I believe these are the flowers Dedue has mentioned in passing.”

“Dedue?” You cock your head. You haven’t talked to the boy much, but he seems alright enough. Stoic, quiet, and strong. You wouldn’t have imagined such a softness from him, though. “He gardens? Didn’t know that.”

“Yes; although he’s stoic and reserved, he’s actually quite kind,” he frowns, “Though it’s not something most are willing to spare a glance for, unfortunately.”

Ah, right. Dedue markedly stands out for being a foreigner; hailing from Duscar, if you remember correctly. Not a people well regarded since the Tragedy. Any words you can think about become ash on your tongue. Even if fire is passion, it is uncommon for it to reduce everything else around it to bitter ashes.

You still stare into fire, though.

The crimson blooms at your feet are nothing short of untainted and beautiful. And notably, cleared of weeds. In fact, it looks like the soil forms a path towards the blooms. Perhaps the blooms blazed a path through the weeds, so that it may survive long enough to enamor all with its blossoming petals. Or someone tending to the greenhouse just. You know. Pulled some weeds. Not everything is that deep, you know. Jeez, here you are waxing about some random flowers when just moments ago you were lamenting the cyclical nature of killing.

But then, you wonder…

“Say, Dimitri,” you carefully measure your voice, trying not to give away your gastronomic worries, “are you in possession of any weeds…?” Surely he won’t notice your contrived way of speaking, yes…?

“No, not tonight,” he says; sincere and casually as if carrying around weeds in a pocket was akin to breathing. Well. Maybe for certain kinds of people, it was, but you doubt Dimitri would be associated with those kinds of folks.

Yes, Dimitri is nice and prim, as his next words prove. “I can go get some if you’d like, though,” he offers.

“Ah! No,” you shake your head, plastering on a sweet smile, “you really don’t have to go out of your way just for little ole me.”

He shakes his head. “I do not see how that would be considered a burden. If you desire weeds, then it truly is no issue for me to acquire them for you.”

You’re almost left gaping at the admission; completely taken aback by their true sincerity. “You sure, Y—Dimitri?

“We’re friends, are we not?”

Well, yeah. Er, ok. Maybe you’re freaking out over nothing; weeds are abundant no matter where one goes. Yeah, yeah. Stop freaking out, you! You’re just tired and stressed. You’ve been thinking all out of sorts for the whole day at this point!

“Well, I guess I know who I can go to if I ever need weeds.” you concede briefly, “Though if you ever want to eat some yourself, come to yours truly."

“Really? Then I’ll be more than happy to take you up on that offer.”

You giggle in response, pleased. “I’ve got to say, all you Kingdom folk are so sincere and polite.”

His eyebrow quirks in curiosity. “You…aren’t from Faerghus?”

You pause. Now that you think about it…it hasn’t really come up in your conversations yet. That’s…that’s kind of silly. Oh well. Better late than never, you suppose.

“No.” You shake your head, “I’m from Deirdru,” you begin to explain, “Most prominent merchant families are."

“Well, you’ve mentioned your merchant background before,” he nods, “But your Leicester origins is news to me. Though, it probably should've occurred to me.”

"Well, you know now."

"However, why join the Blue Lions? From the very beginning, no less?"

That’s true; you remember very well the little campfire you made, preparing for a daunting yet exciting year apart of the Golden Deer. “Well, initially, I was just going to join the Deer like anyone else,” you explain, “The Alliance has always been economically thriving, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other thriving merchants from elsewhere. My father was a second son from a merchant house in Faerghus, who ended up marrying my mother and taking up the Brunelle name,” your hand finds itself fidgeting with the lapel on your chest; a gift from your mother. It wasn't to your taste when you got it at the time, but you've grown to like it over time. Happy coincidences. “Before that though, he was a student of the Officer's Academy, aiming to join the Knights. So…when I was off to the Academy, he really wanted me to go to the Blue Lions like he did.” You don’t mention the ash you taste.

(It does lessen the ash, you find, but ash rises up when you recall waking up dazed and confused in a carriage set for the school)

“So I see,” he hums, though for a moment you feel he is distant from the moment. “It’s rather sweet for you to do that for your father.”

“Eh,” you shrug. He was the insistent one, “they just want me to get some more practical experience here. Merchant life can boast a lot of wealth, but it’s not always cushy. We have the funds to hire mercenaries, of course, but the best assurance is self-defense. Joining the Blue Lions in the grand scheme of things isn’t a big thing compared to that.” But as I recall, it just so happens that Father was in the same class as the current Count Gloucester was… "And…yeah."

Dimitri, yet again proving his nigh inhuman perspective, says, "…If you sincerely do not want to be a part of the Blue Lions, I will not begrudge you in the slightest."

"W-wha—! I never said I disliked it here!" You shake your head. Really, you don't think it particularly matters what house you're in.

(You just dislike that you were to join one based on another's word and not your own)

"And you all haven't been so bad that I'm actively seeking to rid myself of you!"

"Well, that's a good thing," Dimitri says, but you know he's still latched onto some part of your person, "it's best if you can find the house you're most comfortable with."

"I'm not leaving. I quite like our Professor and classmates you know!" you shake your head, playfully shrugging, "And I kinda do got a late night buddy here to worry about, so…"

"…heh. I'm glad," he smiles. "At this point, you leaving the Blue Lions would be taking away something special from our, ah, ragtag little group, wouldn't it? "

For whatever reason, that elicits a laugh out of you (and the slightest bit of bashful pink), "You're right! I can't possibly leave you to fend for yourselves. Like…raw weed-eating prevention. And raw flour consumption prevention. Hm. Maybe I should just teach you how to cook…"

Dimitri, who stands unwavering even in the face of death, flinches, his face drawn into an almost pained wince. "Come now, you're beginning to sound like Dedue…"

You two eventually fall into a comfortable exchange, but you cannot help but feel that no matter what you do, even in the innocence of the night, business will come back to haunt you.

That you’ll somehow end up taking advantage of him.

The flowers in front of you do not lose their luster even as your thoughts sink.

You shake your head, and your mind begins to blissfully drift away. You think about wonderful silly things. Like sugar candies, finishing assignments to get sugar candies, and procrastinating assignments in spite of the necessity to acquire sugar candies…

Oh, and you suppose…you suppose that maybe Dimitri's beginning to slip into there. You suppose you're thinking about boys, the young girl you are, because will you ever get to be a silly girl after this?

—

"That concludes today's Weapon Instructions D," Professor Jeritza announces. Well, 'announces' is a bit of an overstatement, considering just how brooding and quiet the man usually is, but his authority is enough to get the point across.

"Thank you for your instruction, Professor Jeritza—aaaaaand he's gone already," you flatly trail. Professor Jeritza didn't even bother to acknowledge you. It's fascinating how he managed to become the academy's combat professor with that sort of anti-social attitude. Sure, you and everyone else can attest to his skill, but it's not much good when he doesn't even bother to talk to you all…

"Why is that guy a professor if he doesn't like talking to people?" You remark, absently twirling your sword, "It's like becoming a butcher despite hating blood. Is the pay for the gig really that good?"

"No." Professor Byleth's voice sounds, startling you and nearly causing you to lose 10 years of your life. "The class budget is miles bigger than the salary."

"P-Professor!" You shriek, "Please don't sneak up on me like that!"

The Professor blinks. "Sorry for startling you," they apologize, "but I'm here to ask if you've seen Sylvain."

You quirk your brow. "Shouldn't he be at the stables? As I recall, me and him are on stable duty today."

"I see. Then it appears Sylvain has decided he's on playboy duty for the afternoon instead."

You cough. "Well. That's. Great. Lovely." You internally curse. You're not fond of the guy, but it is a little shocking how he'd so readily turn down 'private time with a cute girl at the stables.' It's more likely he's been held captive by someone else, then… "Well, that's alright. I can take care of stable duty myself; most of the horses are out anyway due to the Knights, so it's no big deal at all."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Just make sure to give Sylvain a good talking to for me."

"Thank you," the Professor says, "I'll treat you to a meal for this later. For now, I have a blank chalkboard that could do with a few sentences…and a classroom to be cleaned."

"Alright. See you later, Professor."

The stables are fairly sparse, with no people whatsoever to speak of. You get to work, changing the water, pouring the feed, till all that's left is to groom them.

As you move, a girl in the corner of your eye makes you pause. Green hair, twin drills, and an outfit of similar make to the academy's uniforms…

"Oh, hello Flayn. Do you need something?"

A small sound of surprise escapes from her, "Ah! No, I am not in need of anything," she says, shaking her head, "I was just admiring the fine steeds here."

You can't help but regard her with your jaw slightly clenched. Flayn always spoke so formally—saintly, even—but she never seemed to carefully formulate words, carefully consider the room, or carefully consider the gaze of her par—

You clear your throat, clearing the smoke in your lungs along with it. "So, you like horses?"

"I have an appreciation for all manner of cute animals," Flayn eagerly chatters; as if she'd been holding back a burst of energy, "Yet, though horses are amongst some of the cutest, they manage to weave in a regal air to them. I find myself quite charmed by them, suffice to say!"

You hum noncommittedly. All you can think about is ending this interaction as quickly as possible. "They are quite charming," you repeat, wanting this to end. A small bite slips into your words, conveying the finality you don't have the courage to state outright. "And now I must groom them so that their coats may not lose their luster."

"Oh…" Flayn frowns, ever so slightly, "My apologies. I did not mean to bother or disrupt you."

You are taken aback for a moment, and find that you've been frowning all this time. It must seem like you're glowering at her. Shame immediately fills you, welling with embarrassment. You have no reason to act this way! You should know better than to show such hostility openly! And more importantly, Flayn hasn't really done anything, right?

"No!" You exclaim suddenly, causing her to jump. "Er, I mean 'no,'" you repeat, a little sheepishly and noticeably quieter, "You weren't bothering me at all, Flayn."

"Then what else? You were looking at me looking quite displeased," she frowns, the slightest bit of hurt and confusion shining in her eyes, "Truly, if I am bothering you, then I am more than willing to amend why it is I bother you, and leave you be."

"Flayn, really, you weren't bothering me at all," you stammer, "It's just, um…" you quickly rummage and find an excuse, "I'm just a little annoyed that the other person assigned with me to stable duty didn't show up. It is him who I target my grievances at, not you, Flayn."

Her shoulders relax, and her pleasant smile returns, "Ah, is that so?" She hums, "How about I help you with your duties then?" She kindly offers, "I shall do what I can to ease your burden!"

"Oh, no! You don't have to! And would, uh, Seteth, you know…?"

"My Brother? I don't think he'd be opposed to me caring for horses."

"So, he won't go after me?"

"If he does, then I will clear the matter up."

You regard her for a moment longer. "Your Brother is…very caring," you mutter. "He cares a lot…"

"Hm?"

"Nothing. Anyway, all that's left is to groom the horses. Here, let me show you…oh, and be careful of the smell."

Neither of you notice the mask staring at you.

Flayn went missing a few hours later. And so did you.

—

You groan in the infirmary bed. Moonlight drips into the room. White cushions your welted wrists. Ivory paints your memory.

There are only a few images in your head: horses, Flayn, crumbling stone, and an armored figure clad in black. You blink and look back down at your wrists, irritated from your movements against the soft sheets. Why were they irritated? Why were they so mottled and welted? Confusion and shock paints over the ivory, but it's not enough to send it crumbling down.

"What happened?" You ask to no one in particular. "I…the stables, horses, Flayn?" But there isn't anyone in here with you. For a moment, you think about virtuous blue and—but nothing manifests. It must be really, really late. No one would bother to see you at this time.

But there is a fire crackling in the hearth, and that alone is enough for you to keep yourself from sobbing at that.

—

It was Edelgard you saw first. You should've been grateful, yet still found yourself disappointed that it was her first, and not—

Her entry caused you to rouse from your uneasy slumber, and judging from the scant light dripping through the windows, maybe only an hour or two after you'd first woke up. Now that you think about it, you have seen her up early a few times, too. But she tended to be more out of the way, melding more into the background despite her regal status. You never bothered her, since it seemed like she just wanted to hide away from the world.

"I'm sorry for waking you up so early in the morning," she apologizes.

You groan. "Um, izz okkk…" Your mouth is dried out by morning breath; your eyes are crusty; your neck is aching from the weird position you slept in; and by all that the goddess cherishes, you're so sore. All of this, combined with the general bleariness of—well, waking up—do not grant you a modicum of grace. "Wha…you here for anyways?"

"I heard what happened. I had a rare moment of free time, and I thought it would be a good idea to check on you," she explains, "Though, clearly, you aren't fully awake. Here," she pours a glass of water and hands it to you. You accept it, appreciating the refreshing feeling it leaves in its wake. It's like all the dust in your mind (and mouth) has been washed away. You're certainly more awake now than you were before, that's for certain.

"Well, I'm fine," you clear your throat, "I just…if you don't mind, what happened? I don't remember much of anything."

(You're not awake enough to know the slightest glint of disappointment in her eyes)

"You and Flayn were kidnapped by Professor Jertiza and taken underground. A group of strange people were located there as well, who intended to use Flayn's blood in some way; and it was revealed that Professor Jertiza was the Death Knight all this time. However, Professor Byleth was able to find the two of you before anything could happen."

"I—wait, the Death Knight—" you stop, your mind hit by a sort of nausea as you fail to gather your thoughts. "That was Professor Jeritza?" You dumbfoundedly ask.

"Correct."

Shock and horror pour themselves as red-hot embers on you. "For such a horrific person to be in our midst all this time…I, I, I must be really lucky, to have gotten out of that situation alive…"

"Luck? Yes, you are. And so was another—"

(The word 'another' feels like acid on her tongue; she left her to die)

"Monica. A student who'd been missing since last year, before graduation. We found her along with you two."

"Monica?" The name itches your memory, "As in…Monica von Ochs?!"

"The very same. Did you know her?"

You shake your head, but stop when it sends a wave of vertigo over you. "Er…sort of. When Brigid and Dagda invaded, my family helped supply House Ochs during the affair. I never met her, but her name was thrown around enough for me to remember it."

"Well, I doubt now it will be much different. I doubt Monica would want to continue the year at the Officers Academy. Being away from home underground for so long can do quite a number on yearning."

"…Yeah, that sounds about right. Anyway, if Monica was kidnapped last year by these people, then this web would be quite extensive…who knows how many innocent people have been taken away?"

"That'll be for the Knights to find out. At the very least, the Knights may be able to prevent any other innocent souls from going missing," she assures.

"Yeah…I wonder why they wanted Flayn's blood though? And why would they want me?"

"Flayn must've had some special quality to her blood; if they just wanted blood, they would've took away a child from the streets. A much more convenient target than the Holy Chamberlain's sister," she reasons.

"A Crest." You grasp your sheets just a bit tighter. Realization strikes you in the gut, "Well, I can see now why Seteth's so protective over her…" Disgust bubbles on your tongue, burning and abhorrent, "ugh, I don't even want to think about it."

"You caught on quickly," Edelgard observes, "Whatever the case, now that we know there is a threat, Flayn will be much better protected by those who want to exploit her. But as for you…to my knowledge, you lack a Crest, yes?"

"Yep," you nod.

"Then it's likely you were taken simply for your proximity to Flayn at the time," she explains matter-of-factly.

"Oh. That." You feel a bit of heat rush to your cheeks; embarrassed that you presumed you could've been taken with a specific purpose in mind, "Yes, that makes much more sense, Edelgard. Thanks for explaining stuff when I'm not…not really all too well equipped for thinking in general."

"Your mind's faculties don't appear to be faulty, but you did just wake up," she frowns, "Given what we know of them…" a brief haze coats her irises, but they're gone as soon as you blink, "It's a good thing the Professor got to you in time. I shudder to think what would've happened to either of you if they didn't get to you in time."

You do try to imagine up some horrific scenario in your mind to share in Edelgard's own seeming discomfort. Torture. Experimentation. Rats. Chains. Amputation. Unimaginable pain.

Strangely yet, you don't feel much from them. The only thing that gives you real pause is thinking about the other people who could've been with you, either too far gone to speak or staring at you with fly-infested eyes. "Yeah." Is all you can think of saying.

You didn't have very much energy in the first place, and this conversation and its revelations have done nothing but drain you.

Then violet eyes suddenly lock on yours, with an intensity that nearly makes you flinch. "I am glad you are alright, (Name). I won't bother you for any longer, but should you need anything, I am more than happy to provide it."

Maybe you're just tired, but that just sounds like a transaction. "Er…for what?"

"Is it so wrong to just want to see a classmate get better? The one who's greatly assisted me in my magical endeavors to boot."

Oh. It's just because you're a decent enough tutor. "Well, I'll keep that in mind." You will. Oh, you will. But you won't use it.

"I hope you can make a swift recovery," she stands, then smirks a tad, "I think it would be a terrible shame to not put my skills to the test during the Battle of Eagle and Lion. The student has to become the master at some point, yes?"

"Um, sure. But I haven't really taught you much…"

"Yet you have been a great help all the same. If you want to think about it in another way," she pauses in front of the door, glancing back at you, "then I'm simply going to show you how I will crush you."

Well, that'll do it. You wouldn't admit it, but you find it a little cute how much Edelgard is being competitive like this; even if you should be disturbed at the notion of being crushed. Sure, she might be doing it to make you feel better, but given her track record of being one of the bluntest people you've ever met, you're willing to concur that you might've played a minor role in assisting Edelgard's magical talents.

Despite everything, you smile.

—

Dimitri came by an hour or so later. He was kind, thoughtful, and beau—as always.

But when he goes over what happened, your mind is overcome with questions of how Edelgard came to know of some of the details. No, she IS a house leader, and the future emperor, so it makes sense that the Church would tell her, but…

It's weird. She's weird. You're weird.

Weirder still is the look in Dimitri's eyes when he tells you to be safe. He means it; you know that.

"It's relieving to know that no permanent harm has been done to you," he said, "But that doesn't bar it from happening in the future. This matter warrants great caution going forward; we must do all we can to ensure your safety."

The almost passionate, resolute way he speaks those words…you nervously swallow and push past the flutter in your chest to make way for polite rationality. As if it came naturally to you. "I do already put myself in danger during our assignments though," you had replied (mostly) nonchalantly, "my kidnapping was only really because I was with Flayn at the time. If anything, I should be admonished for my failure to keep her safe."

"Your assailant was the Death Knight. The only reason we were able to defeat him was because Lysithea knew powerful magic that brings cavalry to heel." Dimitri frankly says, "You are not at fault at all for what happened to you or Flayn; you were just utterly outmatched."

You wince. He's right, but that doesn't mean it doesn't sting at all.

"You have a point with your earlier point about your safety," he admits, "but that doesn't mean you can throw any means of securing it away so carelessly! I speak for everyone in saying we all must've lost a good decade of our life when we heard you were missing!"

"Um—"

"So, from now on, stick to areas populated with skilled warriors as much as possible. In fact, it might be best for you to accompany me regularly. My status and strength will be a great deterrent to any who wish to harm you."

"Di—"

"(Name). You mean a great deal to many of us. We would appreciate our lifespans not to suffer any more shortages."

Shock jolts through your chest so potently it is a miracle your heart doesn't instantly stop and fail. "I. Well. That's a. Very frank way of. Um…" Despite your better sense, a smile creeps onto your face. You don't bother thinking about anything else, only focusing on the light, fluffy feeling in your chest. "Alright. I'll make sure to stay safe. For the sake of you and everyone else."

And then it hits you. It really, really hits you. You have friends. People who care for you, and people like the Professor who want to see you be nurtured, and grow…

(But still, you yearn for more. Your tongue is burned through with the ashes of shame at that)

A smile spreads on Dimitri's face. "I'm glad."

(You don't register that his face was nearly a boar's a few moments ago)

—

You were with Raphael and being tutored by Professor Byleth (well, it was mostly Raphael being tutored) when Ignatz came rushing in with news of monsters attacking a route from Gloucester to Riegan lands. The traveling merchants were in danger, and you would need to act fast. At first, you were a little hesitant to join them in helping the merchants, but then you thought about the blood rusting on your hands and acquiesced. But if anyone asks, you'll just say it was because the Professor wanted you to master your skills as a pegasus knight. The Professor was always oddly insistent about training you all in this and that. Especially axe and flying skills.

It was a struggle to get the merchants under attack to safety, considering the monsters and clearly trained Alliance troops stationed. It was a surprise seeing troops here. You all were only expecting monsters, as those were the main assailants on this route going from Gloucester to Riegan lands, but alas, no. And a general at that. The situation was strange, and that was an understatement in all honestly. Although Count Gloucester (and his son) were always very adamant on adhering to hierarchy and propriety, you could find it within yourself to respect the man. There's a good reason why he was able to foster genuine adoration from his territory's people. So, yes. That there was a possibility that Count Gloucester of all people was sabotaging merchants…it does not track with what you know of the man.

Even moreso when it turns out your parents are here.

“Mother. Father,” you greet, smiling blankly. “I’m happy to see you both fare well.”

And you are. You don’t hate them enough to wish them death to monsters while conducting business.

“The sentiment is shared, (Name),” your mother says primly—

(It’s a different kind of primness than Dimitri’s. You don’t like it as much—)

“I’m rather in awe that you were among those who came to our aid,” your father says, lavender locks mussed from the fight. He smiles, “You’ve come quite far. Your spellwork has vastly improved since your days at the school of sorcery.”

“Thank you, Father,” you keep your tone humble, “I’ve been doing well under the tutelage of Professor Byleth.”

Your mother smiles, mask unfaltering, “It gladdens your father and I to see you take such a shine to your education. Nothing pleases me more than a vast improvement such as this.”

(I hope you haven’t been neglecting other ventures of import, though, you feel her eyes say. We’ve no other heirs but you)

“Do you know these people?” The Professor calmly asks, approaching you from behind with Raphael and Ignatz in tow.

And his eyes drift away before you can say anything more. Yet you feel as though your wrists flare, even though they've long healed from the welts made on your skin.

“Is that…” his eyes narrow on the trio of the Professor, Ignatz, and Raphael. Suspicion swirls in his eyes, but recognition cuts through the haze within milliseconds, “Ignatz of House Victor, and Raphael of…” you see in his eyes the flash of a debate, carefully wrestling with his words. But like always, your father is quick on his feet; your mother wouldn’t glance at him otherwise, “...House Kirsten.”

Raphael shakes his head, smiling, "Um, you don't gotta act all formal like that. We helped you 'cause we wanted."

"We insist," your mother nods, "Matters of propriety take precedence. I suppose you would understand that better though, Ignatz."

"Ah…yes," Ignatz nods, "It's been a while since we last saw each other."

Raphael doesn't do much more than lightly shake his head before moving on. "In any case, we're just glad that no one was hurt. Hopefully, this route will be safer now that we've cleared out the monsters."

"It will," your father nods valiantly, "Doing business in Riegan territory will be less risky than it was before. It's unfortunate not everyone survived to see it so."

Raphael frowns, "I'm real sorry we weren't able to save everyone."

Your father shakes his head. But you can tell from the glint in his eyes he means none of it. He's glad the competition has thinned out, you think. "We can only live with what has already come to pass. For your part, you were nothing less than valiant."

Your mother hums, "A shame that the family business has fizzled out. Honest men like you make truly wonderful friends and business partners. But, it's not too late for you, so if you're any at all interested…" She leaves the implication hanging in the air

She means a gullible pawn to use. But everyone else only hears a generous offer of employment and a rise in status.

He shakes his head honestly. "Thanks for the offer, but I've never really been much good at that sort of stuff," Raphael smiles, kindly refusing the offer. "I'm much better suited to become a knight."

Your father hums, "Men like you make fine knights indeed. You'll certainly reach high places, Raphael." He's probably imagining how easy it would be to slip past him; or bribe him, even.

"Now, onto the matter at hand," your mother cuts in, "from the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for coming to our aid. If not, both our wares and lives would've faced jeopardy. We will send you all a token of our thanks to the monastery."

Before either of the boys can cut in, the Professor speaks, "Thank you. We gladly accept." Ah, yes. Your dear Professor was a mercenary, after all…well, at least it means they're the one who gets to take the brunt of the shame.

"You ought to inform Count Gloucester of these attacks," you chime in, careful not to betray your uncertainty. "

"But of course," your father nods, "Count Gloucester is an honorable man indeed. He will certainly see to it that this route is safer, though…"

Though?

Your father frowns, sporting and unusually pensive expression. "We have been doing business more frequently in Riegan territories as of late. I wonder…ah, do not worry about me. Merely musing, is all."

You frown. If your father is implying what you think he is…a sudden glare sent your way kills the inquiry on your tongue. Odd.

“Ah, before you depart,” your mother looks intently at you, “May we have a word with our daughter? It has been some time since we last spoke, and she’s been terribly missed.”

The Professor gives you a quizzical glance (or worried?), as if asking you for permission. A ridiculous notion, you think as you mull ash with your tongue, but you give the predetermined answer all the same: a simple nod. Enough to let the Professor know but discreet enough that your parents won’t notice. They do have a trained eye, but they’re trained on the Professor more than they are on you.

“Very well,” the Professor nods, “But please make it quick. The sooner we leave, the less likely we will have to set up camp.”

"Of course; it will take but a single moment," your mother nods.

And just as quickly as they came, they leave you.

"What do you think about Ignatz, (Name)?" your mother questions suddenly.

Shock overrides your ashy politeness, seeping into your resenting informality, "What? Why are you asking me about boys?!"

Your father looks at you unimpressed. Despite yourself, you feel yourself wither slightly. "Please. Even if House Victor wasn't losing its influence, that boy is the second son. Though, given his enrollment at the academy, it seems his parents do want him to become a knight…"

"Yes," you nod, recalling a moment with Ignatz. The beautiful fire flickering in his eyes, passion overflowing into the strokes of his brush—until ash began to drift in, staining his paints into the gray armor of knighthood.

He cocks his head to your mother, "Well…then perhaps it wouldn't be such a shabby idea. A last resort, of course, but knighthood does produce many connections…"

Your mother scoffs, "Don't start entertaining fantasies again. As I recall, you left those behind in Western Faerghus—unless you want to go back to scampering with women?"

"Tch," your father harumphs, "we may highly value mannerisms, but that doesn't mean we can't find levity where we can; and is that not how we met?"

"You call this 'levity'?" your mother sighs, "There's time and place…ah, I'll discuss this with you later," your mother shakes her head, acknowledging you, "If our daughter has been making friends as it were, then whatever connections that boy could offer is likely to be lesser," then she smiles: sharp and snakelike, "Still, marriage does mean accessing House Victor will be of even greater ease, and perhaps that means…taking it wholeheartedly under our wing. So, even if the boy isn't as valuable as a noble, it's never a bad idea to keep your options open, (Name). Even second sons have their use. Now, onto what I really want to ask—" Then, your mother smiles sweetly. It takes you aback, and that is when you know for certain that you face a wholehearted schemer. "All I want to ask is that you write to us more, dear—" the world is laced with ashy honey, crooning on the edge of insanity.

(Has the time away from us made you forget? You feel you hear, edging on a barely calm shriek, Fool around if you must, but don't slip from our grasps. You know what happens to the people who can't pay back their debts, right?)

"—You've gotten us quite worried, (Name). Your father and I would most appreciate knowing how things are going—and yes, we assume they would be going quite well, given the hefty tuition demanded—but you know how much we treasure you, (Name). Update us at least every month, understood?"

"Yes, mother," you reply. As if. I doubt you'd truly be worried for me if I told you about my kidnapping…

"Wonderful," she preens briefly before her face falls back comfortably into its mask. "Now, off to your friends, dear. We'll see you when you've returned from graduation."

"Yes. Until next we meet, mother, father."

You do end up having to camp, but at least it gives you an excuse to stare deeply into fire.

—

The ball was exhausting. How could it not? For every student there to simply enjoy a dance and food, there were a dozen more lovebirds. Now, love is a fine emotion and all, but after a while, seeing all of that lovey-dovey stuff…

On top of that, a loud, chattery environment stock full of energy and people would be the final nail in the coffin. You've had your fun, but now it's time to take a break.

…Or retire altogether.

You have a secret. A very well-hidden one at that. You hope. You think Sylvain knows because he hasn't bothered you in a while. But besides that wrinkle, it's very well hidden.

It was expected that he wouldn't really be present. Even now, the mere thought of Remire Village churns your stomach with grief. Everything going on, really. You hope that Remire will be the last wrinkle in the year; be the last thing you all will have to worry about. Then the rest of the year could be just about such things like the Battle of Eagle and Lion.

Of course, you only wrote to your parents about that and the relationships you're fostering. They haven't replied back, but you don't expect them to. No matter the embers of hope you have, they swiftly extinguish them.

You sit on a bench, located at the tail end of the field in front of the classrooms, and let out a great sigh. Compared to the loud festivity of the ball, the quietness outside gives you whiplash so severe you nearly wince. It doesn't do much to quell the jumble of joy, exhaustion, and disappointment burning within you. On one hand, you did have a good time. On the other….

You didn't get to dance…well…you…

You twiddle your thumbs, awkwardly shifting in your seat. Red dusts your cheeks with a strange mixture of embarrassment and shame.

From the fire burning within you though, no matter where you try to redirect it, dancing images of determined blue and sincere chivalry emerge, and you bury your face into your hands with a groan.

"These are…" intertwined hands pop up in your mind, and anything else you can feel is overtaken completely by embarrassment. "…Lewd. Handholding, (Name)? Get a grip! Save this for the guy you like!!!"

Unfortunately, you do not have a pillow to scream into. But you need to find somewhere to scream. But where?

Hm…you tap your chin, carefully deliberating your every option, until you land on the most logical choice:

The Goddess Tower! Yes, that will do splendidly! For one, it's pretty tucked away, and you know that security there has to be loose if so many couples go there. Secondly, no one will dare to bother you, because it's not like they would be so hypocritical! Thirdly, because you can!!!

Yeah! You're totally not going there in hopes of a…happy coincidence!

After a close call with a guard, you manage to sneak into the tower of legend. And…yeah. You don't find anyone waiting for you. At all.

Well, at least you did, but then you saw the Professor with someone else, and promptly ascended the steps to avoid that can of worms. You do not need to know about your Professor's love life, thank you very much. But hey, if it ever came up…you wouldn't mind gossiping a bit, if you got a little something in turn…a "something" the shape of sugar candies, smelling of sugar candies, tasting of sugar candies, and undoubtedly a collection of the object one calls a sugar candy.

These musings of candy and gossip are short-lived, however. It makes way for the confused emptiness swirling in your chest.

You couldn't grab hold of Dimitri. And yes, that makes sense, given how many people were clamoring for a dance with him; you could barely make him out through the crowd. When you thought you saw him, it turned out to be a very disgruntled Ingrid at the hands of a maybe-too-happy Claude. After saving the poor girl from his antics (read: politely make an excuse and escape). Ingrid appreciated the breather, but then Sylvain brought her back into the foray with the ballroom floor noticeably clearer than before. It made looking into the room much easier, and it became clear that Dimitri was nowhere to be found.

(Though you did catch Sylvain's gaze, and he winked at you like he just knew. That was the final push you needed to get out of there as quickly as possible)

So…you didn't get to dance with him. Which is a stupid thing to be disappointed by, yeah, but…well…

You groan out of the window, cheeks furiously pink. "Thoughts, be gone. Mind, be gone. Horniess, be gone. No good child of the goddess is so…so desperate. It's a good thing Mother can't read my mind…ahhhhh!" You (somewhat silently) squeal, leaning further onto the railing. "Come on, (Name)! Even if the whole politeness thing is an act…you ought not to dip your toes this much into debauchery!!! Ugh, no, (Name)! Please, anything but the hand holding….!" You wail, embarrassment reaching your ears, "Oh, someone, anyone, tell me to forbid such thoughts!"

Suddenly, you notice very hurried footsteps, soon accompanied by a call of your name. In your delirium, this registers in your mind not as a fellow lovestruck troublemaker, but an evil demon from the hells here to jail you for your sins of lustuous hand-holding!

You yelp in surprise and fear and salvation, which has your body nearly vaulting out of the window, but a sturdy grasp on your waist pulls you back onto the stone floor and flush against a firm and wa…b-b-body…

Your mind, firmly on autopilot, screech with a mixture of embarrassment and thrill, pushing away with a wholly red face.

"I!!!! WHO'S THERE!" You scream, for as certain as you are of the answer, it almost feels too magical to be true.

"Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Who just saved you from falling to your death, I might add."

And yes. You aren't dreaming. He is. Right. Right there. Right in front of your eyes. You pinch yourself and feel the slightest pinprick of pain in response.

"Di-di-dimitri—" you dumbly stammer, "How, um, what a coincidence! Running into my late night buddy during the night! Life is just chalk full of such rare incidents, hahaha!"

Dimitri coughs, "Have we not spent innumerable nights together?"

Even though you know for a fact that Dimitri means nothing more than the literal meaning of his words, their other meaning only adds fuel to the fires of your delirium.

As in, fire alights your face, and the smoke brings out a string of wholly undignified, nervous laughter. "O-oh, haha, y-yeah! We sure have, Dimitri! Haha!"

His brows furrow with concern, "(Name), are you alright? Do you have a fever? Your face is quite red."

"Huh? Oh, nononononoonono, no sir! Don't worry about me, hahaha…"

"I thought we've already established that my worry for you is—ahem, never mind." He coughs into his fist, slightly looking away, "If you won't confirm it yourself, then—"

"No, really, hehe, I—I'm fine," you manage to admit, "Just, um. Well. Why's you in the Goddess Tower? Are you, um…"

Wait. Dimitri, in the Goddess Tower? All by himself?

And you saw the Professor. Actually, now that you think about it, the Professor was also nowhere to be found when you noticed Dimitri's absence.

In a snap, the fire burning within you extinguishes. Icy water drips from your face, hanging heavy with clarity and realization. But your face perks right back up as quickly as it falls. It's a trained instinct of yours, and you'd be damned if you didn't use it for this.

Your tongue feels like charcoal, heavy and searing, and ash weighs further down on it with every word you speak. "So, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, prince of Faerghus, has taken a shine to someone?" you tease, voice bordering on playful and wooden. "Just who is it that's softened up such a straight-laced man? Perhaps…our dear Professor?"

Shock blooms on his face. "The Pro—?! No! I-I, no! They are nothing more than an ally and mentor."

You quirk your eyebrow, even when it feels like a burning wick on your face, "Rea~lly? But I had thought I saw our dear Professor on the floor below speaking to another!"

"You did? Wait, so the Professor—never mind." He shakes his head. "But it was not I who the Professor was speaking to. In fact, you're the only person I've run into."

Oh.

But all that means is that he's waiting for someone else to come by, right? Ah, now that you think about it, he's been acting more wooden than he usually does…like he's not sure how to react to meeting you instead of the person he…lo…

"Then…whom is the lucky maiden or gentleman that has won your heart so, for you to be waiting for them on the night of this gala?"

You see him straighten out his back impossibly further. "I'd…I'd just heard someone here wanted to talk to me, so I'm not really waiting for anyone." He averts his eyes when you meet them.

You frown quizzically. "So, then this love of yours is more like a secret admirer? With a messenger at that? Hmmm…." you tap your chin, both eager to leave and wallow in your bed and to find out the identity of this mysterious nobody who—no! Don't think like that, you loser. It's just a crush, isn't it? Don't stoop to such lowly thoughts! In fact, you'll even support this mystery lover if you find out! It'll be a show of the highest moral character, haha!

(Your frantic mind is just doing anything it can to prevent you from indulging in sorrow, as pointless as it is)

"Who was the kind soul who served as messenger, then?"

"Well…I don't know if I'd call them a 'secret' admirer," Dimitri shifts, "In fact, Sylvain told me who to meet outright. If anything, I should be the confused one here?"

You cock your head. "What do you mean?"

"He told me that…" he pauses, taking in a sharp breath as he wills himself to look back at your eyes, "you wanted to speak to me. In the Goddess Tower." He shifts. You assume it's from some sort of discomfort.

The wind howls, and the frantic flap of wings follows. Branches fall to the ground, brittle with shock. Pebbles roll down the hill and clack against one another, igniting a spark once more.

Of all the things to say, all that comes out is a single "Woah."

"I'm sorry??" Dimitri staggers, like a pig shoved so very suddenly. Or perhaps the shock electrified you so greatly that your brain fried, and in the process of it melting away, you hallucinate the most delusional of scenes. In what world doth His Highness Dimitri even act a bit like an animal? He is leagues more dignified than even the most well-bred of nobles!

You catch yourself with your jaw slack; make a swift recovery before any drool can fall. "I mean—I—I didn't expect—I think Sylvain knew, but, but—" ooooooooooooh! Your cheeks! They burn—burn, burn, burn! It makes you ache for nothing more than to defenestrate yourself if only to fall asplatter down to the relief of the pond below!

You cough, ember tickling your throat, and mindlessly continue on with your unfathomable tirade. "Yous is a, whatsa—" spit catches in your throat, and you cough, "Keh—Um, yeah! I, hahaha! I didn't uhhhh—"

Dimitri awkwardly shuffles, slightly averting from where he faces you, "Hah, um, yes, yes! But let's calm down; I can't hardly understand when you're speaking so incoherently. Not that your voice is bad to—I mean, we must communicate clearly and concisely."

Somehow, your brain is able to comprehend that sentence, and you take a few deep breaths to try and calm yourself. It doesn't actually do much, given that oxygen fans the flames already burning in you, but you do at least wrestle back some control over your mouth. "Erm—yes. I do. Please, give me a. A moment."

You two spend a moment not looking at each other. It's an incredibly awkward silence, and it's a miracle you don't devolve back into lovesick ramblings.

Dimitri breaks the silence. "So, is it safe to assume that Sylvain lied?"

"Yeah. I never talked to him about this," you reply, choosing to act wooden lest you speak incoherently.

"Then, you must've been waiting for someone in the Goddess Tower, yes?" You think he sounds disappointed.

"No…" you admit, "I was…I was hoping to dance with someone, but I didn't get the chance to, so I just kinda went here, to, you know…"

"Ah. I. I see. Then I am truly sorry for bothering you."

He begins to walk away, but your own voice surprises you.

"You were the guy. The one I wanted to dance with." You blurt.

The air stills. Again.

You're going to die—

"You—" Dimitri pauses. "Dance."

"Here." You blurt and mentally slap yourself.

"In the Goddess Tower."

"Yes." You blurt, but you realize you're already in this deep, so you might as well push further, "For a good few dances, if you don't mind."

His breath hitches and the fire raging in your chest is enough to rival even Ailel's flames. "It would be a great honor to have a dance with you." He says. You're nearly tempted to look right at his face, but you're not sure if you want to show him how furiously red your face is; well, it'll be pretty inevitable for him to see your face if you're to dance, but—well—don't scream don't scream don't scream—

You cough, face red. You slip your hand into his, heart skipping a beat when he intertwines his fingers.

You aren't super sure of where this will go, but…you're excited. You….you really want to see this work out…

You nervously giggle. And this close, you can properly see the red furiously dusting his cheeks. His Adam's apple bobs with a barely audible gulp. A bit of his hair sticks to his forehead, the remnants of brightening the ballroom floor. His eyes are a cross between their usual stalwart rest and feverish embarrassment doing all it can to not fall apart like a burning building. He bits his lips, ever so slightly, but now you're imagining—

"The sentiment is shared, Dimitri," you flush, bringing your hand up to his shoulder. Fire roars when his hand slots against your waist. You're locking eyes now. You could just lean in and—

"Shall we?" Dimitri rhetorically asks; you assume in an attempt to stave off the building from collapsing anymore than it already has.

Your heart, burning with the passion and embarrassment of Ailel, sings.

"Of course."

For the first time in a long time, you're looking forward to what the future could bring.

—

The future has come, and it has shown that Edelgard is an enemy.

You do end up worrying about the boy you love. And you realize you don't know much about him. You still can't get the sight of how…how pleased he looks killing those soldiers. Carrying with him a happiness that disturbingly reminds you of your dance together.

But he's just angry. This'll be over soon, and then you two can go back to awkwardly fumbling confessions characteristic of young love.

But as you practice your spellcraft—cast Fire and Bologone—your mind drifts back to that scene: the Flame Emperor revealed, and Dimitri charging at her like a feral beast.

But that's not what truly makes you shudder.

As your gaze is compelled to the Goddess Tower, your memory flashes across your mind, and all you can see is Dimitri looking right back at you: eyes blown out, face speckled with rouge, and a smile so depraved you felt spiders crawl up your spine.

You can't help but wonder if you've only imagined this little mutual crush of yours. How could a person like that, who made that kind of face—how could they possibly love at all—

You stop. It's ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Dimitri is fine. He will be fine. He just needs Edelgard dead, and perhaps some stir-fried weeds and a moment to appreciate the flowers in the greenhouse and a dance with you alone under the azure moon—

The training ground staff have to replace a few dummies. You burnt a few to ash. The wind blows flakes of it on your cheek.

For the first time, ash has burned a place outside of your mouth.

—

You grit your teeth as you dodge a ray of Thoron; you hit the offending mage with a cast of Sagittae, and all that remains of the mage are the ashes of their body and their screams hanging over like smoke.

But now…she's in front of you, and you're not sure if you should retreat or not—-you'd like to run away, but at the same time…that feels a bit like betraying Dimitri, right…? if you can kill Edelgard, maybe all of this will go away, and then you two can actually—

Your thoughts fizzle into ember when her gaze locks onto yours. Now there's not much other choice but to acknowledge her, right?

"Edelgard." You frown. "You're really doing this, huh?"

She doesn't deny it in the slightest, "If you think you can convince me to do otherwise, then that is effort poorly spent," she frowns, but doesn't give away more than lingering regret for something.

"Well, I guess we're on the same page on that front," you prepare a cast of Ragnarok, steeling yourself, "Nothing's going to dissuade me from this. I won't let you spill blood in the name of conquest." And I want to see Dimitri go back to normal, you think.

"Hmph. So that's your choice," she mutters, "Well…your life is your own, and so I won't be so arrogant as to make your choices for you. Still…how regrettable that I shall cut down one whom I tried to spare from Monica's fate."

Monica? That's…and who you saw revealed to be Kronya; the Monica who died goddess knows how long ago, whose body was merely used as a puppet—

Realization hits you like a storm, and the magic you had been casting falters with it." Saved…? Monica? Wait, then, when I was kidnapped—!" You cut yourself off. There's no reason to state the obvious when there's a single lingering question left. "Why?! What use is my body?!"

Maybe you imagine it, but you think her jaw clenches. "Well, why not? A wealthy merchant's heir would grant a fair amount of influence over the flow of resources. And such a deal's all the more sweeter when her very own parents cooperate…"

You make the mistake of freezing. Of fully narrowing your attention. Everything quiets. Ash cakes your mouth. Smoke travels down to your stomach. Your skin falls off in charred clumps.

Lamentation, though faint, hangs on her words, "I can't promise you a proper burial. The most I can do is make sure everyone sees your body become ash. At least then, no one could dispute your death, and so no one could steal your face…" Her brows furrow with resolution. Her eyes blaze with scarlet passion, steadfast yet regretful. Unfaltering in her resolve, yes, but it shall always be tinged by the ashes of sacrifice.

"As Emperor, I cut down anyone who stands in my way!"

She charges to close the distance, and you blankly cast Ragnarok, still disoriented and mind filled with nothing and everything. But all is going well. Or. Or is it? That's what your parents say when business is doing well—

"Why are you so opposed to going to Fhirdiad?! Are you that attached to some treacherous boy?!"

"Hm, (Name), let your father teach you the art of 'pranks,' hm? They're good for business, of course! That they are of great enjoyment is merely a…happy coincidence."

"My dear daughter…when you grow up, I have the highest of hopes you'll reach heights unseen even by me…"

"This is the most basic of arithmetic. Is it truly so impossible for you to wrap your head around it?"

"Oh, did you know, (Name)? You can eat dandelions; in fact, they are absolutely delectable in soups."

"How was it in Fhirdiad, (Name)? Cold? Hm. Just show me and your mother what you've learned. That school costed a pretty penny."

"What a beautiful dress! Let's get it. No doubt you'll dazzle all manner of suitors with it."

"Why not join the Blue Lions? You might get your father's good sensibilities if you do. A far-flung hope maybe, but we'd best capitalize on every hope we can get for you."

"Good job, my sweet girl. Continue this, and you'll make me and your mother so very, very proud."

"Hm? Oh. Sorry, (Name). We're busy. We'll be off for Lord Arundel's territory now. Keep a good eye on the shop. We should be back in time to see you off to the Academy."

Edelgard cries out as she is hit with your cast of Ragnarok, but she doesn't seem particularly fazed. When you start to wonder why, blue lightning has already gathered in her hands.

Distant Counter.

—

It does not take long for the thunder jolting across your body to spark into flame.

Engulfed in fire, it is not long before your screams falter when your lungs are filled with the smoke from your own corpse. Like fire, your death has a strange beauty to it, but ultimately, your body falls as quickly as it had been set alight, and crumbles in the wake of inevitable destruction. Like fire, you shined, but burned out before you could even reach the stars.

There is no time for him to mourn, but there is plenty of time for him to run his lance through any wretch nearby. In the counter of his eye, he sees the Professor panicked and wide-eyed with shock. Their hand reaches out, desperately trying to grasp at something; time, maybe. But with how their gaze shakes and mouth falls agape, it slips right through their fingers.

But he doesn't grant it more thought than that. Predominant in his mind is Edelgard's head, swaying on Enbarr's gates.

Edelgard looks at him coldly, even when he forces her to retreat. Even then, Dimitri lunges toward her like a wild boar but screams when a cast of Mire hits him, feeling his very being wither with it. But he's already been withered, so what's a bit of sanity to him, really?

But he does not get her head. Instead, he gets hordes of soldiers, and all he can do while his mind is grayed with ash is slaughter and the remembrance of fire: passionate, lively, and so willing to burn down whatever's in its path.

—

Despite the ashes and chars that much of your body has been reduced to, your hand is ice cold. He can't even really hold it, your fingers having snapped off your hand in pieces of charcoal.

Maybe it's silly. He hadn't know you for even a year. But when he thinks about your death, he thinks about fire again, and the grief churning within him is too much to bear—so he stops thinking once and for all.

Underneath the moon, a breeze swaying the flowers surrounding the campfire, your ghost flickers in its flames, and with chilling scorn, you say the words that shatters his mind for good:

“Give me her head.”

#dimitri x reader #fem reader #dimitri fire emblem #dimitri fire emblem x reader #dimitri x you #fe3h x you #fe3h x reader #female reader #reader insert #x reader #aLRIGHT SPECKLED TELL ME I'VE READ THIS ALREADY SO TELL M-

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