#hi i poured my heart & soul into this could you maybe bear witness to my efforts & acknowledge me <mortifying. just set me on fire instead.

[mollypaup]

what if i started making and posting art again. what then.

[destinyimage]

Bill Johnson: ‘I Never Witnessed Faith At THAT Level Before’

The Bible doesn’t say “by understanding we have faith.” Heart is first, brain is second.

“With the heart one believes unto righteousness” (Romans 10:10 NKJV). I remember, many years ago, I was in Nashville for a meeting and a woman came up to me to tell me about a condition she had in her heart and lungs. She said, “I believe tonight is my night. God is going to heal me tonight.”

Now, I’ve heard people say that many times, but this moment was different. When she walked up to me, I could feel the tangible presence of faith on her. It stunned me. As soon as she spoke, I actually took a step backward. I wanted every cell in my body to recognize the atmosphere of faith she was carrying. I wanted the presence of God on this woman to impact me—spirit, soul, and body. I had never witnessed faith at that level before.

After a moment, I laid hands on her to pray, and she went down and was out for maybe twenty minutes. When she got up, she said, “My chest is burning!” She had a medical device that continuously pumped medication directly into her heart. Each morning she changed the medication in order to survive another day.

After she received prayer, she went home, but I saw her back at the meeting the next night. I asked her how she was feeling, and she said, “Well, this morning at 7 a.m. the Lord told me I didn’t need the medication anymore.”

Doctors had told her she could live approximately four minutes without medication. At 9 p.m. that night, more than 12 hours after removing her medication, she was giving testimony to everyone in the room. The Lord had poured His faith into her, empowering her to act boldly as He completely healed her.

Bill Johnson

Senior Leader of Bethel Church

Redding, CA

The Origins of Faith

Have a very decided dislike for negative preaching and writing. It is not sufficient for a speaker or author to discuss the disease, but to satisfy my soul and mind, he must give me the cure. It is easy to point out what is wrong, but I want to know what is right. Sometimes that is a little more difficult than one would suppose. However, when at last honest mistakes have been rectified, and we are back on the paths of truth, it may be that in the providence of God the wrong trail will have left us a heritage of blessing.

Many years ago I was on one of my periodic visits to the mountain ranges which border on the rocky coasts of Alaska. A visitor to this land of the Great White Silence had been lost, and I had told him of the trail which would take him back to a valley where he could get his bearings. After a lapse of two hours he was back at my camp. He told me he was confused and completely turned around; and asked me if I would kindly travel with him until he was sure of his direction. I did, for it is a danger- ous place in which to wander alone, unless one has a knowledge of the country and its trails. Weeks later I received a letter from the grateful fellow, in which he said among other things, “To know you are on the right road is a fine thing; but to return to it, after being on the wrong one, multiplies its blessing.”

How true! It is after the rain that we appreciate the bursting buds and delicate greens of the early spring. After the storm clouds we appreciate the calm of a sky-blue day. If through these pages I can lead those dear children of God, who have not seen the full fruit of the victory of faith, back to the clear teaching of the Book and to ultimate victory, then this heart of mine will be happy and these pages, written in prayer, will not fail in their mission.

The thing above all else I want you to see is that you cannot generate it; you cannot work it up; you can not manufacture it. It is imparted and infused by God Himself. You cannot sit in your homes and struggle to have faith, and affirm that something is; nor can you turn your hope and desire into faith by your own power. The only place you can get it is from the Lord, for the Word clearly and distinctly states that faith is one of two things. It is either a gift of God, or it is a fruit of the Spirit.

We are told in Paul’s Epistle to the Corinthians, “Now abides faith, hope, and love; but the greatest of these is love.” While love might be the greatest, it certainly is not the first. It must be preceded by faith. Look out of your window at yonder tree. What a thing of symmetry and loveliness it is! Only God can make a tree. There is beauty in its twisted branches. There is loveliness in its trembling leaves. Every leaf is a little world unto itself, with its tiny veins carrying the life that God supplies, which gives it all it possesses in its native realm. Yet there is something back of the tree. Beneath the surface of the ground there is a great system of roots hidden away. You never behold them; yet without them the tree would die. It would have no life at all.

Faith is the Life

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The roots are ugly and hard in comparison to the beautiful greenery above the ground. Yet the greenery is there partly because of those roots. Now, let us call the top of the tree “Love.” You can see it. You can contact it. You can enjoy its fragrance. You behold its beauty. It is there because of something which is back of it—something hidden away that causes it. That something is the roots. Now you expect me to say that those roots are the roots of faith. No! Faith is the life that flows into the roots. It is that mystical quality that only God can produce and give. There are roots you could plant which will never, never grow.

You, yourself, and your inner nature are those roots. Your senses, your avenues of approach to the expressions of life itself are buried below the surface where people cannot see them. All the world beholds is what you produce and not you yourself. What did Jesus mean when He said, “By their fruit ye shall know them”? Ye shall know them. The fruit produced is an index to what the tree really is.

Let me repeat. The roots of the tree are not faith. The roots do not produce the life, but the life produces the roots. It is the life that is faith. It is that wonderful and glorious quality which is a gift of the divine heart, and which sustains us. This life, or faith, will be manifest to the world by the fruit we bear; by the arms of love outstretched; by the things of grace and beauty which through God are manifested day by day on the tree of our lives.

How foolish it would be for that tree to struggle in an attempt to create the life which flows into it. It need not struggle. All it needs to do is to function in obedience to the laws divine. As the life is there, it simply manifests that life in the fruit it bears, and the beauty with which it endows the world.

So it is with faith. Love may be the greatest thing in the world, but faith must of necessity be the first. Without faith it is impossible to please God. But you tell me that you have faith. I ask you where you got it. I pick a rosy apple from a tree. I hear it testify from the core of its little apple heart. It tells me it has rosy cheeks. It whispers in my ear that it is so very good to the taste. It invites me to taste its flavor. It testifies that it has so many noble and beautiful qualities. Then I ask it where it got them all.

From the branch? The shelter of the leaves, the rain and the sun? Yes, all true; but I knew that way down in the hidden system, which you can not see, the roots were receiving something from God that no tree on the face of the earth has ever been able to produce of itself!

The Atheist and God

Some time ago an atheist sat in a meeting I was conducting. He was extremely hard and cynical. He lived alone in the room of a hotel, and his solitude had only added to his hard, critical, unbelieving nature. I preached that night on the subject “Com- prehending the Incomprehensible.” I declared that it was possible to believe the unbelievable; to know the love of God that passes knowledge. The follow- ing morning he came to my room and asked for an interview. He was rather argumentative and I told him, while I did not have time for argument, I would be glad to answer any sincere, honest ques- tion which he might put before me.

He said, “I have no faith whatever. I do not believe the Bible, and I do not know if there be a God. I do see a law of order in nature and the universe, but what causes it, or where it came from, I do not know. Now, Dr. Price, your sermon last night was a challenge to my thinking. What I want to know is this: How can a man spend a dollar when he does not have one? How can you drive a car when you do not possess one? How can you believe when you have no belief? How can God expect a man to exercise faith when he does not have any (assuming there is a God)? Where is there justice in a set-up like that?”

“Are you an honest man, and do you want to know the truth?”

“What is truth?” was the reply. “‘What brand of it do you mean? I have never been able to find it, although I have spent a lifetime in search of it.”

On the wall of my apartment was hanging a picture of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. His hands were clasped and His eyes were raised toward heaven in prayer. I walked over to that picture and looked at it for a moment or two without speaking. I intuitively knew he would be looking at that picture too. When at last I turned to face him, I said, “He is Truth. He is the Way. He is your Life and Faith. He has in abundance what you say you do not have. You have been trying to get it out of mind, thought, and intellect. He can put it there, as the river of His grace flows through your heart. That is why He came. He came to make men free… free from doubts like yours… free from fears and misgivings… free from unbelief and free from sin…”

“Sounds like a fairy story to me,” he interrupted. “Fine if you can believe it, but how can man or God expect a man to believe what he can not believe?”

He went away. A week later he came to me and offered his hand. When I looked at his face, I knew the miracle had happened. Into his heart there had come not only the conscious knowledge of sins forgiven, but a manifestation of the sweetness and love of God which had made him a new creation in Christ Jesus. As in the Millennium, instead of the briar shall come up the myrtle tree, so in this man’s life there had sprung up the evidence of the Indwelling Presence of God.

“Do you know what happened?” he said. “I told the Lord to manifest Himself, if He was there. I asked Him to do something which would reveal His presence, if He was there at all. I became conscious that He was near me. I realized there was a God—that there was a soul to save. I did not understand it with my mind, but I knew it in my heart. Then I told Him I had no faith to believe, so He gave me His faith, and I believed. The work was done.”

Why not? That is God’s way of salvation. “As many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the Sons of God, even to them that believe on His name.” When I give an altar call, I invite every man, and every woman, to surrender his heart and life to Christ. If we are saved by Faith, how do I know that all can have the faith to receive? How do I know that every one whom I invite can find eternal life? Some might have faith, and others be entirely devoid of it. The fact that people believe what you say does not mean that they have the faith to translate that belief, or even heart hunger, into an experimental knowledge of sins forgiven.

Nevertheless, I cry, “Whosoever will may come,” because I know that He will impart the faith which is needful to every sincere heart. I have quoted the twelfth verse of the first chapter of John: “But as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the Sons of God, even to them that believe on His name.” Let me quote the next one. Thus does it read: “Who were born (that is, born again) not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.”

The same Holy Ghost who convicts the sinner of his sin will see to it that as the sinner was given enough conviction to convince him of his sin, so he will now be given faith enough to convince him of his salvation. But no man in himself possesses that faith. Are we not told “By grace are ye saved, through faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God.” Poor, wretched, miserable, ignorant, unbelieving humanity could never grow or develop in such corrupt hearts of unbelief faith enough to believe in a Savior, let alone receive Him. So the Holy Spirit not only imparts the conviction of the need of a Savior, but also imparts the faith to receive Him.

Never think it was your faith that received Christ as your Savior. Never say that any act of yours was the basis of your redemption. It is Jesus who imparts the water of which He spoke to the woman by Samaria’s wayside well. It is Jesus who puts His arms of love beneath the burden on your back and lifts it from your tired, weary body. It is Jesus who pours into the lacerated, broken heart the oil of heaven’s joy. It is Jesus who smooths the wrinkles of care with the gentle touch of a mother’s hand, and it is Jesus who brings you out of the darkness of the night into the light of His own glorious and wonderful day.

“Oh, it is Jesus; yes, it is Jesus; Yes, it is Jesus in my soul;

For I have touched the hem of His garment, And His blood has made me whole!”

Sing it and shout it. Proclaim it and herald it near and far. His blood—His grace—His power—His pardon—His faith!

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[pygmyocto]

for me to love you

§pairing: morax | zhongli x fem!reader § summary: how is it possible for him to love you? a god and a mortal soul, one forced to relive the death of their lover for eternity, the other forced to be cursed with a shortened life. § tags/cw: angst, angst no comfort, death, funeral-planning, implied nsfw activities, reincarnation, mortality § notes: not proofread, we die like rex lapis, low-key wrote this for a class originally and had to rewrite it to turn into a fanfic, so if there’s some weird pov changes that’s why. also first fanfic i’ve published in five years woo! § word count: 2.6k

Planning your own funeral is something you should never have to think about. It’s something that should be left to your next of kin, or the ones you leave behind. But what happens when you have no one you’re leaving behind? That’s where a funeral consultant comes in. That’s why Morax is currently pouring over the letter he just received from the courier. Dear Mr. Zhongli, I deeply apologize for my behavior about the arrangements for the funeral. I did not mean to cause you undue stress. This funeral however is extremely important to me, and it’s imperative that it goes off without a hitch. You only die once, right? Apologies again, if I don’t laugh I suppose I’ll cry. But, in any case please do write back to me if you are still comfortable helping me plan the rites of passing. If I do not hear a response from you within the next week, I will go ahead with my plan to pursue another funeral consultant. Best regards, Planning your own lover’s funeral is something you should never have to think about. Which is why he stared at the signature on the line with a slowly cracking heart. That’s why Morax wasn’t able to get out of bed for the past three days. For centuries, eons even, he’d spent his time trying to keep you on this earth with him for as long as possible. Yet here you was as this new vessel at twenty-six, seeking him out to ask for his advice on planning your own funeral. Lying on his back, staring up a blank ceiling, he covered his eyes in the crook of his arm and laughed. What a cruel mistress fate was. His head chanted back the words in the letter to him. “You only die once, right?” No, Morax had witnessed the deaths of your various vessels many-a-times. “I did not mean to cause you undue stress” Darling, you’ve done that since the moment your soul was breathed into existence by Celestia and sent to torment his soul. Perhaps this was his divine punishment for all of the things he had done in the Archon War. “If I do not hear a response from you within the next week, I will go ahead with my plan to pursue another funeral consultant.” One week. That’s all he had to say goodbye. This was all his fault; he knew that it had to be. He was the reason that your soul was fading. While each time your vessel died, you would come back and be the same kind soul, ignorant of your shared lifetimes until something sparked. Then suddenly you remembered everything. This latest vessel he knew—be it godly intuition or otherwise—would be your last. One week. The door to his quaint little mortal home flew open and he took a briefcase with him. The idea that someone else would plan what very possibly could be the last funeral you would ever had rubbed him in all of the wrong ways. Nearly five millennia, give or take, of knowing your soul all for your last lifetime to amount in you not even remembering him… The thought was too much to bear. Maybe there was still time. Still time for him to try to get your memories back. To keep you awake and away from eternal slumber. ੈ✩‧₊˚  Standing in the doorway, you looked much weaker than you had been three days ago when you came into the funeral parlor a sobbing mess. Despite having the happy glow back, your general attitude felt more… tired. Like you’d run a marathon and was ready to go home and relax. Morax supposed that in a bit of an abstract way, you had. “Oh! Mr. Zhongli. I didn’t expect you to be here…” you said, the awkwardness was evident. Unavoidable. Morax had always prided himself on being able to keep a professional manner towards clients but… “Yes, I came to apologize… the way I acted was completely out of character for me. I do wish to assist you in--” “Planning my own funeral… yeah…” “Precisely.” “Well, uh… I guess we can get to work? Let me go clean myself up and you can tell me the plan?” “That sounds like a good idea to me.” You stepped to the side a bit like a deer just learning to walk. “Well, uh, come in and make yourself at home. I’ll only be a moment. Would you like a cup of tea?” “I’m alright, thank you.” “Wine?” you laughed, and Morax found himself cracking a smile. “You may want to save that for the viewing.” “Ah, of course, how could I forget,” you giggled. It sounded like a wind chime. Morax’s eyes watched your form disappear into another room. Yet it felt like your presence lingered. The old couch he found himself perched upon appeared to have been from a hand-me-down store. In fact, most of the furniture appear to be second-hand. He stared at a stain on the couch that had appeared to have been through the wringer of cleaning supplies. His finger traced it. It was an old stain. In previous lifetimes, Morax made sure to always find your vessel and ensure you lived a comfortable life. In a way, he felt like he was still able to love you, without actually having to put you through the pain of remembering all of the previous lifetimes—and with the pain of knowing you would never live to see the age of forty with those memories of your shared lives together. Yet it seemed that for the past few lifetimes, he was unable to find your vessel. There was no exact way to calculate how many reincarnations he’d missed—it could be decades before your soul found a vessel, sometimes it was mere months. Then there was the issue of vessels being mortal. Despite not being cursed to die at forty, the vessel still very much could succumb to mortal diseases, injuries, and the like. All of these variables made it near impossible to calculate exactly how many iterations of you had to live in anything less than luxury Thinking of his lover living in anything less than luxury made his heart feel heavy. How many lifetimes had it been you were forced to live without knowing the comforts of a soft bed? Of not having to worry about where the next meal came from? “I’m ready—“ Morax snapped out of his daze. “—Ah uh… sorry. I know it’s all a bit of a mess. I’ve tried so dang hard to get that thing out of that couch but nothing works.” “I see.” Now you seemed embarrassed now. “Uh—well—do you want to sit outside?” “Wherever you are most comfortable.” “Right—then um… this way,” you motioned. Just up the hill was a small tea kiosk. The old man smiled with a sense of familiarity and wordlessly served two cups of a sweet smelling tea. You tapped the table with your index and middle finger twice and the man reached across, patting you on the head. The man retreated away to a small stove away from the kiosk, where a few tables had been set up and other patrons laughed merrily. “So… there are three rites that I want to make sure happen, I guess. The Rite of Peace, the Rite of Release… and the Rite of Apology…” “Apology? I don’t think you have anything to apologize for…” “Yes… it’s just… um. I don’t know. I feel like I need to. For dying so young before I could contribute anything to Liyue.” “I see…” said Morax, but he really didn’t. Plenty of people died young. Usually they would participate in the Rite of Love, in order to inspire the others around them to live a life filled with love to compensate for the love they were not able to give. Rite of Apology usually only occurred for the criminal who had done much wrong in their life and wanted to set things right with their Archon before they passed. Morax inwardly reveled at the irony. The Rite of Apology was an apology of the dying to him, as he was the Archon of Liyue, yet in this one situation, the offending party was him. He’d make sure that he set things right. He’d reconnect your soul to your vessel and if his theory was correct, it would fortify your soul and allow it to keep living on until he could love you the way he should’ve been this whole time He’d do it right this time.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

A week had passed. A week of trying to get you to remember. And finally, here. Now. It was paying off. In the warmth of his home, his room, with you so close to his heart there was no way you wouldn’t remember your shared past. The two of you lie bare before each other, you curled into his pale chest as he held his arms protectively around you. A thin sheen of sweat remained on your forehead, and the thin sheet did little to protect the curving form of your body from Morax’s loving gaze. Trailing that curve with his fingers, Morax once more buried his face in the duvet between your neck and shoulder, whispering your name—your true name—like a prayer, “I’ve missed you so much,” he muttered, teeth grazing over the soft parts of your shoulder, the tip of his tongue experimentally darting out every now and again. As it clicked, however, you were tense. You said your true name like a question and sat frozen as a statue, pushing against his shoulders to get him off your body. “Is that… your wife?” If you listened hard enough, you could hear the sound of Morax’s heart shattering into a million pieces. Together in the moonlight, your hair, which was in a clean bun before, fell around your shoulders and protected your quickly tear-staining cheeks from Morax’s prying eyes. He couldn’t help himself. He truly thought that this would’ve fixed it. It should’ve fixed it. It should’ve been fine. You would’ve have spent this last week together and you would remember. Your soul would be strong enough to pass onto another vessel, at least once. Then he’d love you as he was duty-bound to do. Like he should’ve been for the last several centuries. “Who is she?” You didn’t remember. He was too late… “Zhongli?” “Morax.” “Morax?” “My name is Morax. The Geo Archon. God of Contracts” “That’s a new one. Not many men who get caught cheating pull the ‘I’m actually a god’ card.” “It’s the truth.” “I don’t believe you.” Morax’s eyes narrowed and he allowed himself to take on his original form. The horns of a qilin and the dragon’s tail sprouted out of his human form. Suddenly, he felt vulnerable again. He was once more neither fully Rex Lapis, the untouchable Geo Archon of Liyue, nor was he Zhongli, the oddly wise funeral consultant of Wangsheng Parlor. He was the god who fell in love with a mortal soul, who was destined to haunt his existence for eternity. The reckless young god only recently awakened and sent to Teyvat. “You are her. Your soul is at least.” “I don’t understand.” “Your soul has been in many vessels. This form… it is your most recent,” Morax explained, and his heart cracked a bit more as you pulled away from him. “So… this isn’t the first time I’ve known you?” “No… but… I fear it may very well be the last.” “What do you mean?” “You’ve been growing weaker. It’s… my own fault. For many millennia, there has been two constants in Liyue. One, is my presence here. Two, was your soul reincarnating into different vessels. Cursed to live a life cut short at the age of forty, before coming back and doing it all over again…” “So… when you said that it was you… that should’ve been doing the Rite of Apology instead of me… what you really meant was—“ “—that I was sorry… because it is my fault you’re dying.” “But there’s no way you could’ve—“ “I knew. I was purposefully avoiding falling in love with you for the last few lifetimes because I… I suppose I was scared. Like you said in your letter. I was scared of loving someone knowing that they would have to leave me.” You were quiet, and even the creaking house grew still at the shared silence. “So… you just… decided to try to stop loving me?” “In order to ensure you lived happy lifetimes? To stop having to go through the pain of losing you over and over? Yes.” He admitted and saw the glassy tears in your eyes, “But… I see now that decision might’ve not been the best course of action. Because now I’m going to lose you forever.” You were quiet again, processing. He could see the gears turning. Trying to connect wires and fill in the blank spaces. But it’s impossible to fill in the blank spaces of memories when the memories themselves are not even accessible. Finally, you spoke. “Do you love me?” “More than anything.” “Then… if this is the last time I’ll see you… I’d like to ask a favor.” “Anything.” “Could… could you just hold me? For these last few moments?” Morax didn’t say anything, but simply wrapped you up in his arms. The end was in sight. The light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel was beginning to shine through. Your body grew weaker by the minute, and in turn, so did your soul. Yet as he lie next to you in the comfort of his home, in his bed, he didn’t feel the grief he had in previous iterations of you. In nearly five millennia of existence with each other, it was this last week that ended up meaning the most. “Do you think there’s an afterlife?” “For you? Yes… your soul will be able to go on and finally rest in Finality… I however… will remain here until Celestia calls me back to rejoin their ranks. There I will lie dormant until I am needed again,” Morax said, tracing patterns on your skin. “Why is that?” “Because I am of the race of gods. And you are are the race of men.” You turned onto your side, looking into Morax’s deep amber eyes. Morax wondered what you found there. “You say that I’m… this woman, your wife, but I don’t have any memories of these past lives. You said that past vessels of me would remember, right?” “Yes, but I believe since your soul is so weak from the lifetimes of my neglect… it is too late,” Morax responded, “—it was my own fault that I let you slip through my fingers again. It’s always the same story. I love you, and then I lose you.” “But this time…” Morax nodded, “This time it will be permanent.” You shifted onto your back once more. Looking up at the ceiling blankly. Morax could only stare at the soft outline of your features, memorizing each soft curve of your cheek, the angular jut of your nose. The way one side of your lips tugged up asymmetrically when you smiled. He tried to commit each feature to memory. To engrave the scene before him on his heart. “…I’m glad you found me again.” “I am too.” “I think I’m ready to go to sleep… I’ll—” a yawn, your eyes closed slowly as your breathing stilled, “—I’ll see you… when I wake up…” “…I’ll be right here when you do.” You smiled again before eyes shutting your completely. Your chest rose once more, before collapsing gently, never to take another breath. Morax closed his eyes, and the last thing you felt was droplets of sorrow from the god’s eyes. “Sleep well, my love… I love you... and--I’m sorry…”

[rekas-writes]

Raindrops

Pair: Yoru/GN! Reader

Type: Drabble - 582 words

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Stranded in the rain with just a bus stop providing cover for you two, you make a bold leap to try and create something romantic from something so drab.

TW: None

A/N: I think it’s a crime I haven’t written anything proper for Yoru yet so here we go! I was v inspired by Solas by Jamie Duffy! It’s such a beautiful song and set the tone for how I wrote this! I highly recommend listening to this while reading if you’re into piano pieces! This is also my first time writing Yoru properly haha- I thought I’d practise before tackling my requests! Sorry for the short length ^^;

、ヽ｀、ヽ｀💙☂️💙｀ヽ、｀ヽ、

Dancing in the rain wasn’t exactly as lovely as they depicted it to be in the movies. It was cold, chilly and most of all incredibly wet. You were soaked to the bone, but that didn’t stop you, as you ran out from under the measly protection the bus stop’s plain, plastic cover provided. 

The slumbering capital streets are drenched, shiny black asphalt reflecting the multi-chrome of colours the city lights offered. Yellow, pink, green, blue, purple. They dance upon your figure as you sway in your more than damp, little coat that really did nothing for you in these conditions. It’s cold, yes, and there’s the bite of wind every so often but you twirl all the same.

Yoru’s startled of course, seeing you embrace the drops of liquid sky. Then, the rift-walker’s yelping and huffing about as he’s dragged unceremoniously under the downpour. But it’s written in the way he cradles you softly in his arms, staying within your gentle grasp despite having so many opportunities to get away. He loves you and he loves this. Maybe not the pouring rain and the cold that seeps into his bones, but he loves the moment. This moment away from the strife and fighting in lieu of something romantic, domestic. It’s cut straight out of a cliché love story. Two lovers pirouetting at night with none to bear witness to such a scandal. The rain is their cloak away from prying eyes, the bubble they wear as they take their moment.

His soul bleeds for you and you alone. You who held his delicate heart so gently just as he does your own. It’s vulnerability on both ends, and neither of you would dare to hurt the other. A puzzle of two halves as you click together and meld as one beneath the misty shower of the skies. Though one may complain and roll his eyes, the other knows just how much he melts for memories such as these. Bits and pieces to recount later among other memories as you both lay awake at night.

He loves this moment just as much as he loves you.

No sonnet, nor poem nor novel could ever express the amount he loved you. The depths his feelings reached despite his coldness, his aloofness, were bewildering to many, most of all himself. It’s a good thing those were never in his interest in the first place. He thinks this little while alone together is good enough, and you’d be hard pressed to say otherwise. Actions speak louder than words for him, an opinion he holds dear in the moments he’s so embarrassingly tongue-tied because of you. And it’s with his hand holding the small of your back that he hopes this will say enough for you to understand just how much his heart burns for you.

Ryo could never portray such thought processes to you, not with his pride, so he settles with the first thing he has in mind as he looks you in the eye. He tries to sound annoyed, but his expression holds nothing but pure, unfiltered fondness for you. You’re smiling brightly, already prepared with an answer as you take one of his hands and rub circles into the back of it with your thumb. It flusters him, regardless of what he says.

He calls you ridiculous, you call him boring.

But in the end, you both laugh all the same, a bright and beautiful sound, as raindrops pool at your feet.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Num 12 for feysand please 😊

Sorry this took me so long to get to!! Enjoy some Feysand fluff <33

Every time I look at you, it’s like the first time - Feysand (718 words)

Rhys didn’t know what changed that morning. In reality, nothing did.

He and Feyre had woken up slowly, as they often do on the weekend. A tangle of limbs, warm skin pressed together, sharing breath, sharing heartbeats. They moved together, haloed in the morning light where it poured through the crack in their curtains.

And it wasn’t the sex that did it. It wasn’t Feyre’s lazy smile as she shrugged on one of his shirts and left to go make them each a coffee. It wasn’t the way he admired her ass while she walked away.

It was when he strolled through the kitchen door after having made the bed and cleared up the room. He found Feyre perched against his kitchen counter, coffee in hand with one cup set aside for him. She was staring at something on her phone and hadn’t noticed he’d come in.

It was something about the way her hair spilled into her face, regardless of the bun she’d spun atop her head. Rhys found himself immediately turning around, hurrying back to his bedroom. Maybe it was the routine, the intimacy of living together so seamlessly that he couldn’t remember the first time they'd woken up this way. They had always fallen into a natural rhythm together, so effortless he’d hardly thought to question it. If this was the kind of thing he could see himself doing for the rest of his life.

When he came back to the kitchen, this time Feyre did hear him. And she turned, offering him a smile so beautiful he felt his soul leave his body. Rhys had always imagined roses, music, a crowd of people to witness his love, to immortalize it in video. He’d be wearing a suit.

Instead he dropped to his bare knee on the tile of his kitchen floor, wearing nothing but his boxers. Feyre’s eyes had gone wide, fixed on the velvet box in his hand.

Rhys cleared his throat. “I know it’s not exactly romantic, proposing to you on my kitchen floor. You deserved a grand gesture, and I had always intended on giving you one, but I…” he looked up, into those stunning blue-gray eyes that were now shimmering with tears. “I saw you just now and I couldn’t breathe. That’s what it felt like the very first moment I saw you, and that’s how it’s felt every moment after. And I couldn’t bear another second without you knowing that you are the woman I envision spending my life beside. If you wanted something more elegant, you can say no, and I’ll try again somewhere better. I just wanted you to know that one day this ring will be yours.”

With a shaky breath, Rhys opened the box to show her the sapphire ring nestled inside. It had belonged to his mother, and he knew somewhere she was scolding him for such an improvised proposal. 

Feyre slowly sunk to her knees in front of him, tear tracks staining the soft, rosy slopes of her cheeks. She sniffed, recovering her composure enough to choke out, “Are you going to ask?”

His heart pounded a thunderous beat in his chest. Rhysand smiled, hoping Feyre could feel every ounce of his adoration as he asked, “Feyre Archeron, will you marry me?”

“I’m keeping my last name,” she said with another sniff, holding out her hand to him.

They could both see the way Rhysand’s hands shook as he pulled the ring from the box and slid it onto Feyre’s finger. It was a little loose, and they’d need to get it resized, but—

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, seconds before she launched her arms around him. Rhys fell backwards with a strangled laugh, the weight of Feyre a comfort above him as she peppered his face with kisses. He only realized he’d been crying too when she swiped her thumb beneath his eyes to catch the stray tears.

“And here I took you for a lavish man,” she teased. “I thought you'd fly me to Paris and propose beneath the Eifell tower, or something equally pretentious.”

“Is that what you want?” he asked, feeling a stab of guilt for being so impulsive.

“No,” Feyre whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his lips. “No, this was perfect.”

[midearthwritings]

Of Courtship and Patience (PART 1)

It took Naya many decades and three courtship proposals before giving her heart to Thorin.

Words Count : 2,188

Warning : Canonical Character Death, Grief

Author's Note : Ok so, little bit of context. The first part is set between TA 2793 and 2799, during the War of Dwarves and Orcs. I tried to stay as close to the story as possible. I'm really f-ing nervous because this is my first ever OC fic. Hope you will enjoy it.

And a big thank you to my #1 cheerleader @laurfilijames for helping me proof reading this and for her eternal support.

“Will they return to us?” 

Dís’ trembling voice made Naya look up at her. Her face, which was always so calm and composed, was distorted with fear and sorrow. 

Erebor was long lost, and exile had been forced onto them. It took years to get accustomed to the fact that they would never see the Lonely Mountain again. And after losing a home and being condemned to wander the world in search of somewhere to live, one would think there wasn’t much left to lose. It seemed the Gods did not share the same opinion for uncertainty and grief had been haunting the two young ladies’ nights lately.

Even without a king, those who could handle a weapon were taken away to battle. Even without a kingdom, the line of Durin was royalty. Therefore, they were the firsts to run into the deadly embrace of war. Death was their duty.

Slowly, Naya slid her hand into Dís’ in a gesture she hoped was reassuring enough.

“I cannot promise such a thing,” she said in a soft tone. “ For hoping too much might kill you if they do not come back. We can only wait.” 

The fire crackled quietly in the hearth, like a whisper carrying the saddest news and comforting them at the same time. It warmed their hearts when it had destroyed all they ever had, leaving them with nothing but their tears. 

Far from here, far from the safety of these walls, those they cherished the most were fighting vile creatures, exposing their souls to Death’s greedy fingers. Naya’s guts twisted and her eyes dropped to the floor. 

“If we lose them, Dís, will our friendship survive?”

A strong hand grabbed her face and forced her eyes to lock with Dís’. They were burning with determination, challenging her to repeat what she had said.

“Silly, if we lose them, you will be all I have left. So do not say such words, even to jest. I cannot bear the thought of having my greatest friend parted from me.”

The younger lady’s lips curved into a smile, a crooked one for the fingers digging into her cheeks made it hard. It made Dís smile as well, one mirroring the other. Mahal might have not crafted them to be each other's One, but surely, he had made them be the perfect reflection of the other's soul. They were like two sides of the same blade, held together by a bond so strong that neither time, life, or death would ever be able to break.       

      Although time did not break them apart, it did break their hearts. Many moons had passed without hearing from anyone. Dís, as well as Naya, had started to mourn the death of their brothers and friends. Or, at least, their disappearance. They had lost any hope of seeing them ever again. And so one day, they stopped praying for the Gods to have mercy, and silence replaced their hopeful chatter as they held each other’s hand every night. 

One morning, however, someone pounded loudly on Dis’ wooden door. Naya left her baking aside and went to open it. Perhaps was it that dwarf again, the one that was eyeing Dís like she was the most precious thing in this world. Naya wiped her hands onto her apron and pulled the door open.

It was not Dís’ suitor. She could not believe her eyes, at first. But there Thorin was, standing in the doorway, waiting for her to let him in. 

“Mahal, are my eyes fooling me?” She breathed out. “Thorin, is that really you?” 

The words had barely left her mouth when she heard Dís running down the stairs, her footsteps resonating inside the house like a thunderstorm. But all she could focus on was Thorin's blue eyes on her. They reminded her of the clear spring sky, full of promises of new beginnings. It was like when the sun was back from its long sleep, awakening the flowers and birds and people's hearts. And perhaps, at this moment, something did bloom in Naya's heart. 

             She did not hear  Dís call her brother's name and barely registered when she pushed past her to drag him into a tight embrace.

“Oh brother, I thought I would never see you again!” she exclaimed.

“Fear not, sister. A few cuts and scratches are all I had to go through.”

Naya smiled fondly. Dís’ love for Thorin washed over her, making her heart beat faster inside her chest. Only now did she realize it was not a dream. He had come back to them with almost no wounds and, most importantly, alive.

She stepped forward and laid her hand on Dís’ shoulder. Her friend pulled back, releasing Thorin from her arms. He was changed. His features had been hardened by war and his eyes were clouded with something she could not quite pinpoint.

“Won’t you embrace me as well?” 

Thorin’s deep voice sent shivers down her spine and she wrapped her arms around his body. He had lost weight, and she would have to make sure he regained all of it. But he hadn’t lost his muscles. She buried her face in his mane, but its softness wasn’t enough to make the coppery smell of blood go unnoticed. At this moment, Thorin felt like a stranger and like home all at once. 

“Your sister missed you greatly.” Naya whispered, only for him to hear.

“And you?” he asked in an equally low tone.

Naya chuckled and tightened her grip. She had missed him more than the sun missed the moon, more than the birds missed the trees covered in leaves during summer.  

“Yes, Thorin, I did.”

They let go of each other slowly as if to make the moment last longer. She could feel Dís’ eyes on her back, scrutinizing them. She stepped back, giving the prince some space, and offered a smile to her friend. 

“You must be tired, and hungry,” Naya said. “Get yourself comfortable, we will make something for you to eat.”

And so they did. Soon enough, the three of them were sitting at the table, sharing a meal. It was mostly Thorin who ate, in fact, for Naya and Dís did not feel the need to. Surrounded by comforting silence, they watched him eat, making sure he had everything he needed. But peace was something people were granted only for a short amount of time. 

“Thorin, when will Frerin come back?” Dís asked in a voice so timid Naya thought it wasn’t really her who had spoken up.

The prince looked up to his sister and Naya finally understood what it was that filled his eyes. It was grief. Frerin would not return. 

It did not take long for Dís to understand as well. She nodded slightly, tears threatening to fall, but she did not cry. She would when no one was looking because it was how royalty mourned the death of their loved ones. Naya was not royalty. Yet, she kept her head up and held back her tears to pay her respect to Frerin’s family and his memory. 

The following days, candles were lit in memory of the lost heir of Durin. They shone brightly like little stars, guiding Frerin into Mahal’s Halls. Naya held Dís as she grieved, but no words were able to soothe the excruciating pain that had taken over the princess’ heart.

Naya had hoped Thorin would help her, that he would stay by his sister’s side and comfort her, but no one had seen him for days. He had barely returned to them and he was already gone again. She felt anger towards him. For years, he had been away, battling against creatures that wanted him dead, and when Dís needed him the most, he was nowhere to be seen. Naya would have his head if he did not make an appearance soon.

One night, after they had stopped lighting candles and Dís was resting, he came to find her. It was late, and sleep had abandoned her. So she was baking again, hoping to silence the dark thoughts. She heard him coming from behind, his footsteps barely audible like those of a mouse. 

“Have you finally found some interest in your sister’s feelings?” she spat out, keeping her back to him. 

“Naya, I must speak to you.” 

She spun around, her blood boiling with rage. Wiping her hands on her apron, she walked up to him.

“No Thorin,” she said accusingly, her index finger digging into his chest. “It is I who must speak to you. We have not seen, nor heard from you in years. The thought that maybe you had passed away has kept us awake at night. Although I am more than delighted to have you back, you had no right to abandon your sister again. Mahal, Thorin, do you not care for Frerin’s death?”

His hand enveloped her wrist, carefully pushing it away. The feeling of Thorin’s calloused fingertips on her sensitive skin made her heart skip a beat.

“I do care for my brother,” he explained. “Crying over his death will not bring him back to life.”

“Then it is very selfish of you to believe everyone grieves the way you do.” 

They stayed quiet for a while, standing close to each other, their breath mingling together. Through the kitchen window the pale moonlight poured onto Thorin’s face and made his eyes look like the most precious jewels Naya had ever been blessed to see.

“I apologize for neglecting my sister, and you. I hope you will find in your heart the will to forgive my behavior. In my defense, I have been busy.”

“What could be more important than your family, Thorin?” she asked quietly.

Slowly, the prince pulled something out of his coat. It was a folded piece of fabric that looked a little dirty. He handed it over to Naya and she took it, looking back and forth between Thorin and the small bit of material.

“What is it?” she questioned again.

“You must open it if you wish to find out.”

Carefully, she unfolded it, revealing a single metal bead lying in the center. It was beautifully crafted, intricate patterns engraved into it. As she looked closer she recognized some of the symbols. Her eyes widened and she looked back at Thorin. 

“Thorin, I-”

“Naya,” he interrupted, cupping her face with his palms. “This is a token of my love for you. I wish I could offer you more, I wish we were still in Erebor so I could treat you as you deserve. But no matter where or when, no matter the circumstances, I promise to honor and cherish you until Mahal calls us into his halls. In your hands lies my heart and the promise of my eternal love. Please, allow me to court you.” 

Naya’s heart was pounding inside her chest, and she feared Thorin might have heard it because his lips curved into a small smile. The moonlight hit the bead, and the soft light caught her eyes. Her eyes fell back onto the tiny object and she smiled softly.

“This is what you have been up to…” she concluded, her finger brushing against the cold metal. “It is very pretty, Thorin. Your skills are very impressive. But I must refuse-”

As she spoke, she folded the piece of fabric over the silver bead, hiding it from her view and Thorin’s hands fell to his side.

“Why is that, if I may ask? Is it not to your liking? I could make you another one.”

“No Thorin, it is not that.” she said, giving him his gift back. “I must say, your feelings are returned. My heart beats for you, trust me. But we are still young, Thorin. As we grow up, your heart will change and desire other things. I do not wish for you to promise me love when your One could still be out there.”

The prince shook his head and grabbed her hips, pulling her against his chest, causing Naya to huff disapprovingly.

“I do not think my heart will ever love anyone but you.” Thorin affirmed.

Naya chuckled, her forehead falling to his shoulder. She stayed silent, enjoying the warmth of Thorin’s body against hers. 

“How about…” she began, pulling back. “ How about you wait some more? If your love for me has not faded, decades from now, you may propose again.”

She looked at him as he seemed to be considering her offer. Finally, he gave her a small nod.

“I shall wait then.” he declared. “Until then, allow me to steal a kiss?”

“Now, Thorin,” she joked, tilting her head to the side and wrapping her arms around his waist. “That wouldn’t be proper, much less from a prince, to steal kisses outside of courtship, don’t you think? Although, I can grant you this-”

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his bearded cheek. And the smile she earned from it was worth more than all of the gold in the world.

He would wait for her, and she would wait for him.

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 019

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hey everyone!! I know it's been quieter around here, but enjoy the chapter I hope! Sort of sweet filler. Billy nurses a hungover Evie back to life as they reach a common ground with their relationship. Evie returns to school as the new Keg King. Chp title is after that Depeche Mode song. TW: Light light mention of a past r*pe/abuse & Pica. Smut!!

***My tag list is wide open, just shoot me a msg to join it! Chat with me about the chapter if you have the time! Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter 19: One Caress

   Death. Hot, swampy death. Somehow mixed with frigid chills. 

   Evie cracked her eyes to light and moaned. Loud enough to wake the body spread on his back next to her. Billy spied her. Curls spiraling endless directions. Knotted all over. 

   Face pressed into the pillows, Evie held her thudding brain. Figured it might be unspooling around a cracked skull. There was movement as Billy reached over her to pull the curtains further closed and block the early morning sun. 

   “You seriously woke up at seven with that bad a hangover. Figured you’d sleep in longer. Must be a pride thing.” Billy hummed and draped his arm over her. Casual as can be to tuck back in. He made this rumbling sound into her shoulder blade and sighed out.

   Evie realized finally she wasn’t alone and scrambled up, almost tumbling over the bottom edge of the bed if Billy hadn't snatched her wrist.

   “Easy!” Came the sharp hiss. “Take a moment to remember last night if you can.” Brown eyes squinted to blink at him. Blurring the gold honey of him together. Billy made a face. “Jesus, you’re looking at me like I’m taking a dump here, Evangeline.”

   “Oh, jeez,” Evie fisted her curls so he let go. Her eyes began to dart, finding the events and piecing them. Little by little. “Jesus Dolly Parton Christ.”

   “That’s some poetry I like.” Billy reclined, covered in a loose sheet looking his insufferable cupid self. One hand behind his head while he tapped a rhythm into his abs. Evie moaned again, curling up toward the curtains.

   “I did a keg stand…”

   “Oh, yeah, you did.” Blue eyes rolled. “Your highness.”

   “Did I puke on anyone?”

   “Just some sorry ass purple primroses.” He’d snarked with some amusement. “You almost got me, but I aimed you just fine.”

   “Shit. I’m-”

   “You’re gonna piss me off if you apologize again. That’s a stupid girl habit you need to shake.”

   “Stupid girl habit, pfffs. I’m Billy Hargrove. I'm perfect and glowy with the face of a damn cherub. Know-it-all.” Evie huffed and mumbled to mock him but Billy continued.

   “You just did to me what I did to Harrington. Figure I had it coming. I’m still Billy-The Shit-Hargrove. Smoke and mirrors as you think.” His chest rose and air blew out his mouth. “We didn’t do anything, I just helped you home as you poured your tasty heart out.”

   “Yeah, uh… It’s all coming back. Argh...” Evie rubbed her face and aimlessly waved for him to stop talking. She noticed Billy still had his jeans on, no shirt. Then, spied her own outfit under the robe. “The hell are we wearing?”

   “You were keen to flash me those Fenny wiles so I tied you into the drunk girl straitjacket. Took some wrangling, but I think I earned the gold,” he blinked, “and I didn’t wear anything under the denim. I figured jeans were better than you waking to my huge, raw morning wood...unless you’re into that.”

   He winked which earned him that scrunchy scowl he loved to see on her face.

   Evie collapsed back on her front. Cursing daylight. Lingering black makeup still smeared around her eyes.

   “Okay, well, I can die now. Officially. Thank you, Billy, for bearing witness.”

   “No, no, I’m nursing you back to health today. We both smell like party. Get up. Water. Pills. Shower. Gonna shower at my place and then I’m coming back for breakfast. I’ll make your birthday up to you if you’ll let me. Hope you let me, cause I’ll bug you another two months until you don’t.” Fingers tugged for messy curls until she grumbled.

   Evie poked those bright eyes up. 

   “There was talk of a couch day. I remember.”

   “You remember everything?” Thick lashes batted the vulnerability away. She softened.

   “Everything. Feel like death,” she said, “but waking up in your arms wasn’t so bad.” Billy brightened, liking that. Maybe too much because he looked smug. “So, the couch. You and me. Us. Can you manage that? Relaxing with casual stimulation.”

   “Oh, say stimulation again. Slower,” Billy uttered and Evie rolled her eyes. “Gonna let me come back over?”

   “Maybe.” She hitched and whined, ruffling her curls. “Knowing my mom, she’s gonna stay until closing. Around six or seven tonight, she might go party straight from the shop. She's made that a habit on weekends. I don’t know, as this year is going she’s just home less. City friends. Dating. And I feel bad cause it’s almost easier.”

   Billy didn’t comment.

   “My throat still hurts from last night and we do smell pretty ripe...gonna shower. Clean these sheets too.” 

   “We haven’t even made a proper mess of them.” Billy came up on his elbows with a suggestive look. They shared another beat before his tone changed. “I should have stayed.”

   “I wish you did. But, I also wish I didn’t run into Fredrick’s arms after that dance. It was stupid. We can both make idiot decisions. Still young, I guess.” Evie turned her eyes. “But, you’re here now and we’re not yelling at each other.”

   “It’s a whole new world. Keg King.”

   “I need to forget that.”

   “School won’t. None of the schools there will forget it. Betcha even Tannen knows.” Billy pushed up and Evie followed, stretching until something cracked delightfully. “Heard from him?”

   “Something with a DUI or two… I don’t know. He made his threats already.” She stopped to pet Blue, shifting the kitten off Billy’s coat while he snagged his shirt. “Tell Max I said hi if she’s around.”

   “Give me thirty.” Billy took his coat, gave her ass a pat, and waltzed out. Unworried. Evie dragged into the shower. Stood there under the warm spray with her head pressed against the cool tiles. Swallowed some aspirin down and slid her eyes to the container of cherry red pins.

   There wasn’t a melancholy welling inside her empty gut, but she found it odd. This craving to indulge. To swallow sharp objects and let them click around musically inside her. Make them part of her routine. Eat artificial things until she was made from them. A doll on the top shelf threatening to take a tumble.

   Wet curls hung over her shoulders and breasts. Evie closed the mirror and looked at her body there. Head tilting. Towels fell around her feet. She opened her palms, arms slighting lifting in a submissive motion. Evie thought to cover herself but didn’t. Imagined a shell opening so the world could look at her. Admire her. Pluck her free and decorate her with tiny diamonds and opals. Maybe seaweed and shells like a pretty siren.

   The mirror lights washed her flesh out as they would an old starlet. Flash. Romancing Evie as she blew kisses to an empty lens, hoping to be loved beyond it. She might die if they don't all love her. Want to screw her. Want to open her up and peek inside. Flash. Keep her at arm's reach if they don't like what they see. Flash. It doesn't matter because she's still a wondrous thing to covet.

   She imagined several hands piecing her parts together. Painting them with deft brushes. Evie could sit on a shelf still. She could also let them loop red strings around her broken limbs. Contorting fingers walking her upon a empty stage with the same washed-out lights. Evie would be anything for them. Give anything for eyes and lights and brushes that caress her.

   Hands pushed her curls back over her shoulders. Evie really looked at her body. No shame. No sex. No fear. No disgust. Just flesh and blood and muscle wrapped around bones with marrow made of that electric stardust. Flesh that offended the world, they had to fetishize her to stand her. Nothing really mattered if the lights washed her away though. The lights would tell them to love her regardless because she was the next great thing.

   Flash.

   Lips pushed into the mirror's reflection, breath ghosting to leave an imprint that faded as she leaned back. Her neon demon flitting out to curl and poison the world so she wouldn't have to choke it down alone.

   “I don’t want to be them,” Evie sneered there, “they’ll want to be me.”

   They’ll claw. And scrape. And scream. And die. Just to be a second rate version of Evangeline. Steam rose around her, placed adoring kisses upon her skin.

   A kiss and a promise wrapped in that vengeful neon demon she fed and hid from the world that had ruined her. Broke her parts to pick and choose the best. A demon she still kissed and tried to preen with kindness because Evangeline tried. She tried.

   Evie hadn’t been cruel. She told lies. She made messes. But, she tried and she had always hoped that would count for something. It didn’t with her father. Or Mona. Not even Fredrick, he liked her mutilated. But, Evie tried to hold onto that kind girl with fire and hopes to create music that rained to make flowers grow even bolder. She deserves something. Anything.

   She was already carved out by this life. Felt like she might hit bone if she dug any further. Piles and piles of ash spilling out longing veins. Organs delectable enough to feed on from souls that sapped her vitality away. What else was there to do but scream until someone heard her? Scream for the girl she lost. The people who would never care to understand that. Scream until they were forced to scream over her. Until they were all roses falling at her feet.

   As she looked at herself here, Evie wondered if that girl was even alive anymore. And if she’d already let her down. If she could be forgiven. If she could forget a specific howl of thunder that came after crackling lightning. Lips near her ear to preen so sweet.

   "My little mouse-"

   Flash.

   Hands shaking, she thrust the mirror open and pricked her finger on a cherry pin. Blood beading before she settled it upon her tongue to devour it. 

   It didn’t make sense. She was happier. Today, she was better. She was in control. But, this... It was built into her. Settling comfortable with everything else. A need. A hope. A cycle. An addiction. Girlhood was a horror story written by a true romantic. This, she knew well.

   Just once, Evie figured. She could wean off it. She could gather her parts and sew them back together without help. Carve the person she lost to the world in something stronger.

   It’s fine. This is fine.

   Flash.

   Unable to see whoever was in the mirror now, Evie shut the lights out and hurried away. She pulled a long sleeve tee on with a faded floral design. Decided leggings were a god-like invention and was stuffing socks on when Billy let himself back in.

   At the sound, she clenched her stomach as if he’d walk in and see the artificial fragments that made her up now. A softer breath puffed. Everything was neatly hidden inside. Soon to be a part of her shelf collection. Footsteps came to her while she bent over to toss her wet towels in the hamper.

   “Can’t knock-?” Evie was spun around into an oncoming hard kiss. Lips colliding before Billy hitched and pulled out. Fireworks burst.

   “Hey, I waited for that.” He winked and went into the kitchen. Owned the space. “You look like hell still, Evie. Couch. I’ll make you something greasy to eat.” 

   “Ugh, I won’t even fight you on this...and you’re well aware of that.” Evie fell onto the sofa. Sagged. Heard Billy clicking around. “You’re not gonna make a mess, are you?”

   “Quit worrying, let the master work.” He peered at the kitten eagerly eating from her dish.

   Evie heard something sizzle and flipped TV channels. Turned the brightness and volume a little lower while she draped over the sofa's arm. Tried to distract herself as the meds kicked in. Melting around her pricking pin. Billy padded back in with a paper plate. Something stacked high on it.

   “What did you…?” Evie blinked and sat up to make room for him so he put the plate down. Still warm and steamy, gooey cheese oozed from fresh bread. “Grilled cheese. Oh hell, that actually looks really good.”

   “I made a bunch. Stuff that hangover.” He spied her and stole the remote. Evie was too busy leaning over to pull a cheesy sandwich apart to fight him. Readily, leaning into Billy’s shoulder, Evie got comfortable there as they shared a silence. A hot, greasy meal that was perfection. Even a few laughs over the TV. 

   She forgot about pretty made up dolls. About that girl she lost. About whatever was trying to take its place. About screaming and thunder.

   “I think we should set some ground rules for this thing since we’re obviously avoiding labels,” Evie said during a commercial, wiping her fingers on a napkin before she pushed up. “Water?”

   “With ice if you really wanna impress me.” Billy kicked back and heard her scoff. “What do you mean, rules?”

   “I mean,” the sink started running from the kitchen, “just...you wanna be with me and I wanna be with you and we’re not gonna bring a third party into that. Basic ‘don’t screw this up’ rules.”

   “Unless you’re into it.” Billy cracked his cheekiest smile as she returned. Ice clicked in two glasses. Billy put one arm up on the couch to gesture so she tucked in there. Cups clicked and they hydrated as if a mission was afoot. 

   “Ah, use the coaster.” She leaned forward so they could set the drinks down. Billy rolled his eyes and sat back, legs spreading.

   “You worry too much, I know how to tell people I’m seeing a girl.”

   “How public can we be? If I try to kiss you or, god forbid, hold your hand at school...will you be weird about it now?”

   “No, and just give me a slap if I get weird on you again.” He shrugged. “If I wanna slip you my tongue or smack your ass, are you gonna get all squirrely on me?” Billy tipped his head back when he felt her chuckle.

   “Depends on who you do it in front of. I figure you’ll use your brains for that judgment. I hope.” Came the softer reply. Evie curled into the warmth of him. Stared at his neck and watched the muscles and veins shift under tanned skin. Wondered about sinking her teeth there. “You can get handsy within reason. Do that thing where one person slips their hand into the other’s pocket as they walk.”

   “I’ll give you the John Hughes fantasy if you throw me a little pornstar now and then.”

   “Bet you think every nasty thing you say makes me blush.” 

   Evie wiggled down and settled her head in his lap. Eyes snapped down to see her face crinkle with a brighter smile, still only somewhat fatigued from the night before. Curl spiraling long over her shoulders and his thighs. He caught one around his finger. Twirled it with a thoughtful expression before he looked at her eyes.

   “You are beautiful, Evangeline Fenny.” Billy had to sigh it. A fierce and tender proclamation. A stunning spell cast over her like a thin veil. Twinkling jewels. Flash photography.

   It became clear that they held power over each other and that this was the closest she’d ever gotten to her name in lights.

   And Evie did blush. She didn’t look away from his eyes. For once. Not when they flickered to catch her gaze. Lost in Billy, she rose and turned over on her hands and knees. Leaned toward him carefully. Billy inhaled her perfume, got this fluttered look as she took his chin and tipped it to place a delicate kiss upon his throat. Another touched the line of his jaw.

   One muffled sound fused them together. Evie’s back hit the couch. The remote fell with a clatter. Fingers laced, Billy shifted her hand next to her head. Saw her pause to kiss his knuckles. Tough with scars from too many fights that burst them open. 

   Fingertips gave this gentle caress of Evie’s hairline with his free hand. Careful as if something here could shatter. Thick lashes fluttered so she turned to look up at him there. Words crushed in her throat. Almost pleasurably.

   “Open your mouth.” Billy longed to taste the fragmented syllables. Lips parted. A finger swept the kiss-puffed swell of them. “Little wider.” His own mouth curled. Thumb rubbing a circle into her chin before he came down. A vaguely sweet-salty kiss. Tangy, almost reminding him of that balmy California air.

   Evie matched him. Pushed back. Cupped his face. Made a heavenly sound that vibrated into him.

   And she leaned out as if struck by lightning.

   “What’s your middle name?”

   “What?” He laughed, watching her lashes flutter. Hand midway to touch her breast.

   “Your middle name.” Evie fingered the metal pendant when it hung down from his neck. Traced a line across his collar before tucking spun gold behind his ear. 

   “Why?”

   “So suspicious.” She tugged his tee so he’d kiss her again. Slower this time. “This, Billy, is totally a date. So, I’m asking about you about you.” Frankly, Evie wanted to know every little, silly thing there was to him.

   “Feels like that perfect, lengthy ending of a date to me.” The snark had Evie pouting. Stopping anymore kisses he dared to plant. Billy gave pause. “It’s stupid. My middle name.”

   “Well, now you have to tell me.” She shifted so he could drape his weight across her, one elbow planted near her head. Billy rolled his eyes. Cringed.

   “Seamus.” He mumbled, sparking. “Don’t laugh. Mom chose it after an ancestor on her side.”

   “Just smiling cause you told me. That’s not bad!” Evie pressed her lips when they trembled. “William Seamus Hargrove.”

   “Yeah, I sound like a creepy lighthouse keeper who's really into masturbating.”

   “One out of two.” Evie squealed as he pinched her side for that. “Marie!”

   “Huh?”

   “My middle name. Marie.” Arms looped loosely around Billy's shoulders. They wrapped each other up, spoke intimately of casual subjects. All too easily. 

   “Evangeline Marie Fenny.” He gave it a taste. Liked it.

   “Uh-huh.” Evie’s fingers twirled idle into Billy's curls, massaging circles into the back of his warm neck. “My mom got the middle name from this famous Voodoo Queen in New Orleans. She thought to name me Christine, Wendy, or Beatrice but when I was born, she changed her mind at the last minute because she saw me and said the name just came to her from this epic poem. Said it was star-worthy so she plucked it down from the night sky and kept it as her own.”

   "A star?" He panned to focus on her expression relaxing.

   "It's a lot to live up to." Something to grieve deeply in that.

   “Hm. Voodoo Queen. So, do you like to turn boys into creatures when they cross you? Frogs, goats, and bats maybe? For sacrifice?”

   “I mean, that’s the first thing they teach us, obviously. Voodoo is actually peaceful and balanced, it just has a violent misconception because of racism. It’s an even exchange of life and energy. A relationship you build with actual effort. Signature.”

   “My mom might have liked it, she was spiritual-like.”

   “My aunts know more. They were pretty worked up when my mom branched out. I like to think she balances a couple religions to get by. She does the same thing with hair styling…and boyfriends.” Evie puffed, eyes elsewhere. “Just a jukebox, she changes the song by whatever is gonna comfort her most that week. I just tell people she’s open-minded and she is.”

   “My dad hates your mom more than he’s hated any neighbor we’ve ever had. And we used to live across from these guys he didn’t like me talking to. Said they were living in sin. Well...he used worse words.” Billy admitted, vaguely entertained because Neil loved to spit words only when backs were turned. He was a coward. “They were always nice to me. Owned this fancy cake shop so they sometimes gave me a truffle if I was playing on the apartment steps.”

   “I can picture you small. Face all messy with chocolate.” Evie gushed there. “Probably the cutest thing. Bet Neil hated them more for being sweet.”

   “The one and only time he spat the word out in the open, one of those guys broke his nose. I got the brunt of that anger later, but it was worth it. Just makes me like Mona more.”

   “I’m sure.” Evie blinked, sighing elsewhere under Billy’s gaze. “My mom and I have a disconnect, but I am proud of her. She’s so educated despite having me young even if people don’t know it. She’s marched for human rights and she’s braver than she knows. She always stands for something and I hope I can one day too. Even if her big, noble causes distract from her home life.”

   Evie paused with this searching look. Unsure if she should indulge the thought that swept her eyes. Gently, she continued.

   “I don’t think her mom ever loved her. Nana was always so cold to her, not like with the older sisters. I noticed that young. She might have liked me only cause I was her one and only grand-baby.”

   “Why’s that?”

   Evie flickered her brown eyes again, frowning.

   “You can’t repeat this, not even to me.” A sigh followed when Billy nodded. “When my mom and dad got divorced...that Christmas break she took me back to N’awlins. They live in this big place, I used to think it was a castle. Her three older sisters, growing old together. Nana was with them until she passed away. I used to hang out in the attic when I wasn’t at their store. Going through boxes of memories.”

   “Yeah.” Billy nodded for her to go on.

   “My mom wasn’t supposed to be born. Nana had her sisters. She had this husband. Perfect life. A shop to pass down. One night, she was closing and a man attacked her. Held her down and…” Evie swallowed. 

   “Oh…”

   “He hurt my Nana bad. I don’t think she was ever the same, how can you be? But, she got pregnant with his baby. Kept it and that was my mom. I think my mom spent her whole life trying to make up for it. I’m sure she knew.”

   “How so?”

   “My grandfather left not long after she was born and..my Nana wrote him this letter I don’t think she ever sent. It was begging him to just take Mona and love her right. It was full of apologies and, I think she was gonna kill herself. I don’t know what changed her mind. But, I found that letter and read it. It was in my mom’s things. Under the floorboards of the first dollhouse she ever made herself. She must have found it all the same. Maybe when she was my age.”

   “Probably wasn’t an easy thing to find for her.”

   “Right. Might explain why mom can only handle the dainty things in life. She just wanted to be loved. So, I think after that...I tried even harder to be perfect for her. I know she loves me and her mother never loved or wanted her. She tried so hard for everyone even if she’s bad with the negative. We’re friends. She always tells me I saved her life so I’m scared of letting her down. What if I can’t save her one day?” Her voice cracked so Evie swallowed a lump down to level herself. 

   Billy felt that prick his heart. Deeper than he liked. But, the advice still came out clear.

   “That’s not your job, Evie, you need a mother. You have plenty of best friends.”

   “I thought she married my dad cause she loved him, but really I think she married the first person who promised to care for her. Who whisked her away from her mother’s cold house. It worked out that he was always traveling for work. It feels like everything I thought I knew about my life wasn’t real.” Evie caught herself, eyes on Billy’s pendant. She hoped it protected him. Well enough. “But, my dad. I bet he thinks about me every day. I know it.”

   It was always striking and peculiar how Evangeline spoke of her father. Billy pictured a string being pulled from her back to rattle the same peppy sayings. Over and over again until perhaps she believed it too.

   Evie paused to stare at Billy thoughtfully. With the pull of her string, she switched modes to become something else. 

   “What kinds of things to do you like to write about?” She asked with this dreamy sort of expression crossing as if the words before were all imaginary. She was fine. Her mother was fine. Her father, he…

   It was all fine. Picture perfect. Paparazzi flashing to send her into a sea of spots. Memories wiping.

   “I don’t know, anything to not be here.” Billy caught himself, both of them still wrapped around each other. “Not here, I mean. I’m here.” 

   Billy seemed to realize how present he was and shifted off her.

   “The words almost don’t sound real.” Repetition. A mild chuckle. “I’m here.” He sounded them out carefully. Evie pulled up. Stared at Billy sitting on his knees between her legs.

   “That’s it.” She said. “Labels and rules aside. As long as we’re just here, I think we have a handle on this. I can manage that, can you?”

   I’m here, Billy gave this closer look and nodded. Earring dangling. Fingers twisted his ring around.

   “Are you going to tell Neil or Susan about this?” Evie’s question made him pale noticeably.

   “Hell, no. It’s better if my dad doesn’t figure it out. Don’t like him talking to you.”

   Evie didn’t argue with that.

   “I don’t think I want to tell my mom, she’s just a lot when I’m seeing someone or liking anyone point-blank.” Evie winced.

   “Don’t freak on me if I pull from you around my dad. I don’t trust him near you. He’ll say shit and you don’t need that.” Billy peered aside until Evie took his hand, shaking it almost officially.

   “Deal. Screw Neil.”

   “Oh,” Billy laughed, “you're still a funny girl, Evie.” Eager as can be, he cupped the back of her head. Kissed her into the couch. They forgot the dull aches that kept them so grounded. All giggles, she squirmed out to escape him. Left Billy breathless and tugged as she got up. “Wait, where ya going?”

   “Um. My room. Duh.”

   He lit up and tried to play cool which melted the second he scrambled to scoop her from the floor.

   “Ah!” Evie wiggled and clung to him. Feeling his muscles bulge and strain as they always did. Made her heart sing. “We didn’t discuss this!”

   “If I can lift it, it’s mine. You spent all last night challenging me, what do you expect?” Billy jostled her which had Evie wrapping her arms tighter around his shoulders. Barely squealing.

   “Okay! Don’t drop me!” She squeezed into his arms and balled up. Billy laughed all the way to the bedroom. “I didn’t wash the sheets yet.”

   “Even better, let’s make a bigger mess of them.” Billy dropped her playfully into the covers. Pulled his shirt off as Evie sat up. Eyes falling to the hard contours. He relished that she liked to look at him. Fingers wrapped around her wrist, encouraging the cool palm into his skin. Up the deft lines in his stomach. “You can touch, I won’t charge you for it.”

   She dropped the awe and pushed from him. Laughing back into the pillows.

   “You’re such a pain.” Evie stiffened because Billy dropped down to crawl up her body. Pretense gone. One hand cupped her jaw. Urged it open as fingers stroked the silky cheek. Thumb curving the swell of her parting mouth. Evie kissed the pad and let the digit slip along her tongue. 

   “You’re so good.” Billy shuddered when he felt her tongue whirl obediently around his thumb. Breathless. Evie reached down to undo his belt. Sly as can be. 

   “You’re eager.” She whispered coolly against the wet thumb tracing a line down her chin.

   “I haven’t been laid much the past few months, I’m collecting. Times I tried didn’t work. Sue me.”

   “Poor thing.” She cooed, working his zipper down until Billy bit his lip. Hips shimmied between her spread legs. He jerked her hips up to get the underwear and leggings off in one expert pull. “Did you think about me when you tried?”

   Billy narrowed on her. Sighed as a hand slipped into his jeans. Moaned.

   “Yes.” He stole himself a kiss. “Couldn’t even measure up to that kiss in the street.”

   “Remind me how that went.” Evie hitched a laugh and he smothered her down. Scared the syllables with his tongue.

   Billy pulled her hair for good measure, pushed his open fly into her bare skin. He didn’t waste time this hour as she moaned and pulled for him. Adjusted to find her core. Hips snapped together, both of them mostly clothed in disarray. A good ache built as he moved. Hard and intent like he was making an impression into her flesh. Into her marrow. 

   Evie would remember him and this time and how he played her. Totally. Neither of them would be running. This moment was about the long haul together. They kept slowing to just look and breathe. Noses nuzzling. Soft exhales in turn. Billy broke kisses to push his face up against her hair and jawline, arms sliding underneath her to cling. He let Evie whisper sweet things into his flesh. Let her hold him just as close.

   At the sweetness of her coaxing, he spilled inside her. Earlier then he meant.

   “Shit.” Billy started to push up when Evie’s legs caught his hips.

   “Stay,” she puffed, “stay like this for a bit.” She prodded and pawed, openly needing him. So very bad.

   “I’m crushing you.” He mumbled into her cheek. Trapped in heat.

   “I like it.” Evie’s arms looped his shoulders. Both of them got the shakes. “I like how you feel right here.”

   “You didn’t come yet.” Hot breath ghosted her neck.

   “It’s okay.”

   Billy blew air into her jaw. Kissed the line of it before he reached down to finish her.

   “Yeah?”

   “Ngh, yes.” She mewled out silently. "Oh, Billy." That was his favorite song in truth.

   “Atta girl.” Billy kept planting kisses. Evie twisted with nowhere to go. Whimpered until she was locking under him. Mouth back open for his slow tongue. She reached a peak and let him slowly bring her back down.

   Lips muffled into her collar. He stayed there inside her. Took every piece of comfort she offered. One hand reeled up to pet her curls. Arms kept him firm against her so he could listen to her twittering heart slow and lull. Fingers danced too delicate across flesh.

   Evie whined as he pulled out. Felt the absence burn hot. 

   They messed the sheets. She was still pulling for him until he pushed her over. Wrapped himself around her after fixing his jeans back up. Leaving them open. Evie shifted, restless until Billy kissed behind her ear.

   “Just sleep. Not going anywhere.” Billy’s words lulled her back to relax. “Quit squirming about it.”

   She stilled, fingers trailing up the hair on his arm before she dropped her head to the offered bicep. Evie tilted Billy’s wrist to see the watch, groaning.

   “It’s not even noon.”

   “Maybe you’ll think next time before you get up hungover on a weekday before eight,” Billy mumbled into the curls. 

   “Only did it for the Hargrove grilled cheese.” Evie closed her eyes to sigh. "You fell for it."

   “Guess we’re both screwed.”

   “Mm-hm.” She let her mind flutter. Felt Billy’s hand stroking her bare thigh. 

   Fingers moved up her hip. Kneading the flesh. His palm trailed over her tummy and she didn’t stop him. Didn’t clam up at a boy touching her fuller areas. Billy worshiped her skin. Breath hot into dark curls. She almost wondered if he was trying for another round massaging her hip like that with dancing fingertips. 

   “Hard to nap when you...when you touch me.” She sounded breathless.

   “Like touching you,” Billy mumbled. “Gonna figure out a way to prove it to you without the label. This thing.”

   “For a boy who likes to talk, I notice certain words are hard for you.” She felt the arm under her wrapping tighter, pulling her further into his fire. “Not judging. I have problems words too.”

   “Still good with my mouth.” Billy shifted hair from Evie’s neck and jaw. Settling his lips there, lazy as can be. “And my hands. But, you still have something nagging you tell you I’m not being truthful about the exclusive thing. Gonna figure out how I can make that up to you.”

   “If I really didn’t trust you, Billy, I wouldn’t have let you stay here.” Evie shifted around to face him, still laying on his bicep. There was plenty of fear. Fear of exposing her heart and vessels and nerves to be plucked. Fear she'd like him more than he liked her. Fear this relationship would be such an easy thing to fall into.

   "That's honest." He decided, lashes batting. Evie reached up and traced this curving line near his mouth.

   “Just be with me cause you want to be and try not to raise your voice if you’re upset." She dropped her hand. "It’s okay if you’re upset, you can tell me. It just freaks out when men raise their voices. It’s like thunder and I...I’m scared of thunder.” 

   Evie recalled the passive-aggressive way Fredrick would slam things when he was upset with her instead of outright telling her. How he’d wait until she was near tears and begging his forgiveness. Billy studied her eyes. Saw lightning flash within them. Knuckles came to her cheek. Gave an idle caress. His soft lips found her brow and lulled her heavy eyes until they began to flutter. Billy laid there and watched Evie fade, let her sleepy frame tuck into him. Under his chin. She found solace. 

   He thought of the men in her life and his life who raised their voices. Who hit. Who broke them down to a series of parts they can pick and choose from to make a doll that suited them best. This image they placed up carefully for protection, it may have shattered them both distantly. Billy didn’t want to be a piece of thunder in Evie’s life. Striking to make his points so she wouldn’t forget them. 

   But, Evie slept so soundly in his arms. Barely twitching while his hands roamed her body. Under the shirt down her bare back. Threading into fluffy locks of thick hair. These little caresses that were her lullaby. It made Billy believe with all his soul that he’d never be like them.

   And it made it so easy for him to follow her in darkness.

** ** ** 

   “You’re awfully quiet, Max.” Evie turned her head in the seat. Trees whizzed by illuminated with little flits of the morning sun. 

   “Just a test today, I guess.” Max had her backpack clutched close in her lap. Almost hiding behind it. She hinted a smile. “I gave Billy shit this morning.” Billy snorted in the driver’s seat, nodding. One hand idle on Evie’s knee. Hot through the denim.

   “She did. Neil wasn’t around.” 

   “Hey...I told Will and them I’d go to the arcade. Just to hang out after school. I’ll be home before dinner.”

   “Does Neil know?” Was all Billy asked.

   “Yes, he thinks I’m just going to see El. Stays quieter if I’m seeing the Police Chief.” Max plucked up her skateboard. “I won’t need a ride so you guys can make-out.” She snickered while Billy swerved to park at school.

   “Yeah? Beat it.” He shifted his seat, patting Evie’s knee to make her wait there. Max jumped out and hopped on her board.

   “She does seem off,” Evie remarked more so to herself.

   “Things at home are off, it’s making it weird for her and her friends.” Billy shut the door with a hard look. Exhaling out his nose. “It was bound to.” Evie watched Max skate down the hill around other students. Seemingly isolated. She didn’t push the subject and wiped the frown aside. Mauve lips upturned when she peered to see Billy staring at her face. Not reaching for a smoke yet.

   “Got something for you.” He said instead, fishing into the front pocket of his denim jacket. “Tried to figure out how to make this official for you. Here.” 

   Billy dropped a silver chain in her hand without ceremony. The silver ring he wore on his middle finger hung from it. Evie wondered what he’d fidget around with now when he was deep in thought.

   “I don’t have a class ring or Letterman jacket for you because I’m not a douche. But, guys do this. Don’t they?” Billy peered at Evie eyeing the ring before she met his gaze. 

   “It’s perfect.” She turned, gesturing so he could help her put it on. It sat lower than the little music note she usually wore. Evie debated it and pulled her dad’s necklace off, looping it around her wrist as a bracelet because she wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. Maybe it not being in plain sight would make her easier to look at for Mona. “Thank you.”

   “My mom got it for me. She had it in the family and said it would fit me one day. That and this chain.” He fingered the saint pendant. 

   “I’ll be careful with it,” Evie promised him. 

   “It sits exactly where I wanted it to.” Billy flashed some pride.

   “Over my heart?” Her eyes glimmered.

   “Over your tits.” He laughed when she shoved at him, tugging his collar in for a kiss. 

   “You’re gross,” Evie mumbled, pecking him once more. She fingered the ring and beamed. 

   “You’re into it.” Billy turned her chin for just one more. She could live in this. 

   Just one more kiss.

   Deciding to join the rest of the student body, they got out. Evie slung her strap over one shoulder while Billy held his bag in a wad at his side. They met each other around the car before Billy slipped his arm around her waist, bringing Evie into him. Fingers delved into her back pocket.

   Every teen around them took note. It was official. Comments piled in as they passed into school.

   “Great party, Evie.”

   “Looking good, you two!”

   “Love your outfit, Fenny.”

   Whistles cast and overlapped suggestively. 

   “This is weird.” Evie leaned into Billy as they got to her locker. Students looked at them together. Offered winks or smiles. Students who never addressed her much before.

   “You’re the keg king. What’s that saying?” Billy had shrugged. “Heavy is the head… Fine is the ass.”

   “I regret you already.” Evie broke to laugh at him. “Pure poetry, Billy.” She shut her locker, paused to see Heather headed her way looking apprehensive. Another smile crossed, even fuller than the last. Heather seemed to respond and follow it.

   “So, I heard I missed a piece of history.”

   “Hardly, I puked everywhere.” Evie swept curls behind her shoulder. “Billy, can Heather and I have a sec?”

   “Depends, am I still an asshole prick?” He leered over Evie’s shoulder.

   “You’re back down to normal prick status.” Heather beamed even sweeter while Billy caught his tongue between his teeth, seeming to like that. 

   “I can work with that, princess.” He tugged Evie’s curls and went around them to head to his locker before the first period. Evie shifted on her feet so they walked along together.

   “I know...things have still been kinda weird.”

   “I just figured I’d let you and Carol work through your stuff, you know?” Heather looped her arm into Evie’s.

   “Can’t without my best friend there. Sure, Carol and I are bonding, but that doesn’t… You and I went to dances together, Heather, we stayed up eating junk food and watching terrible movies. We bought our first bras together.”

   “Our mothers made that day so mortifying, I think I’m still messed up from it.” Heather giggled with Evie snorting next to her. “And you got a real B bra while I basically bought a damn bandage.”

   “We’re repressing the memory together.” Evie tugged her down the next hallway where Steve scrambled to snatch her into an unexpected bear hug.

   “Tell me it’s true, oh my god, Evie.” He was near howling with laughter. Evie, shocked that Steve lifted her feet from the floor, stammered through the broken train of thought.

   “What?” She got spun around with a cry as Heather cackled. Students hurried around them. Steve wasn't strong like Billy, but credit was due.

   “You’re the keg king?” He shook her by the shoulders. “You smashed Billy’s record in front of him. In front of everyone?”

   “I’m never drinking again.” Evie dropped her head to his chest, hands covering her face.

   "You're my absolute hero, Eves, I hope you know that." Steve gripped Evie tighter, got close like he thought to kiss her but resisted.

   “Yeah, you’re going to have to fill us in on everything at lunch.” Heather decided, grasping Evie’s hand. “Jesus, Steve, get it together.”

   “Let me have this, Holloway. She's mine.” He squeezed Evie’s amused frame back into him. “He made my life hellish.”

   “I’ll dedicate the win to you. How’s that?” Evie slipped from Steve, laughing now. “Lunch. We’ll give Billy shit about it together.” A wink that Steve matched, thoroughly enjoying this momentous day. Evie rejoined Heather to hurry toward class. “How about a sleepover? Us, Carol, and Max. I think she needs more girls in her life. No boys invited.”

   Heather hugged her books close to grin easier.

   “I’d like that.” 

~~~~~

A/N: Letting these two finally just be intimate is everything to me. Thank you so so much for reading. Comments and rbs are well loved and appreciated!! Feel free to chat with me, pretty please! Tag list & ask open. xoxo :)

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10​ @charmed-asylum​ @unmistakablyunknown​ @lukespatterson​

[weepingvoidpenguin]

Misconception

Summary: After Elijah harshly cuts you out of his life, you’ve learned to move on from a love that once was. Or was it? The love lingers there but when Elijah returns he’s met with an unexpected surprise and you have to decide whether you want to forgive him or finally let him go.

Warnings: Angst, or at least my attempt at it

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I’m sorry I haven’t posted so long! I just started the school semester and I’m working part time so I rarely have free time but I don’t want to leave anyone wondering. For those of you who are following me for The Gods’ Blessing story, don’t worry it hasn’t been discontinued. Again, just busy. Sorry! I hope you enjoy!

  “There’s nothing about this conversation that can be serious,” you said, standing up from the armchair and gliding your way over to the container of bourbon on the platter.

  There was a pause, a hesitance in Elijah’s tone that sprouted just a hint of fear in your heart but you pushed the negativity aside and poured the liquid into a glass. The trickle of the alcohol was the only sound that could be heard in the room, you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath in hold of his response.

  “(Y/N) . . . please.” You twirled around and raised an eyebrow at him over the brim of the cup as you sipped from it, “Let’s not make this harder than it already is,”

  You watched how his eyes never met yours, how his throat strained at the guilt mingling in his voice and how he looked down at his phone expectantly, his gaze roaming back and forth from the floor to his screen.

  “Who are you waiting for?” You twirled the liquid around in the glass, your elbow rested on the hand wrapped around your own waist.

  For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Elijah looked up at you and there was an honesty, a hidden pain behind his gaze that triggered the reality of his words in your soul. You exhaled the little breath you withheld and a tight knot formed in the pit of your throat. He wasn’t kidding. You fought the sudden overpowering ache in your chest and forced yourself to blink away the tears threatening to spill over despite never being afraid to cry in his presence before and the glass slipped from your grasp.

 You were sure the shattering of the crystal was loud enough to draw the attention of everyone in the household but no one came and it dawned on you that they knew that this was coming. They knew what was happening and they had been ordered to stay out of it.

  “Why?” you croaked through the pain in your throat.

  His phone lit up. Your attention shot to the device on the side table and the name sprawled across the screen clenched at your heart.

Hayley.

He pried his sight away from the black screen and his flared nostrils mixed with the red rim of his gaze spoke volumes louder than his words ever could.

“For her?” You cursed yourself for emitting so much vulnerability in your tone, “You’re leaving me for her?”

“I-I love her,”

“You love me!” You shouted, stepping around the shattered glass that lay around your barren feet. “Or have you forgotten that?”

“(Y/N), I – ”

“Does she cloud your judgement so much? So much so that you forget the promises you’ve made me?” You clamped your hand on his jaw and jerk his face towards yours. If he was gonna do this then he would have to bare witness to your pain.

“She clouds nothing!” Elijah yelled, the pain in his voice constricting his words.

Your eyes studied his own, observing how his gaze never landed on yours and danced across the room. You felt the beginnings of stubble under your fingers and the smell of him, of his scent, was among the many things you were to miss.

“You’re lying to me, Elijah,” You hissed, the tears no longer contained by your lids, “I know when you’re lying,”

Elijah gripped your hand painfully and pried it from his face, “You believe what you choose to despite me telling you what’s true,”

“It’s not!” You shouted, ignoring the pain shooting up from the sole of your foot.

Elijah looked down, already smelling the cause of your pain and unlike his usual mannerism, ignored it and held strong in his words. He was showing that he cared nothing for you anymore. You were no longer his concern. And that went into effect immediately.

His glare bore into yours and a ferocity that replaced his pain urged him on despite how much he knew he was hurting you. It had to be done.

“You have ‘til the end of the night to find somewhere. If not, I’ll personally escort you off the premises,”

Your glare softened and disbelief took over, “E-Elijah,”

He bent over ever so slightly so he was at your level and you took a step back to make up for his intimidation, “Get. Out.”

~

Four years. It’d been four years since you’d last seen Elijah.

That night you called Damon and he offered you his home with open arms. Very un-Damon like but you sighed with relief when he did. Your family was back in Mystic Falls and although they’d be the logical option to move in with, your brother had a wife and you didn’t want to intrude on that.

The first year was hard for you. Everything about everything reminded you of Elijah. The kindness in your friends, the suits on Damon, the morality of Alaric. It was all too much for too long. Then Bonnie came up with a solution, temporary of course. She offered alleviation. A numbness without a cold. You would feel nothing but a dull ache while you sorted your pain out. Eventually, it worked.

These days, Elijah was the last thing on your mind, truly. You’d moved on, lived your life and stuck with Damon as a weird duo but you’d retained your mortality, until you were ready to give it up anyway. Or so he offered. But you weren’t sure. You couldn’t trade all that you currently had for immorality.

And as you sat on the chair outside The Grill, waiting for your food and drink, the reason for your hesitation waddled out of the restaurant, her eyes looking for your familiar figure. Your smile met your eyes as you outstretched your hands, repeatedly closing and opening your fists to motion for her to come to you. Her laugh brought a joy to your ears you’d long thought you’d lost but she rejuvenated you.

“Where’s Daddy?” You asked, not waiting for a reply. “Where’d he run off to?” You continued your chatter with her, not noticing the figure walking up to you.

“(Y/n) . . .” a voice emerged from behind you and your heart twisted in your chest.

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around, afraid of seeing who you thought it was. Or worse, not seeing him at all. Your body shook but for what you didn’t know. Was it agony? Anger? Excitement? You didn’t have enough time to ponder its reasoning before he spoke your name again and you slowly turned around.

And seeing him now hurt just as much as when he’d kicked you to the curb.

“Elijah,” you whispered, afraid at how weak your voice sounded.

You watched as he looked you up and down slowly, not in a way to objectify you but like he was taking you in all over again. Like the first time he’d ever set eyes on you.

“W-what are you doing here?” You asked before a tugging on your leggings caught your attention and you looked down to see the toddler’s hands reaching out for you.

“Up!” she demanded and you contemplated it momentarily, afraid you’d honestly drop her from how hard your body shook but you seceded and picked up her light figure, resting her on your hips.

Elijah observed as your motherly instincts took over and a tightening in his chest that he’d felt throughout the years came back with a ferocity. It was too late. Unless . . .

He watched how you almost hid the girl from him, as though you were afraid he would notice something about her and the tightening twisted into physical pain at the thought that crossed his mind but he couldn’t help but ask.

“I-is that . . . I mean, is she,” but he couldn’t find the words, rather he pointed to you and then to himself. Normally, he wouldn’t even have considered the idea but Klaus managed to have a child with Hayley so anything could be possible, he thought. He hoped.

You twisted the child away ever so slightly and shook your head, “She’s not yours if that’s what you’re wondering,”

He smiled sadly at the child and stared down at you, of course she wasn’t his. That’d be more ‘good’ than he deserved. Especially considering how he behaved the last time he saw you. But he needed you gone, needed you safe. And you were.

The ache pulled at his stomach and made its way up to his throat, cramping it up. He’d waited too long to come back for you. How foolish he was to think you’d wait for him.

“She looks like you,”

You nodded and jumped up to raise her higher onto your hip, “I get that a lot,”

Moments of silence passed between you before you cleared your throat and shook him from his fantasies.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I have business to attend to,” he whirled around and took elegant but hasty strides away from you.

Oh God. Don’t go.

“Elijah,” you whispered, knowing he heard you despite the hush of your tone but he didn’t look back. He never looked back.

~

“It’s too late, Klaus. I’ve lost her,” The words burned Elijah’s throat as he spoke them.

“That’s not possible, Elijah. The woman’s in love with you,” Klaus responded, bearing no mind to the pain that his brother was living through. “You snap your fingers and she’ll come crawling back to you I know it-”

“She has a child, Klaus. A daughter.” Elijah whisked back the drink in his hand, staring menacingly at the lit fireplace.

Klaus raised his brow, “How old is the child?” He asked, the same curious tone that Elijah emitted not too long ago.

“Three, maybe four,” he responded.

Klaus’ eyebrows raised even higher, “Could it be-”

“She’s not.” Elijah silenced his brother in his retort. The topic would no longer be discussed.

“I see,” Klaus rested lazily back in his seat, “That’s too bad, Hope could do with a cousin her age,”

“This is your fault,” Elijah spoke, no specific emotion prevalent in his words.

Klaus let the silence go on for a beat too long, not knowing what he could say to calm the heartbreak of his elder brother. “You know she wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t broken her heart, Elijah. She’s a stubborn one. She would’ve stayed for the war and then you’d have truly lost her forever,”

Elijah chewed on the inside of his cheek, the resentment he had for his brother at a point he wasn’t aware it could reach, “I already have,”

~

By the time you pulled in to the driveway you were practically a mess, only holding it together for a few more moments before you were going to implode.

“Let’s go,” you said, unbuckling her tiny body from the new car seat you bought and walked her over to the front door before looking at the man standing beside you and waiting for him to pull out his keys. When he gave you a sheepish smile, you rolled your eyes and knocked on the door. 

The seconds of silence that passed gave you the opportunity to immerse yourself in the pain you’d avoided for years now and if the door wasn’t opened soon you wouldn’t be able to hold it together for much longer.

“Mommy!” The door creaked open and she ran up to her mother and jumped into her arms.

“How was she?” she asked and you smiled, hoping the man beside you couldn’t see the pain in your action but he knew you too well to not notice.

“She was great. We went for ice cream and took a walk around the park then played on the swing set.” You chuckled at how loving she was towards her daughter. She watched as her husband entered the house looking as exhausted as ever.

“Thank you for watching them both.” She giggled and gave you one of her world renown smiles.

You nodded, “Of course, you know I love her and am obligated to love my brother as well,”

“No! Stay Aunty (Y/N)!” The toddler demanded and you smiled lightly at her.

“I’ll visit again soon, I promise!” You stuck out your pinky for her and she twisted her own miniscule one around yours.

“Pinky promise,” she said and smiled goofily at you.

“Pinky promise,”

[nastybuckybarnes]

A Broken Fairytale  -  Seven

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Reader AU

Summary: Sold by your mother, you work as a servant for the King and Queen of Acadia. The Prince, much to his initial dismay, takes a liking to you. When a wicked woman intervenes, your life is nothing more than a prison sentence. With a war on the horizon and a betrothal to a missing Princess that he can’t escape, Bucky is forced to be the Prince -and King- that his father wants. A pawn in a bigger game than the two of you realize.

Warnings: Language (Maybe), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Guys it’s gonna get intense soon. This is your final warning because in the next chapter... shit is getting real. :)

SERIES MASTERLIST MASTERLIST edited poorly

~*~

“I’m not sure how much more of this my heart can bear, my love,” The Queen says, tears welling up in her eyes as her dear friend informs her and her husband that still, after nearly twenty years, there’s no trace of their daughter anywhere in the kingdom.

“We’ll keep looking, your majesties. Not a soul will rest until we’ve found and returned your daughter, I swear on it,” Tony says. King John nods sadly and looks down.

“You’re dismissed, Anthony.” The brunet nods, bows, then leaves the throne room, intent on finding the lost princess.

“My Queen?” Queen Valerie looks at her lady in waiting, a distant look in her eyes. “Come, let us get you to bed,” Pepper says softly.

As the days pass, the Queen grows weaker and more distant, the loss of her only child heavy in her mind. It’s not that she and her the King didn't try to have more children to unite the kingdoms, but each and every single one was lost halfway through her pregnancy. She cannot help but feel as if this is the Gods punishing her for some atrocity she had committed in a past life.

“The Kingdom grows colder with each passing day. There are whispers of war on the streets. We’re poor as it is, but if we were to go to war? There’s no way we’d survive. I want my daughter found, Virginia. I want her found soon. I cannot bear to think of what she might’ve had to endure these past years.” The redhead helps her queen up the stairs, listening as the woman expresses her concerns.

“You worry far too much, your Majesty. Anthony will not rest until his goddaughter is found, you can be sure of that. We’ve scoured the Kingdom and we plan to move on to the forest next. He’s considering sending a small group to Acadia to look for her there.” They slowly make their way through a long corridor with only three doors, one of them being the King and Queen’s bedroom.

“You know about the locket? Everyone’s been made aware? That is what will bring her here,” The Queen says, squeezing Pepper’s hand tightly.

“We’re searching for the Princess, her locket bright in our minds. We will find her, your Majesty. There will be no war and we will unite the two kingdoms, as we swore to do.” Queen Valerie nods and stops walking when they get in front of the second door in the corridor. “You’re dismissed, Virginia.” Pepper bows, sad eyes lingering on the Queen for a moment as she takes her leave.

Queen Valerie walks into the room that has sat unchanged for the past twenty years, a single tear dripping down her cheek as she approaches the crib. Her hands shake as she picks up the stuffed rabbit that sits there, not a speck of dust on his head.

She begins to hum, as she always does when she’s in this room, and she prays to the Gods that they find her soon, not for her Kingdom, but for herself. She wants nothing more than to hold her daughter in her arms again and never let go.

~*~

You’ve set up a small camp of sorts by the glowing river, resting yourself and your mare for the night.

You’re warming your hands on the small fire you were able to make when a low growl catches your attention. You glance over your shoulder, standing slowly as you see the large black wolf. It’s eyes seem to shimmer in the light of the hand-moon and you swallow hard.

It takes a step towards you then stumbles, a whine leaving it’s mouth. You frown and try to see what’s wrong, eyes widening when you see the trap digging into it’s back leg.

You take a step towards it, hands raised in front of you as it snarls.

“Please, just let me help you. I promise I won’t hurt you.” The wolf bares its teeth, growling at you as you approach slowly.

“I promise I won’t hurt you. I just want to help you.” You get onto your knees, and slowly crawl towards it, surprise filling you when it sits down, eyes watching you with guarded curiosity.

When you’re close enough, you slowly put your hand out, closing your eyes as the wolf leans in. Instead of biting you, like you thought it would, it sniffs you curiously then licks your palm.

A surprised laugh falls from your lips and you grin, gently running your fingers through the fur of its side.

“Are you gonna let me help you?” You ask softly, moving closer and inspecting the metal locked around it’s leg.

“I’ll hold it open but you’ve gotta move quickly, I’m not as strong as I look.” The wolf watches, tail starting to wag as you grab either side of the metal, prying it apart with great difficulty.

Your fingers are sticky with blood and the metal creaks and groans but eventually yields, opening slowly. The wolf jumps out then lies down, licking its hind leg protectively.

You let go of the trap and huff out a breath, grinning as the wolf nudges you with its snout.

“Not many people would stop to help a wolf. Especially not in these woods.” You whip around at the voice, swallowing hard as you see the woman standing there. She’s tall, with billows of black hair flowing to her waist, eyes as green as the forest itself, and olive skin that looks like it gets kissed by the sun every day. She’s gorgeous, to say the least.

“I... I couldn’t just leave it. It was hurt,” you explain, fingers finding the soft tufts of fur laying beside you. The wolf seems unfazed by the woman and you try your best to calm down.

“You’re very brave.” You shrug, looking down at the wolf for a moment. “I couldn’t possibly leave it in the trap. It has done nothing to deserve such a fate.” The woman looks at you, lips pursed.

“Where are you coming from?” Your heart clenches and you look down. “I... Acadia. The king means to kill me.” She hums, eyes zeroing in on the necklace around your neck.

“But that’s not where you’re really from, is it?” You snap your gaze back up to hers. “H-How did you know?” She smiles, her face softening.

“Gather your things and come with me. I have a small cottage just deeper in the forest. You and your horse can get proper rest there.” She turns and starts walking away, pausing when you don’t follow.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask hesitantly. “You saved someone very dear to me. The least I can do is offer you food and shelter.

“Seileach! Thig!” The wolf rises to its feet and limps after the woman. The pieces click in your brain and you scramble to gather your things, your mare already following the wolf and the woman.

You walk for maybe fifteen minutes before she stops, a quaint cottage in front of you.

“There is a small stable around the back. Bring your horse there then come inside. I’ll put some tea on.” You nod, following her directions and bringing your mare around to the stable where she almost immediately makes herself comfortable. You kiss her gently on her forehead then make your way into the cottage.

You’re immediately struck by the scent of lemongrass. It’s surprising but welcome, and you follow the sound of humming. The woman stands by a small wood-burning stove, a teapot warming on top of the flame.

“Come, sit. I’m sure you have many questions.” You nod, sitting down at the kitchen table and jumping slightly as the wolf bumps your knee with its snout.

“Seileach,” the woman says, her voice warning.

“What does that mean?” You ask, scratching the wolf behind it’s ears.

“’Willow’. It’s her name. She’s been my... companion for many years. I was out looking for her, I could feel her pain, when I found you.” You mull over this for a moment, trying to make sense of it.

“Are you... a sorceress?” You ask softly, not wanting to offend the woman. “I suppose you could call me that. I’ve been given many names before, as have you (Y/n).” You’re absolutely shocked that she knows your name.

“You’ve strayed a long way from home. But you know not where your home is.” You nod slowly and she smiles. “My name is Erutan. I live and guard these woods. I have for centuries and I will for centuries to come.” You watch as she pours you a small mug of tea, adding a spoonful of something then stirring it slowly, whispering words in a foreign tongue before pushing the mug over to you.

You slowly raise it to your face, taking a sniff of it before bringing it to your lips. You take a small sip then sigh, closing your eyes and enjoying the taste and the feeling of warmth it brings you.

“What language were you speaking?” You ask, looking up at her. She smiles from across the table, taking a sip of her own tea.

“The language of the place you’re travelling to. If you plan on living in Corona, you should learn the language.” You look down with a frown, “I... I was learning until...” She nods, not needing any further explanation.

“I have some books on it. I can teach you, if you’d like?” You look up at her in confusion. “You’d really do that? Why?” She smiles softly at you. “You have a kindness in your heart that I have not witnessed for many years. You’re ambitious and driven and your soul needs nurturing. If I can help in any way then I will.” You smile and nod, accepting her offer.

~*~

“When I told you to deal with the thorn in my side I didn’t mean send her right to her parents! I wanted her as far from Corona as possible! Now you’ve only made matters worse!” Her voice is low but full of rage as she glares at the knight. He raises his hands in surrender, scoffing at her anger.

“She’s gone, out of the kingdom. You only said you wanted her gone so now she’s gone,” he says simply, not understanding what the woman truly wanted.

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she tries to compose herself. “You are going to find her and you are going to kill her. I don’t care how many you need to slaughter, as long as she’s dead. I want her head on a silver platter delivered right to my doorstep!” Brock’s surprised by the request but if he’s paid enough he’ll do just about anything. There is one thing he’s wondering though.

“Why do you hate her so much?” He finally asks, watching as the woman opens her eyes, storms brewing in their grey depths.

“It’s not so simple as hating the girl. I hate her family, her kingdom. I hate the very blood that runs through her veins. Her mother stole something from me. Something very precious to me, something I had kept near and dear to my heart. And then the little brat was born, destined to continue the bloodline, to deprive me of one of the few things I had truly earned in my lifetime! I will not stand for it any longer! Her mother has stolen enough from me! If I was denied access to my rightful place in the kingdom, my rightful place as Queen, then she shall be too!” Her chest heaves as she rants, eyes almost glowing with anger.

The pieces click in Brock’s head and his eyes widen.

“Is... is that servant girl... the....” He trails off, not wanting to say it out loud for fear of someone finding out what he’s done and who he’s speaking to.

“That girl is nothing more than a little brat who knows nothing of the real world. She’s a burden, a thief, and she needs to be dealt with.” She takes a deep breath then smiles sickly at Rumlow.

“You will kill her. Then when the two kingdoms cannot be united, King George will wage war on Corona. The King and Queen will fall and King George will take Corona for himself. But his greed will bring sickness that will plague his family and kingdom, I have made sure of that. And in the fall of the two Kingdoms, I will take my rightful place upon the throne. I will rid the two kingdoms of those who do not wish to follow under my rule.” Her eyes are wild, a wicked smile on her lips as she plots the death of millions of people.

“I don’t care if I need to kill everyone to do it. There will be nothing left of the royal families. Those that don’t die of sickness will burn in the endless fires of my rage. And in the days of my rule, you will be by my side. Kill the girl, bring me her head, and you will forever have a place by my side in our new kingdom. No one would dare attempt to overthrow us. We will be the two most powerful people in the world.” The idea appeals to Rumlwo, he must admit. Power is something he’s always been hungry for. And a chance to see the entire Barnes family crash and burn? Well, He’d pay to see that.

“You’ve got a deal.” The woman sighs, smiling happily at him. “She made for Corona. Do not rest until she is dead. Do you understand?” He nods, standing up and heading towards his horse. “I don’t need to remind you what will happen if you fail me, do I? I hate to be disappointed.” Rumlow shakes his head while mounting his horse.

“I’ll bring you her head. And I’ll enjoy it, too.” He takes off, leaving the woman by herself in the small clearing.

“For far too long have I suffered in silence,” she whispers, glaring into the night sky.

“I’ll stand for it no longer. Far too long have I been denied what is rightfully mine. And now they will pay. They will pay with their lives for what they’ve done to me.” It’s not a simple threat she’s uttering in anger. It’s a promise. A promise she’s making to the gods.

~*~

[mileycfan4eva33]

Fandom: One Chicago and SVU

Title: Silence Equals Death

Chapter 1: Dear Diary

P O V: Sylvie Brett

A/N: Boy, I am getting sick of these things. But, I'm too paranoid not to write it down. Here are the usual disclaimers, I do not own any of the One Chicago/Or SVU characters that glory goes to Dick Wolf and NBC. Trigger warning for a sexual assault/ rape towards the end. Whose Point of View would you like chapter two to be in; Kelly's, Matt's, Stella's or Kat's, Or Hailey's? This fic will be told through multiple views and be a joint between PD/ Fire and SVU. Reviews are fires to my soul; please leave one. Thank You.

Gaffney Chicago Medical Center

Dear Diary, today is January 31, 2021; it is 12:56 am; I am in Chicago Med. I have to write this all down before it becomes a twisted blur of fragmented memories. Tonight was a nightmare, and a dream all rolled into one. Sitting here now on this cold steel trap of a bed, I am in disbelief that any of this happened, but it did, and it shouldn't have; if I had been smarter, more robust, less drunk, none of this would have happened. I only have myself to blame. It all started so innocently.

Now everything is such a mess; how did this happen? I am not a lovesick teenager, and I shouldn't be making these types of mistakes. If only I could turn back time and not get so damn drunk, but I can't, so here it is, the sick truth of what will surely end my career. The authentic story as only someone who lived it can ever tell it. No Disney fair-tales here, just honest raw truths, every word you will read is what happened to the best of my recollection someday I will gone, and I want my truth out there, so no woman ever has to bear witness to the pain of being raped, and thrown away as if she is the villain.

I am not the villain, but can I say I was a victim?

Sofitel Chicago Magnificent Mile

20 E Chestnut St, Chicago, IL 60611

January 30th 2021 9:35 pm

"My money's on you finding exactly what you want."

Matthew Casey's rugged, sexy voice purrs in my ear. I can't remember when he said that or why the hell he said it; my mind is toasted with the large amount of alcohol I have poured into my body. I can remember what he said after, though, because it's what I deserve. Matt had no idea back then that all I wanted was for him to say he loved me, to tell me I am beautiful. To reassure me that these butterflies I have been feeling forever are not just in my stomach, not only carrying my heart away, but they are in his as well.

He didn't, not then and never since it's been at least two years since he said those words to me. Two years since I felt a brief flutter inside my heart telling me that my feelings for Matt had changed from friendship to something a little less platonic. "God, there ain't enough alcohol inside this damn hotel to take my memory away from this pain."

"I hear ya' sis." Stella Kidd motions for the bartender to bring us two more rounds as she settles against the counter inches away from me, her elbows propping her up. "You look flushed, Brett. Are you feeling okay?" Stella's gorgeous brown eyes are wide in concern as she glances at my body my cheeks are burning, I can feel the heat descending from my head to my face making me sway in dizziness a little as I try to remember how to breathe. Funny how a normal body function can sometimes take so much damn effort it hurts. I need a minute to do nothing, not to feel, think, talk, react or breathe, but of course, I can't have that minute, not with Stella on the case. "Yeah, girl, why wouldn't I be okay?" I fake a laugh, which I don't think fools her even for a second.

"Uh, I am so over these damn things Sylvie, I thought with COVID we would escape this bullshit this year." Stella slides down my shot glass to me as she tilts her head back and chugs her shot of whiskey with one gulp. "Yeah, I would have thought so too; nothing I hate more than a bunch of grown-ass corporate men in suits pretending to give two craps about us little people."

"Amen, sister." Stella clicks her empty glass against mine before I tilt my head back and swallow the rush of warmth that leaves me dizzier; maybe I shouldn't have skipped two meals today before coming here after having no food yesterday. "So what's up with you and Kelly?" I turn my head to my right to catch Stella's eyes, glued to her boyfriend Kelly Severide, chatting with District Chief Steve Walker. Fire Commissioner Carl Grissom and the Deputy Director of Finance Gail McLeod. "Kelly's looking dapper Stella; I think someone is going to get lucky tonight." I hold my hand up to signal the bartender for another round; he fills our glasses quickly, much to my pleasure. "Yeah, from your lips to Kelly's ears, please, he's barely touched me ever since he found out that some people may take offense to me being promoted because we're together."

"Aw, man, I'm sorry he's probably just worried Stella, he loves you Kelly doesn't want to be the reason you fail because we all know you deserve this promotion. At least he cares enough to say the words out loud." I swallow the shot feeling my eyes burn badly as tears filter out. "Aw man, this shit is strong. Phew!" shaking my body out, I signal for another, hearing Stella laugh. "Still regretting telling Matt how you feel?"

I pause for a moment before I answer; how should I respond? Do I regret telling Matt how I feel? "Hey bitches." I'm saved from answering as Leslie Shay comes stumbling over, wrapping her arm over my shoulder and squeezing between us, holding her phone up with her left hand. "Smile bitches." Stella and I hold our full shot glasses up. I love this bartender; he is on his game tonight; we smile and lean into Shay, who is reeking of Tequila. "Give me some love, sugar babes." Yeah, she is drunk, sugar babes? Where did she even come up with that one? We smile brighter even though neither one of us feel happy at this moment; her eyes are on Kelly, who isn't even looking our way, and I lock my eyes on Matt, who is dancing with some woman I have never seen in my life.

The woman is drop-dead gorgeous though five-foot-nine inches is my guess she appears to be Lebanese or Latino with long caramel hair flowing down her back past her waist the silk wrap dress she is wearing clings to every unique curve on her flawless body. Matt's arms are wrapped around her waist he's dancing close with her, my heart races so fast I feel the room sway. "Love is a journey, Sylvie, don't give up yet. I know this moment sucks. I get it hurts worse than anything you've ever experienced. When it gets too heavy, when it feels like the weight of this pain is crushing you, remember the pleasant moments, the breathless enthusiastic moments. Matt's alive, and so are you as long as you live, there is hope."

I wish I could smile at Shay as a thank you, but I can't muster the strength even to attempt a smile. Seeing Matt dancing with this woman is killing me slowly; who is she? Where did they meet? Why did he choose tonight to bring her on a date? Knowing I would be at this stupid First Responders training shit, is he trying to make me jealous?

"Your Casey is out there, Sylvie, but you don't have to change who you are to find him." Gabby's words from five years ago come back to me; she did not know just how right she was when she said them to me; hell, I didn't even know back then that the man who I would want to be by my side forever, the man who I would spend countless sleepless nights crying my heart out over was her Casey. Talk to God, Sylvie, get your head straight; this is crazy pinning over a man you pushed away yourself.

Sometimes I feel so cold the way steel must feel left outside to fend for itself against the weather elements. Some days I feel broken, I forget what living is for, I forget how to breathe or even why I should keep living. Today is one of those nights; seeing Matt with this woman is breaking me; I can feel every string of my heart aching, pulling, and twisting as it stretches my entire inside into a giant trampoline my stomach turns and painfully contracts reminding me.

I am alive

Every ache and every pain reminds me I am breathing, but why I can't seem to grasp it. I'm not suicidal, but I'm finding it hard to find a reason to keep my head up when my brain is screaming at me to run away, to bury myself in Tequila and cuddle under the covers till all of the daylight fades away into a blur of a drunken haze.

"Another shot, bartender."

"Name is Josh." I turn away, not caring, seeing only Matt as he lifts his finger to wipe out a stray hair off the woman's face. I can barely breathe every effort is a raspy painful burn that leaves me gasping, trying to fight off this fresh wave of tears. "Close your eyes, Sylvie, and fucking hold it together for a few more minutes; for God's sake, don't let the man see you cry."

Shay slips her arm around my back under my armpits, quickly leading me out of the ballroom where the music is playing louder than what you would expect at a training seminar. "Remember what I said to picture the pleasant moments." "I can't, Shay..I... can't breathe." "Shh, hey, it's okay. I got you." Shay gently settles me onto a couch inside the ladies' room, handing me a cold bottle of water, which she's already taken a few sips out. Still, she lifts to my lips before I can stop her; the cool liquid splashes over my chin, dripping down what gets inside my mouth is refreshing and helps cool me off, allowing me to breathe easier. Leaning back against the wall, I close my eyes, trying to regain some gravity; my knees are trembling, leaving me feeling as if I will collapse if I try to stand.

I want to kick myself for falling so hard for a damn guy who I knew would never love me back. I knew I shouldn't have pushed Matt, yet I ignored every one of my instincts and went full sped ahead. God, I will remember that day forever- I had been avoiding Matt for days ever since the accident. Mainly because I had my suspicions that Matt hadn't just been lucky in getting to me so quickly, part of me hoped and yes, as vain as it sounds prayed that Matt had raced to me, that the thought of me being in peril had somehow overcome Matt's heart running his blood in fear.

I told myself I was crazy even to think such stupid school girl thoughts. Matt is our captain; it made perfect sense he would be worried about Gianna and me; we're part of his team, nothing more. The job of the captain is to make sure all of his team comes home safe at the end of every shift; Matt's lost too many people in his days, he fears losing anyone, so of course, the entire team raced to us when they heard 61 was in an accident.

I had myself convinced Matt came to me out of loyalty out of duty, not because he was in love with me, I am stupid for even thinking for one mil-la-second that Matthew Casey would ever love me as anything except a friend. I was doing so damn well, too, until Blake Gallo blew up all my rationalization with his account of how Matt jumped out of a moving truck to get to me. Me, not myself and Gianna but only me. Brett, I have to get to Brett, that's what Gallo recalled Matt saying.

Shattered

Read more and please leave a review at https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13807832/1/Silence-Equals-Death

[ellenripleysbelieveitornot]

Crowley took to writing when the moments without Aziraphale seemed to stretch into infinity. There was something about the repetitive scratch of the quill against the parchment that seemed to calm him; maybe it was just the way it seemed to drown out the part of him that had (unforgivably) learned to miss someone.

At first, he was just writing down his thoughts, not bothering with any sort of organization. It was just a way to silence the part of his mind that always managed to drift to the angel.

But then he discovered poetry. It wasn't the art itself that drew him to the craft, but rather the way Aziraphale had smiled when he had shown off his latest acquisition. And, oh, his voice, the way it seemed to flow with the words when he read a sample to him aloud. It reminded him of the way the universe had sang when it was born.

He thought, maybe, if he could imagine Aziraphale's voice caressing his own thoughts in such a way, it might alleviate the ache in his soul, just a bit.

My love is the horizon, Where blue sky meets the Earth. Forever in my sight, But never mine to hold.

It was simple, and it didn't rhyme, but it said more with four lines than Crowley would ever be able to express out loud, and wasn't that the point?

So, he kept at it. Whenever that certain piece of his heart felt the loss of Aziraphale's presence, whenever visions of a bright smile and the sweetest eyes became too much, he'd write down a couple lines, and it brought him a brief sense of peace.

And things were fine that way, until they weren't.

It happened when they were at lunch. Crowley was rearranging the meal on his plate into complicated patterns and shapes, (moving it around and around so it seemed that he was doing something with it, so it seemed that food were the reason he were here, it was an act and one he played well) when Aziraphale pulled out a thin little book, that its cover claimed was a collection of poetry 'lost to time and memory' whatever that meant.

"Crowley, dear, listen to this," Aziraphale said. Then he cleared his throat and began to read.

"By your presence, I am come undone. By your absence, I am torn asunder.

Free me or keep me, What difference could it make?"

Crowley stopped listening. The words. He knew the words. He had written the words. But how?

Someone must have found one of his poems and, presuming the author to be long dead, had it published.

Crowley came back to himself just to realize that Aziraphale was expecting some kind of response from him. "Oh, yeah," he muttered at his plate. "Very nice."

Aziraphale looked affronted. "Nice?!" he echoed. "It's terrible!"

Crowley cringed. He knew he was an amateur, but 'terrible' seemed a little harsh. "Oh, yeah," he agreed anyway. "It's rubbish."

Now Aziraphale looked offended for some reason. What did he want from him? "It's beautiful!" the angel declared.

Crowley blinked. "But you said-"

"It's heartbreaking! The writer loves this person so much it's consumed them entirely. It's- It's- Don't you know how that feels?"

And Aziraphale was looking at him now, a hopeless desperation in those beautiful eyes. But how could Crowley possibly answer that question?

The truth was, he didn't know how it felt, not the way it was written in the poem. It had always been one of his biggest shortcomings, he thought. Try as he might, no matter what words he used, no matter the grandiosity of the metaphors, it was never enough. His feelings could never quite be put to paper. Not in any way that mattered.

"Erm..." he said instead, and Aziraphale's face fell.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. I don't know what came over me."

"'S fine," Crowley mumbled, because his mind was still reeling, and the conversation drifted back to whatever they had been discussing before.

From then on, Crowley was utterly lost. He had written the poems imagining them being read by Aziraphale, but now that he had actually witnessed it, had an actual taste, he became like a man possessed.

Poem after poem poured out of him. Knowing that Aziraphale could read his words, could be moved by them, was intoxicating. If he could just get the pages to match what he felt, then maybe, maybe he had a chance.

I walked the halls of heaven So very long ago I stood within the Presence I lived with grace bestowed

And though it’s true I fell Into darkness from the bright On this loss I do not dwell For you keep my soul alight

And there isn’t any question Believe me, yes it’s true All the glory that is heaven Is nothing next to you

He started gifting his poems to Aziraphale. Not in person, of course, but he'd slide them through his mail slot, he'd tuck them between two books on the shelves in Aziraphale's shop, he left them anywhere the angel might find them and hoped that he'd know they were for him.

I bend my knees in worship. I lift my hands in prayer. I cry out before your altar, But you never seem to hear.

He didn't even know if Aziraphale found them all. But this was all he could do.

My true love is an angel, So perfectly divine I spend my days in worship, Kneeling before his shrine

My true love is an angel Wrapped in heaven’s sweet embrace I'd give my all to serve him And be worthy of his grace

My true is an angel And for this blasphemy I crawl Yet I surely cannot conceive of Any sweeter way to fall.

And then he was handed the Antichrist. And what good were words when faced with the end?

He stopped writing and focused entirely on just keeping Aziraphale by his side. He could live with Aziraphale never knowing of his feelings so long as things could remain as they were.

So, when they did the impossible, when they stopped the apocalypse, he decided to be thankful for what he had, and shoved all those feelings deep, deep down, resigned to never wanting more. He could spend more time with Aziraphale, now, without either of them having to check over their shoulder, and wasn't that enough?

Wasn't it?

No.

But if lied to himself enough, maybe he could start to believe it was true.

Until Aziraphale, with that same determined look on his face that he had gotten when he decided he was going to learn close-up magic, sat him down on the couch in the back of the bookshop and stood before him, wringing his hands nervously.

"Crowley, I need to read you something, and you have to promise not to laugh."

Crowley blinked. "Okay?"

"You have to promise!"

"Okay, I promise!"

"And- And could you take off your sunglasses?"

"What?"

"Please, Crowley, I really need-"

"Okay, okay!" Crowley did. "Better?"

"Yes." Aziraphale frowned. "Actually, no, it's much worse, now I can see what you're thinking, put them back on."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Angel!"

"Alright, alright!" With shaking hands, Aziraphale reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his reading glasses, which they both knew he didn't actually need, but Crowley decided to let that fact go for now. After he had situated them on the end of his nose, he reached into his waistcoat and procured a worn sheet of paper. His fingers trembled as he unfolded it and began to read:

"I fear the way I love you, It's too much for me to bear.

I fear the way I love you, It hurts how much I care.

I fear the way I love you, Your presence is all I crave.

I fear the way I love you, But, now I'm ready to be brave."

Crowley wasn't sure what to say. It had been a while since Aziraphale had shared his favorite poems with him, and he couldn't quite remember how this was supposed to work.

"It's lovely," he said.

"You think so?" Aziraphale asked hopefully, suddenly looking a little less terrified. "It's not as good as yours, of course, but I thought I did pretty well."

Crowley's mind blanked. "Mine?" His voice may have squeaked, but he couldn't be sure over the pounding in his ears.

"Well, yes. They were yours, weren't they?"

Should he deny it? No. He was done hiding. "Yes."

Aziraphale looked... relieved. And that was when Crowley's mind caught up to the second thing Aziraphale had said. "You wrote that poem?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"For me?"

Aziraphale nodded again. "Like I said, it's not much, compar- you promised you wouldn't laugh!"

But Crowley couldn't help himself. The joy and love bubbled out of him in such a way that had to be given form, and laughter seemed to be it. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind, though, once Crowley swept him into his arms and pressed their lips together.

And this? This was poetry.

---

AN: Remember that AU I talked about? I decided to finally put my money where my mouth is. I feel like I should apologize for the awful poetry, so, uh.... sorry.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Return At Dawn

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri Blaiddyd/F!Byleth (Dimileth)

Rating: Holy shit M

Word Count: Nervous sweating around 34k

AN: I would like you all to bear witness to this...behemoth.  I have played over two hundred hours of this game, my life is chaos, and the post-timeskip cutscene is the sole reason why I wrote the entire thing. Obviously, spoiler warning for the Blue Lions route. Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment deals heavily with death and various, vivid post-traumatic scenarios. Stay safe!]

"Come in old man, I'm just washing up!" The muffled reply to his knock threw Dimitri for a momentary loop. She must have assumed he was Jeralt coming to check on her.

  "Er, Professor Byleth?" He called, gingerly easing the door to her quarters open. "It's me, Dimitri. May I…?"

  "Prince Dimitri, head of the house, right?" Their new professor emerged from the tiny luxury that was the en-suite washroom, wiping her hands on a towel. The remains of some soap suds clung to her cheek, which Dimitri chose to ignore as best as he could. "Here to try and scare me off? I warn you, I'm a force to be reckoned with."

  "Not at all!" Dimitri hastily assured the newly-minted professor, bowing on reflex. 

  He hadn't expected her to be so outspoken. When she had been with Jeralt, she kept the chatter to a minimum. Even if she hadn't though, normally once people found out he was a prince the stiff manners ensued. 

  The hand that warmly clasped his own was calloused with abundant scarring across the knuckles, a telltale sign of her successful mercenary career. "I just wanted to see whether you were having any issues settling in." The prince continued.

  "No problems so far, give me a few days to get lost in this place and I'm sure I'll have the layout memorized." She said it with a straight face, but Dimitri felt as if he were being joked with. 

  "Would you like a guide? I'm certain I can assist you in navigating the monastery on your first day." He offered cordially.

  …

  Dimitri jerked awake. 

  He was still where he had dropped last, his back pressed to the wall behind him. The end of his lance was wedged into the cracked marble underfoot, propping it upright. His grip on the heavy weapon hadn't loosened, even in his momentary doze.

  The once-princeling raised his remaining eye, taking in his handiwork. Butchered Imperial soldiers littered the cathedral floor in front of him, victims of their own foolishness. A chilling breeze blew through the enormous archway, but he doubted he could feel any colder.

  In the five years since Byleth was lost, her voice had been added to the burden on his soul. Along with his father, his stepmother, Glenn, Dedue...all of them screaming for vengeance, redeem us Dimitri, why couldn't you save us Dimitri .

  He was a shambling corpse, a beast driven mad by blood-craze, the wild boar suited for nothing but destruction and slaughter. How Felix would laugh, if he could see what depths the once-prince had sunk to. 

  The shaft of Dimitri's fearsome lance, an enormous thing intended for use by mounted cavalry, was tacky with half-dried blood. He wanted to feel nauseous. Maybe that was the hunger talking. When had he eaten last?

  What was I dreaming about?

  For the first time in what felt like years, he had dozed off. And instead of being tormented by memories of fire or the loss of Dedue, he was granted a bittersweet respite in the form of recalling his beloved professor's first foray into the academic life.

  Grief tore at him wildly, making him hunch into himself once again. The pain was so sharp and vivid whenever he thought of her ; he couldn't stop his body's reaction to the perceived assault. His grip on his lance tightened and he clenched his jaw, refusing to make a sound. Mourning was a luxury reserved for someone far better than he was. All he deserved was to suffer agony in silence.

  Overwhelmed with weariness, his head pounding, Dimitri closed his eye again.

  …

  "The professor is gone, but I do not believe she is dead!" Dimitri yelled fiercely as he sawed at the reins of his destrier. The horse whinnied and pawed the earth nervously, fighting the prince every step of the way. "We will save Professor Byleth!"

  "He's right, there's no way she's lost to us!" Ingrid agreed, her own mount giving her no end of trouble. "Blue Lions, if there is a way for us to get her back, we must try!"

  "Our professor lives, I know it!" Dedue announced firmly, the other students on foot rallying behind his shield. 

  Dimitri spurred his horse forward, going at a breakneck pace across the battlefield. " Solon! " He shouted, readying his lance. "I'll slice you into a thousand pieces as you watch with horror! You will know true pain before I finally allow you to die!" The flames of Duscur seared his soul; the dead cried out for vengeance and he must give it to them. Such was the burden of the living.

  "How trite!" Solon sneered. "But! If you wish for pain, I shall oblige."

  Dimitri's horse thundered onward relentlessly, the prince disrupting enemy formations left and right as he rode. Sylvain and Felix were close behind, with Dedue and Ingrid maintaining the rear guard. Just like they had practiced, Annette and Ashe used Dedue's shield as cover for their respective spells and arrows while Mercedes and Flayn kept a vigilant eye out for any injuries. 

  Dimitri advanced on Solon, his lance gleaming in the sunset as he prepared to strike him down. "Die, monster!" The infernal darkness that had dogged him since Duscur wrapped around his soul like a hand, squeezing, squeezing-

  Brilliant light erupted in the air directly in front of him and his horse reared, nearly unseating the prince. A red-hot blade seemed to pierce the sky itself, a rift tearing open to reveal…

  Professor Byleth! The Sword of the Creator was ablaze with a fiery glow, so bright it pained Dimitri to behold it. For one fleeting moment he felt fear, as though he were a damned sinner who was about to be judged by the Goddess herself. Then, the darkness fled from his mind, clarity returning as surely as his professor had. 

  "Professor Byleth!" He said gladly, raising his lance in a knight's salute to her. He paused, however, as his eyes grew accustomed to the light. Her hair...and her eyes! Such a strange shade of green they were, like sunlight filtered through forest leaves. What had happened to her in the brief time she had been away from them? What torments had wrought their havoc upon her? 

  Solon appeared just as confused as he was, babbling about the Forbidden Spell and how the professor shouldn't have been able to escape from it. 

  "We were sure that you would return! Please tell me all that happened to you later. For now, it's imperative that we kill the demon!" Dimitri urged his horse into a canter after Professor Byleth nodded to him. More enemies had appeared on the field, no doubt brought there by Solon's foul magics. But the Blue Lions would not lose their professor again.

  He would not lose their professor again .

  …

  The soft tread of someone entering the sanctuary roused Dimitri to awareness once more. He didn't so much as flinch, steadying his breathing. Better to not draw attention to himself ahead of time, after all. 

  The sky outside had begun to brighten to a steely gray with the dawn, the wind even colder than before. 

  Dimitri lifted his gaze and was duly horrified by what he saw. Another apparition, another shadow come to torment him at night. Had his delusions truly worsened so, that she would linger even in the waxing dawn? 

  Her strides were cautious. She practically tiptoed. So unlike his professor. 

  Dimitri's remaining eye narrowed. An impostor, then. No doubt sent by Edelgard to gain his trust. How transparent of the Flame Emperor. "Stay where you are, interloper." He rasped. "Unless you wish to be cut down."

  She did not speak. The witch had done her research, it would seem. All she did was carefully pick her way around the corpses, heading towards him. 

  "I should have known, that one day you would be haunting me as well." Dimitri leaned forward, lance braced on the ground. "I will warn you only one more time, trespasser ." The former prince spat, the sharp blade of his lance glinting in the first fitful rays of morning sunlight. "Stay back ."

  The hallucination or impostor had the audacity to look distressed with him, shaking her head. The sunrise suddenly poured into the room in earnest, robing her in golden splendor. 

  Dimitri momentarily closed his eye against the onslaught of memories. The Blue Lion brooch the class had gifted her on her birthday so long ago was securely pinned to her bosom, the beast's inlaid sapphire eyes sparkling in the dawn. That Edelgard would go to this extent for authenticity-! Had that monster found where the professor's final resting place was and robbed her grave to lay claim to the bauble? Or-

  Byleth touched his cheek and his eye snapped open. All the other apparitions were so cold, but her hand was warm enough that he could actually feel it on his chilled face. "Leave me, you foul demon! Why do you dog my footsteps? Why did you come to this wretched place?" Dimitri hissed. "Just to torment me, to remind me that I failed? I will kill that woman, I swear it! Do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes!"

  "I'm so sorry." 

  Oh! Her voice! The dead heart in his breast gave a weary little beat at the familiarity of it all. How many times had they sparred? How many times had she praised his monstrous strength instead of critiquing his enthusiastic, graceless way of moving?

  How many, how many, how many …

  "Why have you come here?" Dimitri asked again, his words quieter this time. "If you are truly alive, here , then you must be an Imperial spy. That's the only way you could have survived. Have you come to kill me, cur of Edelgard?" He snarled. "Answer the question."

  "Of course not." She murmured, her thumb brushing some dried blood off his cheek. He must have been injured during his previous fracas with the Imperial soldiers. Dimitri had felt no wound over the constant throbbing of his head, however. Her eyes searched his own, probing, concerned . "What happened?" 

  What happened to you, what happened to the monastery, what happened to me. Dimitri was unsure of what she was asking and she wasn't elaborating. 

  He could have dropped his lance and crushed her skull with the strength of his hands alone. Yet...hesitation. Doubt. Momentary weakness while Dimitri extended a hand and traced the side of her face, cheekbone to jaw. He was ashamed of how his fingers trembled. She was real. Tangible . No impostor could mimic her this well, nor could the Imperial magisters. So she must be a spy in the Emperor's pocket. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved that his mind hadn't slipped further into delirium or enraged that Edelgard would conceive such a bold-faced scheme.

  His armored palm curved against her cheek, not gentle enough to be a caress but not nearly harsh enough to be a shove. "You should not be here." The fury had seeped out of his words, leaving them hollow. He felt abruptly drained.

  Her hand covered his own on her cheek and healing light washed over him, banishing the weariness that had befallen him after his last pitched fight with the Imperial soldiers. He had been wounded, then? His memory must have gone patchy during the conflict. "I'm glad you're alright." She whispered.

  "Am I?" Dimitri pulled himself upright, impatiently waving off the hand she offered. "There are rats and thieves , crawling in the ruins below that I must remove." He muttered. "They are drawn here by the promise of treasure. I will...kill them all. Until Edelgard runs out of soldiers and has no choice but to come find me herself. Someone must put a stop to this cycle of the strong trampling the weak." Pretty words. He did not actually believe them. 

  "Your Highness-"

  "Do not refer to me as such. As far as the kingdom is aware, I died four years ago in Fhirdiad." Dimitri shook himself bodily, trying to free his form of the stiffness and morning chill that clung to him. "I must rid this place of its rat problem."

  "How many of them are there?" She was cautious again. She should be.

  "It doesn't matter." Dimitri snarled. "All that matters is killing those who deserve to die."

  …

  "It smells of blood and sewage." The prince mused, a smirk upon his face. "It seems I've found their nest."

  Byleth looked up at him, thoroughly concerned by the undercurrent of excitement in his tone. This was not the same young man she had once taught in the classroom. He seemed rabid and fixated at the same time, the sinister grin he sported twisting his stern features into a terrible mask. 

  He glanced over to her. It was impossible to miss that somewhere along the way he had lost the use of his right eye, the space now covered by a dark eyepatch. She had tried to stay on his left while they slunk through the dawn's shadows down to the monastery's edge, where the thieves were at their thickest. It would do her no good to approach on his blind side and be run through for spooking him.

  For just a second, she could have sworn his expression softened slightly. "Shall we go rat hunting, Professor?" 

  Professor, professor…

  She had never imagined her title could sound so bitter and forlorn. "Would you rather I move to your right and guard you? Or stay within sight on your left?"

  Dimitri hesitated before responding, "Do as you please. I am accustomed to protecting my blind spot. Opponents always believe it to be a weak point."

  "I will guard your right as we push forward, then." Byleth said firmly. "One less thing for you to worry about." He did not thank her, and she did not expect him to.

  Dimitri moved like a wild animal in a feeding frenzy. Mercilessly cutting down the thieves, whirling his enormous lance around his body as if it weighed nothing. He had gotten even stronger , and unfortunately, far better at killing.

  Even when the enemy managed to land blows upon him he shrugged them off, single-minded in his advance. The leader of the thieves had ensconced himself in a half-collapsed cupola and it did not take an incredible strategist to know that this man was Dimitri's mark. " Out of my way! " The once-princeling roared, the next blow from that mighty lance splitting the very flagstones with the force he put behind it. "Interlopers, thieves, scum! You will pay for your foolhardy destruction of the nearby village and your ransacking of my graveyard with your pitiful lives!"

  Byleth deflected an arrow aimed at Dimitri's blind side and the blond swung his lance over her head with a grunt of exertion, slaying the archer that dared to try him. True, the two of them were strong, but their adversaries were numerous. Even with both of their skill sets, this could prove to be a fruitless struggle.

  She suddenly heard a loud rattle of armor behind her. "His Highness! And...the professor?" Gilbert sounded shocked, and well he should.

  "I know it's been five years, but I never expected the monastery to end up like this ." A bowstring twanged and an arrow sang overhead. "This place is a wreck!"

  "Ashe!" Byleth said gladly. Ashe strode forward. He was taller and broader now but had that same boyish grin, another arrow nocked and ready to fire.

  The embodiment of gentle grace herself seemed to materialize out of the morning mist beside Byleth, Mercedes reaching up to pat the professor's shoulder. "I haven't seen any of you in such a long time. I'm so glad to see you're alive." 

  Gilbert advanced from the rear guard, Annette perched securely on his shoulders. From her lofty vantage point, she launched furious gouts of magic that leveled foes. "It's over, thieves!" She announced with fervour. 

  Dimitri seemed bewildered by the sudden arrival of his old classmates and allies, actually pausing in his assault. "Why...why are you here?" He asked, clearly confused.

  "No time for that now, your Highness!" Mercedes aimed a fire spell beneath his elbow, taking down a thief who had been attempting to sneak by the group. "We can catch up later."

  "And we definitely will!" Byleth couldn't help her laugh, utterly thrilled by the appearance of their friends. 

  Galloping hoofbeats signaled another approach and Sylvain thundered past the group. "C'mon guys, we've got a nest to exterminate!" He yelled over his shoulder, reining in his horse. "Nice to see ya', Teach!" 

  A pegasus swooped by overhead, Ingrid's lance gleaming in the early morning light as she rocketed onward. "We'll catch up later!" She called.

  Grateful tears filled Byleth's eyes and she hurried to dash them away. "You're all just-"

  "Now is not the time for sentiments." Felix grumbled from her elbow, loosening the sheath binding on his blades. "We're all here because we made a promise to return. That's that. Don't waste your breath thanking us, Professor."

  Dimitri looked a strange combination of outraged and grateful, the tall young man clearing his throat and then raising his voice. "Listen up! We must end this quickly." He still commanded some form of respect it would seem, as Byleth's former students took heed of his orders and arranged themselves accordingly. 

  …

  It felt like several lifetimes had passed since Dimitri had seen the faces that rallied with him. And yet they followed orders just like they had when they were nothing but children, classmates, friends . 

  A brief flicker of self-awareness crushed him in its grip. Nausea, bringing with it a wave of fetid bile to sour his mouth. I will use you all to suit my ends, until I can use you no longer and discard you. "Seal off their escape routes! Leave none alive! Those who would strip this place must pay the ultimate price!" Dimitri shouted hoarsely.

  He was no longer the noble, chivalrous prince who led his forces to victory, but the ravenous, slavering beast who craved nothing more than to see his enemies utterly broken before him. Dimitri had thought he came to terms with this long ago. However, having Professor Byleth witness his behavior was...it made it seem more real , somehow. It solidified his fall from regal poise into brutal, blood-soaked chaos.

  He wanted to hate her for it. Dimitri wanted to loathe her for holding them to such high standards, for always encouraging them to do their best…

  For leaving him all alone.  

  He hadn't been ready! When news of her disappearance had reached him, he had gone into a blind despair. They relied on her, depended upon her, and now she was gone? There had been so much he wanted to say to her. His heart had screamed the agony he refused to voice, the maybe I could have s keeping him up long into the night.

  It felt like a cruel joke.

  Then, Dedue perished as his whipping boy, thanks to Cornelia's elaborate frame job of the only surviving member of House Blaiddyd. The last fragment of his tenuous humanity sacrificed along with his stalwart friend, Dimitri had slaughtered guards of his own kingdom to steal their weaponry and then vanished into the wilds. Let Cornelia do as she pleased with the battered kingdom of Faerghus, he no longer cared. All he wanted...all he lived for, was his revenge.

  Dimitri took to terrorizing and harassing Imperial troops wherever he found them. With every soldier killed it became easier to rationalize his horrific actions. 

  Because they're Edelgard's, and everyone connected to her will suffer until she comes to atone.

  His prior clean ways of dispatching enemies dissolved into gory bloodbaths. The once-prince no longer worried about causing unnecessary pain; instead, he focused more and more on the fear . Everyone would die as his family had died, as Dedue and his dear professor had died: with terror etched into their souls and no mercy given.

  Dimitri struck out for Garreg Mach upon learning Imperial troops were sent there regularly, the soldiers tasked with handling thieves that menaced the nearby village. That the Knights of Seiros were too damn preoccupied with their search for their precious archbishop to offer any sort of assistance came as no surprise to the once-prince. After all, when it came down to brass tacks, the church served the church. 

  It had given him a certain, sadistic pleasure to cleanse the monastery's cathedral of its Imperial infestation, though he had done so at a great cost to his own body. If Byleth had not returned when she had…

  Regardless, she was a gifted healer and strong warrior. She would serve his crusade for revenge well.

  Dimitri steadfastly ignored the soft voice in his head that added and we won't lose her again .

  …

  Byleth strode past Dedue and Dimitri without so much as a nod. Dedue hailed their professor, but she didn't seem to hear him.

  Dimitri's brow furrowed. "Dedue, have you ever known our professor to ignore a greeting?" The prince asked his stalwart companion. "She even greets a majority of the knights by name."

  Dedue tilted his head, visibly puzzled. "Perhaps she was deep in thought, your Highness?"

  "Professor?" Dimitri called, getting as much of a reply as Dedue had. He noticed with a start that she was in her armor, as though she was heading out on one of their missions. But nothing had been issued that he knew of. And he was the head of the house! If a mission had been given, he would know about it. "Dedue, we must gather the others and follow her. This bodes poorly." Dimitri decided. 

  "Of course, your Highness. I will alert our classmates. It may take some time to get mounts saddled, however-"

  "We have to hurry, otherwise we will lose track of her. Use your best judgement and have everyone meet at the gates." 

  The professor moved as if she was in a trance. One foot in front of the other, unaware of her surroundings. It was so very peculiar, yet no one else seemed to take any notice of it at all.

  Dimitri followed at what he deemed a safe distance, but it was soon apparent that there was no need for any sort of attempt at stealth. She either expected to be followed or simply did not care if she was.

  Professor Byleth made her way to the garrison stables and took the nearest horse, not even bothering with saddle or bridle. The beast didn't seem to mind, waiting patiently by the mounting block for her to climb aboard and then quickly setting off at a brisk canter. 

  Dimitri swore under his breath, scrambling to saddle his own mount.

  "Your Highness! What's going on?" Ingrid queried, swinging open the stall door.

  "We must be swift and cautious, Ingrid. It's probably nothing, but I fear there may be something sinister at work. Make haste." The prince ordered, settling into his saddle and gathering the reins.

  "Of course. Shall I wait for Sylvain?"

  "Yes, and I tasked Dedue with gathering the others. From what I saw, the professor was heading in the direction of the Canyon. If something changes, I'll leave a message at the gates."

  The professor had a head start and Dimitri realized that she had not, in fact, taken a random horse. She had taken a fast horse. It might have even been Ferdinand's prized mount, but there were several chestnut horses in the stables and Dimitri had a difficult time differentiating between the animals on a good day. He knew that as a member of the gentry, he ought to be a good judge of horseflesh. Due to his heavy-handed strength however, he had never gotten much use out of fleet-footed, leggy mounts.

  His destrier was worked into a lather by the time he reached the Red Canyon. The powerful beast slowed to a trot with its ears flattened against its skull, its nostrils flaring as it sampled the wind. 

  A fierce roar echoed through the gorge and Dimitri jerked the reins, quickly halting his steed. The roar had come from deeper in the canyon. Where the professor was.  

  Sylvain paused beside him, the redhead's own mount fidgeting nervously. "So your Highness, we headin' in?" Sylvain asked, loosening the strap that secured his lance to his side. " Whatever that was, it sure as heck didn't sound friendly. If Professor Byleth is in there…" He left his words hanging pointedly.

  "I am well aware, Sylvain. I merely wished to wait for at least one more person. Charging into a situation without any sort of backup is foolhardy."

  "I live to serve." Sylvain threw the prince a roguish wink, slapping his stallion's neck with the reins to encourage it forward. 

  Dimitri rolled his eyes and nudged his destrier into a loping canter, quickly overtaking his friend. Ingrid came up on the left, her gelding tossing its head and showing the whites of its eyes. "The horses are uneasy and I don't care for it!" Ingrid observed over the racket of pounding hooves. "Best that we find the professor quickly!"

  Dimitri nodded curtly, mentally willing his horse to go even faster. He bent low against the steed's neck, slacking the reins and feeling its gait stretch out into a smooth gallop when he gave it its head to run. Sylvain whooped, following close behind.

  Finding the source of the roar was an easy enough task. A huge demonic beast accompanied by two enormous wolves snarled and snapped at the professor, the woman dodging them nimbly on foot. Her horse was nowhere to be seen, doubtless fled in panic.

  "Hallo Professor!" Sylvain yelled, waving his arm over his head to get her attention. "Looks like you're in a bit of a jam! Mind if we cut in?"

  " Sylvain …" Dimitri muttered, thoroughly exasperated with his lackadaisical friend.

  Not only were there the massive beasts trying to savage their professor, but even as the three students advanced, monstrous hawks closed in from the rear. 

  Luckily, Dedue and the others were not far behind. The Duscur man looked a bit green from his hurried horseback ride, but gamely got his axe right into the swing of things. Felix rode up past Ingrid and Sylvain, tossing Ingrid a lance as he went. "Forget something?" The black-haired young man asked her, his tone annoyed as ever.

  "Thank you Felix!" Ingrid replied, almost sarcastically. Dimitri wanted to laugh at their easy dynamic, though this situation was no laughing matter. 

  Felix's blade flashed through the air like lightning, the swordsman scoring a deep gash in the shoulder of the closest wolf to draw its attention. "Hie, you dumb beast!" He shouted, "you're no match for me! Face me and meet your end!"

  "Easy Felix, the professor is our priority!" Sylvain chided, lowering his lance and preparing to charge the other wolf. "Ingrid, lend me a hand? Two lances are better than one!"

  Dimitri thundered forward through the opening his friends had created, the prince facing down the largest demonic beast. "Professor, are you harmed?" He called to her, relieved when she shook her head. "Please assist me in dispatching this foe!"

  Despite the size advantage, the multitude of strange beasts were no match for the student's coordinated efforts. Ashe felled the last hawk with a grunt of exertion, having overdrawn his bow to reach the high-flying target. The bowstring snapped, making the young archer yelp in a combination of surprise and pain.

  Professor Byleth started visibly at the noise, shaking her head as if she was dismissing something. "Are you alright?" She called to him, sheathing her sword even though it still steamed with ichor. 

  "Fine! I'm fine, it just caught my face." Ashe assured her, rubbing his cheek gingerly. Mercedes descended to heal over the silver-haired boy's injury, her fingers tracing the welt the bowstring had left. 

  "Professor, I know it is not my place to chastise you," Dimitri began sternly, his hands on his hips.

  "It seems I put you all in danger." Professor Byleth observed ruefully. "I didn't expect anyone to follow me here."

  "You did not exactly make it a difficult task." The prince scolded, "Never once did you check to see if you were being tailed! Honestly Professor, what on earth were you thinking?! Coming to this dangerous place with no one by your side!"

  "I felt drawn here, your Highness. As though I needed to come. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't explain."

  "Next time you feel such urges , I strongly encourage you to find me first. If not to talk some sense into you, then to offer my lance to defend you!" Dimitri snapped, perhaps a bit sharper than he had intended.

  The professor was silent for a moment and the prince busied himself with roughly cleaning his lance. "You feared for me." She said finally, her voice soft.

  "Of course I- we did!" Dimitri erupted, thoroughly exasperated. "By the Goddess, have you no sense of preservation? There were at least six enormous monsters intent on ending you!" The haft of his lance groaned in warning before the metal abruptly snapped from the pressure of his grip. The prince swore in a manner that was most unbecoming of a gentleman, barely resisting the urge to throw his now-useless weapon as far as he could. 

  Professor Byleth put a hand on his arm and he shot her a glare, opening his mouth to continue berating her. But her expression stopped him dead. She looked more distraught than he had ever seen her, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched slightly. 

  The prince's combined indignation and relief leaked out of him. In its stead, he heaved a heavy sigh and placed his gauntlet over her hand on his arm. "What's done is done. You are safe, as are the rest of us. But I meant what I said. Should you fancy to wander, tell me . It will do us no good to lose you, my dear professor."

  ...

  They had all returned to the monastery just as they had promised five years ago. The millennium feast day, and not a pilgrim in sight. Byleth sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. 

  The monastery was a mess. Annette had thrown herself wholeheartedly into cleaning up, Ashe and Sylvain at her side. Ingrid and Felix seemed thoroughly invested in restocking the moldering larders. Mercedes flitted from group to group, offering a hand wherever it was needed. Gilbert was still making his rounds, examining the state of the dilapidated fortifications and trying to prioritize what to mend first. 

  Dimitri however, appeared utterly disinterested in assisting with any of these reconstructive efforts. The prince simply stood in the middle of the cathedral's sanctuary, his arms folded across his chest. Anyone who attempted to engage him was met with silence and an icy glare. 

  Byleth thumped her forehead on the rickety desk when that cheerful information was relayed, making the knight who had delivered it snicker quietly. "Alright, thank you for the update." The former professor mumbled, already leafing through the next mountainous stack of parchment. Requisition orders, provision plans, drill schedules...Gilbert certainly wasted no time whipping everything back into shape, herself included. What was a five year gap among friends?

  "My apologies for the skewed workload, professor. We are at war and the man who should be overseeing this...appears unwell." Gilbert's delicacy when mentioning Dimitri didn't go unnoticed by Byleth, the young woman beckoning the elder knight close.

  "Is he entirely lost to us?" She asked worriedly.

  Gilbert hummed, stroking his stubble thoughtfully. "If not for the way that he attends to you, I would have said yes." He finally answered. "The solitude he has inflicted upon himself has clearly done his mental state no favors, as has his obsession with the Emperor. Yet…" Byleth flushed, cursing inwardly at the way Gilbert studied her. "He listens when you speak. That may be our only hope thus far, but it is a formidable one all the same."

  Byleth sighed. "I hope I'm up to the task."

  "If anyone could pull him out of this darkness, it is you." Gilbert stated firmly. 

  …

  The cathedral was silent. Aside from the birds that rustled in the rafters, all was peaceful. The perfect area for Dimitri to hold his forum with the dead. Glenn, his father, his stepmother, Dedue, they all had a say in his next move and they all clamored maddeningly loud for Edelgard's demise.

  His resolve was thrown into question by these beleaguered phantoms. Over and over Dimitri found himself frantically reassuring his dearly departed that he would tear Edelgard apart for them, that he would secure their salvation no matter what it cost him personally. 

  Their visages floated just out of the edge of his limited vision, forcing Dimitri to turn this way and that to try and keep them within sight. Always so close and yet, so very far away.

  The day's events had thoroughly exhausted him at this stage. Gilbert hadn't verified the structural integrity of the second floor of dormitories, and as such the once-prince was without a concrete sleeping location. He ended up simply stretching out on the marble floor of the cathedral, his heavy mantle spread over him. 

  Dimitri stared up at the stars through the destroyed roof. Even from his far-flung position, he could dimly hear the noise of the soldiers in the dining hall. It was so strange to sense motion and not be overly concerned about it, yet he did not fear any sort of assault. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that , the sense of complacent security he had.

  He knew better than to think he might actually sleep , but to his surprise, he actually found himself dozing.

  …

  "It's kind of pathetic to think about it all these years later, but can you guess what I gave her as a parting gift?" Dimitri grinned in anticipation of her attempt, happy that he wasn't the only one who would embarrass himself this evening.

  "Don't tell me." Professor Byleth's expression had gone deadpan once more. "You got her a dagger, didn't you."

  Dimitri was taken aback by her rapid, correct reply. 'Horrified' was probably a better term. "Huh. Good guess, Professor. But I swear it came from the heart. How on earth did you know?" He asked sheepishly.

  "You're a practical sort. Self defense, or something a little more abstract?"

  "I-I mean...well, both? In Faerghus, we've long considered blades as tools of destiny. As a way to cut a path to a better future." Dimitri failed to keep the wistful note out of his voice. "She was being dragged all over, unable to live the life she wanted. I thought the dagger could help her cut a path to the future she dreamed of." He sighed heavily. "However, that was many years ago. I'm sure she's forgotten all about the boy I was back then."

  "It's not too late to reconnect. Perhaps you should invite her to tea? Something small, so you don't make her wary." Byleth suggested gently. 

  Dimitri shook his head ruefully. "I'm afraid it's far too late for that. Things are different now. She's different. I'm different." 

  He rotated his arm, his shoulder still a little stiff from all the dancing. Holding rigorous posture was never an enjoyable experience, especially when he dwarfed all his partners (other than Claude). Professor Byleth said nothing in response to his quick dismissal of rekindling a sibling relationship with Edelgard, and Dimitri was immensely grateful.

  "Anyway, I'm feeling a bit out of place here. Festivities like this don't suit me." He glanced at her from beneath the curtain of his messy blond bangs, knowing that his hair must be utterly hopeless at this stage of the evening. "Professor, will you join me for a stroll? You must be tired of the ball yourself, seeing as you wandered out here for air just as I did."

  Byleth nodded and Dimitri offered her his arm.

  The Goddess Tower was so quiet, far from the commotion of the main hall. Dimitri found his palms sweaty inside his gauntlets and he grimaced. What a fool he was, inviting the professor to come along with him to this place. He had never paid much mind to the children's tales of wishes at specific locations. The Goddess would never intervene for him, that much was clear. Why waste time with this nonsense?

  Yet...here he was. Inches from the moon, he fancied, with Professor Byleth at his side. He was silent for a time, but she didn't seem to mind. If anything, she appeared grateful for a moment of respite. She sat on the railing, the two of them looking at the stars.

  "What a wonderful night." Byleth murmured. "I know I'll be paying for all that dancing, but that's a problem for tomorrow."

  "I am pleased that you enjoyed yourself, professor." Dimitri replied. "The peace here is appreciated after all that hubbub." 

  He shifted to face her, asking conversationally if she knew the legend of the Goddess Tower. He was surprised when she nodded enthusiastically. He hadn't pegged her as someone who put stock in nonsense fairytales and he said as much, making her laugh.

  "Your Highness, it's alright to be a little childish sometimes. I may not believe there's any truth to it, but it's fun to think about." She explained. Then, "You don't believe your wishes will come true, if you stand here and wish with me?"

  "Legends are legends, nothing more." Dimitri murmured. "I doubt there are many who truly believe that wishes can be granted." He cleared his throat. "Though...I suppose there's no harm in passing the time with silly legends." His melancholy dismissed for the time being, Dimitri extended a hand to his professor, smiling. "What do you say, Professor? Care to make a wish? We are here on the night of the ball. Why don't you try wishing for something?"

  "After you!" Byleth teased, her playful tone encouraging Dimitri to believe in the magic of such an endeavor, if only for a moment. She hopped off the railing and looked at him expectantly.

  "A wish of my own…" the prince mused, stroking his chin as he thought. "I suppose...my wish is for a world in which no one would ever be unjustly taken from us." He paused, realizing how serious that sounded. "Or, er, something along those lines." He hurriedly amended.

  Her hand rested beside his own on the railing and he was graced with another one of her soft smiles. "I will wish for the same."

  Dimitri's gratitude threatened to make him teary and he glanced away, clearing his throat again. "Thank you, Professor." He forced himself to smile winningly, looking back at her. "Although, at a time like this…perhaps it would make more sense for me to wish that we'll be together forever! What do you think?"

  She stared up at him in silence for several agonizing seconds. Dimitri slowly realized that the words he had spoken were incredibly weighty and he frantically scrambled to think of a way to defuse the dangerous situation he had created. How could he have said something so foolish?  

  Dimitri mustered up a weak chuckle. "Well now, Professor! You must admit I've improved in the art of joke-telling!" He grinned. 

  "That was cruel. It didn't sound like a joke." Byleth's eyes were sad and Dimitri longed desperately to ponder on that. Had she wanted him to be sincere? No, that couldn't be it. Perhaps she was more annoyed than sad? Oh, if his improper actions had offended her-!

  "I'm sorry. I guess that was rather thoughtless of me." He apologized earnestly. "Honestly, I do regret saying such a thing. Please, think nothing of it. I've blurted out irresponsible things like that to my classmates. Promises that we'll see each other again and the like." It was not entirely a lie; Dimitri felt his heart sink whenever he inadvertently made the grave error of promising anyone anything from him in the years to come. "I have no business making such promises for the future. There are certain things that I must accomplish, even if it means risking my life. I may not even have a future to promise to someone."

  There. As close to the whole truth as he had ever gotten with another person. It was terrifying . Byleth continued to stare up at him. Dimitri felt for a moment as if she could see into his very soul, could see the engorged falsehoods interwoven with the meager truths he did offer.

  "We should head back soon." The prince finally said quietly, averting his eyes. "It's...rude of me to keep you all to myself. Shall we, Professor?"

  When he offered her his arm this time, she ignored it in favor of lacing their fingers in a much more intimate manner. Dimitri flushed, grateful for the darkness of the tower to hide his red complexion. The professor said nothing the entire walk back to the main hall, but at one point she rested her head against his shoulder. 

  More than anything in that moment, Dimitri wished to stop and embrace her. He wished to believe in the power of his wish. But without a future to promise…

  No. He would not inflict such a pointless burden upon her. No matter how much it cost his heart, it was better this way. He would simply have to value their closeness that much more for the limited time that it was available to him.

  …

  Dimitri spent a good portion of time in the cathedral, muttering to himself and studying the marble floor so intently it seemed he would burn a hole in it. Byleth tried to speak to him, but unless she brought news of Imperial activities the prince didn't reply.

  One such day, after being brushed off yet again, she was surprised to have Felix usher her into one of the alcoves where a statue had once been.

  "Hello." Felix began stiffly. Even that was downright conversational compared to how he usually spoke. Byleth was instantly on edge. "I have a request concerning that... creature ." He jerked his chin toward Dimitri's large form. "I can hardly look at that thing in the state it's in." His eyes locked with Byleth's, the young man's expression dark. " Do something about it ."

  "I'll...I'll see what I can do?" The woman replied slowly.

  "Please do." Felix slouched against the pillar, his attention back on Dimitri. "We tracked the boar for five years . I thought he was dead. In the state he's in, he might as well be." The dark-haired man grumbled. "He's gotten better at killing people, and in exchange, surrendered what little humanity he had."

  Despite his cool demeanor, it was obvious that Felix still cared a great deal for the other young man. "Do you have any ideas?" Byleth asked.

  Felix shook his head. "I have spent far too long pushing the boar prince away. He would not listen to anything I have to offer." 

  "Any input you have is welcome all the same."

  Regret tinged his voice. "My elder brother died in his service, in Duscur. My father, Lord Rodrigue, handled the news in the only way he knew how: by praising my brother's commitment and sacrifice. I, however, lashed out at Dimitri for allowing my brother to die in his stead." He held up a hand when Byleth opened her mouth. "I understand that knights fight and die for their masters. It was merely because it was my brother that I attacked him."

  "Yes, but surely-"

  "Two years later, the prince and I were sent to quell a rebellion of the Duscur people." Felix was almost whispering, as though he didn't want anyone else to hear. "Dimitri was at the helm of the whole affair, to the confusion of many generals. The atrocities I saw that day...we were children , professor. I was just a squire; he couldn't have been older than sixteen, and yet the Kingdom councillors decided that the lone brat with no other heirs to the throne was the only suitable candidate to spearhead the attack." Felix's eyes narrowed. "They essentially set him loose on demoralized troops and watched him clumsily kill. A wild boar maddened with rage and inexperience, enjoying its first rampage." He tilted his head. "It seems incredibly suspect, now that I am older. Even if he was the most decorated man in the entire army, why would you send the last member of the royal bloodline out on such a mundane maneuver?"

  "He mentioned the rebellion to me before. He said it was easy. Too easy. A slaughter." Byleth replied, keeping her voice quiet. "Do you think someone was hoping he would die in that conflict? Or maybe they wanted him to get a taste for blood?"

  He shook his head. "It could be neither or both. It doesn't matter at this point, though I will say that my recollection of the events is not clouded by time or mania . If I had to hazard a guess, it is almost as if the whole rebellion was orchestrated. Duscur warriors were practically throwing themselves into the prince's path." Felix said bluntly. "We know that Cornelia has been scheming for many years. It wouldn't surprise me if this is all according to plan."

  Byleth's head felt as though it was spinning. Could it be true, that the Empire's conspiracy against the Kingdom wove that deeply into Dimitri's troubled past? 

  Felix heaved a sigh, pulling her from her thoughts. "This is all just useless speculation. Look, he listens to you for whatever reason. So again, do something . I don't care what. Imprison him, beat him, whatever it is that you think will work. Anything is better than watching him waste away like this."

  ...

  Gilbert had planned well for their first attempt at staving off the Empire. Though their battalions were much slimmer than the Imperial forces, the elder knight had devised a truly clever strategy. 

  A well-placed firebomb attack thoroughly decimated the horde of soldiers clashing with them. Dimitri could hear Randolph, that snake , shrieking orders to his men to fall back as the monastery forces of Garreg Mach doggedly pushed forward.

  Fire raged all around them, the pitiful scrub bushes reduced to ash in minutes. Several of the dilapidated defense towers had also started to burn, flames licking at the sides. Dimitri's headache intensified at the smell of hot metal and smoke and he winced, pressing a hand to his temple to alleviate the splitting pain.

  His slowed pace led to him falling behind his troops' advance. Dimitri scanned the battlefield, telling himself he didn't know who he was looking for. But...

  There was an ominous creak overhead and Dimitri glanced up, only to be treated to a shower of smoldering debris. To the left of him, Byleth didn't seem to have noticed the danger the weakened towers posed. Either that or she didn't care. 

  The dead heart in his chest leaped. She'll be crushed, burned, trapped-

  Dimitri bolted forward, shouting, "Professor! Get down!" He cursed inwardly when Byleth stopped and turned at the sound of his voice. Crowned with a halo of brilliant orange light, just as she had been all those years ago…

  Goddess-touched, Sothis' right hand .

  The tower teetered and began to collapse, no time left to escape the framework. Dimitri caught hold of her sleeve and managed to take her to the ground, throwing a metal-plated arm over her head to shield her while chunks of flaming debris rained down around them. She stared up at him, eyes wide, not even flinching when a hulking truss beam missed them by mere inches.

  Dimitri opened his mouth to say something, berate her maybe, he wasn't sure what , and then Randolph's form emerged from the hellish smoke. "The one-eyed demon! So it's you! " The general yelled, leveling his axe at him, " You're the one who's been going around killing the Imperial troops!"

  Dimitri bared his teeth and snarled deep in his chest as the commander advanced. "What is it to you?" The tower wreckage still roared with flames around he and Byleth, but it would do them no good if they were both slain. 

  The once-prince scrambled to find a solution while Randolph accused, "You bastard! Life is worthless to you, isn't it?!"

  Dimitri's laugh was an ugly, rasping noise, utterly devoid of humor. "You took the words from my mouth, general ." He abruptly seized Byleth's arm, dragged her upright and simply ordered, "jump." 

  She obeyed without hesitation. Dimitri flung her over Randolph's head with all of his strength, not caring particularly much where she landed as long as she was out of harm's way. 

  The once-prince then brandished his lance, grinning fiendishly at the new look of shock on Randolph's face. "I'll destroy you, dog of Edelgard!" He proclaimed. 

  Another fiery support hit the ground between them, the charred wood splintering loudly on impact. Randolph was clearly unsettled, the commander taking a single step back. "You...you're a monster! You care nothing for the people you've slaughtered!" He stammered. Dimitri hefted his lance, simply waiting for the other man to charge him.

  In a single instant, it was over. One swing of Randolph's axe, one thrust of his lance.

  Randolph collapsed, barely alive at Dimitri's feet. "Capture him." The once-prince ordered coldly after he pulled his lance free of the man's chest. Gilbert appeared out of the haze, lashing Randolph's hands together. 

  "I have family waiting for me. Please...I can't die here." Randolph begged once his axe had been torn from his grasp.

  "A beast of your depravity, prattling on about family? How amusing." Dimitri sneered, using the butt of his lance to shove Randolph onto his back.

  "As though you could understand...such a thing as love. You heartless monster! " Randolph spat defiantly up at him, struggling to right himself. 

  "You are a monster too, general. You have just yet to realize it." Dimitri leaned on his lance, studying the general with one cold blue eye. "A monster who thinks he's a man... despicable . As a general, you must have killed countless souls without a shred of mercy." The once-prince crouched, fisting a hand in Randolph's hair and making the other man look directly at him. "Do you remember the sound of them begging , just as you're begging now? Or, now that your life is at its end, will you hold to the lie that your hands are not stained red with blood?"

  "This...is war. I did what I had to for the Empire, for the people...for my family! " Randolph sounded desperate.

  Dimitri chuckled mirthlessly, releasing the hold he had on the man's hair and rising to stand once more. "So, you are piling up corpses for the people and your family . And I am doing the same for the salvation of the dead." He mused, "After all is said and done we are both murderers, both stained. Both monsters."

  "You're wrong!" Randolph cried frantically.

  "Am I?" Dimitri challenged. "I can smell the rotting flesh upon your hands even now, General ."

  "Enough! That's enough!" The Imperial screamed, shaking his head as if to dislodge Dimitri's cruel observation.

  "I won't kill you right away, my fellow monster." Dimitri continued over the general's pitiful caterwauling. The dead surged forward, gleefully demanding, bony fingers clutching at his shoulders. "Unless you object to watching your friends die. One. By. One ." Dimitri's fingers grazed the patch that covered his right eye. "If so, I will do you the service of removing your eyes first, so that-"

  He had been leaning in, so intent on the look of horrified despair on the dying man's face that he failed to notice Byleth approaching. Her sword flashed once and Randolph gurgled something, a name, " forgive me …" as he expired.

  Dimitri straightened up to his full height, glaring at his former professor. Byleth had stolen that man's fear and death from him. Even now, his grip on his lance tightened. Would he really kill her over something like this? Goddess, he might. What kind of monster was he? 

  "What is the meaning of this?" He gritted through his clenched teeth, struggling desperately to keep a handle on his temper.

  "I miss the Dimitri I once knew." Her voice was so soft, he almost missed what she said. 

  Dimitri barely managed to maintain his composure at that . If he could call shouting at someone maintaining his composure, that is. "The Dimitri you once knew is dead! " He barked. "All that remains is this repulsive, blood-stained monster you see before you. If you do not approve of what I have become, then kill me ." 

  He cupped her chin and forced her to look up at him. Her eyes were so bright, shimmering with tears, but she defiantly refused to let them fall. The sight cooled his rage, but only just. 

  "If you insist that you cannot, then I will continue to use you and your friends until the flesh falls from your bones ." He finished firmly, releasing her and stepping back. 

  As though you could understand...such a thing as love…

  Randolph's words rang in Dimitri's mind long after their troops had dispersed over the battlefield to gather the wounded and bury the dead. The once-prince hated those damn words. He had been a fool . Throwing himself into danger to shield Byleth, only to have her turn around and betray him by killing Randolph herself!

  Goddess, his head ached. 

  …

  Her animalistic wail of agony caught everyone off guard. Their professor, who had only just begun to smile in the presence of her students, appeared to have entirely lost her composure.

  Her father was dead. Dimitri knew the anguish that she felt all too well. He could practically see himself in her, weeping against her father's chest and pleading with Jeralt to open his eyes. 

  Dimitri had done much the same when his own father had been slain, begging and bargaining with anything that might have been listening, don't leave me all alone!

  Gently but firmly, the prince took Byleth's hand and started tugging her to her feet. She tried to refuse at first, clinging to his hand and Captain Jeralt's body with equal fervor. Dimitri managed the task all the same, hesitating for a moment before wrapping the young woman in his arms.

  She sobbed hysterically into his soaked gambeson, her hands clenching into fists in the tough fabric. It was as though something had snapped inside her; the proverbial dam had been broken and now all her sadness came pouring out in a torrent. It was a bit frightening to see her so utterly destroyed, but also understandable. Dimitri simply stayed silent and let her weep, one hand slowly stroking her back.

  "Your Highness," Sylvain said quietly after several minutes had passed. "Ashe and I are gonna' go fetch the knights. We can't leave Captain Jeralt in the rain like this." 

  "Of course. See that you remain vigilant. Monica or whoever she is might still be out there." 

  The professor's hold on Dimitri loosened at his words and she pulled back, taking a shuddering breath. The look on her face broke the prince's heart all over again. She was defeated, in pieces, and he could not think of a single comforting thing to say. He himself had grown indelibly weary of the platitudes of strangers after he had lost every ally and friend to the fires of Duscur. 

  Dimitri shook his head when she opened her mouth. "Don't, Professor. It is better if you do not speak right now." He murmured. "It is still too new and fresh, and it is far too easy to say something you will regret."

  "I'll kill her." Professor Byleth gasped. 

  "That much we can agree on." 

  She went on to sequester herself in her room for several days after the incident. Professors Manuela and Hanneman divided her workload so the students were not left wanting for education. They were , however, left to worry about their beloved professor Byleth. 

  When Dimitri happened upon the young woman in her late father's office, he could tell that she had been weeping recently. She started when he spoke to her, as though she hadn't noticed his approach. 

  "Professor! You're out and about! I was...we all were...er, you've been on our minds." Dimitri tried to keep his voice soft, explaining that Rhea had asked for Byleth's presence. "And after that, why don't you join me in the dining hall? You haven't eaten since...since it happened, have you." Her expression didn't change but Dimitri could feel the nervous energy coming off of her. He quickly backtracked, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Forgive me. I suppose it's too soon to try and coax you back into the normal swing of things."

  "Forgive my absence, please." She said softly.

  "You have nothing to apologize for, Professor." Dimitri replied, perhaps a touch too quickly. "As for what happened to Jeralt...I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop it. Stay here until you've found some peace." He implored her. "I'll cover for you with Lady Rhea and everyone else."

  "Thank you." The professor sniffled and Dimitri felt his composure waver.

  "We'll be waiting for you whenever you're ready to return to us." He promised, offering her a thin smile. "I don't believe it's a sign of strength to just keep moving forward no matter what. Taking the time to grieve for those we've lost...there's strength in that too." He carefully reached out, and she put her hand into his after a moment. "That's what I think, anyway." 

  "I am so weary of crying, but it's all I seem to do these days." Byleth whispered. 

  "It's also important to remember that no matter how sad you are, eventually your tears will dry up. Eventually you will forgive yourself, as well as forgive your father for leaving you. That's when you have to figure out what it is you're living for. Then, you can cling to that with all your might, and start moving forward again."

  "What I'm living for?" She echoed his words listlessly.

  "Four years ago in Duscur, I experienced the same pain you're feeling now." Dimitri disliked speaking about Duscur. It always reminded him of what he had yet to accomplish. "My father was the strongest man I knew. Someone I loved and admired deeply. That day, he was killed before my eyes. His head severed clean off." Dimitri took a shuddering breath, the memory still difficult to recount even all these years later. "My stepmother, the kindest person I had ever known, left me behind and disappeared into the infernal flames."

  He took a moment to master himself, ashamed at how lacking his control was. His professor squeezed his hand, as though encouraging him to carry on. Even in her sorrow, she was so kind.

  "Everyone who I considered precious...my family and my closest friends. I couldn't save any of them. Not a single one." Dimitri continued quietly. "Now, the burden of the work they left behind falls on me. I must ensure they have no regrets. That's my duty, as the sole survivor of the Tragedy." He admitted, "it's a heavy burden, but accepting it gave me the strength to pick myself up off the ground and start moving again. Start living again."

  Byleth gave a little sob at that.

  Dimitri clasped her hands between his own and held them to his heart, trying to offer some sort of comfort. "Jeralt is gone. So what will you do now, Professor? What must you do? Look deep in your heart and I'm certain you'll find the answer there, indelible and inescapable." 

  She met his eyes for the first time and Dimitri was struck by how fragile she seemed, as though the slightest breeze might rend her asunder. 

  "I've probably bothered you enough for today, but I have just one more thought to leave you with." Dimitri said apologetically. "Even now, Seteth is gathering the knights to begin a full-scale search for the enemy. It may not be right away, but before long they will find their trail."

  "I will kill her." Byleth said fiercely, a touch of her old fire returning.

  The blond nodded his assent. "No matter what happens or what anyone may say, know that I plan to stand by you, Professor. Through anything. Until the bitter end." He swore fervently, his gaze unwavering. "Know that your enemies are my enemies. I will do all I can to help you find justice. There is no one else I can…" Dimitri paused, searching for the right words. "My strength is yours alone."

  "You cannot promise such things, your Highness." Byleth protested. "You must think of-"

  "I will fight as you command. I will kill anyone should you ask it of me." Dimitri insisted. "I would promise this to anyone I hold in high regard, Professor." 

  That was an absolute, bold-faced lie. He had refused to engage in the folly of swearing his time and energy to causes he may not survive to see, but this…

  The distress of his dear professor tore him apart and more than anything, Dimitri wanted to help her. He wanted to be someone that she could depend on, no matter the cost. And so, even though it was against his modus operandi, the prince charged himself with helping to secure and execute her revenge.

  ...

  The cathedral guard waved her over and Byleth approached, slightly apprehensive. "Professor, I...that creature, I saw him interacting with the monastery orphans earlier." He whispered conspiratorially once she was within earshot, doing his best to point at Dimitri without actually pointing at him. "He even pet one of them on the head! I didn't think that someone like him was capable of...I mean, he didn't smile or anything. But still, I found it strange and I thought you should know." 

  Byleth thanked the guard for his report and proceeded to mull the new information over. Many of their ragtag army thought the once-prince a monster, and all of his behavior seemed to confirm their suspicions. So what was this odd flash of humanity? She had feared after Randolph that Dimitri was beyond saving, but perhaps…

  She needed to talk to several people immediately. Starting with Mercedes. Luckily, the other woman wasn't exactly difficult to track down.

  "A choir recital to boost morale and camaraderie?" The normally calm and reserved Mercedes looked like she was about to burst with excitement when Byleth pitched the idea. "That's a wonderful idea! I thought as much myself, but I didn't want to be presumptuous. Are you certain it will be alright if we use the cathedral to rehearse, professor?"

  "Of course. I already cleared it with Seteth." Or I will, anyway . "Your group can have it in the afternoons. In the mornings, I'm hoping I can get Gilbert and Sylvain to help me with another little project. Oh, maybe Felix too…" Byleth trailed off, tapping her chin. "If I were you, I would ask Manuela for a hand."

  "You're absolutely right!" Mercedes agreed with a smile. "And I'm sure Annie will help out too! What's your project, Professor?"

  "We have a lot of children around because of the conflicts. I figure if they're going to be here, the ones who want to learn to keep themselves safe should have the opportunity."

  …

  Gilbert sat atop a large chunk of rubble from the caved-in roof, whittling away at a small piece of basswood. A cluster of younger children gathered at his feet, watching him work with rapt attention. A few of them were already playing with tiny dolls or horses. The old knight had clearly been busy.

  The older children were organized into straggling lines facing where the altar had been. Sylvain, Felix and Alois filtered through the ranks to straighten postures or adjust grips on training weapons as needed, while Professor Byleth led the simple stance drills. 

  Dimitri hovered in the main cathedral entryway, irritated and fascinated all at once. It would seem that the dreary space he had haunted was overrun with excited, chattering children. Was it brighter in the cathedral today, or was that merely his fancy talking?

  Felix was smiling . That image alone gave him a considerable amount of pause. True, it was nothing more than a slight upturn at the edge of his mouth, but that was more than he'd displayed in Dimitri's presence for over ten years.

  "Oh, your Highness! What brings you here?" Mercedes' gentle voice interrupted his troubled musings. 

  Dimitri inclined his head so she would know he had heard her, though he did not face or trouble himself to answer her. She approached on his blind side and Dimitri tensed reflexively, only letting his shoulders drop once she was fully within view.

  "Are you having fun watching, your Highness? I get like that too sometimes. It's a lot of effort to join people, and plus, what would I even say?" Mercedes laughed softly. 

  "Indeed." Dimitri replied curtly.

  "Oh, is the professor waving at you? Or me? Hello, Professor!" Mercedes waved back excitedly and Dimitri seized her distraction to lurch forward into the cathedral, heading for one of the side courtyards. His routine would not be discarded simply because of some misguided training practice, how dare -

  Mercedes words struck him anew. What would I even say? Truly, what could he say? The dead demanded Edelgard, screamed and clamored for her head. He would not let his departed family and friends languish while that witch roamed free. They must be allowed to rest easy with no regrets, regardless of what it cost him.

  Brow furrowed, he continued forward past the pile of rubble from where the roof had given way. Gilbert offered him a silent nod, which Dimitri returned on his way to the door. Once he reached it, he engaged in his pastime of studying the cracked marble beneath his boots and fervently assuring his ghostly comrades that he would be triumphant over Edelgard.

  He could not be sure how long he stood there. His nights were sleepless, melting together with his days in a haze of impatience. He was used to surviving on stolen minutes of respite, the meager times when the dead allowed him peace.

  At some point, the sword practice with children changed to choir practice with adults. A multitude of former students, knights and professors all gathered to rehearse, give well-meaning pointers and seemingly just enjoy each other's company. Though his professor ( former professor, Dimitri corrected himself furiously) had been busy all morning, she stayed for the choir practice as well. 

  Dimitri soon found himself listening instead of brooding, but he kept his gaze on the floor. Some of the songs were old hymns that he had heard in his youth, while others hailed from the Mittelfrank opera stage. A strange combination. His stepmother had loved singing, though the late king and his son shared a mutual tonedeaf gene that threatened to ruin her performances. Dimitri could only just remember the way his father would interrupt her, making her sigh with his noble, kingly attempts to carry a tune. 

  Another bittersweet memory. It felt...precious. Dimitri looked up from the floor and caught Professor Byleth watching him. She raised an eyebrow and made a subtle gesture with her hand. Join us?

  Dimitri turned on his heel and departed.

  …

  Claude turned on his heel and escorted the professor of the Blue Lions out onto the dance floor, weaving between the other dancers in a strange pattern that was absolutely contrary to the stately Faerghus waltz playing. 

  Dimitri had to laugh at the professor's deadpan expression, apologizing to his partner hastily and then moving to intervene. "Claude!" He called, chuckling when the head of Golden Deer rushed to hand Professor Byleth off to Lorenz. "Transparent as ever, my friend!" 

  "Hey, your house can't hog the new professor all the time. I'm just sharing the love." Claude reasoned, slinging an arm around Dimitri's shoulders. The leader of the Golden Deer house then easily swung the prince into a passing semblance of a waltz, the two of them having a grand time trying to dodge each other's feet. "It's nice to see her enjoying herself though." Claude mused.

  "I know what you mean." Dimitri agreed, "I wonder if the mercenary life was too lonely for her?"

  "Probably too boring!" Claude grinned. "We've kept her pretty busy with our antics."

  "That much cannot be denied." 

  Dimitri's mind wandered back to Flayn trying to teach Byleth to dance, the way the professor had smiled , her eyes fairly luminous with excitement. 

  Dimitri had been roped into the lesson as a partner for the professor, Flayn stating that he was the obvious choice due to his height and familiarity with the dances. He was hesitant at first, wary of where to put his hands. He knew , of course, but the idea of actually touching her was-

  He wasn't sure why his heart had been pounding so hard. Even now, as he watched her get passed from Golden Deer to Golden Deer during a rousing folk reel that originated in the Leicester Alliance, his heart tripped wildly in his chest. How peculiar.

  "The Fox Chase, your Kingliness!" Claude said excitedly, bowing and then catching both of Dimitri's hands. "C'mon, stop gawking and get back in here!"

  "Claude-!" Dimitri protested, his discomfort notwithstanding as Claude dragged him around. 

  Abruptly, no doubt due to more wily Golden Deer machinations, the prince and Professor Byleth were side by side. The future leader of the Alliance vanished back into the crowd, leaving Dimitri standing alone. Byleth looked up at him, her cheeks flushed with exertion and her eyes sparkling in the soft light from the chandelier. "Enjoying yourself, your Highness?" She asked, as though they weren't in the middle of a swirling maelstrom of students.

  Dimitri found himself grinning broadly back at her, accepting the hand she extended to him. "I am now, Professor."

  …

  It would seem that his once-solitary space had been permanently commandeered. Dimitri couldn't even find it in his blackened heart to complain, resorting to glowering at the ground in the courtyard doorway instead of the middle of the ruined chancel. 

  One day, a small girl hid under his cloak without him noticing. Indeed, he might have continued being oblivious, had she not giggled wildly when her friend dashed by calling her name. Dimitri grunted, startled by the closeness of laughter as well as the slight tugging on his heavy cloak. 

  He turned, fixing his lone blue eye on the offending party that was currently playing in the thick folds of his mantle. The child froze, seeming to realize she was under scrutiny, and peeked up at him. 

  Her eyes met his own. He watched as they darted to the patch that covered his right eye, yet there was no fear. Slight apprehension, perhaps, maybe she thought she would be scolded. Dimitri was confused by her lack of terror. The knights and monks said horrendous things about him, most of them true. He had become a butcher, a monster. Surely this child had been warned away from him. Surely .

  "You look lonely. Do you want to play with us?" The little girl asked, her words laden with a child's curiosity. 

  "No." Dimitri paused after her face fell, then gritted out, "You ought to stay away from me." Fool, why would you say something like that?!

  "Why? You've been so sad ever since you came back. Is it because you miss your friend?" She queried. "The Duscur man who took care of the flowers?" Dedue . Emotion forced Dimitri to clear his throat. She must be one of the original waifs from the monastery if she could recall Dedue. "You still have your other friends though! I know that the professor wishes you would come over." The child confided, standing up on her tiptoes in an attempt to whisper to him.

  "I'm certain she does. I am not deserving of such consideration." Dimitri replied brusquely. His hand rested briefly atop the little girl's head. "You should run along now." She actually grabbed his other hand and yanked , trying to get him to come with her. She might as well have tried to move a boulder. "Go on." Dimitri ordered, not unkindly. 

  "Nuh uh! Mercedes made sweets today, and you're always standing over here staring at Professor-"

  " Child ." Dimitri muttered, getting down on one knee so that he could attempt to be eye level with the girl. She looked thoroughly incensed at his firm refusal and it made him want to laugh. "Sometimes...there are people like me in this world who are not meant to be around other people." He knew his explanation was clumsy at best, but trying to simplify such a complicated thing was not easily managed.

  "Can I bring you a cake, then? If I run over and get it so you don't have to?" She was bargaining with him, of all things. 

  The once-prince sighed heavily and nodded, waiting until she had started running to Mercedes before he left. Better to disappoint her than encourage her behavior. 

  …

  "You need to be careful." Dedue chastised him, reaching over to try and salvage the mangled flower. "If you are not decisive with your action, you will destroy the plant."

  "I apologize, Dedue. I am not accustomed to such delicate work." Dimitri sighed, abandoning his efforts. 

  "It is alright. These are very small flowers, after all."

  They had been tasked with gathering the centerpieces for the dining hall and Dimitri had been determined to do an excellent job. But his hands were so indelicate that he was doing more butchering than gardening. 

  "How do you manage it?" He asked the Duscur man curiously. Dedue's hands were just as large as his own, yet he seemed to have no trouble whatsoever.

  Dedue did not answer for a moment. When he did, his voice was strangely soft. "My sister loved to coax flowers to life even in the worst terrain. This is simple, compared to that."

  Dimitri fell silent and Dedue worked on, easily separating out sprigs of foliage for them to use. "I...I am sorry, Dedue. I should not be so thoughtless." The prince felt like he ought to be whispering for some reason. Dedue did not speak often of his late family members, all slaughtered in the Tragedy of Duscur.

  "Do not apologize. You have done nothing wrong." Dedue stared down at the bundle of vibrant blooms in their basket. "Through my actions, through my words, they live on. As long as I remember them, they will rest easily."

  "You do her memory such honor, Dedue." The notion of not striking back against the people who had taken his loved ones from him, but instead attempting to spread the knowledge that they had left him with...

  "That is all I can hope for, your Highness." Dedue handed Dimitri back his shears and gestured to another flower with a tentative smile. "Here, try again."

  ...

  He told himself he wasn't avoiding the cathedral, he was simply choosing to aimlessly wander the monastery grounds. People stayed out of his way for the most part, though the children had a tendency to gather and frolic around him like he was some kind of sentient, roaming maypole. 

  Dimitri spent his nights in the cathedral, though he wasn't sure why. The dormitories had been thoroughly examined and found structurally sound. His personal quarters were not wanting, and he certainly wasn't a pious man, especially not now with his hands soaked in blood. Best that he not trouble the Goddess with his pitiful pleas for aid in revenge. She had blessed him with Byleth's return, after all, a truly fine tool for his crusade. What more could he wish for?

  Still he sat in one of the worn pews, night after night, and simply watched the coming and going of worshippers until he couldn't force himself to stay awake any longer.

  He never slept for too long. Sometimes he awoke to find that a small meal had been left on the bench adjacent to him, tied up in one of the many napkins from the dining hall. It vexed him greatly to know that someone had been able to get that close, unconscious though he might be. 

  His head ached constantly. Every day that they spent plotting and gathering their strength was a day that he didn't have Edelgard's lifeless corpse to present to his dearly departed loved ones. Their cries for revenge were maddening, all-consuming; it was no wonder he slept poorly.

  Then came the fateful evening he stumbled upon the professor sound asleep beneath the pews. Byleth was curled up against the chill in the air, and a familiar bundle of cloth on the bench above her caught Dimitri's eye. The tall man carefully untied the knot in the napkin, revealing several rations of bread, one precious sweet bun, a piece of cheese and a peach. It would appear he had found the person who could sneak up on him while he slumbered. 

  The dark circles under her eyes were far too pronounced. They nearly matched his own. She was working more than she needed to, just as she had done when he had simply been her student.

  Dimitri unclasped his heavy cloak before he realized what he was doing. When he noticed, he hesitated, fingers digging into the mane of thick fur. Wasn't this foolish of him? But then, he already knew he was a fool. If he was being honest with himself, if he still had the capacity to feel such things, he was absolutely smitten with his dear professor.

  A beast like him didn't deserve such a vibrant and joyous soul at his side. His hands were unable to be gentle, his humanity surrendered years ago to hone his ability to take life. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, fallen princeling, heir to a fractured kingdom, knew all too well that his greatest shortcoming was his greed. It came in the form of lust for victory, his desire to have his cake and glut himself on it. 

  He scoffed at his thoughts, wrapped Byleth in his cloak and then lifted her from the floor.

  Dimitri had only carried her once before.

  …

  She had been gifted the power of the Goddess herself. Her hair and eyes had shifted to a vibrant green, echoing all the imagery of Saint Seiros. It was as though the old tales had come to life before his very eyes. 

  " Professor! What's wrong?!" Dimitri was concerned when she abruptly collapsed after their battle with Solon, but his worry faded as he realized she was merely asleep. "Professor, now is not the time nor the place for such an activity!" The prince scolded her fruitlessly, unfastening his half cape. 

  It was a simple enough matter to swaddle her in the fabric, but then he paused. Propriety dictated that he should wait until another professor or one of the knights had arrived to manage the situation. However, propriety had never been one of his strong suits. 

  "Looks like you'll be riding with me, Professor. Dedue, please hand her up to me once I've mounted." The blond man vaulted back into the saddle of his destrier and settled the professor's slumbering form in front of him, then picked up the reins.

  Their return to the monastery was slow. Everyone was exhausted, to say the least. Mercedes had nearly lost consciousness due to her focus on healing, and as such was currently being assisted by the stoic Dedue. Flayn was the only one who appeared unaffected by the battle, the young woman chattering away enthusiastically even with Ashe's arm slung over her shoulder. It was heartening to see that she had not allowed the bloodshed to rattle her.

  Professor Byleth seemed so small when she was asleep. She barely weighed anything; Dimitri easily held her steady on his horse with a single arm around her waist. She ended up slumped against his chest, her head tucked underneath his chin. Dimitri forced his eyes forward, attempting to focus on the trail back to the monastery instead of on his professor's proximity.

  He heard Mercedes sleepily ask, "Do you think she'll be alright?"

  "I have no doubt. Our professor is quite strong." Dedue assured the young woman. " You , on the other hand, will need proper food and rest before you attempt such reckless behavior again."

  "Reckless? I was only doing what I was supposed to." Mercedes protested. 

  "You must be aware of your own limitations. Do not forget that I am here to assist as well." Flayn said cheerily. "I feel that we did an excellent job, considering that we were walking into an obvious trap!"

  Dimitri turned his head and very nearly asked what the hell she was talking about, but he held his tongue at the last moment. Flayn was a mysterious creature; she never seemed to have a straight answer for anything . And even when she did answer, it rarely solved the query being posed. Better that he save himself the frustration of her circular replies.

  Eyes forward once more, the prince trusted his destrier to find a path of least resistance as his mind wandered. 

  It must have been a trap, meant to goad the professor into coming alone. Her father's murderers, all in one spot? It was too convenient. The enemy didn't seem to have counted on her returning from whatever spell that had been. The Forbidden Spell …

  Dimitri had no real talent for magic. His family Crest amplifying his strength saw to that. But he knew a few things from his schooling. Such as, the more raw energy or potential put into a spell, the more powerful it was. Solon had ripped the very heart out of Kronya to fuel his dark magics. Dimitri had watched the old man crush the still-beating organ like it was nothing. The memory of the dense purple haze that had arose sent shudders down the prince's spine. There was something innately wrong about such things. Blood magic, sacrificial amplification...it all made his skin crawl.

  Dimitri found himself holding their professor a little tighter as they rode. He wasn't certain why, maybe it was simply his prior trauma talking, but he felt a strange fear about her being taken from them once more. 

  Byleth murmured something in her sleep. On her hip, the seemingly-awakened Sword of the Creator pulsed with light like it was a living thing. 

  This entire situation was so incredibly bizarre. 

  …

  "That is House Rowe's banner. They curried favor with that witch and sold out Faerghus." Dimitri had assumed his supply of disdain had run dry, yet he still felt a sneer curl his lip. "To think that they would vanguard a corpse to fend us off, as if we are nothing but a nuisance ."

  The notion that Viscount Rowe would muster troops, send that decrepit warrior into this inhospitable area to ensure Rodrigue's men would have no Kingdom Army to join...it made Dimitri want to hilt his lance in the dastard's chest. Ailell's heated environment was like Hell itself for anyone in armor, the bubbling pools of lava all around them enough to give the most seasoned of knights pause. Even though Dimitri had dismissed Gilbert's old wives' tale of the Valley's creation, it wasn't difficult to see how the legend might have been born. This cursed place did indeed seem as though it had been brought about by a Goddess' fury.

  The Gray Lion, withered and laughably past his prime, raised his lance in challenge from across the cracked obsidian landscape. 

  "Will you have us meet them in battle, or wait for Lord Rodrigue to arrive?" Gilbert asked the once-prince cautiously.

  "There is only one option." Dimitri bared his teeth in a wicked grin. "How kind of them to save us the trouble of killing them later."

  Byleth opened her mouth, no doubt about to say something foolish like weren't they your allies once or shouldn't we wait for Rodrigue .

  Dimitri headed her off, half-tempted to press a finger to her lips to hush her. "That banner belongs to the Gray Lion of House Rowe, Lord Gwendal. It's a waste of breath to exchange words with one such as him." The young man informed her curtly. 

  "His Highness is correct. He is not an opponent whom we can expect to negotiate with." Gilbert agreed. He then raised his voice to address their meager troops, "everyone! Prepare for the attack!"

  Their formations were bare bones. Dimitri did not fear for their victory though. This would be the final time Count Rowe's loyal dog Gwendal rode out to battle.

  Gouts of fire spouted from either side of the relative pathway forward, the lava agitated by the motions of the two forces preparing to collide. "So, the flames of torment burn your sins, your life, your everything." The prince mused, half to himself. "If you wish to spare yourself the Goddess' wrath, Professor, tread lightly."

  Byleth nodded and readied her sword. 

  Their soldiers fought bravely, and when Rodrigue arrived it offered Dimitri the opening he needed to get within striking distance of Gwendal.

  "The man praised as a lion is degraded to a mere traitor's underling." Dimitri sneered at the mounted knight, adjusting his grip on his lance. Horse first, then man .

  "A traitor's underling?! That's upsetting, your Highness!" Gwendal protested. "I am and always have been a knight of House Rowe!"

  "How dare you." Dimitri's voice dipped into a furious gravel. "You are nothing but a lowly beast scavenging for scraps! You have forgotten the dignity of knighthood." 

  "I may be lowly . But this beast is devoted to his master!" The elderly knight proclaimed.

  "Ha! Then I had better kill the pet and deliver its head to that master." After that grim declaration, Dimitri swung his lance with all his strength into the legs of Lord Gwendal's horse. Both man and beast crashed to the ground, and Dimitri wasted no more time with words.

  The blade of his lance pierced Gwendal's armor before sinking home and the old man wheezed, "ah, so I have found a place to die. Young ones...your Highness...I thank you…" There was the barest hint of a smile on that scarred face.

  Dimitri pulled the lance free, shuddering before he could stop himself. He loathed the eerie calm in Gwendal's voice when he had expired, as though this was all the elderly man had wanted. To be slain in battle, just another casualty of war.

  The professor came up alongside him, standing there silently until Dimitri looked up. "Lord Fraldarius is waiting for you, your Highness." She informed him. 

  Dimitri nodded, straightening his gauntlets. His hair was hopeless from the heat and grime, but it was not as if Rodrigue cared about such things. Who on earth was he preening himself for? Beside him, Byleth subtly brushed some ash off his shoulder and repositioned his heavy cape. Goddess, why had he worn the damn thing? 

  "It's been too long, your Highness. But try to temper your joy, will you? This is a war, after all." Rodrigue jibed as he bowed to the prince.

  Dimitri huffed, shaking his head. "To say such a thing at a time like this...you have not changed one bit." His respect for the man across from him took some of the venom out of his exasperated words.

  "Don't let looks deceive you. I've had a rough go of it ever since I crossed blades with those traitors in Fhirdiad." Rodrigue did seem haggard, but Dimitri had assumed that was merely the heat of their locale getting to the older man. "When I heard you'd been executed, I rushed there as fast as I could, blind with fury. Once I got there, I was fed some garbage about not being able to see your body. The next thing I knew, I was gripping my blade and-" 

  Felix interrupted his father's impassioned recounting with a loud snort, seeming to bring the older man back to himself.

  Rodrigue gestured to Gilbert, gratitude plain on his face. "Gilbert, you have done well to locate his Highness. I am truly grateful." He then turned towards Byleth with a smile. "And you! I have you to thank, as well."

  "We were all very fortunate." Byleth replied solemnly, bowing to the noble.

  "Well, we are in your debt. I will repay you for this someday, I swear it." Rodrigue promised. "And you, Felix. You have also done well to bring his Highness here."

  Felix glared at his father and said nothing. Dimitri could feel the irritation coming off the younger man in waves. He decided that they had prattled on long enough, finally asking Rodrigue for whatever information he could give them.

  Unfortunately, the older man had precious little to offer in that regard. Gilbert's own information filled in the gaps in his limited dialogue, painting a grim picture of behind the scenes machinations on behalf of Cornelia and the Empire.

  "So that's been the witch's plan from the start. I should have killed her ages ago." Dimitri growled.

  "Your Highness, Fhirdiad is in a terrible state right now. The tyranny is unbearable, and so the rebellions are endless. Refugees starve to death in the streets." Rodrigue looked pained. "If I may speak freely, your Highness...we should change course for Fhirdiad, and take down those traitors before we embark to Enbarr."

  "There's no time for that." Dimitri replied fiercely. "We must annihilate Enbarr before all else."

  "Think this through," Rodrigue implored. "I understand wanting to destroy the Empire and the Emperor. I want that so much it hurts. But which is more important," he queried, "the dead or the living?"

  For one terrifying moment, Dimitri was uncertain of whether he would kill Rodrigue in cold blood. Everything focused down to a white-hot point, the sound of the nearby troops fading to nothing. " Silence. " The once-prince finally rasped, his arms crossed over his chest.

  "No, Dimitri. You will hear me out." Rodrigue said evenly.

  Dimitri hated the older man's calm, just like he had hated Gwendal's. How could Rodrigue of all people do this to him? "Are you asking me...asking the dead ...to forgive that woman?" The blond man snarled incredulously, jabbing an accusatory finger in Rodrigue's direction. 

  "No. I would not ask that of you. What I am asking is that you allow us to prioritize the Kingdom capital over the Imperial capital for now." Rodrigue put a hand over his heart. "As Lambert's close and trusted friend, I am confident that he would have advised the same."

  At the mention of his late father, Dimitri saw red. He took a step towards Rodrigue, but halted when he felt Byleth catch his arm. He didn't know why. She was not strong enough to stop him. No one was. "Do not dare to put words in the mouths of the dead." He managed to say, livid though he was. "They are your words alone, even if you borrow their lips. Until I offer up that woman's head, Father will remain a slave to his lingering regret and hatred." Dimitri's voice cracked, the young man all but shouting in Rodrigue's face, "Even now he suffers. It is ceaseless . As we waste time with idle chatter, his suffering continues!"

  Rodrigue sighed, shaking his head. Silence reigned for a moment, every soldier no doubt eagerly hanging on what the lord might have to say next. Dimitri was certain this was more excitement than the rabble had experienced in years. "You are my king." The older man murmured, bowing. "Our king. Wherever you lead, we will follow. But your Highness...there are those who take up their sword in the name of revenge, and yet along the way lose the strength and composure to follow through." Rodrigue's eyes had gone steely. Dimitri felt as though his very soul was laid bare to the older man. "You would do well to bear that in mind."

  Dimitri gritted his teeth, looking away. His eye roved the ashen landscape, illuminated only by the pitchy, writhing flows of lava. Such a tumultuous place…

  Byleth's grip on his arm loosened slightly, making the young man glance down at her. She was looking out as well, scanning the edges of the valley. Always one step ahead. 

  Rodrigue whistled to his horse, drawing Dimitri's attention. "I nearly forgot." The Lord Fraldarius began apologetically, tugging at a securely-wrapped object tied to his saddle. "Take this, your Highness. The time has come for it to be wielded by it's true master."

  The dark-haired man handed the long parcel to the prince, who carefully unwound the cloth to reveal an achingly familiar weapon. "Areadbhar...the Hero's Relic once wielded by my father." Memories of his dignified, strong father rushed to the forefront of Dimitri's mind, flooding him with a wave of heartbroken nostalgia. 

  "The very same. I managed to steal it back from one of Cornelia's underlings in Fhirdiad."

  Felix rolled his eyes. "Understated as ever, Father. It must have been a true struggle to get it back."

  Dimitri clutched the haft of the legendary lance, forcing himself not to break down and weep. Had he truly thought mere moments earlier to cut Rodrigue down without a qualm? "I...I am grateful, my friend." He breathed. 

  Rodrigue simply nodded absently and Dimitri knew it wasn't his face that the older man was seeing.

  …

  "We must save them. I beg of you, your Highness." Dedue never asked for anything . The prince often found himself scolding the other man for his selfless behavior, so his request was immensely troubling. 

  Dimitri immediately went to Seteth and did his best to secure their involvement in this particular maneuver. If he could help it, he would prevent another Tragedy from occurring. 

  Now, to ask the professor. He was certain she would not refuse this task. 

  When she had first come to the academy, Dimitri had feared her lack of emotion was a display of irritation towards his class. But as time went on, he came to realize that her emotions had simply been subdued. Whether due to her mercenary work or other circumstances, their professor appeared to keep herself on a very short leash.

  When Dimitri returned to tell Dedue the good news, Byleth was already with the other young man. Dedue had been haltingly explaining his current state to their professor, reiterating that he was from Duscur and that his sparse brothers in nationality were rebelling. "They seek to reclaim their homeland."

  "A request for aid was sent by Viscount Kleiman to the Kingdom capital and the church." Dimitri started to lay out the scenario so that Professor Byleth would have a clear picture, gesturing overmuch with his hands. "He is the one who rules over that region at present. For now, the lords surrounding the Duscur region have sent their armies to help suppress the uprising. However…" The prince trailed off, grimacing.

  "What is it? Why do you both look so fearful? Do they not have enough men?" Byleth asked worriedly. 

  Dimitri shook his head and he heard Dedue sigh unhappily. "They have sufficient troops, and strong ones at that. Our worry is that there will be more unwarranted death." Dimitri replied. "There have always been many in the Kingdom's army who believe the people of Duscur our foes, and hate them because of it."

  "Your Highness-" Dedue protested.

  "You would think they'd refrain from squashing the rebels out of political expediency, but we doubt that will be the case." Dimitri carried on over Dedue, unwilling to indulge in the other man's self-deprecation at this juncture. "If the Kingdom's army and the rebel forces of Duscur collide…"

  "You fear another massacre." Professor Byleth caught on. Dedue nodded, looking doleful. "What can I do to help?"

  "I am glad you asked, Professor. I have just now received the permission that I requested from the church." Dimitri had known that she would not refuse!

  She raised an eyebrow. "Permission for what?" 

  "I asked the church to deploy our class to help handle the situation." 

  Dedue started, his shock obvious. "So we may go?!" He asked sharply.

  Dimitri held up a hand, quelling his friend momentarily. "Not so fast. We still have a responsibility as students of the academy after all. The only one who can truly make the decision as to whether or not we go is our profess-"

  "We're going." Byleth interrupted him. "Help me gather the class. We leave as soon as possible."

  Dedue bowed deeply. "You have my most sincere gratitude." 

  "And mine as well." Dimitr assured their professor. He had heard the hitch in Dedue's voice and his heart ached. This was the most outward concern Dedue had displayed in his presence and the prince found it incredibly troubling. "Do not worry, my friend." He stated after Professor Byleth had departed. "We will make it in time."

  "I pray that you are right, your Highness." 

  ...

  "Your Highness!" A tower shield was abruptly thrust forward to protect his blind side, arrows pang ing off of the sturdy metal. "Apologies for my late arrival."

  Dedue was not dead. Dedue was not dead . Dedue, sporting new scars, green eyes even more brilliant than Dimitri remembered, alive . 

  The once-prince stared at his former vassal, the man who he was certain had perished five years ago. He wondered momentarily if his hallucinations had grown more fitful. 

  There was no time for them to really talk during the battle to control the Bridge. Of course not. But afterwards, with the sturdy man from Duscur standing before him, Dimitri found himself at a loss. 

  Dedue had never been one for words, the heavily-armored knight simply dropping to one knee in front of Dimitri. "Do not kneel! Explain what happened! I thought you--I was certain you had-" The once-prince floundered to ask his many questions and managed to ruin his sentence, grabbing Dedue's hand and hauling the other man up. " Dedue ." He finally said helplessly, grasping the back of the other man's gorget with shaking fingers. "Why-- How are you here? You died, five years ago!"

  Dedue crushed his forehead to Dimitri's, his smile small but still present. "I was saved by my brothers. Men of Duscur. The ones spared during our class' intervention of their uprising."

  "Those people you were with...they were of Duscur? And they saved you?" Dimitri repeated incredulously.

  Dedue nodded. "Your Highness, I asked that you fulfill your long-held desire, did I not?" His gaze strayed to Dimitri's eye patch. "It would seem some things have changed. Still, allow me to once again act as your shield." He placed a fist over his heart, his terminology blunt and refreshingly sincere. "Please, let me witness your triumph. I want to behold the moment your wish is finally granted."

  "Dedue…" Dimitri was at a loss for words once more, mutely clasping the Duscur man's armored forearm. 

  He had thought he would never see Dedue again in the realm of the living, but here he stood, nervously shifting his weight as if he thought Dimitri would scold him or... dismiss him even! 

  It would seem that some of their other classmates had realized just who the mysterious armored man was. Dimitri could see Ashe breaking into a sprint from across the bridge, Annette in tow.

  "Of course," the prince finally continued, aware that his time alone with Dedue was coming to a close. "And in exchange, I ask that you swear something to me, here and now." He glared ferociously at the green-eyed man, "Do not ever throw your life away again. Understood?"

  Dedue looked taken aback for a moment, and then his expression softened. "Understood, your Highness." He bowed deeply after Dimitri released his arm. 

  " Dedue! " Ashe shouted, obviously thrilled to the core. Annette had already started to cry, her arms unable to reach fully around the large man's torso when she hugged him tight.

  Dedue chuckled, patting her head and accepting Ashe's enthusiastic embrace that gripped his shoulders. "I am glad to see you all." His eyes roved to Byleth, who looked delighted to see him but was clearly trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Thank you for taking care of his Highness in my absence, Professor."

  "It was my honor, Dedue. We are overjoyed at your return." Byleth replied graciously, bowing. 

  Dimitri moved away from the teary reunion, surveying the battlefield in silent contemplation. 

  The once-prince deigned to speak only when he noticed Byleth at his side once more. "Idiots. Embracing death for the sake of that woman ." He snarled about the Imperial soldiers, his fists clenched tight at his sides. Uncertainty took root in his chest, making his next words sound less than convincing. "Truly foolish." Were his troops any better? His allies? They all followed him like lambs to the slaughter. He had been upfront about using them, pragmatic even. But was that pragmatism something to be praised or loathed?

  "What troubles you?" Byleth asked softly.

  Dimitri took a moment to answer, trying to determine indeed, what was troubling him. "I...I don't know."

  "Do you regret killing them?"

  Dimitri bristled at the suggestion, crossing his arms over his chest as he scoffed, "they were just beasts with human faces." He turned his head to look at her, irritated that she would question his resolve. But her eyes bore no judgement, only sorrow. "I had no choice but to kill them, and so I did." Dimitri paused, his resentment fading the more he looked at those sorrowful eyes. " That ...that is all there is to it." He finished, less firmly than he would have liked.

  …

  "Were you reconciled with the reality of battle from your first foray?" Dimitri asked. He wasn't really certain why he would ask such a thing. They had just finished sparring, he had been thanking her for her assistance in teaching some of the monastery foundlings basic swordplay and then this . If anything the professor probably wished for a hot bath and a meal, not to be subject to his princely mewlings. "With...the killing part, I mean." He did not make eye contact, instead focusing on sanding down any splinters that had been forced to the surface of his practice sword. 

  "No. It's never easy." Byleth's voice was firm. 

  "I see."

  "And you?" Professor Byleth asked, sitting beside him and reaching for a fresh sheet of smoothing paper. 

  "No. I do not carry that burden well." Dimitri replied quietly. "I doubt that will change, no matter how many years come and go." He inhaled a bracing breath, squaring his shoulders. "The first time I led on the battlefield, I was sent to quell a rebellion in the west. It was not a difficult fight. The enemy was not well-trained and their morale was low."

  The grim memories called to mind the blind terror he had felt as a frontline commander. He had been fifteen, on the cusp of sixteen or thereabouts. He had no idea what he was doing, all he knew was that he didn't want to die that day. 

  And so he fought mercilessly, mindlessly, killing anything that moved. Dimitri could barely remember Felix screaming at him to stop, stop -

  "A swing of the lance, and your opponent falls. A flash of your blade, and a path opens up. That's the kind of battle it was. Easy, right?" Dimitri murmured.

  The professor's hand landed on his shoulder. "It is never easy." She reiterated. "Why were you in a commanding position to begin with? Not to throw your leadership skills into question, of course, but surely there must have been someone more senior than you."

  Dimitri shook his head. He had asked himself that same question many times. His memory was so hazy in the years following the Tragedy of Duscur that he honestly had no idea how he ended up at the head of a battalion. "I am uncertain, professor. It was at the height of the post-war period, I can recall that much. And I can recall portions of the actual campaign. But my mind...seems to shy away from important details. It is exasperating."

  "War trauma is difficult to manage, even for seasoned soldiers." 

  "I do recall coming across a dead soldier's body. He was clutching a locket. Inside was a lock of golden hair." Dimitri felt as though he was in a trance. That image was so clear compared to the piecemeal nature of the rest of the battle. "I don't know to whom it belonged. His wife, his daughter…his mother, a lover? I'll never know." Dimitri put his aching head in his hands. "He was a soldier, an enemy. Someone I had cut down without hesitation. But in that moment, I realized he was also a real person, just like the rest of us."

  "A hard truth to discover on the battlefield, but one that needed to be known all the same." Byleth said pragmatically. She squeezed his shoulder, urging him to carry on.

  "We cannot stand idly by and allow anyone to commit senseless acts of violence." Dimitri reasoned, his words muffled by his hands. "Yet, in dispensing what we call justice, we take the lives of cherished family members and beloved friends." He paused, wondering whether he should even continue and speak about what truly bothered him. Byleth's hand remained on his shoulder and the prince drew resolve from her support. "Killing is part of the job but even so, there are times when I'm chilled to the bone by the depravity of my own actions."

  Byleth was silent for a time and Dimitri kept rubbing his temples, trying with all his might to keep the headache at bay. "I have felt the same way." She finally said softly.

  Dimitri's relief threatened to overpower his sense of propriety, the prince looking back up at his dear professor. "That you feel the same way is...more comforting than you could know." He took her hand in his own, feeling the warmth of it. "Professor, may I speak freely?"

  She nodded, seeming a little confused at how serious he was.

  "When we first met, I thought of you as someone who felt no strong feelings about killing your enemies." Dimitri confessed. "I could never trust someone who kills without batting an eye. My heart won't allow it. But after speaking with you and getting to know you better, I can see you're not like that." He said fiercely, clasping her hand to his breast. "Now I know, with all my heart, that I can trust you. Thank you for that."

  Byleth nodded again and a small smile brightened her face. Dimitri's breath caught in his throat, his blood racing at her nearness, at the way she was smiling-

  He reprimanded himself sharply for his foolish, indulgent thoughts and released her hand.

  ...

  The blood raced in his veins. She was so close, so near. Within arms reach, even. Dimitri wanted to scream with laughter, finally, finally!

  They marched on over the Bridge of Myrddin once more and Dimitri could feel his strength surging. Soon he would have her head to present to his family. Soon, his stepmother, his father, Glenn, they could all rest in peace. Soon-!

  His incensed ramblings to himself grew even worse. Anyone that dared approach him would be treated to a man possessed, talking to people who had long since passed on from this world. Lack of sleep was making him hallucinate Glenn or his father alongside him, their presence disturbing and comforting in equal measure. Dimitri made promise after promise to these silent apparitions, assuring them that he would emerge victorious.

  It certainly caused a significant drop in troop morale, not that such a thing would concern Dimitri. All he cared about was tearing Edelgard's head from her shoulders and removing his oh-so-ambitious stepsister from this plane of existence. Then, he would scour Enbarr from the map, erase it as surely as she and her ilk had erased Duscur. 

  Their meeting on the battlefield would be one to remember. 

  …

  "Is this some kind of twisted joke?! " Dimitri asked incredulously, breathless from his mad laughter seconds before. Staring back at him from the bulk of the Flame Emperor's helm was Edelgard's pale face. He had feared this was the true identity of the fiend since he had found the dagger he gave her, but he had tried so hard to convince himself otherwise...

  She did not answer him and Dimitri leveled his lance, crushing the porcelain face plate beneath his boot with his first stride forward.

  Professor Byleth caught his arm as he stalked by her and he paused momentarily. "Don't be rash, please." The professor said softly. 

  "Rash? Me? I am finally about to avenge the dead and you accuse me of being rash?!" Dimitri snarled, jerking away from her and continuing forward. "I've been looking for you...I'll take your head from your shoulders and hang it from the gates of Enbarr! " He screamed.

  He charged at Edelgard and her soldiers rushed to defend her. So great was Dimitri's wrath that he found it ridiculously simple to strike down the men attacking him, skewering two in one thrust and then slinging his lance at Edelgard with all his might. 

  It buried harmlessly in the wall behind her after grazing her shoulder. Dimitri snapped his teeth in hysterical irritation, nearly frothing at the mouth. The soldiers continued their assault and so he continued his own, slamming one man's face into the stone stairs and then crushing the last soldier's armored skull with one gauntleted hand. 

  He looked up, locked eyes with Edelgard and smiled . Edelgard flinched. Dimitri advanced up the stairs until they were together on the dais, the prince shaking with fury. "Before I break your neck," He hissed at the young woman across from him, "there is one thing I must ask you."

  "Stay out of my way!" Edelgard ordered. 

  Dimitri shook his head. "I don't recall giving you permission to speak. Answer my question. That is all you have left to do." He took another step forward. "Flame Emperor...no, Edelgard . Tell me now, why did you cause such a tragedy?"

  Edelgard flinched again, lavender eyes boring into his own. 

  "You killed your own mother, and yet you haven't even had the decency to stop and consider the reasons behind your actions, have you?!" Dimitri raged, his fists clenched at his sides.

  "I already told you, I had nothing to do with that!" Edelgard protested.

  "It was foolish to think I could reason with a lowly beast ." Dimitri snapped. He heard motion to his left and abruptly two more soldiers were shielding Edelgard. The prince bared his teeth in a fierce grimace and lunged forward just as Hubert appeared in a flash of purple light, the dark-haired man quickly snatching up Edelgard. 

  The Flame Emperor and her retainer vanished.

  Archbishop Rhea's righteous tirade faded to background noise in the wake of Dimitri realizing his folly. 

  She had escaped. Edelgard had escaped . He had played right into her hands, demanded answers first instead of striking her down where she stood and thus allowed Hubert precious extra seconds to rescue her. What a fool he was! His hesitation had cost him his closure, his revenge! Dimitri wanted to scream.

  …

  But not again, never again. He would not allow her to escape so easily.

  " Kill every last one of them! " Dimitri ordered, brandishing Areadbhar and then rushing forward with his troops. Byleth stayed close enough that he was vaguely aware of her presence at all times; flashes of pale green in the corner of his eye. 

  Time and again his lance swung, time and again paths opened up. 

  The battlefield was chaos, a nightmarish cacophony of war cries and armor racket. At some point a fire was started, bringing with it echoes of screams from Duscur. Dimitri's blood pounded in his ears, his headache reaching a new level of splitting agony at the reek of ash and burning flesh. Edelgard, Edelgard…

  The tormented souls of his family clung to him, bony fingers clawing at his throat. Dimitri forced himself onward, storming across Gronder with single-minded intent. He needed her head. They demanded her head. 

  One of the great war beasts lumbered after him and cut off his possible retreat, not that Dimitri planned on turning back. It also separated him from his allies and troops, a fact that should have concerned him. If he had been in his right mind, it probably would have. As such, he barely noticed, his lone eye focused solely on the golden gleam of Edelgard's empirical headpiece. 

  She was surrounded by her own troops. It mattered not. Whether one or one hundred men, it mattered not. Dimitri rushed her guards, impaling three with one jab of his family's Relic. A brittle calm took him, the prince shucking the corpses off the blade and then widening his stance to face her head-on. She waved her guards back, looking resigned. 

  "Stab your chest, snap your neck , smash your head...I will allow you to choose your own death." Dimitri seethed, spittle flying through his clenched teeth.

  "I'm not interested in methods of dying. All that matters is when death takes place, not how." Edelgard replied pragmatically, her axe raised in a defensive position. "And I have no intention of dying today."

  "I'm sure all of the people you've slaughtered so far thought the same!" His calm shattered like glass, the blond man lunged forward. 

  Edelgard lashed out mercilessly as she was forced back, her attacks too random for him to predict. Dimitri endured them, landing thunderous blow after thunderous blow. Madman strength and the voices of the dead in his ears urged him on, their pleas for vengeance spurring him to fight without regard for his own life. 

  The step-siblings stabbed and hacked at one another, their weapons singing through the air with the aggression behind their motions. Edelgard couldn't dodge every attack and she had never been overly sturdy in close quarters sparring despite her armor; it was only a matter of time before Dimitri would kill her. 

  Nausea again, the sick sensation of kinslayer bubbling in his throat. Had he really become such a thing? But then, what did that make Edelgard? They were both monsters at this point, he reasoned, monsters destined to die at each other's hands to bring about their ideal future. 

  Dimitri roared and with one final thrust, Areadbhar pierced Edelgard's side. The Emperor gasped, pausing. Blood began to trickle down the shaft of the lance. 

  The once-prince grinned savagely. "It's over , stepsister." 

  "Just as expected," Edelgard choked, "You're not making my path an easy one." She wrapped her shaking fingers around his lance and took a step back, removing the weapon from her body with no small amount of difficulty. "I must retreat for now. But we'll meet again on the battlefield."

  Like clockwork, her advisor Hubert appeared and swept her into his arms. Dimitri's lance slashed through nothing but empty air, his motions just a fraction too slow to catch the pair before they vanished. 

  The prince whirled around and screamed his frustration to the heavens, launching Areadbhar at the nearest soldier and pinning them to the ground. " You think you can escape, Edelgard?! " He heard a rush of footsteps behind him, but he couldn't even bring himself to give a damn. 

  She got away. Again . 

  Dimitri dug his gauntlets into his hair and pulled , the once-prince so hysterical with despair that he couldn't react properly. Would he never be able to satisfy the dead? Would he never be free of this crushing responsibility, this duty that threatened to leech the life from his body? 

  " I'll kill you, Edelgard! Do you hear me, you witch?! I'll-! "

  His crazed rant was cut short by a blade sliding cleverly between the plates of his armor to bury itself in his side. The once-prince, already badly bloodied from wounds he had not felt, finally lost his balance. He dropped to one knee, barely managing to keep himself from collapsing entirely as the adrenaline that had facilitated his motion utterly deserted him. Dimitri looked up into the wild eyes of his attacker and was momentarily confused. 

  It was the foundling who had begged to join their ranks when they had taken the Bridge. To get revenge on the man who killed my brother , she had claimed. It all became hideously clear to the blond man. He had killed her brother.

  "Have I caught you off guard, your Highness?" The nameless girl jeered, "does it hurt? It's nothing compared to what my brother felt!" Tears started streaming down her face. "You will never be forgiven, you know. I will never forgive you!" She screamed. This young woman stood proudly over his crumpled form and raised her sword once again. "You filthy monster! "

  ...

  The war beasts had taken up a majority of their attention. When the last of them was finally slain, Byleth spotted Dimitri standing alone in the distance. Rodrigue laughed, seeming relieved. "Looks like he's alright. For the moment, at least." He commented, wiping his blade clean on the grass.

  Byleth nodded, her brow furrowing when she noticed a figure all in white on the edge of the field near the prince. The figure darted forward suddenly, there was a flash in their hands, a sword-

  Byleth's eyes widened in panic when Dimitri dropped and she screamed, "Manuela!" The former songstress already had the spell prepared, warping the professor precious feet closer to the woman attacking Dimitri. Rodrigue ran in the opposite direction, whistling for his horse. 

  We won't make it in time , Byleth realized. In despair she cried out wordlessly, a hand outstretched to implore the Goddess even as she urged her exhausted body forward. Spare him, spare him!

  You are so predictable. So willing to give your life for your little ones.

  At a moment's notice. He means everything to me, whole or fragmented. If we lose him...if I lose him...

  Well then. Let's hope you survive this, shall we?  

  Time slowed to a halt, if only for a few precious seconds. Enough for Byleth to get in the way of the young woman's ferocious swing. She could not even raise her own blade to deflect in time, and thus made the decision to take the full force of the blow to her shoulder. Goddess willing, she would prevail.

  The pain was horrendous. The sword was not nearly as sharp as it could have been and as such, tore messily into her shoulder before it lodged in her light armor and robes. Byleth sobbed out a breath of relief despite the agony, the Nosferatu spell crackling to life in her palm. She quickly dropped her sword and instead grabbed the other woman's hilt, preventing her from pulling away with it.

  …

  He had been ready to die, utterly demoralized by Edelgard's flight from their duel. One final stroke of the sword from this unnamed woman (practically a child), and it would be over. Her eyes burned fever-bright with the desire for revenge, just like his own. 

  Her brother must have been so dear to her.

  Dimitri bowed his head and simply waited for the killing blow. For once, the dead were silent. Soon enough, he would be with them.

  " Professor! " 

  The sound of Rodrigue's voice snapped him out of his calm acceptance, the prince flinching and opening his eye again. To his utter bewilderment, Byleth now stood in front of him. Seconds prior she had been clear across the battlefield, how on earth…? 

  She took the blow meant for him to her shoulder and Dimitri gritted his teeth to stifle a cry of dismay at how deep the blade sank. With one hand firmly grappling the crosstrees to keep the young woman from striking again, Byleth snarled, " I will not permit you to take him from me . He is my king, and I will defend him with my life. If you intend to kill him, I refuse to make it a simple task for you!"

  Her free hand slammed palm-first into the other woman's stomach, the explosion of power from the sapping spell staggering her. Rodrigue seized the opening and struck mercilessly from astride his warhorse, cutting the young would-be assassin down where she stood. 

  Dimitri couldn't seem to stir. It was as though he was frozen in one of his many nightmares, unable to react to the horrors he saw. 

  The young girl's vengeful words rang deafeningly loud in his ears, you will never be forgiven, you know. I will never forgive you!

  Byleth was somehow still standing despite the blade in her shoulder, her hands limp at her sides. "Your Highness." She swallowed hard and turned, offering him a wavering smile. It was pitiful , nothing but a shadow of her regular one. Dimitri loathed it. "I'm so glad I..."

  Her legs gave out and she fell to the ground, lifeless. 

  Dimitri found himself able to move again and he lurched forward, gathering her into his arms. His own wounds and weariness faded from his mind as he shouted for Manuela, Flayn, Mercedes, anyone please Byleth don't die! Rodrigue tried to calm his panic to no avail; Dimitri was inconsolable. "I will not lose her! Not again!" He screamed at the man who had been like a second father to him, terror making his voice ragged. "Don't die! Please don't die!" She was so limp, so incredibly pale. "I won't let you, Byleth, please …" 

  His words choked off in his throat and Dimitri pressed his forehead to her own, silently willing her to open her eyes, to say something! Even if she called him a monster, a beast, it would be better than this horrid quiet! 

  You will never be forgiven .

  You filthy monster!

  Tears rose unbidden and for the first time in five years, he let them fall. "Father, Stepmother, Glenn...they all died for me and left me behind. Are you to join the ghosts who shadow my every move?" Rodrigue placed a hand on his shoulder and Dimitri couldn't find it in himself to shrug it off. "This is my fault, Byleth. I...I'm the one who killed you, as surely as though I had wielded the blade." A sob rattled his body and Dimitri bowed his head in grief. 

  "You've got one thing wrong, your Highness." Rodrigue said quietly after a beat. " None of them died for you. Not even Glenn. Rather, they died for what they believed in." The older man gripped his shoulder a little tighter, his words cutting through the fog of Dimitri's grief to strike his very core. "Your life is your own, Dimitri. It belongs to no other, living or dead. You must live for what you believe in, my king."

  Byleth's chest expanded suddenly with a hungry gasp for air, her fingers clawing weakly at the thick mane of Dimitri's cloak. "'Mitri." She slurred out, barely conscious.

  "Be silent ." Dimitri ordered hoarsely. Goddess, ever since the events at Duscur he had not been truly sick, but now he feared he would vomit with relief. She was still alive. He hadn't killed her. She would live. 

  Live for what you believe in .

  Mercedes knelt beside them, her skirt stained with the grass and mud of the battlefield. "Save your strength, my dear professor." She soothed, deftly peeling the layers of cloth and armor away from the wound. "I'll have you fixed up in no time. Flayn, please see to his Highness."

  " Damn me! Flayn, save her !" Dimitri demanded, knocking away the well-meaning hands of the small woman. 

  "Let Flayn..." Byleth whispered.

  "I will accept nothing until I know you are safe!" 

  Lord Rodrigue grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of Dimitri's neck and yanked his head back, unceremoniously dumping the vulnerary Mercedes passed him into the young man's mouth. Dimitri coughed and sputtered, barely managing to swallow without choking on the viscous liquid. " There . That ought to keep you stable until Mercedes can work her magic on your professor." Rodrigue said, giving Dimitri a love tap on the side of his head before releasing him once more.  

  "Rodrigue, I will-" Dimitri tried to stand and failed miserably, getting a little snort of laughter out of Flayn.

  "You will do nothing but be still , your Highness." She scolded, her hands alight with healing magic.

  "I beg of you, waste no power on me until we are certain that she will be alright." Dimitri pleaded. "I... we cannot survive without her."

  Flayn huffed in annoyance and Mercedes laughed softly, though whether at the other healer's attitude with the prince or at Dimitri's own slip of the tongue was anyone's guess. "She will be fine, your Highness. Provided she gets the rest she needs." The soft-spoken young woman assured him. "She is quite weary. The sword went deep."

  "M' alright…" Byleth sounded like she was battling sleep. "Can still...can still...fight..."

  "You can rest, Professor. You can sit and rest ." Mercedes chided. "We must keep her warm during our return to the monastery. Your Highness, forgive my boldness, but-"

  "Take the damn thing." Dimitri cut her off, already fighting with the clasps on his cloak.

  "No no, you are injured as well! I just need you to stay close to her. That way, the two of you can share." Mercedes was as pragmatic as ever. "Your cape is very large, after all."

  The prince marveled that his nearly-dead body still felt the need to flush at her request. "Very well." 

  "Thank you so much!" Mercedes beamed.

  Dedue hovered by Dimitri's side while they waited for the wagon that would carry them back to the monastery. "What am I to do about this?" Dimitri asked, half to himself. 

  "Your Highness?"

  "Had that sword gone just a fraction lower, if that girl had stabbed instead of swung..." Dimitri trailed off, shaking his head. "What a damn fool you are, Professor. Not even our healers could have saved you if you bled out before they arrived."

  "Are you so certain it is the professor who is a fool?" Dedue asked, the query more pointed than it had a right to be. "Your wounds from Edelgard were quite grievous. As though you fought without thinking of defense. Or survival."

  Dimitri wanted to rage at the Duscur man for assuming such ludicrous things, honestly he did. But the words Dedue spoke were damnably accurate. "It should not matter whether I live or die." The prince muttered sullenly.

  "It matters a great deal, your Highness. If I may be so bold, it matters more than you seem to comprehend." Dedue gestured at the destroyed landscape of Gronder Field. "Soldiers and allies fought and died for your beliefs today. Your orders alone mobilize troops and rally legions. You cannot be so careless with your life."

  "I will not sit here and be chastised on mortality by the man who was so eager to throw his own life away for me!" Dimitri spat the words cruelly,  wishing in the next breath that he could take them back. His fingers twisted through his hair in a frantic, nervous gesture. 

  Dedue, to his credit, did not so much as flinch at the outburst. "I am a vassal in service to you, your Highness. One of a knight's many responsibilities is to lay down their life for their ruler. You needed to escape and live on. I am simply a tool to be utilized by your Highness."

  "Your pragmatism grieves me."

  "Your grief is acceptable. Normal, even. You have always been too kind-hearted for your own good." 

  Dimitri couldn't think of a response to that . Kind-hearted? Him? Dedue clearly had no idea of the monster he had become. He stayed silent, musing on his own thoughts. It felt almost as if he had been sleepwalking since the professor's disappearance, but seeing her take that blade for him without hesitation was…

  Dimitri put his head into his hands. " Am I a fool, Dedue?"

  "Pardon?"

  "I've lashed out at everyone trying to help me. I've danced with madness and run myself ragged pursuing Edelgard. I have killed... Goddess , how I've killed." He looked up at Dedue. "Am I a fool?"

  The other man looked uncomfortable. "I am unworthy to judge you as such, your Highness."

  "That's as good as saying yes." Dimitri groaned. 

  When the cart arrived, Dimitri, the professor, and a multitude of other wounded were crammed into it. The ride back to the monastery was subdued. For the first time, Dimitri felt as though everyone was looking at him with reproach instead of fear. And really, how could he blame them? Dedue was right. On his orders alone, soldiers went to war, fought, and died. The orders of a depraved monster had ended so many lives today, all in the name of his mad obsession to separate Edelgard's head from her body. 

  Your life is your own, Dimitri. It belongs to no other, living or dead.

  Rodrigue's words turned over and over in his mind. Dimitri certainly felt like a fool, Dedue's unwillingness to label him as one notwithstanding. 

  The professor was tucked against his side, shivering even in her sleep. Dimitri was not used to her being cold. It seemed wrong, somehow. Despite his own weariness, he struggled to gather her into his lap and then wrapped her securely in the folds of his cloak. 

  Sleep began to tug at him and Dimitri surrendered, too exhausted to put up a fight. He did not wake even when he was removed from the cart at the monastery.

  …

  Byleth kicked her legs back and forth, laughing. On her feet were a set of high-heeled sandals, much taller than the boots she normally wore. "How do you even walk in these?"

  "Years of training, my dear." Manuela tittered. The both of them hadn't seemed to notice the young prince yet. 

  The professor was laying on her back on one of the infirmary beds, her legs up in the air in a strange pose. It was surprisingly juvenile behavior for her. Her strong, shapely thighs were on full display due to the short breeches and patterned hosiery she wore; it was clear that mercenary work had been kind to her. 

  Dimitri cleared his throat, certain that his face was a damning shade of pink. "Professor?"

  Byleth glanced over at him, continuing to smile. "Your Highness! What brings you here?"

  "I, er, I had a question about this month's assignment." Dimitri stammered. "I can come back at another time, of course-"

  "No no, your Highness. Your professor was just curious about my footwear. I promise we're not busy." Manuela assured him.

  Byleth got to her feet and wobbled towards the prince, the intense concentration on her face exceedingly amusing. That is, until she tripped on the edge of the rug and nearly fell flat.

  Dimitri swooped in on instinct, seizing her hand and pulling her into his body to steady her footing. "I do not know if those shoes agree with you, Professor." The sandals gave her enough height to nearly be at eye level with him and she took full advantage of that fact. Dimitri wasn't sure whether he should feel uncomfortable, simply staring back at her. 

  Her form was pressed tight to his own, even closer than when he had been roped into showing her how to waltz. There had at least been a level of propriety during that lesson, but here…

  "I suppose not." Byleth sighed. After a moment, she bent down and started untying the sandals. "Would do me no good to break an ankle off the battlefield, after all." 

  "They're just for fun , dear Professor Byleth." Manuela insisted. "You're allowed to enjoy yourself, after all."

  Without those ridiculous shoes on, Byleth barely reached Dimitri's shoulder. She had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eyes as usual. The prince's heart thudding in his chest was becoming regular, normal , and he found himself smiling for no reason.

  …

  " Listen to me, your Highness. Even if you don't wish to hear me, all I ask is that you listen." Rodrigue implored. Dimitri did not turn towards the older man, but he did incline his head. "Thank you, your Highness. Now, I will speak plainly, as I always have with you. Dimitri, you were entirely too reckless at Gronder." Rodrigue scolded. "We could have lost you a multitude of times. It was only through sheer dumb luck that we didn't. With all due respect, this obsession you have with Edelgard will absolutely get you killed."

  "I cannot stop until I have her head." Dimitri said wearily. He felt as though all he had been doing since Gronder was repeat himself. "Father, Stepmother and Glenn...none of them can rest peacefully until I present them with the corpse of the one who ended their lives." 

  "I understand your desires, believe me. I miss my son with every fiber of my being. But throwing yourself into harm's way will not bring them back." Rodrigue took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself. "Killing Edelgard will not bring Glenn back, Dimitri. Nor will it bring your father or stepmother back. In the end, all you're doing is making more corpses and the fact of the matter is that...well, the dead are the dead. They don't ' languish in regret and sorrow ', or whatever pretty things we like to say to justify our own actions. They are...dead."

  Unlike at Ailell, Dimitri felt no heated desire to instantly strike Rodrigue down for his words. "The dead-"

  "You must find something to live for, Dimitri. Otherwise, this war is doomed to fail." Rodrigue pressed on, urging, "Leave the dead to their peaceful slumber, far from our troubles."

  Uncertainty wrapped its icy fingers around Dimitri's heart. "What...what could I possibly…" He stumbled over his words, thoroughly distraught. 

  Glenn's own flesh and blood father , demanding that Dimitri take into account the cost that his wild behavior would have on the army and think . It was jarring to say the least, especially considering that in his impetuous youth Rodrigue had always been the one to encourage healthily rash actions. 

  "I thought...I believed I was doing the right thing." The blond man said finally. "Ever since Duscur I have been haunted by the dead, Rodrigue." The truth must have been plain on his face, for Rodrigue looked saddened. "The screams of torment and that smell , burning flesh, I cannot shake it. I have not tasted anything I've eaten for nearly ten years. My sleep is poor and my headaches...incessant." Dimitri wavered momentarily, clenching his fists. "They demand her life, Rodrigue." 

  "The dead are dead, Dimitri. They cannot demand anything." The dark-haired man reasoned. "I understand that this crusade is what kept you alive up until this point, but you must make a choice. Either you can keep piling corpses up for corpses, or…" Rodrigue trailed off, his gaze far away. 

  …

  Byleth finally managed to hobble her way to the stables undetected. She felt thoroughly henpecked, everyone's concern heartwarming and exceedingly irritating at this point. She was only sneaking off for a little while, just to have some peace.

  The ladder to the hayloft was easily managed even with one arm still weakened, and the former professor snuggled down into the slightly-scratchy bedding with a quiet sigh of contentment. 

  Unfortunately, her relaxation was short-lived. Just as she was being lulled to sleep by the patter of rain on the roof and the soft nickering of the horses, she heard the stable door slide open stealthily. 

  Byleth was instantly alert, rolling onto her stomach and peering over the side of the loft. It was Dimitri of all people, someone who should be resting himself! It had stung her pride slightly when he hadn't visited her at all during her recovery, but she had reasoned he was probably having a difficult time recovering on his own end.

  "Here for the pleasant equine company, your Highness?" Dimitri whirled to face her, guilt plain on his features. He had been saddling his horse. Byleth's heart sank. "Ah." She said listlessly, moving to sit on the hayloft ladder. 

  "What do you want?" His voice sounded strained, as though he had been crying.

  "Where are you going?"

  "It doesn't concern you." Dimitri answered curtly.

  "It does." Byleth shot back, attempting to climb down the ladder. Dimitri caught her around the waist and set her on the ground, nothing but a slight wince betraying his wounds from the battle at Gronder. 

  He appeared confused when she slipped past him, then the confusion changed to irritation as she blocked him from cinching the flank billet on his horse's saddle.

  "Get out of my way. Now ." The young man demanded, reaching out to move her.

  "You're going to Enbarr, aren't you?" Byleth challenged. Dimitri flinched back and she knew she had hit the nail on the head. Anger flooded her. Even after everything that had happened, he was determined to throw his life away. "Do you really think that will appease the dead?" The words were sharper than she had intended and the prince bristled.

  "Silence! You have no idea what you're talking about." He said through gritted teeth. "Death is the end. No matter how much lingering regret a person has, after death, they are powerless. They cannot even wish for revenge, much less seek it out." 

  Dimitri folded his arms over his chest, as if to make a wall between the two of them. Byleth loathed when he shut himself off like this. It had felt like they were making such progress and then he had to go and do something reckless . Like try to sneak off to Enbarr. Alone .

  "Hatred, regret...those burdens fall on the shoulders of those who are left behind." His voice rose in volume, "I must continue down this path! I already told you as much! It is far too late to stop."

  "You're wrong! " Byleth yelled.

  The show of strong emotion startled the both of them into brief silence but Dimitri quickly recovered, turning to leave. "Do not waste your breath with some nonsense about how I should move on with my life for their sake!" He spat. 

  Byleth huffed, storming after him out into the rain. "Don't run away from me, Dimitri!" She said fiercely. The tall man stopped in his tracks when she used his first name and she seized her opportunity. "The living need you! Why can't you see that?" I need you, damn it .

  "Those who died with lingering regret...they will not loose their hold on me so easily." Dimitri tilted his face up towards the sky, rainfall beginning to flatten his matted, tangled hair. 

  Byleth simply stood there, waiting for him to explain himself. After a moment, she noticed his face was much wetter than even the light rain could have managed in such a short time. He was weeping . 

  Dimitri finally muttered, "But you seem to have all the answers. So tell me, professor. Please , tell me…" His voice cracked. "How do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I...how do I save them?" He begged pitifully, refusing to look at her. "Ever since that day almost a decade ago, I have lived only to avenge the fallen. Even my time at the academy under your tutelage, it was all to clear away the regret of the dead. It was the only thing that kept me alive . My only reason to keep moving forward." Dimitri confessed.

  He sounded exhausted and broken, weary beyond measure. Byleth's heart ached for him. "Dimitri...rather, your Highness." She said softly, "do you remember what you told me when my father was killed? You told me to figure out what it is that I'm living for. You said that one day my tears would dry, that I would forgive myself as well as him for leaving me. You need to forgive yourself. Take your own advice."

  Dimitri looked as though he was about to retort, but then his expression changed. He simply exhaled harshly, snapping his attention down to the mud that was pooling around his boots. Byleth took a cautious step closer, only just managing to hear his murmured inquiry of, "but then who--or what , should I live for?" 

  The former professor mulled the question over, wracking her brain for something that wouldn't sound like a useless platitude. "Live for what you believe in." She said finally.

  "Have you spoken with Rodrigue?" Dimitri asked sharply.

  "Um, not today?" Byleth was a bit thrown off by his abrupt change in tone. 

  "Never mind it then." Dimitri stared back up at the sky. "A strange coincidence, no doubt." 

  "Your Highness-"

  " Byleth ." He stressed her name when he interrupted, but he still refused to look at her. "I am a murderous monster , my hands stained red with blood. Could one such as I truly hope for such a life?" Dimitri hesitated, the strength of his voice fading again when he asked uncertainly, "as the sole survivor of that day, do I...do I have the right to live for myself?" 

  They were both soaked through from standing out in the rain for so long and Byleth was certain that they made a pitiful sight. She squared her shoulders, then took a deep breath to steel herself. She wasn't sure what else she could do if he pushed her away one more time. 

  Instead of grabbing him, holding him, shaking the life out of him for being so dense , she simply extended a hand. Dimitri stared down at it and for one gut-wrenching moment she feared he would still leave.

  But then the prince yanked clumsily at the buckles of his gauntlet, divesting himself of both armor and glove in one fell swoop before he cautiously accepted her hand. His hand was trembling, damp and freezing to the touch. She laced her fingers with his own, then brought her other hand up to cover them.

  Dimitri looked shattered, lost. "Your hands are so warm...have they always been?" He asked dazedly. 

  "I think you could use some tea and some rest. Maybe someone to talk to?" Byleth suggested quietly. 

  "I...do not wish to be alone." Dimitri admitted.

  "Would you like me to get Dedue or Rodrigue?"

  "No, I...no. Please. Let me stay with you." 

  Dimitri refused to release her hand during their entire trek back to her room. He only parted from her to allow her to begin toweling off his soaking wet hair. 

  "I feel...I feel as though I've just woken up from a deep sleep." He confided from his spot beside the tiny brazier where the water for their tea heated. Byleth did her best not to think about how close his face was to her own. "I don't know what I am to do."

  Dimitri was clearly distraught and scared, the prince wringing his hands over and over in a nervous gesture. His armor and cloak continued to drip on the threadbare rug. Byleth handed him the towel and urged him into the washroom. "Take the armor off and get dry. You'll never warm up if you don't." She instructed gently. "I'll finish making the tea."

  "Armor off?" Dimitri looked at her like she was insane, clutching the towel to his chest.

  "I'll protect you. We're safe here."

  After a few more assurances and some coaxing, the prince finally agreed to strip down to his padded undertunic. Now, his hair tied back, sitting on the edge of her bed with a steaming cup of tea held in still slightly-unsteady hands, he seemed like a different person.

  The only sound in the room for a time was the quiet hiss of water landing on the brazier, as Byleth had hung the prince's heavy cloak over the heat source in a valiant effort to dry it. She could feel his attention on her even while she settled quietly into her desk chair beside the bed. "Drink your tea, your Highness." She reminded him, raising her own cup to him in a makeshift toast.

  Dimitri twitched. "Ah! Of course, I'm sorry. My mind is...it seems to be in a thousand places." He apologized, dutifully taking a sip. That lone blue eye went wide in what Byleth could only assume was confusion. The prince stared at the cup of tea he had just sampled as though he expected it to bite him. "What...what tea is this?" He asked, his voice shaking.

  "Why, what's wrong?" She replied warily. 

  "I...nothing. Nothing is wrong at all." Dimitri took another tentative sip. "It's delightful. It's so, so good." He sounded strangely giddy. "It tastes incredible."

  "Your Highness, I think you've gone too long without sleep. It's just some run of the mill apple blend." Byleth clapped her hands together decisively. "You need rest, and you will have it."

  Once Dimitri had been safely swaddled in the multitude of blankets in her bed and convinced to rest ' just for a moment or two ', Byleth opened one of the many ledgers on her desk and returned to work. Tonight's progress boded well for the prince's recovery. She dared not hope he would fully regain control of himself so soon, but progress was progress all the same.

  …

  His dreams were still fraught with the demands of the departed. He doubted that would ever change. But every time the darkness threatened to consume him, her hand reached out and saved him. Over and over again until Dimitri ceased to dream, and simply slept.

  He awoke to find her slumped at her desk, her cheek resting on an open ledger. Dimitri carefully rose from the bed he had taken over the evening before, doing his best to be quiet. Without the usual weight of his armor, it wasn't nearly as difficult as had feared. 

  The ledger was opened to a page meticulously detailing all the movements of their troops in the past week, as well as calculations for rations. It also included notes in the margins about bowstrings that needed to be replaced, tack and bridles were wearing thin...

  Shame doused Dimitri's body in a cold rush. She had been doing all the logistical work, the work that was his responsibility, alone , and yet she still managed to keep the troops functional. How long had she shouldered his burden? Since she had returned?

  There was a sharp knock on the door, making him jump out of his skin. Byleth stirred and Dimitri lunged for the door latch, intent on shooing off whatever idiot decided to show up on her doorstep--

  Dedue of all people stood there on the stoop, looking positively fit to be tied. When he saw Dimitri, however, his stern expression relaxed slightly. "Your Highness! I-"

  Dimitri slapped a palm squarely in the middle of Dedue's chest and shoved the other man back a step, hurriedly moving outside and then closing the door behind him. "By the Goddess Dedue, have you no common sense?!" The blond man hissed.

  Dedue had the grace to appear perplexed. "I am not certain I follow, your Highness."

  "She is trying to sleep, and you could have woken her up!"

  "I have been searching for you, your Highness. You never returned to your quarters last night. I checked the cathedral and you were not there. Though your horse was still in the stables, I...I feared the worst. I apologize for assuming that you had struck out on your own." Dedue dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, your Highness. I only worried for your safety."

  Dimitri felt like the world's smallest person. Dedue had probably been frantic, and there was so much ground for him to cover when searching the monastery. "Dedue, no, I should be the one apologizing. Will you permit me to explain myself?" 

  "What could there be to explain? You are, as you have pointed out numerous times to me, a grown man. Perfectly capable of being on your own." Dedue said stiffly, "It is simply my overprotective tendencies."

  "Dedue, please . I must speak with you on this matter candidly." Dimitri seized the other man's arm and guided him to a nearby bench. "I...I feel as if I've awoken . Everything is brighter, somehow. More clear." Dimitri was frustrated by his inability to articulate, his hands clenched on his thighs while he struggled to find the right words. 

  "You have not removed your armor for anything besides brief cleaning in months. What has happened?" Dedue asked worriedly. Of course, that would be the thing he noticed.

  "Last night, I was certain I would be leaving for Enbarr." Dedue's gauntlets creaked and Dimitri held up a hand to stave him off. "I know I am a fool, I am plainly aware. Refrain from scolding me until I am finished, I beg of you." Dimitri was almost entertained by the heavy sigh Dedue heaved. "Rodrigue said many things to me. Much of which I was not prepared to hear. I departed his presence abruptly, conflicted." 

  "You truly would have gone to Enbarr alone?"

  "Had Byleth not been napping in the hayloft...yes, I believe so." Dimitri admitted. "She used my name , Dedue, and followed me out into the rain so she could knock some sense into me. These last few months I have not displayed very princely behavior to friend or foe. I have frankly been miserable to be around. But she-"

  "Your Highness, our professor only has what is best for you in mind. Whatever she said to you, I am certain it was not meant in a cruel manner." Dedue said worriedly. "Did she offend you, your Highness?"

  "No no, nothing like that." Dimitri waved off the other man's concern. "I needed what she said. Just as I needed what Rodrigue said." He muttered ruefully, "To be entirely truthful, I was probably in great need of a stern rap on the head."

  "I had considered it, but I feared your skull might damage my axe."

  Dimitri burst out laughing. He had nearly forgotten what his own laughter sounded like. Dedue smiled after a pause, the large man's relief plain on his face.

  "Enjoying yourselves?" Byleth asked from her doorway, yawning widely post-query. She stretched and Dimitri found his eye straying to the section of bare skin at her hip that the motion revealed. His laughter petered out and he abruptly felt embarrassed for some reason. Surely , he wasn't-

  "I am glad that his Highness was in your custody last night, as opposed to Imperial binds." Dedue said, standing and offering their former professor a deep bow.

  She smiled at Dedue, giving him some modest reply, Dimitri was certain. He didn't actually hear what she said, his attention wholly on that smile…

  ...

  Dimitri bolted pell-mell all the way back to Jeritza's quarters, terrified that he would not make it in time. He cursed his sense of duty furiously as he ran; damn him for not being able to delegate! 

  Professor Manuela would be alright, Hanneman had assured him of that fact. But if something had happened to the others because he hadn't been there to help, if something terrible had happened just like in Duscur-

  Seeing all of his classmates whole and hearty at the top of the stairs was nearly enough to make his knees give out. Dimitri was literally dizzy with relief, taking hold of one of the bookshelves to steady himself. 

  The professor instructed the other students to transport Flayn and the mystery girl to the infirmary, then turned to him with a worried, "What happened?"

  "Professor Hanneman says she'll be fine." Dimitri rattled off the information he had been given, "She had been wounded, but he expects that she'll make a full recovery. The monks are swarming the infirmary as we speak." He grimaced when he heard a splintering noise, relaxing his grip on the bookcase slightly. "I apologize for my posture, Professor. I was so overjoyed upon seeing you all safe and sound, I...I felt weak."

  Professor Byleth shook her head and smiled . "It's alright, your Highness. It was a difficult fight, believe me. You had every reason to be concerned. But we're all accounted for."

  He had never seen her smile before. Dimitri was flabbergasted. She had a lovely smile. "That expression is...could you make it again, Professor?" She obliged after a moment of confusion, smiling at him. The first time he had witnessed her displaying emotion, and it was beautiful . "I don't think I've ever seen your face like that."

  "What, smiling?" Professor Byleth pursed her lips, obviously thinking hard. "Hmm, I guess not. I don't know. I feel like it comes easier now for some reason? When I was a mercenary, life was hard. Not many opportunities for smiles."

  "I suppose that makes sense." Dimitri allowed. "You should do it more often, though! You have a wonderful smile."

  "Do you think so? How strange. I've never really thought about it." Byleth admitted. "Is that a thing I should concern myself with?"

  "Only if it pleases you! If not, simply forget I said anything. I would hate it if you felt forced to smile for my sake." Dimitri felt like he had committed some sort of blunder, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "I am just not used to seeing you display emotion. It was a...a novel experience."

  "Oh?" Professor Byleth tapped her chin in thought and then startled the prince by sticking her tongue out at him. "Perhaps you should pay more attention, your Highness."

  "Ah, I apologize. I've forgotten myself and come dangerously close to teasing you!" The prince laughed, thoroughly embarrassed with his own actions. "Forgive my impropriety, professor. I was merely caught off guard. I've never seen you look so happy before. It's downright mesmerizing."

  "I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you. I'll try harder to smile for you. For the class." 

  "Oh! What are we doing?! We must hurry and share the good news with Seteth!" Dimitri exclaimed, flustered that he had allowed himself to get so very sidetracked. "We haven't a moment to lose, make haste!"

  …

  He threw Byleth bodily, watching in barely-concealed awe as she arced through the air to land gracefully on her feet. She rushed him and Dimitri easily knocked her blade aside with his lance. But she didn't stop like he anticipated. Instead, she let her sword go and slammed her whole body into his.

  Dimitri staggered, only to discover her boot behind his own. Byleth hooked his ankle and they both went down with a mighty crash! . Dimitri coughed, the wind knocked out of him by a combination of the impact and his armor.

  A wooden blade slid beneath his chin.

  "Do you yield?" 

  Of course. Byleth fought like a mercenary. She used every resource she had at her disposal, not just her sword. She had never managed to get the upper hand and floor him though, that was new.

  "Never." The blond man panted grimly. "You'll have to kill me." 

  She leaned in closer as she started to laugh and that was when Dimitri noticed that her breast bindings must have come undone during combat. He froze, his gauntlets digging into the sand beneath him. Her clothes were a mess from their sparring, as was her armor. He could look down the tunic beneath her mail with ease. 

  Numerous nights of his youth at the Officer's Academy had been spent engaging in hands-on musings about his dear professor's body. Back then, Dimitri had pragmatically chalked it up to a combination of his overblown strength and pubescent hysteria. 

  He currently had no such explanation for why he was so fixated on the press of his former professor's unfettered bosom against his breastplate. 

  " ...Highness? Your Highness? Are you alright?" She was speaking to him.

  She was speaking to him . Dimitri jerked his face up, certain he was bright red. Byleth's expression bordered on concerned, the training sword discarded off to the side as she hovered over him. 

  "Did you hit your head? I know all my weight landed on you." She continued worriedly.

  "Ah, yes. Just a little rattled. Apologies." Dimitri tried to play it off, mustering up a weak chuckle. She sat back on his hips, seeming satisfied with his response. Dimitri's breath hitched in his throat at the subsequent pressure on his codpiece.

  "I didn't think I'd knock you over!" Byleth cheered, raising her arms over her head in victory. 

  Dimitri closed his eye, his fingers scrabbling pitifully in the sand until they closed upon the haft of his sparring lance. He swung the lance as if he was going to break every rib she had, but at the last moment he ground to a halt. The shaft of the lance tapped her ribs and Dimitri seized a handful of her chainmail, dragging her down. "Checkmate, Professor." He breathed, flipping his lance so the padded blade was poised to punch into the base of her spine. 

  Byleth squeaked, wriggling against his body and managing free up one of her arms. "Not so fast!" She exclaimed, her eyes still alight with mirth. "I've got my magic, after all." Her open hand glowed with power directly beside his remaining eye.

  "True enough." Dimitri allowed. "You are indeed versatile, Professor." Having her this close was intolerable , yet he kept his black gauntlet tightly fisted in her loose mail shirt.

  "I celebrated my victory too early. I'll do better next time." She promised. 

  "See that you do. We cannot lose you." Dimitri replied curtly. "On my end, of course, I'll have to be more wary of mercenary footwork."

  "Yes, my fancy footwork has been the downfall of many foes!" Byleth said proudly, "You could say it... brings them to their knees ."

  Dimitri couldn't help the bark of exasperated laughter he let out, which set off her own giggles. "Goddess, that's an awful one. You need to stop spending time with Alois." 

  "What?! His puns are great, I won't hear anything else on the matter." The professor scolded, still snickering as she got to her feet and dusted off her hosiery. She extended a hand and Dimitri accepted without thought, allowing himself to be hauled upright. "Oh, I'm sorry. We got your armor all sandy."

  "It's quite alright. It was due for a cleaning anyways." Dimitri assured her, brushing some of the grime off his cuisses. "Perhaps it is concerning for me to think this way, but I no longer fear an attack from every side. Thus, I can remove and clean my armor relatively peacefully." Thanks to you . She smiled up at him and Dimitri caught himself just as he began leaning in. He flinched, breaking eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Er, be certain to rest your shoulder. We may have undone some of your healing." 

  The prince left with a haste that was probably unbecoming of a gentleman, his long legs taking the steps to the second floor dormitory two at a time. He somehow, somehow managed to reach his room without incident or interruption, a rarity in and of itself. Normally he couldn't so much as attempt to move from point A to point B before Gilbert or Dedue descended upon him.

  Dimitri locked his door behind him, leaning back against it and covering his face with his hands. His body felt like it was on fire; nerve endings alight with sensations he had long believed were dead.

  He ached and it certainly wasn't from exertion. The pit of his stomach tangled in knots when he thought of their sparring, of Byleth sweaty and smiling down at him like he was the best thing she had ever seen. 

  Goddess , he was such a sinner. It made him want to put his hands on her. All over her. Repeatedly. Unclothed .

  Dimitri bit down on his index knuckle, teeth meeting armor with a dull click . It had been over five years since he had even deigned to think of such things. He was trembling, he realized dimly. His hands were clumsy and suddenly unfamiliar with the buckles and pins on his armor, as though it was the first time he had attempted to undo them. 

  This frantic sensation in his blood, while half-forgotten, was not new. Rather, it recalled to clarity memories of lying sleepless in this very room, working himself into a proverbial lather. The tension he suffered from in his younger years was unbearable at times, and he had sought any way to relieve it if his grueling training failed to exhaust him. 

  Now here he was, a fully-grown man floundering to tear himself out of his armor that he might surrender to his libidinous urges once again. Dimitri couldn't even muster up the will to feel shame at what he was about to do. All he could think about was her healing him, smiling at him, nearly dying for him , her shouting his name and pursuing him when he stormed out...

  Dimitri worked the laces on his placket loose and sloppily licked his palm. Goddess , he was a sinner and a fool.

  …

  "Wait. Do you hear that?" Byleth asked just before they reached the main hall. Her hand left his own and Dimitri mourned the loss before he could stop himself.

  He paused, his brow furrowed. "Hear what? Everyone in the hall?" 

  "No no, not that. I hear...something else." She turned and ducked into the stairwell, beckoning hurriedly for Dimitri to follow her. "Listen."

  Dimitri obliged gamely, cocking his head and straining to ignore the dull roar from the ballgoers. After a moment, he did hear something. "Is that...singing?" He whispered. Byleth nodded, already halfway to the second floor. 

  Dimitri followed behind, feeling...odd. The song was haunting in its melody, familiar and yet not. He knew that his mother had died of the plague too soon after he was born for him to have any true memory of her, but the lonely sound echoing in the stairwell made him wonder if there was something important he was forgetting. Something precious, lost to time itself. Maybe he wasn't even the one who had forgotten it, but he still longed to recall what it was. 

  When they reached the last landing before the third floor, Byleth motioned for him to stay put while she went on ahead. Dimitri watched her go, highly entertained by the way she slunk up the stairs on all fours as though she were a cat.

  She moved out of sight and the prince waited anxiously, all the while hearing that song lilt through the air. 

  When Professor Byleth returned mere moments later, she sat on the bottom step at the landing and patted it, as if encouraging Dimitri to take a seat. "I'd like to listen a little while longer. Care to join me?" 

  The prince hiked up his parade breeches and sat one step above her own, gesturing to his lengthy legs when she raised an eyebrow. "Who is singing, Professor?" He queried.

  "It's Lady Rhea." Byleth murmured. She looked strangely dreamy, shifting over to lean against his leg. "She's on the Star Terrace."

  Dimitri hummed in acknowledgment, not minding in the slightest that he was being reduced to a piece of furniture. Best that he steal every carefree moment he could.

  He could not distinguish any words in the song if they existed. Rhea's voice was exquisite; It was as if she sung to the Goddess herself. Dimitri started nodding off despite his best efforts, body and mind soothed by the gentle melody. 

  The notion struck him that this was as close to truly pious as he had ever felt in all his years. Dimitri was not a man of prayerful reflection. Despite all of Ferdinand's enthusiasm about nobility leading the masses in worship of the Goddess, she always seemed so far away when Dimitri bowed his head. 

  But here of all places, sprawled out on well-worn carpeted steps with his dear professor slouched against his shin, Rhea's song drifting ethereally through the air...Dimitri caught himself fancying that the Goddess was close enough to reach out and touch.

  Byleth finally yawned widely, rubbing her eyes. "Suddenly I am exhausted. We really must retire." She mumbled. 

  "I agree. You have had quite a night of it." Dimitri got to his feet and stretched languidly, then offered her his hand. "May I walk you to your quarters, Professor?"

  ...

  Edelgard lay crumpled before them, the purple miasma of foul magics dissipating from her form. Dimitri hesitated, Areadbhar hanging loosely from his hand. "El." He rasped, voice destroyed from their pitched battle. 

  She looked up, her eyes meeting his own. There was no fear in those eyes even as the prince slowly advanced, only calm indifference. 

  He held out his hand. "El, please . It's not too late." He implored, "I would see that strong future you wish for, joined with my own to make all of Fódlan a better place." Edelgard smiled tiredly up at him, one of her hands sliding behind her back while the other stretched to reach him.

  Dimitri was too close to avoid the dagger she threw. He could barely find the strength to lift Areadbhar as it was, gracelessly shoving the point of his lance into her gut as her dagger penetrated his chest. There was a moment where the two of them simply stared at each other.

  Then, the Emperor slumped forward. It would seem that the dagger Dimitri had gifted her so long ago had failed to cut her a path in the end. The King grunted in pain as he took hold of the hilt, jerking the blade free and letting it fall where it may.

  The knife hit the ground with a hollow clang! , the sound reverberating sharply in the stillness. Dimitri heard motion behind him and he struggled to free Areadbhar before he was attacked again. 

  A familiar head of pastel green hair was ducking beneath his arm before he could finish the motion. The young man sagged into her, releasing his family Relic. "My King." Byleth said softly, reverently, a hand pressed to his breastplate to steady him. 

  Dimitri groaned, inhaling deeply and staring upwards in a vain attempt to fend off his tears. Edelgard was dead. After years upon years of torment, after piling up corpses and falling prey to his darkest desires, he had still emerged victorious. 

  He placed a shower of kisses upon the crown of Byleth's head, half-delirious with a combination of sorrow and joy. "We've done it. Byleth, we've done it." He breathed. Tears began to dampen her hair. "By the grace of the Goddess, we have done it."

  Byleth just held him silently, letting him sob. Everyone he had lost, all the souls that haunted him; Dimitri finally released the burden of responsibility and grieved for them properly. He mourned his stepmother, Glenn, his father, every life lost in the tragedy of Duscur. Even Edelgard found her way into his sorrow. 

  He mourned them, and then he let them go. 

  Dimitri crouched stiffly beside Edelgard's body and reached out, closing her eyes. "Be at peace, El." He whispered, his face damp with tears.

  Byleth's hand rested on his shoulder. She was clearly exhausted, the normal rush of warmth from her healing barely a flicker. Still, it was sufficient to patch the wound left from Edelgard's final attack. "Would you like to pray for her?" 

  Dimitri bowed his head. "I have not prayed in many years, Professor." He rasped. "Not since before the Tragedy. I...I have always been far from the Goddess, especially for a noble of such high breeding."

  "I'll guide you." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm no old hand, but I sat through enough of Seteth's lectures to know the gist. We can do it together."

  Dimitri covered her hand on his shoulder, nodding mutely. 

  Together .

  …

  Between his official coronation, Byleth's acceptance of the archbishop position, and the preparations to begin rebuilding the new Fódlan, Dimitri went months without seeing his dear professor or classmates. Many letters were exchanged, formal and informal alike finding their way to his desk.

  Dimitri was particularly amused to find out that Seteth had proposed to Ingrid mid-battle, the wyvern knight apparently shouting a declaration of eternal love and faithfulness while lance-deep in a foe. 

  Flayn had seen the whole thing, her recounting a little more embellished than Seteth's dry report. If Dimitri was to believe her claims, lily petals had cascaded from the Goddess herself to swirl around the two lovers on the battlefield. The wild tale made him smile, even while he felt a pang of jealousy. That Seteth and Ingrid could find time for love even in the chaos of war…

  Byleth was slated to attend a planning forum held at the castle later that month. The former Alliance leaders had all agreed to meet in the Fhirdiad palace and go over the terms of the amicable Alliance annexation. Dimitri was looking forward to it, even though he loathed gatherings like this. Too much nattering on, trying to soothe ruffled feathers while outside his kingdom was barely held together with a wish and a prayer. He understood the importance , of course. His training had never been lax in any area. He knew exactly why he needed to do this. 

  If he was being honest with himself, he had called for this meeting with selfish reasons in mind. As the head of the Church of Seiros, Byleth was duty-bound be present at certain events to ensure stability and fairness. Dimitri knew that there was no other way to inconspicuously tear her from her current mountain of responsibilities as archbishop. He felt guilty, but at the same time he knew he couldn't say what he needed to say if he was confined to a letter, if only because it could be intercepted or stolen far too easily. Dimitri needed to see her. He needed to have those warm, calloused hands in his own when he finally …

  Well, he was getting ahead of things again.

  The ring sat in its tiny little box inside his boudoir for months. Dimitri had happened across it while going through all the things Cornelia had pilfered from his father's belongings. The prince-turned-king had no real eye for baubles or quality, but he felt as though he was familiar with the piece and had called upon Rodrigue to verify the legitimacy of his faded memory. Instead of being a visit solely dedicated to horseback rides, appraisal and drinking tea, Lord Fraldarius had surprised him by getting misty-eyed. 

  "I wish your father could see this. See you , Dimitri." Rodrigue had held the ring delicately between two white-gloved fingers, letting it catch the light just so. "For all the darkness of your past, your future is remarkably bright." He had smiled fondly up at Dimitri, his eyes clouded with memories. "It was your birth mother's, given to her by your father. An heirloom of the royal family. I'm certain your professor will love it."

  …

  The tables were ridiculously long when they were all lined up in a row as one massive buffet in the ballroom. Tradition dictated the placement, demanding that the king be at the high end of the table and removed from his guests. Dimitri stroked his chin, then sighed and moved one of the servants aside. "We are not doing this." He said firmly, hoisting the last table overhead and heading towards the dais.

  "Your Majesty please! " The servant floundered after him, helpless to halt the king's forward motion. 

  Dimitri moved the tables up and closer together, ending with something a bit more square versus the long rectangle they had been. "We will need different tablecloths…" he mused, staring at the polished wood. An idea struck him and he quickly turned to the servant who had been hovering nearby. "Go to the seamstress who is on the corner by the apothecary. Tell her we need-" The king paused, using his arms to measure the table length. "-three yards times...er, twelve tables." Due to his lone eye, his depth perception had taken a bit of a nosedive. Counting stationary objects was always an interesting process. "All different colors, hemmed. I have no preference for material. I understand that we are recovering. Reward her handsomely for the expediency of her work." 

  Once the servant had departed, Dimitri set to loosely arranging the chairs with the assistance of two other maids. He knew it was unbecoming for the king to be performing such mundane tasks, but he also did not care one jot about the opinions of others.

  Preparations were in full swing. Dedue was slated to arrive tomorrow with the freshly-titled Archbishop Byleth, as were the former leaders of the Alliance. Numerous of his old classmates were amongst the ranks; the new Dukes of Gloucester and Aegir in particular were bound to be wildly entertaining. Dimitri made a mental note to seat them beside each other.

  He had sent Dedue to escort Byleth for a reason. Though their primary enemy was gone, Fódlan was far from sorted. Dimitri knew that the man from Duscur would fight tooth and nail to secure their former professor's safety, should the need arise. Whether brigands, bandits or fiendish mages, he put all his faith in his loyal vassal. It was all he could do, really. It pained Dimitri immensely that he couldn't go to fetch her himself, but there was no justification for such casual endangerment of the last surviving member of House Blaiddyd. 

  He feared he might slide into depression again if he wasn't allowed to wander for much longer. Though his self-imposed isolation had been grim and agonizing to survive, he found himself longing for the freedom he had felt while he haunted the highways. Now it was always, " your Majesty we must go with you ," or " you cannot cavort about the countryside unsupervised ." A truly terrible fate. 

  Rodrigue had only been able to visit him that one time in the span since they had defeated Edelgard, but the dark-haired man had taken the new king out for a lengthy, grueling horseback ride. The Lord Fraldarius always seemed to understand Dimitri, with or without words. 

  …

  "We had to fix the sections of wall destroyed during the riots, but with the help of House Riegan's masons it was done in no time." Dedue continued pointing out the repairs that had been made, Byleth following along gleefully. It had been weeks since she was able to leave the monastery for this long. She almost felt guilty about leaving all the paperwork behind.

  Almost.

  When she had asked to enter the city on foot sans her entourage, Dedue complied without question. The two of them meandered in relative anonymity, Dedue giving her a tour of sorts as they went. 

  A manservant wearing the King's livery caught Byleth's attention and she watched curiously as he struggled to carry an armful of what appeared to be different types of cloth. "Dedue, that man…" Byleth trailed off, leaving Dedue's side and rushing forward to catch the cloth that slipped from the servant's grasp.

  "Oh! Thank you miss, I was certain I would sully them." The man said, throwing her a grateful grin over the top of the bolts still in his arms. 

  "It was no trouble, can I help carry some of these for you? I'm on my way to the palace myself as it is."

  "Ah, you must be one of the new scullery maids!" The man exclaimed, seeming relieved that she wanted to help. Byleth barely kept from laughing aloud, thanking the Goddess that her traveling attire was far less ornate than anyone would expect from an archbishop. "I know his Majesty put out a call for more positions, what with the big meet involving the Alliance folks and all." 

  "I imagine it's been quite the storm of preparations." Byleth allowed, carefully transferring half the cloth bolts to her own arms.

  "Your imagination serves you well. And his Majesty, bless him, is not a hands-off man. He's ordered for new tablecloths, the tables are to be arranged differently...it's strange, and I know people will talk, but I am glad he's taking steps to improve relations with the high and mighty." The servant lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Why, I've even heard that the new Archbishop herself will be in attendance to oversee the rulings! Can you believe it?" 

  "We live in exciting times." Byleth agreed.

  Dedue appeared out of the marketplace crowds beside her, looking a little annoyed. "Your Grace, please do not wander off." He chastised. "His Majesty would not forgive me if something were to happen to you, especially on his own doorstep."

  "I understand. I apologize, I assumed you saw me when I ran ahead."

  The servant beside her started at Dedue's voice, struggling to bow even with his arms full. "Knight-Captain Dedue! You've returned!" Dedue simply nodded as the rest of what he had said seemed to catch up with the other man. "Wait, did you just call her your Grace ? But I thought that..." He trailed off, going pale. "Oh Goddess, are you-?! "

  Byleth put a finger to her lips and gave the man a wink.

  …

  Dimitri couldn't stop pacing . Back and forth, back and forth, he worried he would wear a track in the ballroom marble. Byleth's entourage had arrived hours ago with the news that the Archbishop and Dedue had gone for a bit of a jaunt around Fhirdiad. 

  Which was entirely acceptable, of course. Absolutely. No doubt she wished to see how the people fared, how the rebuilding was coming. 

  Dimitri sighed heavily. At this rate, the servant would be back with the new tablecloths by the time she-

  The door at the opposite end of the ballroom was pushed open and Dedue strode in, moving to hold the door for the two people following him. One of them was the manservant who had been sent to get the tablecloths he had commissioned the day before, and the other…

  Dimitri realized abruptly that he was not prepared for this. 

  When folk spoke of absence making the heart grow fonder, he had thought they were simply waxing poetic. But seeing her again made him want to do something ridiculous .

  Like sprinting clear across the ballroom in a highly undignified manner ( Dedue hurried to take the bolts of cloth she was holding ), watching her face light up in excitement as he went. 

  Like picking her up and spinning her around, a deep laugh finding its way out of him at the sound of her own peals of mirth. 

  Like hugging her tightly after the fact, hearing her murmur in his ear that she had missed him. 

  Dimitri rested his forehead against hers and held her for longer than was appropriate, especially if all he was doing was greeting a dear friend. But she made no move to leave his embrace, a fact that stirred hope within him. 

  Dedue finally cleared his throat with an awkward grunt. "Your Majesty?"

  "Thank you for getting her here safely, Dedue." Dimitri said sincerely.

  "Of course, your Majesty."

  "We brought your tablecloths!" Byleth added brightly. "Where would you like them?" She was wearing the Blue Lion brooch again, the one that Dimitri and his classmates had gifted to her all those years ago. The sight filled him with a strange pride.

  "Ah! Yes, of course. We have the tables already prepared, we're making it a bit more personable this time." Dimitri explained, gladly accepting the fabric. "I'd like the blue for my own table, naturally!"

  …

  The meetings began midmorning the following day and lasted into the noon of the day after. Much was said. Grievances were aired among the lords, hatchets buried and a multitude of trade agreements mingled with fealty declarations exchanged hands and signatures. It all went relatively smoothly, thanks to Byleth's level-headed presence and Dimitri's own willingness to compromise for the sake of a better future. 

  It certainly helped that before Claude had departed on his grand quest, he had entrusted Failnaught to the church. No doubt that was why he had done it in the first place. Claude was not a man to cast resources away on a whim, and Failnaught was the sacred Hero's Relic of his house. A powerful display if nothing else, and a symbol of his faith in the new Archbishop. He must have known the other lords would fall in line, with or without him there to browbeat them.

  The Archbishop sighed heavily once the last carriage had departed down the long drive and out the gates. "I'd say job well done. My father would say that a drink is in order."

  Dimitri chuckled. "It is not even three o'clock, your Grace." 

  She waved him off, "psh, don't call me that. No one is here now."

  "But you insist on calling me Majesty, do you not?"

  "That's a little different-" Byleth began to protest, laughing when he caught her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I mean, you're the King!"

  "Truly? What other wonders have I missed out on?" Dimitri teased. "Next you'll say that I've solidified fractured lands and the people have dubbed me a savior king."

  "Not alone! " Byleth protested, still laughing. "I saw you almost go after Ferdinand. Let the poor boy talk about tea in peace."

  "Between he and Lorenz chattering about new leaves in their trade contracts, I was lucky to get a word in edgewise!" Dimitri groaned. "I don't understand how they keep it all straight. If I have tea that isn't that apple blend, it tastes like nothing but hot water and grass clippings. I suppose my palate isn't nearly as refined as theirs." He shrugged, his smile a little more rueful now.

  Byleth studied his features in the waning light of afternoon, concluding that his hair being pulled back from his face suited him quite well. He looked away when she complimented him, but he seemed very pleased. 

  "Do you really think so? Felix told me I either needed to take it all off, or tie it back. He feared for my ability to see. He did not say that, of course. You know Felix." Dimitri tugged at a shaggy section of blond hair that dangled over his eyepatch. "I'm afraid I am not the best barber. Sharp things close to my face alarm me more than they should." He said with an embarrassed shrug.

  Byleth nodded in understanding, taking his hand once more and twining their fingers together. Deep down, she knew this was improper behavior, but when it came to Dimitri her propriety seemed to retreat.

  Dimitri inhaled sharply, and then his other hand covered her own. "Your Grace," he began, but quickly corrected himself, "I'm sorry, Byleth . I have...there is something I...er. I would like to ask you something, if I may." He stammered. 

  "Of course, your Majesty." Byleth replied quietly. 

  "I...have you ever considered...that is to say, would you ever consider a...um, a-an alliance between the church and the Kingdom of Faerghus?" Dimitri asked all in a rush, his hands trembling around her own.

  Byleth's brow furrowed, the young woman puzzled by his strange behavior. "You already know that you have the full backing of the Church of Seiros, Dimitri."

  Dimitri looked positively frazzled when she used his name instead of his honorifics. "No, not...like that." He muttered awkwardly. "I-I meant...well, I meant…" The blond closed his eye, swearing under his breath as he released Byleth's hand and started groping in the side pocket of his mantle. "I had everything planned, but isn't that how it always is. Blast, where did I put the damn thing?!" He shook his cape aggressively and a small, unassuming box bounced off his sabaton, hitting the floor with a quiet thunk . 

  The king hastily scooped up the box, brushed it off, and then took her hand once more. Byleth's heart leaped into her throat. 

  "I would love to claim that I am doing this for Faerghus or Fódlan and not myself. I would love to be able to say that I only think of my country and what could better it, but that is not the case." Dimitri's tone was incredibly serious. "I am a wretched man, selfish and stubborn and so, so very greedy. And yet to me, you have always been the one who guided me so kindly. My ally through all. My beloved…" he paused thoughtfully, a wistful smile making its way to his face. "Yes. My beloved."

  Having settled on a term, Dimitri pressed the box into her hands. Byleth fumbled with the lid for several tense seconds as he stood there silently. When she finally managed to get it open, Byleth's eyes widened. Nestled in blue velvet that was faded with age, shining in the light of the afternoon sun, was an absolutely stunning ring. 

  She was rendered speechless, just staring down at the open box.

  "Please, I beg of you, say something." Dimitri implored hoarsely. "If you do not wish to accept it, please just tell me. If so, I will face the truth and walk away." He sounded defeated even as he said it, like he assumed she was about to turn him down.

  "No no! That's not it at all, I swear!" Byleth exclaimed frantically, her fingers burrowing into her waistcoat pocket. She pulled out the ring that her father had given her mother and motioned for Dimitri's hand, carefully placing the far less opulent item in his gloved palm. 

  Dimitri went stock-still. Byleth could feel her cheeks flushing even as she smiled at him.

  ...

  "What is this?"

  He felt like a fool even as he asked, of course he knew what it was. It was a well-worn, delicate band of silver. A ring. She was giving him a ring.

  She was giving him a ring .

  His eye flew up to meet her own, and he saw how brightly she was smiling at him. "I love you, Dimitri. Will you marry me?" She asked softly. "And I'm not asking simply to display a unified front from the church and the kingdom, I promise. I am asking because you are the person that I love."

  "I am the...you love me?" Dimitri did not mean to sound quite so incredulous. He was having a difficult time mastering himself; all he wanted to do was shout his joy from the palace rooftops! She loved him. She loved him . She asked him to marry her! "I...yes, yes of course! I accept! Gladly!" He continued, certain he was grinning like a fool. "Let us exchange them, shall we?" 

  "Absolutely! Here, give me mine back for a moment, and then you take yours out of the box-"

  After several seconds of laughter and floundering, the Archbishop and the King managed to properly wear each other's rings. Byleth's ring looked almost ridiculously fragile on Dimitri's hand, the small flower set with pink and purple gems appearing as though it was made of gossamer. 

  Dimitri cared not, holding her hands once again. They were warm, calloused, just as he remembered them from the very first time she had offered him her hand all those years ago. "These strong hands that have saved me countless times…" Dimitri mused, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "Thank you, my beloved. For rescuing me, pulling me back from the brink with your kind, warm hands. May they cling to my own forevermore." He said fervently.

  Her blush went to the roots of her hair. It was immensely becoming on her. "Always." She promised. Her face fell suddenly. "Oh."

  "What is it, my love?" Dimitri asked worriedly.

  "I...Dimitri, I must return to Garreg Mach tomorrow ." She answered, sounding entirely despondent. Dimitri himself felt a rush of sorrow at her words, knowing them to be true and loathing that they were.

  "I know that I cannot keep you from your duties any longer, but…" he trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. "My heart aches at the thought of being apart from you for even a moment, Byleth."

  "As does mine." She replied sadly. An odd look crossed her face and she sucked in a quick breath. "Dimitri, would you want to...erm, spend the night together?"

  The King's mouth went dry. 

  "I-I mean, I understand that you're the ruler of Fódlan and I'm the Archbishop and nothing about our situation is very... normal . But many a couple, er, anticipates their wedding night." Byleth rushed to add. Dimitri noted absently that her neck was as red as her face. "I would know you intimately, if I may be so bold."

  "I do not wish to tarnish you." Dimitri admitted softly. And there it was, laid bare. His largest fear that their engagement might throw her own virtue or morals into question, due to his previous, utterly reprehensible conduct. "If we do something like that before we are publicly wed…"

  "We will have to at some point and people will create rumors regardless of what we do." Byleth pointed out practically. "I am not some clean linen for you to ruin, Dimitri. I am just as battle-worn as yourself."

  "True. In many ways, you are much more of a warrior than I ever could be." Dimitri hesitated, then bowed and murmured, "Will you join me in my chambers this evening, your Grace?"

  …

  He needed to speak with Sylvain. Immediately . 

  Dimitri found his old classmate in the barracks, the redhead enthusiastically trading bawdy stories with his troops as usual. 

  "Captain Gautier! A moment?" Dimitri called, waving off the hasty bows of the men that saw him. 

  "Your Majesty! Just in time, I was about to-"

  Dimitri grabbed Sylvain's arm and started hauling him out of the room. " Now , Sylvain." 

  "Alright, alright! You'll dent my armor if you keep that up!" Sylvain teased as he staggered along. "So aggressive . What's this all about, your Kingliness?"

  Dimitri wordlessly held up his free hand as he ushered Sylvain down the hall. 

  The moment it dawned on Sylvain was obvious. He yanked Dimitri's hand closer, examining the ring the king wore. "I knew it . Ha! Felix, prepare to pay up!" The redhead announced gleefully. 

  "What?! You two knew about this? Who else knows?" Dimitri demanded, thoroughly embarrassed.

  Sylvain waved him off airily. "No one knew , Dimitri. We all just kinda' assumed. I bet that the pro...er, Archbishop would ask first."

  "I hate to be the bearer of bad news-"

  "Whatever, it doesn't matter, congratulations are in order!" Sylvain interrupted, enthusiastically shaking Dimitri's hand. "You're a wanted man now, your Majesty!"

  "Hey wait, who bet on me then?!"

  "Uh, I think just Felix, honestly." Sylvain admitted. "Something about you being 'absolutely pitiful'?"

  "How comforting ." Dimitri growled. "Listen Sylvain, I don't have a lot of time. Evening is drawing near." He clenched his fist over his heart in a rigid salute. "Please teach me everything you know about pleasing a woman."

  "I...oh Goddess, okay. I was not expecting that. I uh. I need a second." Sylvain squeaked, "You want me to do what? "

  "I need you to-"

  "Wait, no, nevermind. I did hear you right. You... really? Already? Oh , she's leaving tomorrow. Yeah no, I get it now." Sylvain cracked his knuckles methodically, his handsome grin bordering on evil. "We are going to go raid the kitchen for some nice, juicy peaches to consume and then I am going to tutor you in the time-honored tradition of eating someone out."

  "What in blazes does eating a peach have to do with...with what I need to know by this evening?" Dimitri questioned the other man, concerned now.

  "Oh don't worry. You'll find out. All I ask in return is that you tell Mercedes something nice about me. And maybe name one of your royal brats after me. After all, I'm instrumental in their creation-!"

  Sylvain barely dodged Dimitri's gauntlet in time.

  …

  "I don't know what I'm doing." Byleth whispered.

  "That, makes two of us." Dimitri pressed their foreheads together, his attention wholly focused on her lips and the way she was biting them. "May I?"

  "May you…?" 

  "May I kiss you?" Dimitri wasn't sure why he was whispering as well. It wasn't as if they had an audience. "I know that is how one normally starts such endeavors, if Sylvain is to be believed."

  Byleth looked shy of all things, nodding jerkily and then closing her eyes. Dimitri exhaled, feeling a bit lightheaded.

  His mouth met hers for the first time and the King found his hands fumbling to grip her shoulders. Her own hands sought purchase on his armored torso and came back wanting, settling for fisting in the luxurious fur ruff of his mantle. They clung to each other almost frantically, Byleth returning his kiss with more and more excitement. Her mouth was hot on his own, their inexperience doing nothing to dampen the intensity of the moment. 

  "I need to get this damn plate off. Help me?" Dimitri muttered against her lips, chuckling when she rapidly started to fidget with the pins at his sides. "So eager!"

  "I want to see you." Byleth replied bluntly, making Dimitri's face flush. "Get it over with. If we're both naked, what else could we be nervous about?" She reasoned.

  Dimitri felt like all the air left his chest at the idea of seeing her wholly naked. "An excellent point." He managed to say, undoing his mantle and draping it over one of the less than comfortable armchairs. Gloves came next, then the process of trying to maneuver his pauldrons accordingly. 

  Byleth, it seemed, had no patience for proper armor removal. She slid the pins in his sides and nearly took Dimitri's nose off before remembering that the gorget needed to be undone prior to the breastplate's own bonds. Dimitri couldn't help his laughter, cupping her face with his newly-bared hands and kissing her once more. "Be still, my beloved. I am not going anywhere."

  They managed to remove the rest of his armor down to his cuisses without incident, and Dimitri settled onto the edge of his bed to wriggle out of his greaves and sabatons. 

  " Blast this armor." He growled to himself as a particularly stubborn latch refused to budge. 

  Byleth's hand landed in the middle of his chest and she gave him a push, leaving the King on his back. Dimitri blinked up at the ceiling, stunned when she climbed on top of him and pinned his wrists to the bed.

  "Your Majesty." Oh, he liked the sound of that. "May I?"

  "May you what?"

  "May I kiss you?"

  " Goddess , you need never ask again." 

  Dimitri could have easily dominated the situation, inexperienced though he was. But he found himself staying there, his wrists flexing in her grip. She wasn't going to hurt him. This was no Fhirdiad jail cell, no sharp shackles and miles upon miles of chain to try and manage his rages. 

  His arms began to tremble from how tightly he was reining himself in. "Byleth," he murmured between their kisses. "Please-"

  "Please?" 

  "Beloved, please ." Dimitri sat up, shifting her into his lap. He buried his face in her neck, pressing kisses to the skin he found as his fingers fought with the buttons of her waistcoat. "Please." 

  She responded by starting to undo the tiny fasteners that ran the length of his padded undertunic. Dimitri had to take his hands off of her to shuck the offending garment, pausing when Byleth slid her index over the scar from Edelgard's dagger. "Does it pain you?" She asked, her eyes betraying her concern.

  "No. All that is left is some numbness in my hand." Dimitri assured her. "I was very fortunate that her aim was off. Had she hit my heart, I doubt I would be enjoying this time with you." Byleth touched her lips to the scar and Dimitri couldn't help his shiver. 

  The rest of their armor and clothing was slowly peeled away, revealing the two to each other in their full glory. Dimitri cursed his pale complexion, the King unable to hide how flustered he was simply due to the flush on his face and chest. 

  Byleth had never looked more like a divine being than in that moment, Dimitri decided. "You are perfect." The blond man sighed, "I almost fear to touch you. If this is nothing but a dream…"

  Byleth's hand rested on his stomach. "Do you not wish to touch me?"

  " Goddess , I have longed to touch you like this for so long." Dimitri said sheepishly. "Longer than I should admit." His hand laced with her own, brushing their joined thumbs over one of her breasts. "As you can see, I've done quite a bit of thinking on the subject." He breathed.

  Her fingers traipsed experimentally over the head of his cock and Dimitri exhaled sharply. "What does it feel like?" She asked curiously. 

  "It's...I am not certain on how to describe it." Dimitri wasn't expecting to be the teacher this evening. "A strange, primal heat. It tingles and aches." 

  She straddled his hips, her entire focus on his engorged arousal. Dimitri had never been the subject of such study and he found it incredibly difficult to hold still while she ran her fingers over his body. "This is supposed to fit inside me?" 

  Dimitri couldn't hold back his groan. " Yes . Eventually. Hopefully."

  Byleth raised herself up on her knees, a hand questing between her legs. Dimitri wanted to scream, settling for shakily following her fingers. She was hot , the slick he had heard of from Sylvain's lascivious recountings coating her most delicate area. She undulated over him, whimpering when Dimitri stroked her gently. 

  "Those sounds, never stop making them." He demanded, falling in love all over again at the blissful expression on her face. "Sylvain taught me a few things today. I believe I will not disappoint."

  She giggled, "I don't know whether to be concerned or-" 

  Dimitri didn't give her the time to finish voicing her misgivings, the King rolling them over and pressing her back to the mattress. "It is wonderful to have you beneath me without a battle raging around us." He murmured, his mouth making a path down her stomach and hips. His fingers trailed across her collarbone, then stopped at the rough patch of scar tissue on her shoulder. "This wound…" He paused, raising his head. 

  She put her hand over his own, the pressure light but steady. "I would do it again in a heartbeat." Byleth assured him.

  " Please , do not." Dimitri implored desperately. "I cannot lose you again." Her knees framed his head as he sank lower still, "I will not lose you, my beloved." Her body quivered. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you." He soothed, vaguely uncertain of whether he could actually promise such a thing. Byleth was as untried as he was, and he was so damnably strong... "If I cause you discomfort, tell me."

  With that, Dimitri's shaking hands urged her legs even further apart. Sylvain had mentioned that he might feel odd upon seeing a woman for the first time, really seeing a woman. But all Dimitri felt was a hunger that tormented his body. He longed to sweep her off the bed and devour her, settling for tender, nibbling kisses instead.

  She whimpered and her hands were suddenly in his hair, caressing the back of his head fitfully. "Oh, please- " 

  Her taste flooded his tongue in a heady rush, spurring him on to messily conquer her with his mouth. Dimitri knew he had no real technique , a single afternoon of licking and slurping produce with Sylvain would not be enough to grant him mastery. But Byleth did not appear to be overly troubled by his lack of experience, her fingers knitting against his scalp helplessly. 

  She was so wet he could feel it dripping down his chin, the knowledge that he did that making him ache anew. If he could arouse her so dramatically, perhaps he could satisfy her. Her hips pitched abruptly and Dimitri hungrily pressed his face to her, giving in to his desire to devour her entirely. She was delicious . After years of not being able to taste anything, her arousal was like a healing downpour on the wasteland of his senses.

  Byleth cried out his name and Dimitri flinched, startled. Her legs were shaking, her nails digging into the back of his neck hard enough to break the skin. "Alright?" He managed to ask, actually feeling her pulse underneath his tongue when he lapped slowly at her sensitive skin.

  "Oh Goddess , Dimitri…" Byleth gasped, her eyes wide. 

  "Didn't hurt you, right?"

  "No, no." She waved off his concern, her breaths ragged. 

  Dimitri rested his cheek on her stomach, still worried that he had caused some harm. "Are you certain?"

  " Dimitri ." Byleth huffed, cupping his face. "It did not hurt. I am not in pain. I have never experienced...not with another person, that is."

  "Ah, so you…" Dimitri trailed off, feeling unnecessarily smug. "You honor me, Byleth."

  She groaned, obviously exasperated with his teasing. "I have done my own research, you know." She informed him, rolling her hips up to press against his cock. Dimitri choked, looking down to watch her move.

  "That is...you are very talented." He remarked faintly. "Incredible." 

  "May we attempt?" Byleth's shy request rang in his ears and Dimitri hid his face in her neck, his hips rocking down into the cradle of her thighs. 

  "As much as you can endure, my beloved." He had never thought that he would experience this with someone, much less with the woman that he loved. Dimitri was overwhelmed with emotion, his self-control fraying. "I would prefer that you are on top of me if we are to...attempt."

  "On top? Is that not a bit strange?"

  "If I have you beneath me, I am unsure that I will be able to refrain from bruising you. And if I am too much for you, I would rather that you were able to easily withdraw." Dimitri explained delicately. "I will do my best, of course, but I am unsure of how well I will... manage myself once we are...erm, intertwined." 

  Byleth muffled her laughter with her arm. "You just had your mouth in a place that no one else has ever seen on me, how can you still be so bashful?"

  "I am not -" Dimitri began to sputter, finding himself licking his lips absently to catch her taste again. "I am just...I am simply warning you!"

  "I'm not afraid of you, Dimitri."

  Dimitri shook his head. "I know. I just don't want your bravery to be the reason I damage you. You know how accursedly strong I am."

  "We are simply coupling with each other, not clashing on the battlefield. You will not hurt me. You cannot damage me." Byleth assured him, her eyes beautiful in the dim glow of the candlelight. "You would never do anything to cause me unwarranted harm."

  " Goddess ." Dimitri rasped, the word half-prayer, half-curse. "Permit me, then."

  "You are permitted." 

  "Tell me if I hurt you."

  In reply, Byleth reached down between their bodies and gently wrapped her fingers around his manhood. "I love you." This was a claim, as sure as the sunrise. Dimitri's shoulders snapped taut, his whole form yearning for their joining. 

  "My beloved," he gasped, feeling her graze the head of his cock over her slit. " Please , Byleth." Her fingers guided him safely in and Dimitri finally breached her with a moan. He could not stop the savage snarl that built in his chest upon feeling her wet heat close around his shaft, and he fought to hold himself still. "Are you alright?" He asked raggedly, stroking her cheek.

  Byleth nodded, her expression dazed. 

  "My beloved, are you certain?" Dimitri was unsure what to make of her face, even as his instincts screamed for him to plunge himself deeper, deeper- -His fingers gripped the luxurious sheets beneath them. "Byleth?"

  She crooned to him, closing her eyes and arching her back. Dimitri's breath caught in his throat when she moved, her body accepting more and more of what he had to offer her. 

  "Goddess," The King growled, " yes ." He could do this, he realized suddenly. He could make love to the woman who had his heart and not hurt her. She could enjoy him fearlessly. He shifted his weight over her and cupped her cheek, a tender caress. "Would you like more, my dear professor?" He asked her softly. 

  Byleth's hand covered his own on her cheek, as it had when she had returned to him in the cathedral. 

  "Teach me, my love."

  …

  She woke just as the sun was beginning to pink the horizon. Byleth's body ached sweetly from the night's exertion, making her moan as she stretched.

  Dimitri's heavy arm was slung over her hip, the King still deep in slumber. His fingers twitched fitfully. Byleth carefully rolled over so she could see him and was utterly mesmerized. When he slept, the raw edge of him seemed to smooth ever so slightly. Here, lit only by the soft hue of reluctant dawn, his blond hair fanned out on the pillow, he looked like a sleeping prince from a fairytale. 

  Aside from the numerous love bites that littered his neck and chest, of course. Those gave him a bit of a different look, somewhat less chaste and sterile. Byleth flushed as she realized her own breasts were peppered with similar marks. Neither of them had been particularly subtle in their affections, she supposed, still a little giddy about everything that had transpired.

  Dimitri groaned in his sleep, muttering something and then wrapping her in his arms once more. Her head slotted beneath his chin like it was made to be there and she smiled, closing her eyes. "I love you, Dimitri." She whispered, kissing the underside of his jaw.

  His mouth turned up at the edges and he snuggled her tighter, mumbling more nonsense words in her ear. The sunrise slowly illuminated the room, bathing the two drowsing lovers in a rosy glow. Soon enough, their work would intrude. But for just a moment longer, they ignored responsibilities and titles in favor of basking in the contentment of each other's embrace. 

  The Savior King and the Guardian Of Order .

[pikapeppa]

Sten/f!Mahariel: Asala-ataar

 Chapter 5 of Sten x Yara Mahariel’s ocean adventures is up on AO3!

In which Yara has a nightmare, and Sten introduces the concept of asala-ataar, or ‘soul sickness’. 

~5300 words; read on AO3 instead.

********************

Lethallan.

Yara patted Tamlen’s twisted and rotting face. “It’s all right,” she insisted. “You’ll be all right. You can be a Warden.”

No. Too late for me. Too far gone.

She shook her head vehemently. “Don’t give up. Just drink this, and you can be a Warden like me.” She gave him a cup of blood – her own blood, freshly collected from the pulsing wound in her side that Tamlen had inflicted. 

She held her blood to his lips, but it poured back down over her own hands and into the burning battlements of Ostagar, and Tamlen was gone. 

“Tamlen!” she shouted. “Lethallin, come back!” He couldn’t be far. She would just run along the battlements and climb over the mountain of corpses to find him, and then he could be a Warden too. 

He didn’t need to die. He could be a Grey Warden too.

Boulders and bodies smashed into the crumbling battlements as she ran toward the mirror. She wiped the mirror to clear its hazy surface, but instead of her reflection, she saw his face: skin mottled and stretched over a mouthful of rotting teeth, hairless and ghastly. The only recognizable features were his distinctive green eyes. 

“Tamlen,” she gasped. She slammed her bloody palms against the mirror. “Tamlen, get out of there! I can save you!”

You already did. I’m dead already.

“No,” she snapped. “No, you’re – Alistair, quick, we have to get him out!”

“Alistair is gone,” Alistair said.

She looked at him. He had Jory’s face, but that didn’t matter. “Come on, Alistair, we need to get him out,” she said urgently. “He can be a Warden like us!”

“Alistair is dead,” Jory-faced-Alistair said. “He’s dead where you left him.”

“Stop making jokes, will you?” she yelled. “This is serious!” She slammed her fists on the golem’s huge stone chest, but it was no use: Tamlen was stuck inside the golem’s body, fused inside of it with no escape, and she couldn’t get him out. 

But she had to get him out. She couldn’t just leave him to die. She turned to Morrigan. “Please,” she said. “Please, help me get him out.” 

“Of course, my friend,” she said, and she shoved a dagger deep into her own gut. 

“No!” Yara cried. “Morrigan, stop!” 

The dagger plunged into Morrigan’s belly again, and Tamlen spoke to her from inside the mirror-golem-mirror. I always loved you.

Yara sobbed. He was so close. The corpse-filled swamp was filling up with Morrigan’s blood, and it was lighting on fire everywhere that it touched, and Tamlen was so close, just on the other side of the mirror. “Please,” she begged. “I just wanted to save you.”

I always loved you, lethallan.

“Tamlen, please,” she cried. “Come back! Tamlen!”

“Kadan.”

She flinched and yelped. A hand was grasping her shoulder, and it was pitch-dark. 

“Tamlen!” she blurted. “Where–” She sat up and flailed in the dark, and her fingers found an arm, the arm that was grasping her shoulder: warm skin over hard muscle–

Sten. It was Sten. She was with Sten, and they were in their cabin on the Rivaini ship. 

She forced out a breath and pressed her trembling hands to her face. A moment later, the flickering golden light of the oil lamp leaked through her closed eyelids.

“You had a nightmare,” Sten said. 

She gulped in a shaky breath and looked up at him. He was standing over her, and his face was drawn in a deep frown. 

“Yes,” she rasped. “But it’s – I’m all right now.” Her heart was pounding in her ears, and her hands were still shaking, but if she lay down and breathed quietly, the shaking would stop.  

Sten was gazing silently at her, and she couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze. She briskly wiped her sweaty forehead. “I… you can go back to sleep, Sten. I’m fine, really.” 

“This is not fine,” he said.

She met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“These nightmares,” he said. “You had them at times during our travels. I was not aware that they were this severe.”

She blinked at him quizzically. “The…? Oh. No, those were archdemon nightmares,” she explained. “That was different. Alistair had those too. This was just a normal nightmare.”

“It is not normal to scream in your sleep,” he said flatly.

She gaped at him in horror. She’d been screaming in her sleep?

She scraped her fingers through her hair. “Fenedhis. Sten, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. It won’t…” She faltered. She was about to tell him that it wouldn’t happen again, but how could she promise such a thing when she couldn’t control what she dreamt about?

“What were you dreaming of?” he asked.

Tamlen, she thought. I left him to die. She swallowed hard. “Why do you want to know?”

“Such nightmares can be a sign of illness,” Sten said. “We call it asala-ataar: ‘soul sickness’, in your tongue. It is a common affliction in Seheron.”

She looked at him with fresh worry. “Soul sickness? Is that like being possessed?”

“No. It happens when a constant stream of death and destruction makes a soldier question his purpose in the Qun,” he explained. “Such questioning causes the soldier to struggle with himself, and with this struggle comes suffering. This is asala-ataar.”

She nodded slowly. She could see how that made sense, in a qunari sort of way. “And… and nightmares are a sign of that?”

“For some,” Sten said. “Other soldiers with asala-ataar cannot sleep.”

She nibbled worriedly at the inside of her cheek. Was it possible that she had this asala-ataar?

“What are some other signs?” she asked.

Sten sat down on his bedroll. “They startle easily. They can be quick to anger or to cry. There can be repetitive behaviours, such as scratching or nail-biting. In the worst cases, they lash out and harm their brothers or other innocents.”

Scratching? she thought in dismay. She folded her arms to hide her raw left wrist. “How… if someone has asala-ataar, how do they get better?”

“The first recourse is for your brothers to help you,” Sten replied. “We have a way to divert suffering from the mind into the body, and then to expel it.”

Yara raised her eyebrows. “Really? What way is that?”

“We strike the afflicted soldier repeatedly,” he said. “Usually with a pole or a sturdy stick so as not to harm our own hands.”

Yara eyed him suspiciously. Was he joking? He didn’t look like he was joking. His mouth didn’t have that subtle little twist that meant he was having her on. 

“Wait,” she said slowly. “You… your solution is to hit the sick person with a stick?”

“Or a pole, yes,” he said. 

She stared at him. “How in Mythal’s name does that help?”

He gave her a patient look. “It is as I said: their suffering is diverted from the mind to the body. It helps clear the mind so the soldier can recall their purpose.”

Yara gaped at him. Of all the strange qunari things that Sten had told her, this had to be the absolute strangest. 

She struggled to come up with something to say. “I… don’t think it would help me to be hit with a stick right now,” she finally said. 

He shrugged. “It does not help every soldier with asala-ataar, either. If it does not work, the soldier goes to the tamassrans for help. Many of them do not return to the antaam.” He scratched his chin. “I believe the tamassrans find new roles for them if the sickness progresses to that point.”

Yara nodded thoughtfully. Then she gave him a curious look. “How do you know so much about this? Did you have asala-ataar?”

“No,” he said. “But many of my brothers did. I struck many of them with sticks. You would be surprised how effective it can be.”

 Yara blurted out a little laugh. “That really does surprise me.”

He gave her a faint smile. She smiled back at him, and they sat quietly for a time as she considered his words. Maybe she did have asala-ataar. She was feeling pretty uncertain about her purpose, after all, and she had more than one of the signs that Sten had mentioned: she had nightmares, and she’d been scratching at her skin in her sleep. 

Then something occurred to her. One of the signs that Sten had mentioned was lashing out and harming innocent people. 

That was something that Sten had done. It was what had landed him in that cage in Lothering.

She licked her lips nervously. “Sten… are you sure you’ve never had this illness?”

He raised his eyebrows, so she pressed on. “In… in Lothering. You said you lashed out at that family after your beresaad got killed by darkspawn and you woke up in the barn. Could that have… didn’t that make you question your purpose at all? Did…” She trailed off as she realized how well the description of asala-ataar fit with Sten’s behaviour. Sten had suffered the unexpected loss of his entire squad, then he’d violently killed that family in Lothering. She knew he’d had nightmares; she’d witnessed one of them when they were trapped in the Fade while trying to free the Tower Circle from demons. And from the sounds of it, he’d made himself suffer by letting himself be caged – a sign that he was questioning his purpose, by his own logic.

She studied his face, and a pang of sympathy pulled at her heart; his expression was stonier than usual. “You did, didn't you?” she said softly. “You had soul sickness. That’s really why you attacked that family.”

He grunted. “How could I have soul sickness when I had lost my soul? My sword was gone. I was as good as dead already.”

“But weren’t you suffering in that cage?” she said. She had asked him this yesterday, and he hadn’t really answered.

His frowned deepened. “I was not questioning my purpose. I was attempting to lessen my failure. I had failed the Arishok, and I had failed the Qun. If I had not submitted to that cage, I would have suffered the greatest failing of all: I would have become a Tal-Vashoth. That cage was my only recourse to honour my duty to the Qun.”

She studied him with a painful feeling in her chest. Despite his constant deflection, Yara was certain that Sten must have been suffering during twenty days of captivity with little to no water or food. He’d certainly looked miserable when she’d met him.

“If you were back home and feeling that way, would you have gone to the tamassrans?” she asked.

“It would not have happened if I were home,” he said sharply. Then he pursed his lips. “But… yes. In a hypothetical situation, if I had… behaved that way in Seheron, I would have been sent to the tamassrans for help.” He shot her a wry look. “In case you did not notice, however, there are no tamassrans in Ferelden.”

Yara widened her eyes. “Are you sure about that? I thought I might have spotted one in Orzammar.”

Sten huffed. “Amusing.”

Yara smiled at him, and they fell quiet once more. Then he sighed. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I did have asala-ataar.” He looked her in the eye. “But you fixed that. I will fulfill my mission to the Arishok in less than two weeks, and this is only possible because of you.”

Her belly fluttered with nerves. He was giving her one of those special piercing looks, and her pulse was kicking up again for reasons other than her nightmare. 

She looked away and let out a nervous little laugh. “Don’t give me all the credit. We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t strong in your own right.”

“Your humility is admirable, but I mean what I said,” he said. “I would have died a failure if not for your… strange but effective leadership. You recovered my purpose. If I could do the same for you, I would.”

She met his eye. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate that.”

He nodded, and another calm silence fell between them. Then Sten rested his back against the bed. 

“What do your people do when they suffer ailments of the soul?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I… I don’t know, really. I didn’t know anyone with anything like asala-ataar before my clan – before I left my clan. But when I had nightmares as a child, I talked about it with Ashalle.”

Sten nodded slowly. A minute later, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Do you wish to speak of your nightmares to me?”

She blinked. “Really? You’re willing to do something that bas do?”

“You have done things that my people do,” he said. “You found my asala. Consider this a return of the favour.” Then he shrugged. “Or I could try striking you with a stick.”

She smiled at his deadpan tone. “You’re saying if I don’t tell you about my dream, you’ll beat me up with a stick?”

“Those appear to be your choices at this time,” he replied.

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around her knees. “All right, since you insist. It was…” She ran a hand over her braid. The details were already fuzzy now that she was awake, but the feeling – and the most prominent person – were clear.

She took a deep breath. “Sten, do you remember that time that our camp was attacked by darkspawn? And one of them, um, spoke to me?”

He turned to look at her more fully. “Yes. The clanmate you called Tamlen.”

She nodded. “The dream was about him. I was… trying to save him. He was… I wanted Alistair to help me make him a Warden, but I… I couldn’t. And he kept – he kept saying, um…”

I’ve always loved you, lethallan. That was what dream-Tamlen had said. It was what the real blighted Tamlen had said before he attacked her at their camp. His voice was so hoarse and corrupted, twisting the words and making them ugly despite their intent, and… 

And then he was dead, cut down by Zevran’s throwing knives and Sten’s greatsword, leaving his agonized words of love and apology to dissipate in the air.

Her chest felt tight. She dragged in a breath and rubbed her face, then ran her hands over her hair. “Look, we don’t need to talk about this. We should go back to sleep.”

Sten shifted on the bedroll so he was facing her once more. “You said that talking is how your people clear their minds.”

“It’s… yes, it’s one way,” she said grudgingly.

“But you did not talk about this during our convoluted pursuit of the archdemon over the past year.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t need to. There was no time. Other things were more important.” Furthermore, shunting the pain aside to deal with it later had been working just fine until tonight.

He nodded slowly. “You were focused on your mission. This is understandable. But there is no mission now. It is the middle of the night. There is nothing more important for you to focus on.”

She offered him a weak smile. “You could focus on getting a good night’s sleep. I might beat you tomorrow in our training if you’re not careful.”

He gave her a chiding look. “Speak, kadan. This is the time. I would help you with your soul sickness, as you helped me.”

She sighed and rubbed her face again, then gave him a frank look. “Did you know that I never saw battle before I became a Warden?” 

His eyebrows rose at this, and Yara shrugged ruefully. “I’d never killed anyone before… before all of this. I hunted animals, and I’d wounded a few shems here and there when they tried to attack my clan, but I’d never killed anyone. But the ruin where Tamlen and I…” She paused and took another bracing breath. “I never told you how I became a Warden, did I?”

He shook his head. “You speak little of yourself.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “I could say the same about you.” 

“Hm,” he murmured. “Perhaps it is part of my… charm.”

Yara looked at him in surprise, then laughed at the wry quirk of his eyebrows. “That was almost a flirt!” she said. “Maybe you are learning something from The Rose of Orlais after all.”

Sten huffed. “Tell me how you became a Grey Warden, kadan.”

She smiled at him, then sighed. “All right. I… Tamlen and I were monitoring the forest. Keeping an eye on the perimeter of our camp to make sure no humans were going to sneak up on us. But Tamlen found this… this old ruin. He wanted to explore it. I told him it was a bad idea, but he…” She paused and ran her fingers through her hair. “The only time I ever got into any mischief was when I was with him. Which was… not uncommon, if I’m honest,” she added with a tiny smile. 

Sten nodded an acknowledgement. He was studying her with his usual brand of steady patience, and Yara took another calming breath before going on. “Anyway. We… we went into the ruin, and… I should have known better than to go any deeper, because there were monsters inside. Walking corpses…” A rash of goosebumps spilled down the back of her neck at the memory, and she restlessly shifted her shoulders. “It’s nothing now, compared to the darkspawn — ogres and shrieks and all that. But at the time, it was the most horrible thing I’d ever seen.”

“You were unprepared for your first brush with death,” he said.

“Of course I wasn’t prepared,” she retorted. “I was not prepared at all. I mean, who… no one could – who could be prepared to find dead bodies brought back to life in some old ruin in the woods?”

Sten grunted. “You make a good point.” 

She exhaled heavily. “So we killed the dead bodies. And we kept going deeper into the ruin because… Creators, I don’t know why. I wish — anyway.” She ran a trembling hand over her hair. “And then we found the mirror.”

Sten’s eyebrows rose. “A mirror?”

She nodded. “Yes, a huge ornate mirror. It was… it whispered.” She swallowed hard. “This cold, horrible voice, but I… I wanted to know what it said, and so did Tamlen. But I was… Sten, I was so scared. I told Tamlen we should go back to tell Marethari – our clan leader. But he insisted on touching the mirror.” She dragged in another breath. “He touched it, and something… I don’t know what happened. But when I woke up, I was back with my clan and sick with the Blight, and Tamlen was gone.”

“The Blight took him,” Sten said.

“I know that now,” Yara said, more sharply than she intended. “But at the time, we had no idea what had happened. I went looking for him with Fenarel and Merrill, but we didn’t find him. And when we came back to camp, Duncan was there, and he made me join the Wardens.” She frowned. “Actually, no. It wasn’t him who made me join. It was Marethari. She…” Yara pressed her lips together hard. The agitation in her chest was thrumming more strongly as she spoke about this, and it was starting to feel like a heated pulse behind her eyes and in her ears. 

She scratched her wrist. “Marethari told Duncan to conscript me. She forced me to go with Duncan, and then they left the Brecilian Forest even though they didn’t know what had become of Tamlen.”

Sten nodded. “You were given a new purpose,” he said. “You were sick, and the Wardens helped you. That was good for you.”

Yara stared at him. Had he not been listening at all? “I didn’t want to leave my clan,” she said harshly. “I didn’t want to leave without knowing what happened to Tamlen. I had no choice about it. And I know you think choice doesn’t matter, all right?” she snapped. “I know that. I just… I wasn’t raised that way, Sten. I loved my clan, and I loved Tamlen. He was my brother, just like your brothers in your beresaad. He disappeared, and the clan didn’t bother to look for him. And I had to leave them and follow Duncan to Ostagar that same day.” She hunched her shoulders. “I didn’t even get time to say goodbye to everyone. I just… left. They… they made me leave.” 

She had been so miserable during the entire trek to Ostagar. She’d hidden it from Duncan as best she could, but every morning when she’d woken up, her left wrist was more raw and painful than the day before. She’d eventually started wearing long-sleeved shirts to sleep to prevent her sleeping nails from breaking the skin.

Sten suddenly grasped her left wrist. Startled by his touch, she jolted and looked at him. 

His face was serious, and his grip on her wrist was firm. When he released her, she looked at her wrist. 

It was marked with angry red score lines. Fenedhis, she thought impatiently. She folded her arms defensively across her chest.

Then Sten spoke again. “Are you angry that you are a Grey Warden?”

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “It’s not that. I’m… it is what it is. I’m a Warden now, and that’s just the way it is. And I get why they made me join. If I hadn’t become a Warden, I’d be dead. I’m just…” She tugged restlessly at her braid. “I’m angry about how it happened. It was so sudden, and they just… my clan just cast me off. They cast Tamlen off, too.” She shot Sten a resentful look. “I lost everything that day. Can’t you see that? I lost everything but my life, and I didn’t know how long that was even going to last.”

“You were questioning your purpose,” Sten said.

“Of course I was,” she snapped. “I had a purpose! I was a hunter for my clan! Then that was gone, along with Tamlen and my clan and my whole life.” 

“But you gained a new purpose,” he said. “And you accepted it. You fulfilled your mission.”

“Yes, I did. I finished my mission, all right?” she snapped. “I did my duty and I killed the archdemon, so I should be happy. Is that what you want me to say?”

Sten raised his eyebrows knowingly. “‘Happy’ does not mean the same thing to you and I.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Yara said bitterly. “Because you don’t love anyone.” 

Her cruel words hung heavily between them. Her heartbeat was loud and angry in her ears, but as the silence stretched between them, her anger faded into a horrible wracking guilt.

She sighed and rubbed her face. “Sten, I’m sorry. I’m… I’m really sorry. That was uncalled for. I know you loved your friends in your beresaad. That was… I shouldn’t have said that.”

He nodded an acknowledgement, but his frown was thoughtful rather than angry. To her mild surprise, he changed the subject. “The battle at Ostagar. The one where you and Alistair were the sole survivors,” he said. “That happened the same day you arrived at Ostagar? The same day you became a Warden?”

She nodded cautiously. “That same night, yes.”

“And the next day, you set out to stop the civil war and the Blight,” he said.

She nodded and exhaled heavily. “Everything happened pretty quickly, yes.”

Sten tilted his head and didn’t reply, and Yara watched him nervously. “What are you thinking?” she finally asked.

He continued to study her with a curious frown. “You barely spoke of this before.”

She shrugged and dropped her eyes to her lap. “There was no reason to.”

“It is unusual for you bas to not speak of your pasts,” he said. “The others spoke of their pasts. Alistair would not stop talking about the senior Warden who died at Ostagar.”

“That’s fine,” Yara said. “They can talk about themselves. I don’t mind. I like knowing their stories. But I don’t like to… I just…” She shrugged irritably and waved at herself. “Nobody wants to know about this. Everyone has something horrible going on. It’s bad enough to carry their own problems without carrying mine too.”

“But you carried their problems,” Sten said. “I observed your behaviour during our travels. You and the other bas. You carried their problems. And you carried mine.”

She frowned. “Yes, but that’s… it was my job to help them — to help you with your problems.” She gave him a slightly sarcastic look. “I was the alleged leader, remember?”

“There is nothing ‘alleged’ about it,” Sten said. “You led us, and you did it well. And you carried our problems without complaint. This is what a good leader does.”

She scowled and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “So what’s the problem, then? If I was doing my job well? Isn’t that what qunari think is the most important thing?”

“It is important,” Sten said. “I am simply remarking that it is a heavy weight for a small woman to carry.”

Yara scoffed. “You and this ‘small woman’ stuff. I get it, all right? You think I’m small and weak and that I shouldn’t fight–”

“Parshaara,” Sten interrupted firmly. “I do not think you are weak. You have more strength than men who are twice your size.” He leaned toward her. “But you have asala-ataar, and I do not want to see it break you.”

Yara stared at him, stunned into silence by the look on his face. His expression was so serious and so earnest, and the look in his violet eyes was more sympathetic than she’d expected.

She swallowed hard. Tears were suddenly throbbing in her throat and pounding at the backs of her eyes. She forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Maybe we should try that beating-with-a-stick thing after all,” she quipped.

Sten didn’t smile. He continued to pin her with that steady and penetrating stare that made her feel more exposed and raw than the scratched-up skin on her left wrist. He was just sitting there on the floor gazing silently at her: a big strong wall of muscle with his soft amethyst eyes… 

Yara opened her mouth, and a sob came out. A second later, tears were pouring down her face.

Fenedhis, She hastily wiped her face with the bedsheet, then sobbed again. “S-sorry,” she choked out. “You don’t – I’m sorry. This is– I’m not usually…” She sobbed again, then gave up and buried her face in her arms. 

“Kadan,” Sten said quietly.

She hiccuped and wiped her runny nose on her arm. “Mm?” she mumbled. 

There was a pause before he spoke again. “Sten of the beresaad do not cry,” he said.

She let out a wet little laugh. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”

“I want to help,” Sten replied. “Tell me what your people would do when one is crying.”

She shrugged listlessly and wiped her face. “Hold each other’s hands, I guess,” she muttered. “Or hug.”

“Hug?” he said.

She drew another hiccup-y breath. “It’s when two people put their arms around each–”

“I know what a hug is,” Sten said dryly. “I am not an idiot.”

She grimaced. “Sorry.”

Sten shifted slightly on the bedroll. “Hugging is how the tamassrans comfort imekari.”

Yara huffed. “Well, some adults like it too,” she mumbled.

Sten was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up. “I will hug you if this will help.”

Yara gaped at him, then let out an incredulous little laugh. “You’ll hug me? You’ll…” She hiccupped, and more tears rolled down her face. “You’ll actually h-hug…?” She broke off again; she was crying too hard to talk. 

She hid her face in her knees and clutched her hair, humiliated that Sten was seeing her like this. A moment later, the mattress shifted as his weight settled beside her. 

“Come, kadan,” he said, and he squeezed her shoulder. 

She sobbed again, then pushed the blankets off of her legs and shuffled toward him on the bed. He draped his arm around her, and the next thing she knew, she was curled up in Sten’s lap and bawling against his bare chest. 

His thickly muscled arms encircled her in a somewhat awkward embrace, and Yara sobbed even harder and pressed her face against his chest. He was so warm and sturdy and big, and he smelled like the sweetness of sleep and a faint hint of sweat, and she couldn't remember the last time she had felt this safe. 

She clutched his arm and sobbed unabashedly. By the time her tears had died down to the odd weak hiccup, she felt both emptier and more relaxed than she had in months. 

She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. She was completely exhausted. Her head was aching and her eyes felt grossly swollen, and she couldn’t imagine that she looked at all attractive. Then she berated herself for even worrying about being attractive to Sten, given the situation.

“Is your mind clear?” Sten asked quietly. 

She sniffed hard and nodded. “Yes,” she murmured. “I feel much better now.” 

Sten didn’t reply, and Yara simply breathed and savoured the warm wall of his chest and the solid comfort of his arms around her. Some time later – she wasn’t sure how long exactly – he spoke again. “Should I release you?” 

She took a deep breath. She should probably say yes. She could tell from his slightly stiff posture that hugging wasn’t natural to him, and she really was feeling much better than she had all night. She actually felt better now than she had when this entire journey had begun, despite her puffy eyes and the residual ache in her chest. 

In fact, she felt better now than she had in a very, very long time. 

“Can you hug me for a little longer?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“Yes,” he said. His arms tightened slightly, and Yara’s heart fluttered. 

She heaved a heavy, tremulous sigh, then pressed her cheek more snugly against his chest. “Thank you, Sten,” she whispered.

“You are welcome, kadan,” he replied.

She smiled faintly. A few minutes later, lulled by exhaustion and the safety of Sten’s embrace, Yara fell asleep. 

[stevenuniversetanzanite]

The Angel Among Us (Cordelia X reader) Part 7

Last part for this yay! Honestly thought this chapter would be longer. I’ll work on Venable one again soon but it will be easier with this out of the way. God what am I going to do when this is all done? Another series I guess.

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4,  Part 5 , Part 6, Part 7  

Sequel: Fallen Angel

One the first day light was created, the second, sky. One the third day, dry lands and the sea was created, plants blossomed and grew throughout Pangea. The fourth day - the Sun, Moon and stars were created. Sea and sky animals on the fifth and humans and those of the land the next. The seventh was a day of rest and was made a holy day.

Now you might be asking, how the hell was light created if the sun or stars didn’t exist? The answer is- stop thinking this comes from a book written and translated over 100 times, there is bound to be errors. Also, humans weren’t there until the sixth day, so who the hell knows what happened.

Man was crafted in the likeness of the creator which humans named God. Fashioned out of dust, the first man was made. He and many to follow would return to said state after death. A human woman was crafted out of one of the man’s ribs.

Humans were riddled with sin from their creation. Eve, the woman crafted from the man, Adam’s rib wasn’t the first woman created for the man. Another made from the dust to act as Adam’s wife. She refused to lay beneath Adam during sex or let the man exert dominance over her. This wasn’t in god’s plan. When they couldn’t get the first wife back, that’s when God made Eve. She however, sinned to, stealing an apple from the tree of knowledge.

Ten generations passed, and humankind became more corrupt. The land was purged, a rain poured for forty days and nights and the rest were history.

Not everything was destroyed in the rain. Not all of God’s failures could be erased. The conniving snake that tricked Adam and Eve back in the garden lived on. For he was not a snake but the devilish fallen angel casted out of heaven. Along with the snake was the garden of Eden. Now it was hidden way from the world, saved as a memory of the failures of humanity. Only the truest of heart could find it- that or those who know how to find it.

The Sanctuary, humans last hope. Well it was until you got to it.18 months in a plant covered heaven. Hidden behind a waterfall within a mountain. It was like living in ‘Journey to the Centre of The Earth’. Planted in the middle was the tree containing forbidden fruit. This time there was no snake not that you needed one when you were with the child of hell himself.

“You’ve been a loyal ally,” he said as he looked over your shoulder to the tree. The leaves were a luscious green and the apples were a vibrant green. A trunk sat beside the tree; you knew the boy had it brought here before the two of you entered this life-sized terrarium. An ecosystem that had remained untouched for billions of years and would have remained that way if you both weren’t there to disrespect the space. The blonde man you had accompanied, plucked an apple and handed it to you.

The bombs had gone off leaving this land the only place to be left untouched by the nuclear weapons. Ironically, the first place to exist is and will most likely be the last place to contain life. Satan’s kingdom would be crafted on the foundations he recked for humanity. The ‘Sanctuary’ was the perfect place.

As the story goes, one man and one woman take a bite of the forbidden fruit.

“I know how this story goes,” you said, raising the apple to your lips.

“Then you’ll know it wasn’t the snake that made them pay but their God.” Michael had a point. You’d been with him this long, if he wanted to kill you know it would be a waste. There was no one to condemn you for your sins. “You seek answers but refuse to hear the answers. That fruit in your hands contains all the answers in the universe. Anything you need to know is at your fingertips. It’s up to you choose to accept the gift of clarity.”

“And if it changes my outlook on you or myself?”

“Me? Certainly not. But you? I can’t predict.”

You gazed down at the shiny apple. Gripping it in both hands you rip it in half and handed on half to the man.

“Together,” you said. You both ate your respective part of the apple.

“Now, what did you see?”

~~~

An angel- a spiritual being believed to act as an attendant, agent, or messenger of God, conventionally represented in human form with wings and a long rob. Living humans are only known to have witnessed two of the nine types of angels of which the two lowest forms, guardian and archangels, mingle among man. The others had no purpose among mortals.

Your creation happened long after the creation of earth but before the time of Jesus. You were an archangel, responsible for managing life on Earth, including the creation and facilitation of soul contracts, life paths, the spiritual development of souls, order within the natural world etc. You were lowest out of the level for your reputation as replacement of a former angel, Lucifer.

You didn’t understand the importance of your job, why care for these humans? Let them do it themselves. You never witnessed the years of evil all caused by one fallen angel.

You, the 2.0, crafted in his likeness with the removal of his ill-intent. You knew what you were, they didn’t bother hiding that. You knew him to be pure evil, corrupter of God’s plan.

Free will, something you weren’t allowed to have. We were all meant to be subservient to the Lord. He, the morning star, was the first to be cast out of heaven. He was defiant, not agreeing with god. All he would’ve had to do was simply said “I sinned, I submit, please forgive me,” and the matter would’ve been resolved. But he was too arrogant, feeling too proud to bow down. He used his own logic and blamed God for misguiding him. Why would God give them knowledge if they weren’t meant to use it?

Your life was a self-fulfilling prophecy. It was never yours to begin with.

Human’s didn’t belong in the kingdom of heaven; they didn’t belong at all. Why was the Lord so infatuated with his creation? Human’s fascinated you, the ability to come back from sin and earn their place in the holy kingdom. It wasn’t forced but advised. Sin still existed and you could choose to break the 10 commandments. Choice. You wanted to choose your life not be bound to a memory of someone else and forced through the wrongdoings as if it were prophesied.

You could have been good if someone bothered to explain your questions. Always being brush off to the side caused you to rebel. You can’t do this without any explanation as to why. Archangel Michael brought up your status as replacement constantly but if your ‘predecessor’ was here he wouldn’t speak a word.

“I’ll see you at the end times,” were the last words you said to the angel. The man will have a special role in the end times [“For the Lord Himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so, we will be with the Lord forever. (1 Thessalonians 4:16-1 7)”] Now with knowledge of the end, you didn’t believe that for one second.  

“Catch her! Stop Y/N!” The angles that guarded the gates of heaven shouted as you ran through people’s heaven’s gate crashing and accidentally destroying them in the process. You jumped from room to room, hiding amongst people’s belongings to lose the guards chasing you.

The group zoomed past. You sighed before stepping out of your hideaway. The air was musky, you got the sense you weren’t home anymore. Your powers were unhinged, unable to control them was becoming more dangerous than ever.

Accidentally transmuting into an unknown location was never good.

You’ve stepped into the devil’s den.

You wandered, getting your bearings. It was all too new to you, how where you expected to follow along?

You stumbled into him, the man you were designed after.

You resonated with his actions and logic, maybe because you were him in some way. That’s the problem with the likeness, the blurred line between who you are and who you are seen to be. If he betrayed, then, so would you?

He wasn’t like you expected, rude or demeaning. He was cunning, motivated by ill-intent, but who’s to judge if it’s morally good or bad? Those concepts confused you, bad could be good in another’s eyes.

The man knew who you were exactly, rumours of your creation spread fast in the spirit world. “Sister. I didn’t expect to meet you so soon. I would have prepared for your arrival.” He offered his land to you, to help rule his throne. He had bigger plans for the end times than he let on. He fed into your desire, the same confusion he had experienced at the beginning of his rebellion.

He offered you whatever you could have wanted in order to steal you from the grips of your creator. “I want to understand the purpose of all of this. Why are humans so important? Why are expected to follow subserviently?”  A life of my own.

“Then go, seek out your own answers and when you get bored or don’t like the answers that you find, there’s a place for you here.”

“How do I get there? I don’t have control-” You’d gotten there by mistake, you couldn’t your powers yet. The angels expected you to which is how the ruckus in heaven began.

The former angel chuckled and explained that earth would be a perfect playing ground for you to learn them for yourself. He kindly answered your question, “Think of suddenly being were you want to go and step forward. You’ll be incognito unless you want to be seen. No angel has had long term exposure to humans, who knows the damages it could cause”.

You found yourself amidst a sandstorm. You knew few things destinations on earth, but you knew one that would be a good starting ground… Eden. Sand flew everywhere. You covered your eyes protecting it from the granules flying everywhere.  

Along your journey you find a woman stranded, you called out to her. She sheltered herself with the fabric, she peered up slightly to catch a glimpse at you. Her face was scratched raw in placed due to the environment. You extended your hand out to help her, you noticed the red bloodstain on her clothing. “Are you injured?” you asked. The woman didn’t understand you. Either of you spoke the others language. You sighed, using your index and middle finger and guided her to shut her eyelids. You pulled the woman close before placing a hand on her wound healing her. You sheltered the woman from the storm, extending your wings and wrapping them around her to protect her.

She was your first. Your first living human interaction, friend, lover. It only lasted a couple of weeks before the side effects happened. There was a reason you weren’t meant to be down there for long. Her body broke down in your presence. Each day there was less and less to love. She was your first heartbreak. Your first death.

A day after her death you found Eden. You buried her underneath the tree of knowledge in hopes that her death wasn’t a waste. Countless followed her, all meeting the same fate. You saved women only to cause them more harm. None complained nor blamed you for you had ‘saved them’ in one way or another.

It got to a point you would only show if called upon. You always took a trinket, it could have been the kleptomaniac on you and occasionally, for your favourites, you stole ideas from them, and she ware them when they died. Most of your clothes were from other people including the frame of the glasses you wore at the academy.

Heartbreak, betrayal, lust, Lost. Happiness, unity, fulfilment. Kindness generosity. This is what it’s like to be human. There is no one way to live but through your life, you experience a lot, both positive and negative.

Somehow, in your darkest hour there was light. You managed to befriend a young man; his name long escapes you. He was a descendant of the Salem witches. Up until this point you knew nothing of magic users among the earth. Throughout your years your friendship blossomed. You limited your interactions with the man for his safety. The man became the chancellor (two before Ariel Augustus) as well as taught at the school he attended in his youth. From time to time you haunted the halls. Towards the end of his days, he offered you something to mend your soul.

To truly understand something, you must see it up close, to experience something (by either firsthand or by a secondary source) and to formulate your own ideas on it. You made it clear why you were on earth and though you had understood what it was like, it wasn’t enough.

“To tell you the truth, this may not be the best idea.” A cigarette in hand, you flicked off the ash into a tray nearby. You never said it was going to be the best idea. “You’ve gone in too deep. Someone’s going to get hurt-” You raise your hand cutting him off by their fear of you alone.

“I’d call you a friend,”

“Thank you?”

“I’d hate to see you die too.” You brought your cigarette up to your lips, inhaling the deathly sweet smoke that has and will kill many. “But you treat me as a god and not an equal. I am no different than you. You see, I have to do this. You aren’t the first to confuse me for something better and if I am to truly understand, I must live in your shoes. Submit myself entirely to science.”

“But this can’t be done the way you plan without flaw.”

“So, let there be flaws.” Your friend, the man you’d been with since he was a young man, who dedicated his whole life to you was in disbelief. You were driving yourself into insanity and in turn bring him down with you, for he worshipped you, claiming he had found god reincarnated. But the man was wrong, you were no god.

“And when it’s all done, what of it then?”

“That won’t happen until the end times.”

In your final hours, you sat down with a piece of parchment and a pen. You weren’t sure why he believed they would take you. You gathered he would put in a word with the staff of the establishment that you belonged, whether they believed the man, only time would tell, you thought as you sealed the letter.

An identity spell only lasts until the death of the caster, to ensure it lasts longer as secondary plan was devised. Capsules containing the powered used in the spell could need to be ingested. Once they wear off, related stimuli could jog the memory.

When you awoke from the spell. You stood outside the gates of Miss Robichaux’s, letter in hand anxious for your years to come.

 ~~~

“Did you get the answers you wanted?”

You got answers you sought. You understood their purpose. Humans were playthings for the Gods. A hobby to waste away at. A game gone wrong. A game you had power over. A game you were breaking all the rules for being down here. You weren’t your brother, you weren’t tossed aside, you shouldn’t be down here. Your friends, all those you forgot about. There were too many. You needed to go back to see them. But you can’t, you ran off.

“So, you’re my nephew? You better not start calling me Aunty, I’m too young for that.”

“It’s good to finally meet you, truly.”

You paused for a moment, thinking about how you felt about all of this. Numb? “Same with you, Mickey.”

“You still going with that?”

“Yes, and now you can’t stop me, I’m your aunt-”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Shut up, I’m your boss now- Kidding.” Michael scowled at your comment. “In all honesty though we should get to work on this place. Torch it?”

“Why the rush? We got a year to waste.”

[home-halone]

Weight of the World

AO3 // Being called the Warrior of Light carries a burden no one could ever fully grasp— save for one.

This one’s for the tiny pool of content for Ardbert stans, so here’s my contribution to the ghost bf.

----

As soon as she had the solitude and privacy of her own quarters, Caesia shut the doors behind her and slumped against them for support.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhaled, sinking onto the floor.

Her carbuncle leapt onto her lap and curled up in her arms. She glanced down at him, scratching his ears lightly.

“We’ve really got it going for us now. Twelve fuck me.”

Despite the warmth and kindness shown by the elusive Crystal Exarch, Caesia felt as though she held her breath from the minute she had arrived. She set Crouton aside and attempted to gather herself, but found that her knees buckled underneath her weight. The journey might have left her worse for wear, but it was her mind that wore her down.

Too much had been said too quickly, too casually for her to process. That an eternal nightless sky hangs aloft. That her friends yet live. That she had been designated the savior of a star unknown to her. That the flow of time may or may not be on her side while Eorzea is without its champion. It was in these moments she found herself missing friends she trusted implicitly.

But in the First, she had no one.

Her impulse was to set out and search for the Scions—some of whom had not seen her in five summers. The time she had possibly thought them at death’s door on the Source could not even compare to the twins’ twelvemoon on this shard. And yet Caesia had lost countless nights of sleep all the same. But there was no telling what could happen and how much time would pass if she would stay for a reunion, much less stay to rid the First of its ails.

The cutting tension between the Alliance and the Empire had frayed what little peace could be found in Eorzea. And each passing moment she spent away threatened to sway it in Garlemald’s favor. Everything she held dear could be lost in a war in her absence.

She pulled her knees to her chest. The very thought made her wince.

The entire ordeal had been so draining and disorienting that she had taken everything at face value. Who could even say that the Exarch had been truthful at all? Betrayal was not a foreign concept to her. Would it not be a wiser choice to fight for something she knew to be true? And what if hewere truthful? For someone to reach across time and space to enlist her aid, only for her to spurn his cause. Could she turn away at the expense of people he intended to save? For all her selfishness, she could not make a decision so cruel.

Caesia was roused from her thoughts when Crouton nipped at her blood-red robes. She returned the gesture by crouching down to stroke his fur. Her breath caught in her throat as she closed her eyes. If anyone could see her now, they would not recognize the ineffable Warrior of Light stripped of her confidence.

“I need some air, is all. Go on, get some rest.” She smiled weakly, nudging him in the opposite direction.

The carbuncle bumped his head against her leg a few more times, before retreating to a place out of sight— a location betrayed only by the sound of soft pitter-patter against the tiles.

Caesia finally took notice of the Exarch’s accommodations. Though not the most luxurious, it was perhaps the most inviting and comforting an inn room had ever been for her. A table with food and a flagon of ale prepared beforehand was a welcome kindness. And she needed every bit of kindness she could get.

“At least I get all this space to myself,” She sighed, crossing the room to the windows.

She fumbled with wresting the iron frames open, desperate to be rid of the suffocating thoughts. But with the sight of the swirling, bright “night” sky, the crushing weight in her ribs had not abated.

“Great,” Caesia laughed wryly. She gestured at the sky to no one in particular. “Really can’t catch a break today.”

But before she could pass a second more wallowing in her dilemma, an eerie distorted voice called out from behind her.

Immediately, Caesia whipped around, hand outstretched, arming herself with a spell. ‘Voidsent? Or would it be an Ascian?’

“…You…?” The aether violently swirled and warped into a humanoid form.

She had seen enough that neither seemed to fit the bill, but she could not take the risk. Caesia held her defensive stance until the swirling aether had parted and unveiled a familiar face.

“I know you…” He said, ”You’re the Warrior of Light from the Source!”

Caesia’s arm went slack, and she tilted her head in recognition, her raven hair following in a sweeping movement. It was, after all, a small blessing to find an ally of sorts in trying times.

“…The Warrior of Darkness? So you have made it home.” She scoffed, grinning for the first time since arriving. “Gods, don’t you know how to make an entrance.”

“What?” He seemed alarmed by her response, which in turn, alarmed her.

“…What do you mean ‘what’? Do you not recall, in Dravania—”

“Did you just… You can hear me!?” His eyes grew wide.

“Of course I can hear you, I’m speaking to you aren’t I?” She placed a hand on her hip. It was uncertain where this conversation was heading.

She had always thought he was a bit of an oddball with his unkempt hair, bravado and flair for drama. That had been her first impression of him, despite the dangers he and his friends had posed. Yet in the end, she could not help but empathize with their plight. They too served Hydaelyn as Warriors of Light, and they too wielded a strength and passion that changed the fate of their home. It was for that parallel that she found a softness in her heart.

“Oh, gods, how long has it been…?” He sighed heavily.

And as if suddenly remembering she was still in the room, he lifted his head and met her gaze.

“…Aye…aye, that was what I called myself in your world… The ‘Warrior of Darkness.’”

Caesia sucked the air through her teeth, clicking her tongue. “Yeah, that’s a mouthful. I don’t know if that’s going to cut it for me. I recall your friend calling you Arbert?”

He shook his head sheepishly.

“My real name is Ardbert.”

“Oh, misheard that one, then.”

“No… Not quite. I used an alias in the Source. A daft one, looking back…”

There was a hint of amusement in his voice and Caesia smiled in return.

“Alright, ‘Ardbert’ it is.” She said, seating herself within reach of the basketful of bread, breaking off a piece to snack on.

“And please don’t call me the ‘Warrior of Light.’ You know damn well how exhausting it is to be called that.”

He chuckled. “A fair point. It’s certainly an epithet I’d never asked for.”

“Nor I. Besides, even if you’d chosen it, the ‘Warrior of Darkness’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it either, no.” She said, brandishing the morsel in his direction as a gesture. “’So it’s Ardbert for you, Caesia for me.”

“Caesia, then.” He responded with an uncharacteristic fondness.

The ragged weariness in his voice was not lost on her. She furrowed her brow, as something in the way he spoke resonated with her, despite the lightness it carried. She knew too well the weight of his duty and how it had unfolded. Ardbert cast a long look out the window. He remained in silence, thoughts seemingly elsewhere though his gaze was fixed skyward.

“If you recall my tale, it was my comrades and I who caused the Flood.” He said quietly. “We thought our home doomed. And so we listened to the Ascians— let them guide us to the Source and tried to hasten their godsdamned Ardor.”

“Ah, that’s when you and your lot showed up. I won’t lie, you gave us one hell of a fight.” Caesia took another morsel to her lips.

“Well, I remember when we fell, defeated by you and yours.”

“You’re welcome,” She said, and gave him a bow, comical enough to elicit a half-chuckle.

“…And I remember our audience with Minfilia— how she listened to our pleas and returned our souls to the First.”

“Yes, that was the last I saw you. And here you are, on the First.” Caesia looked right at him, then off to the side. “Say, Ardbert, where is everyone else?”

“The Flood was poised to swallow Norvrandt… Minfilia and my friends, they…” He trailed off and broke eye contact.

It quickly occurred to her that it might not have been the best thing to ask. The heavy silence that followed said as much.

“They… surrendered what little they had left to hold it back. Just faded away.” He said. “Leaving me to bear witness.”

Caesia covered her mouth. Her thoughts turned to Minfilia. She and Urianger had suggested as much, and said as much would happen, but hearing it again after the events had unfolded made it real. She had hoped to find her again, somewhere, somehow perhaps with another audience with Hydaelyn, but that may not— would not— come to pass. Minfilia had faded away. Caesia understood that what had remained of the First— and the survival of those who thrived on it— was their doing. That everything yet existed, was because of them. Then her thoughts turned to Ardbert. She had lost a friend, but he lost four. What could she ever say that would make a difference? She watched him stare at the reminder of all their deeds hanging in the sky. His shoulders were tensed with resignation and the burden of his past. A burden he now carried alone.

He turned back to face her, as though something had occurred to him.

“Caesia, do you know the year? How much time has passed since we caused the Flood?”

Her heart sank. Does he not know?  She knew very little of the First and had few answers, but this was one she wished she did not have. Not when there was a sliver of hope in his voice that things might change. She looked down.

“Uh… a century, give or take.” Then she quickly added, hoping to soften the blow somehow. “At least, that’s what I’d heard.”

“A hundred years…” His voice cracked. “A hundred long years…”

Not one for verbal apologies, she poured him a cup of ale, and set it on the table for him. He had watched her do so, but his expression simply grew more defeated.

“I thought maybe you might need one. I know I do.” She poured herself one as well, and began to down it. Gods help her.

He remained at a distance, watching her drink and no doubt thought about her more somber expression despite her attempts at humor. She surmised as much, knowing her face well, and how easily her emotions were laid bare. He made his way towards his cup, locking eyes with her the entire time. His hand simply passed through the cup of ale.

Caesia’s eyes widened. “You can’t…?”

“No,” He shook his head, staring at his gloved hand.

“My hands find no purchase. My gestures catch no eye. And my pleas, be they whispered or screamed, reach not a single ear…” Ardbert lamented. “I am a shade, cursed to do naught but drift. I feel as if I’ve been walking forever… ”

“For a hundred years… Truly? Without ever interacting with anything or anyone. How have you not lost your sanity?” Words or tact were never her strong suit, but her voice carried her deepest sympathies. The pain she had imagined could never compare to his reality.

“Truthfully, I hardly noticed when my mind and body began to fray at the edges.” He lifted his head and gave her a wry smile. “Then ‘bang’, my senses were sharp again. I felt like a fish being reeled in and before I knew it, I found myself in this room.”

“Oddly enough, that accurately describes my harrowing day and how I’d found myself here.” Caesia shrugged and began to down the cup meant for him, wiping the corners of her mouth.

“But why is it that you can see me?”

“I want to say, ‘Perhaps our destinies are now intertwined.’” She said, batting her lashes. ”but it’s almost certainly because we’re both Warriors of Light. It’s a little tough to think about, given all our connections to each other.”

“I don’t know how you do that, back and forth, all serious and now sarcastic.” He said, gesturing to her. ”What are you even doing here, come to that?”

“In the least amount of words, supposedly, this figure called the Crystal Exarch had been attempting to conjure me out of thin air and successfully pulled me from The Source to the First. If you recall my companions, they too had been pulled here, though purely on accident. He hopes I would fight to preserve what remains of the First. I know naught of his intentions, but…”

“You were summoned to save the First? A waste of time.” Ardbert crossed his arms, and looked at her thoughtfully.

“Not when there are those who yet survive.” She offered.

“No, this world is beyond saving— like those who try to save it. Muddled as my mind may be, I’ve not forgotten that.” He said quietly. “But if fate has brought me to you—“

“Intertwined destinies, baby.” She said, taking another swig.

He paused in the middle of his thoughts, looking at her with a flat expression, while she smiled back.

“But if fate has brought me to you— the one person in this gods forsaken world who can see or hear me— then perhaps there is a reason I endured.”

“Perhaps. I’d like to believe you have a purpose, even if it is tied to me somehow. Because the alternative is, you’re just a ghost haunting my bedroom.” She snorted into her cup.

The thought occurred to him, and he frowned. “…Must you put it that way?”

“Hey, I don’t like it either.” She shrugged. “I’m saying you must have a purpose. Truly. I believe it.”

“If I can find out why I was left behind then maybe… maybe I can bring this journey of mine to an end…”

And it was all he could hope for at this point. For his weary soul to find rest after a century of wandering and bearing the guilt of the Flood. She could not help but feel mournful for their fates, his above the rest, though she had not known them in life.

“You will. I’ll make sure of it.” It was an outlandish promise to a man long gone in a land ravaged by light, but it seemed to be something she could set right. And she felt it to the core of her being.

“Well, I’ll be watching, Caesia.”

“Let me know if you do. At least I’d know it’s you when I feel like I'm being watched.”

He gave her a faint smile and turned to leave.  “Do me a favor. Be careful out there. This world has had its fill of heroes.”

Before she could get another word in, he was gone. She drummed her fingers on the table, staring at the two empty cups for a moment, then refilled one of them halfway.

“Not if I can help it.” She muttered, taking a generous sip. She wondered if she had found clarity and purpose.

[blairlocke]

Anywhere-But-Here:  Amahlia & Johnny, Chapter One

Eyes forward, Amahlia peered through the windshield, raindrops now peppering and traversing the glass.

The deluge was sudden, as if a huge tub of water had just been poured on the KIA Soul, and the car almost seemed to shudder right along with her.  

“Shit...that’s just fucking great.”

She was not going to make it in time.  She needed that damn medicine.  As it was, she could barely think straight to drive, her equilibrium barely hanging on, head spinning as if she’d drank a quart of vodka.  She shouldn’t be operating a motorized vehicle, even on a perfectly sunny day, what with the cold from hell that had nearly annihilated any chance of looking like a team player at her new job.  She could still hear the palpable skepticism in the voice of her new boss.

“Yes, I guess just come in whenever you’re feeling better...perhaps after a nice bubble bath and play date?”

Gawd, Mariah was such a bitch.

And that sounded about par for the course that was her life since meeting Matthew.  She rolled her eyes at even the thought of his name, her mouth forming a sour and unbecoming rainbow.

With sullen resolve, she pushed the car on, the darkness and curtain of rain so thick that she could feel it bearing down.  “Please, please, please.”

The sign was already dark when she crested the final valley and pursuant hill.  “No!  Dammit!”

She was a solitary swearer, the words daggers to be pointed only towards outer space, and mirrors.

An all night pharmacy would have been nice right about now, but it was not meant to be.  That’s what happens when you move away from most signs of life.  No longer was it quite so convenient to get what you might be in need of quickly.  She did not miss much about her big city roots, except that.  And now, back to the woods we go.  Try again tomorrow.  Or perhaps, Margie would be in there and have a heart...well, maybe not a heart, but some sympathy...or at least a fondness for accruing a few more dollars in the cash register.

*****

The time had gotten away from him again.  The bar was due to close an hour ago.  No one had noticed.

“Closing time.”

“You didn’t even call for a last call.”  He blinked, frost settling on the Caribbean blue pools of his eyes, peering at the objector without life.

“Yeah, I did,” he lied pleasantly, slamming down the tip jar in melodious demand, change grinding across the bottom of the galvanized tin.

The patrons groaned, grimaced, and shuffled themselves off of rickety bar-stools and across a grimy floor, once a soft ivory, and now a cleachy peach.

“It’s been a real pleasure.  Take care, old timer.  Never change,” he trailed off as the door croaked to almost closed.

“Fuck--off,” he muttered to the empty room.

He wiped down the counter with a brisk lack of care, then, traipsed towards the door, reaching for the handle to pull it shut, no easy task for the hinges had obviously given up long ago.  Someone pushed on the door in just that moment, and life suddenly flared in his eyes in the guise of anger, and he instantly made the decision to yank it back open in a feral gesture of annoyance.

A gasp from the startled person on the other side, now tumbling forward towards him.  Unsympathetic, he quickly stood back, knob still in hand.  

“We’re closed.”

He would sorely regret not taking the opportunity to cop a cheap feel in the name of preventing her fall, for when the person, evidently a woman, managed to catch herself swiftly, and with expert grace, she rose to her full height, barely over five feet, and fixed him with the most politely cold stare that he had ever been subjected to.

“Thanks,” she said with smoldering and succinct precision, as if she had stabbed a knife into his gut.  “I just needed to use a phone, if that would be at all possible.”

Her eyes were a steely grey, and almost lavender as a flash of lightning lit up the doorway, the lashes framing them plentiful and charcoal black.  “What for?”  His words were out of his mouth before he could think to call them back, and then, he remembered himself, and was glad that they had.  Let her be on the defense.  He wasn’t interested.  She looked far too young for him anyway, by at least a good decade.  Besides, what good was a woman. He took in her shapely legs, clad in black leggings, underneath a fitted tunic.  Well, maybe they had a few uses.  He quickly averted his eyes, grumbling under his breath.  Not for the hottest bang in the universe was he even remotely tempted.

He didn’t wait for her response, just with reserved fury, he made one brisk wave towards the direction of the antique landline telephone at the end of the bar.  It might have been white at some point, its curly cord tangled and gray in spots.  And with that, after a swift glance past her into the parking lot, witnessing no headlights, and not even a car, he shot her only the smallest glance as he locked the door to any other customers that might be out at this ungodly hour in a rainstorm, and then turned his back on her.  He didn’t even wait to hear her approach, he ducked into the back room, mouth tight, his high cheekbones standing out more prominently than usual as his lack of appetite had cost him a few pounds, he disappeared through the grizzled black curtain, that seperated the sparse makeshift office and studio space from the front room.  His bed was half made, black on black on gray, and everything else in the room was relatively neat.  There were only a few dishes, stacked on the floating shelf by the single window in the room.  There was a coffee mug in the sink, a braided rug centering the space, a worn recliner facing a flatscreen TV, the single piece of eye candy in the room.  Free weights hovered by the sliding closet door.  He grabbed for the heaviest one and began his nightly ritual.  

“Thanks for the phone.”  He heard the low pitched, though very feminine voice call through the closed duck-cloth drapery.  There was a hesitation from the voice’s owner.

He paused, casting his eyes at the curtain.

He viewed the partition with a serious and hard look as he stood and pushed it aside.  To her credit, she neither looked perturbed, nor interested in his appearance.  She did look a little relieved, finding her tongue once more.

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into selling me a drink while I wait for the tow truck.”  At the wry set to his mouth, his eerily blond hair longer than usual, a lock slipped forward to cover his raised brow.  “Yeah, I know--closed.” She seemed to catch herself from a sigh, or perhaps an eye-roll.  “It’s just been a really--err, crazy, night.”

He stared dispassionately down at her, her hair so dark and wet that it almost looked seal black.  There were bags under her big lovely unearthly glowing grey eyes, but he decided in that moment that her mouth, pinched with something like pain, or possibly exhaustion, was the most becoming feature about her.  Her lips were full and in the shape of a heart and of a perfect rosy hue.

“What’ll you have?” he requested, after the span of many moments.  The sneer that masked the direction of his thoughts seemed to finally affect her coolness.  She studied him for a moment before glancing back at the bar’s entrance.

“I’m sorry, it’s okay.  No need to impose any more than I already have.  Thanks for the phone.  My cell died.  Like I said, crazy night.”  She said all of this while backing away and quickly picking her way to the door.  “Have a good night,” she called over her shoulder, peeling the door back from its frame.

And with that, the bar was empty again.  The energy that had seemed to charge the air, unbeknownst to him until that moment, lingered for a second, and then dissipated.  A buzz of awareness--of what he was not certain--hung onto him, as if he was braced for something.  He popped the top off of a beer, took a long swig, then a last scathing look at the door, and for the second time that night made his way back over to its flimsy perch to lock up.  Lights out.