savage / savior.

“You can’t.” He turns on his heel, gesturing for Dimitri to follow before the other stuffy nobles come looking for them. “It’s not like you’re able to hide. I would have found you with ease the moment they said you were missing.” 

“And as usual, you’re a bad liar. It’s rude not to bring me along if you’re making an escape attempt.”

@azuredmoon​

King spotted. 

“You better not be sneaking off Dima.”

"A-AND put off all my paperwork?”

JULY. hey guys, just wanted to let you know that's I'm probably taking a SEMI-HIATUS as of now. Classes are in full swing and I’m working on my thesis this year. Because the semester is condensed, there’s so much work everyday that I just have to keep on top of it and take some time off. 

@azuredmoon

Byleth sighed, relaxing her fighting pose as the young prince came charging at her. She easily side stepped him, even managing to trip him as he went past. A moment before his face would meet dirt she gripped his lance and used it to pull him up. 

“What’s the matter Dimitri, attack me,” she said throwing her weapon aside and turning her back to him. The message was clear. 

“You lack focus. You cannot battle your enemy if you’re still battling yourself,” There was no need for her to wait for a reply and so she didn’t. Instead she wordlessly exited the training area and sat on the bench, fully expecting Dimitri to follow suit. “It seems that fight still weighs heavily on your mind,”

She took a sip of water, though given the abysmal work out he gave her, she really didn’t need it. . “On my first day I asked you all to think of what you were fighting for and if it was worth giving your life. Perhaps I was mistaken though. Perhaps I should’ve asked you if it was worth giving someone elses life for,”

She glanced in his direction, eyes staring straight into his own. “Fighting will always be inherently selfish, Dimitri, regardless of your reasoning. If you are unable to accept this fact I suggest you hang up your lance. The battlefield is not for those lacking in resolve”

UPON the professor’s observation, heat rushed to color Dimitri’s cheeks red -- and he was certain it didn’t come from the fever of their training. There was no excuse to give to hide that his clouded mind betrayed his lancework ( and he wasn’t one for excuses to begin with). The prince bowed his head down, quietly ashamed at the fact he was found out -- at the fact the professor’s words ( her harsh wake up call, as he called it ) still weighed heavy on him. 

Dimitri gingerly took the open seat on the bench -- just like Byleth the professor anticipated. He tried not to squirm at the still awkward and unsure tension between them. There was much to navigate about this new working relationship of theirs. By his royal training, Dimitri forced himself to straighten his spine and sit tall -- his hands placed on his lap. 

“I think I’ve known for some time now that fighting would always be inherently selfish...but I liked to pretend it wasn’t so...” The words came out slow from his mouth. As if Dimitri was considering every word but also letting them all spill at the same time. 

“I’m quite bad with delicate matters, professor. I break needles, I break pens -- I break swords and lances too. AH, Felix can attest to that. So I often fear that fighting is all I may ever be good for...I hate to think that I have to try and trick myself into thinking destruction is defense so I can be of some use to my people...”

Dimitri’s properly placed hands suddenly balled into fists and he tried to keep his voice steady. Even -- and with a smile. He fought against himself to not sink and hold his head in his hands.

Ten years.

The weight of a decade had been following Ingrid all day. It had been haunting her, pulling on her legs and shoulders. A letter had even arrived from her father, so perfectly timed to cause her pain.

It it disappointing to see how you have defied his memory. Glenn would not want to life for you, he would have wanted you to be comfortable and taken care of.

The parchment was gripped in Ingrid’s fist as she hurried through the Fhirdiad halls. For some reason, she didn’t want to be seen. She felt like people were going to look at her with pity. The hand-patting kind of superficial sympathy that unspokenly judged her as an unloveable spinster. A broken woman who, clearly, would never be happy. Not truly. Not deeply.

How could any woman in Faerghus be happy when her fiancee died, after all?

With this subconscious itch to avoid anyone looking at her, Ingrid had been quick to duck into the first room she could when she saw some of the other nobles coming down the hallway. She especially didn’t want them to look at her.

Ingrid lurched towards the door, opening it quickly and shutting it just as fast, leaning her back against the carved wood as she did. Dimitri was supposed to be in a meeting right now anyway, he had been scheduled to discuss memorial plans with Sylvain for the next hour–

“Saints!” she yelped when Dimitri lifted his head and spoke. “I… You… Your Majesty, you weren’t supposed to be here–” she blurted.

Ingrid felt embarrassed now. She hadn’t seen Dimitri today, nor Sylvain or Felix or any of her friends. That had been on purpose. She had decided to wear black, out of respect, but that inexplicable heaviness had made her not want to see the people she was closest too. Her breeches and blouse and structured vest were stately for a knight, but the dark palette was obviously because of the day.

The cruel letter from her father fell out of her grip in her surprise and Ingrid scrambled to pick it back up.

“I’m so sorry, I should go, I just… I don’t know, I thought this room would be empty–”

“OH, no, no — please. Stay if you must. I was just working —“ He gestured towards the parchment of paper on his desk as if it would answer the question of his unusual occupation in this room. Instead, Dimitri realized that this might have given rise to more questions than answers. The gestured paper was practically blank save for pen tests ( or him fiddling with nib and pen and hoping it will bring about words and ideas ) or self-evident plans that needed to be added to an event ( ‘ feast ‘ he wrote next to ‘ opening speech ‘ ). “Well,” the king finally conceded, “trying to work anyways…”

Dimitri was about to extend an invitation for Ingrid to stay and work with him as he bent down to help recover whatever it was she had dropped. However, a decided protectiveness over her piece of paper ( as well as her fast reflexes ) pushed her to pick it up for herself. It slipped through Dimitri’s fingers for a moment, and from there he could decipher two things. One — the paper was old and fragile. Perhaps more so with its yellowing color and the pre-existing tatters in the corner. Two — he found a name his friends would now only mention with much caution and care.

It was all falling together now, Dimitri thought. How could he have missed it ? The old letter, the subdued clothes, her sunken green eyes and the fact he had not seen Ingrid for most of the day. ‘ I suppose the mourning started early for her, ‘ he thought, originally with more pity than understanding. However, he soon retracted the statement when he realized he was no better — if not worst. While Ingrid wore her grief, Dimitri pretended his didn’t existed. He pretended that fire and flamecontinued to plague his dreams. He pretended he was prepared to plan this whole event.

“It’s….it’s been so long, hasn’t it ?” He began. He almost tagged it with an off-note ‘ I would have thought a whole war would have soften the memory or take my attention elsewhere’, but decided against it quickly. He had to choose his words carefully. Much like Glenn’s name, this was an ache he couldn’t tread on lightly.

“Shh,”  Byleth rested her hand on his forehead and gently massaged the tensed muscles into relaxing “Worry not. If you do not remember who you are. I will tell you,” As he clung to her Byleth pulled him tighter against herself in response. She still felt so ill equipped to provide comfort. This simple gesture was all she could offer.

“You are strong,” she said gently brushing the overgrown bangs from his face  “and you use that strength to protect everyone you can. Fate cursed you with a body that told you to destroy, but you decided to face the world with the resolve to build instead. You are kind, much too kind for your own good. So much so that at times I thought the weight of it would crush you. You excel at riding horses and lance work and though you had your share of shortcomings you’d face each of them with the intention of growing. I know better than anyone. I watched over you and your classmates for a year,” One after the other, she found herself voicing thoughts she had never spoken aloud. Maybe all this time she’d wanted to tell him. In a way this was as much a revelation for herself as it would be for him,

“Though I was meant to be your teacher….You saved me,” How she wished she could’ve told him those words at his graduation. Him and everyone else.

The days she spent with her Lions came rushing back to her. The days spent reading in the library with them, eating in the mess hall, most importantly, the days she spent with them in the classroom. They were all so happy a little bit ago.  How could so much misfortune have befallen them?

“You are…”  She swallowed. It was only his name , so why did it feel like she was bestowing upon him a great burden? 

He was far from a stranger to misfortune, wasn’t he. Threads of tragedy were sewn into the very fabric of his past and they would not let him go so easily. Perhaps he didn’t even want to let them go.

Byleth was never really one to tell lies, but maybe one. Just this once

She absentmindedly ran her hands through his hair as she gazed into his eyes. “Desperately loved,” she finished.  “There are many who await your return. So make sure to rest,” Rest, young prince. And for once dream of a kinder world for yourself rather than others.

“OH,”  he muttered at the note about being loved. Desperately so. “Oh,” there was something aching familiar about longing for the assurance. Just as there was something foreign about having it. As fingers ( calloused, but decidedly gentle -- careful ) eased the tension on his forehead, he allowed himself to be soothed of pain and comforted of his anxiety. He himself permission to relax his body -- to focus only on leaning into the other’s caresses and trying to track the words she spoke.

 But it what felt was more than anxiety, he thinks. He felt incredibly foolish that he did not know who he was. What kind of person did not know who they were ? And what kind of person would not worry about a lapse of judgment in their own character ?

And so he listened to her -- intently. He attempted to piece together who he may have been and tried to decipher whether he could slip back into such a role so easily. However, something pulsed inside his head occasionally when he thought too hard of it. He tried to imagine it all -- the horses, the lance training, the student work --  but such a life was hard to picture when his body ached and head hurt. He could barely hold himself up, let alone hold a lance in his hand. 

“Is that the truth ? About me ? “ There was skeptism in his voice. The description she gave was vague enough to be anybody. Everyone had their strengths, their shortcomings, and felt like the weight of the world was on their shoulders. Some just wore it more evident than others. Suddenly, he decided against asking her such a question. He decided a beat too late that he’s caused her enough grief with his doubts as much as his lack of recognition. 

The bottle is pressed into his hand and Yuri is barely able to grip it. His vision is going blurry, not good. Blood loss was setting in too much and he almost missed as he poured the bottle into his mouth. Swallowing was even worse, it hurt trying to get it down. His body was threatening to fail on him… the potion might not be enough. It might not take if he passed out and his heartbeat faded away…

Yuri dropped the now empty vulnerary bottle and reached blindly for Dimitri’s arm. He couldn’t tell if he was on target or not, but when he got purchase against something solid, he squeezed with what little strength he had left.

“No healers… bandage… needle, thread–” he muttered. “Left side, ribcage.”

Yuri had given himself stitches before, but he might need Dimitri’s help this time. Someone had to apply pressure and staunch as much bleeding as possible until the vulnerary could numb him up enough.

Yuri look in a hissing breath.

What had happened to him… Oh, what a question, and oh how long an answer it would be. There was hardly time for that now, the simple form would do.

“Knife… lung puncture… Beating too, internal bleeding, I think… stomach maybe.”

That would, hopefully, be enough for Dimitri for the moment. He might not have many more words in him anyway.

“Apply pressure now.”

DIMITRI hovered his hands above Yuri’s, attempting to guide his trembling ones until the bottle reached his lips. And then, Dimitri waited until the Savage Mockingbird downed it empty -- then a little more for the vulnerary to take effect. “Yura --” he tried to call, but decided against it. Instead, Dimitri bit down on his tongue and was careful not to shake as Yuri reached for him for solid support. 

There will be another time for more detailed explanations, he thought. There will be another time for him to waste his energy on that rather than this. ( Dimitri thought twice about that notion: there will be another time -- that is, if Yuri ever decides to give him an explanation at all. It was more like him to leave this incident as a scar. And then use his hands and mouth to pry Dimitri’s attention elsewhere. )

For now, he attended to Yuri’s instructions. Without thinking twice, Dimitri tore a clean piece off of his white sleeve, reasoning that it would be more sanitized than the cloak that dragged through the palace floors. Though, it was quickly clear that as much as the fabric soaked up the blood, it was also staining it a bright and evident red. Dimitri pressed onto Yuri’s ribs -- he pressed hard. However, he was careful enough ( his trembling hands, he blamed ) not to bruise the other. That was the last thing he needed -- to further the injure the man he so cared about. 

( Gods, he hoped his clumsy hands would steady itself just this once )