ALOGIA.

     ❛ … WELL, I’m sure whatever gossip goes around will come back to you either way. Besides, we were just talking about the trouble that you caused in the first place ! ❜

“the shortcomings of a human, even if I had some magic left I doubt it would be enough for anything” all he had left was his one last trick. “no, I could summon another 72 demons, or even 700, none would be like you.” a solitary flower that none could really understand. there’s a certain sadness to that, one he isn’t sure merlin would even appreciate. “oh no, you are a sheep, through and through, just look at yourself.” he gently catches one of merlin’s locks between his fingers “even a wolf would be terrified of you.”

“Nothing at all.” Because in the end that had been the nature of Solomon’s wish; to run from what he was, what he might be, and become this. This man. Was it better? Perhaps. Merlin certainly didn’t know, even after all this time considering. He doubted he ever would, a notion fine enough as hair was claimed.

yes totally

“my knowledge didn’t leave me.” but his magic did, which might as well be the same as tying his hands up, blindfolding him and then telling him to diagnose a human. cheeks quickly darken and he averts his gaze “that is not what I said, you are pretty… but it’s too much of a simple word to describe you.”

“yes well.. true. though I would like to properly check on that theory but you still won’t allow me to do so, right?” what a shame. being a doctor and not being allowed to look after the merlin. “don’t sell yourself short, I said beautiful, not pretty.”

@iuncta​ replied: :)

“you are technically alive and therefor not a caster…” right, good start. he needs to come up with further excuses and denial “you’re also very beautiful.” 

He rises early, as he always does– in the wee hours of the morning before the birds stir, before even the sun sets itself to rise he can be found training, toiling through books, or as is case today huddled in great dining hall with steaming mug between gauntlet clad hands. A tether to reality, warm and homely in this place which was neither of those things to a person who’d given up hope on earnestly having either again.

Duty was a noose, one that would choke him in the end.

But if one knew where to look they might always find a light, and perhaps Dimitri did not search any longer, but Sylvain was a persistent sort. Hard to miss. Forceful in the kindest of ways, and far, far more earnest than many seemed to see. Dimitri supposed that was what masks were for. At least Sylvain’s was more tasteful than his own, or merely hiding something far, far less ugly than his own.

The familiar smell catches him, drawing attention in slow blink as shadow casts eyes meet elder’s who are not so different. A kind gesture– more than he deserved– that tugged at his shattered heart until fractions grated, until he ached with it as food was pushed before him. He feels stinging at corner of eyes until he blinked, until he swallowed thickly and offered a smile which was near painfully earnest.

“A friend should call me ‘Dimitri’,” is the soft tease he offered, incline of head in hope that Sylvain might sit. Might join him. “And a friend would join me in sharing such a gift.” Though he was certain that was not Sylvain’s intent. Even so smile does not leave, awkward tinge casting cheeks a soft pink.

Open kindness was not a thing he truly knew what to do with, not now, not since then. 

@iuncta.

                  “  your  highness .  ”  his  voice  is  still  gentle ,  if  not  a  bit  exasperated .  since  his  arrival  at  the  great  bridge ,  he  has  been  swept  into  the  arms  of  grief ,  of  joy ,  &  most  of  all ─  confusion .  when  did  they  all  get  so  tall ? “  i  assure  you ,  you  have  no  need  to  help  me  so  often .  especially  with  such …  trivial  things .  ”

                  of  which  currently  include :  sweeping  the  shelves  of  choir  books  in  the  crumbling cathedral .  truly ,  a  simple  task  given  by  the  professor ─  if  it  didn ’ t  require  finding  a  chair  to  stand  on ─  that  the  crown  prince  helps  him  with .  (  his  father  would  surely  die  if  he  were  to  find  out  .  )  “  please .  i  am  no  child .  ”

Glenn was no child, nor one who needed the help he knows, but help Dimitri does for all it was to evident exasperation of the elder. “Indeed,” he opted to agree in voice which was as amicable it ever was now vicious snarling had drawn to a close. “You are not.”

                  his  horse  is  skittish ;  josephine  backs  up  at  dimitri ’ s  advance ,  shakes  her  head .  if  it  were  anyone  else ,  sylvain  might  have  paused  to  soothe  her .  but  he  keeps  his  gaze  on  his  opponent ,  lighthearted ,  bitter .  &  the  lance  of  ruin  remains  by  his  side ;  he ’ s  feeling  merciful  today  (  ─ or  maybe  he  doesn ’ t  want  to  fight  dimitri ,  of  all  people  ) ,  he  supposes .

                  (  i  would  have  gladly  walked  with  you ,  sylvain  wants  to  say ,  desperate  to  put  down  his  lance  &  sweep  dimitri  into  a  long  overdue  hug .  to  stand  by  his  friend ,  future  king ;  nothing  would  have  made  him  happier ,  if  they  hadn ’ t  started  this  damn  war .  he  aches  for  his  friend ─  but  he  aches  for  a  future  without  crests ,  too ,  without  the  need  to  hide  behind  a  smile  stretched  from  ear  to  ear .  )

                  “  what ’ s  there  to  ease ?  “  he  decides  to  say  instead .  ”  even  if  there  was ,  ”  &  oh ,  there  are ,  an  entire  childhood  growing  up  terrified ,  of  monstrous  brothers  &  distant  parents ,  “  don ’ t  you  think  it ’ s  a  little  too  late  to  do  anything ?  ”  miklan  is  dead .  sylvain  has   been  disowned ,  or  at  the  very  least ,  has  a  bounty  on  his  head  to  return  to gautier .

                  his  face  sits  in  rare  gravity ,  twists  itself  into  something  almost  anguished .  “  did  you  know ?  ”  he  says ,  suddenly  compelled  to  speak  about  his  life ,  his  suffering .  he  can  count  the  number  of  times  he ’ s  confessed  it  on  one  hand ,  he  thinks ;  maybe  once  to  the  professor ,  offhand  comments  to  the  blue  lions ,  a  quiet  exchange  with  the  emperor  for  joining  her  cause .  “  did  you  ever  suspect ,  about  my  family ?  ”

                  he ’ d  give  dimitri  a  clap  on  the  back  if  he  did ;  &  feel  gratitude  that  he  kept  silent  /  fall  into  despair  that  he  had  not  asked .  it  keeps  him  in  check,.  still  &  charming  as  ever ,  even  in  the  middle  of  battle  &  faced  with  the  tempest  king .  “  answer  me  that ,  at  the  very  least .  out  of  whatever  obligation  our  friendship  still  used to have .  ”

                  a  small ,  quiet  plea . 

Was it too late? The ghosts in his head sang their angry knell, a reminder that it was always too late, that he was never good enough, never would be until he had that woman’s head separated from her damned body. But he had grown these past months, enough to ignore them and the constant headache they seemed to bring. He ignores them, because in the end Sylvain is right.

He is hurting, too. Dimitri sees it.

He had always seen it.

“If you believed it was too late,” was soft exhale, eyeing lance in elder’s grip. “You would have attempted to drive that through me.” Yet he had not, had not even moved, and so fractious hope blooms within Dimitri’s chest that perhaps it is not too late, that he has not yet ruined this as he has near everything else in his life. Not yet, he thinks, not yet.

But that was the crux of it, the core of it all. “I did not understand at the time.” Too sheltered, too privileged, too loved. “And then when I did...” He was too broken, too terrible, too beastly. Never good enough. Not now, not then. It was his sin to carry, and one that had hurt so many. Sylvain was another victim of it, another hurt friend Dimitri had failed.

“I know what it is to try so desperately to hide from something that parts of you... they--” Lone eye averted when it should not, should not because here and now Sylvain was his enemy, was not to be trusted. Dimitri had always been a bleeding heart. “They break, and you try to hide that too with good manners, with a smile. With proper actions. With inappropriate actions. I understand.” Because he had seen his whole world burn, had lost everything, everyone, and it had blown something in him wide open to the monsters that now plagued him. Until he, too, had become them.

Still, they had all lost parts of themselves. “I would have listened, should you have wished to talk. You are my friend, Sylvain.” Even now, on the other end of this cursed war. “And things must change, but violence is not the way. Violence will only lead to more hurt, more children denied what should never be denied.”

@iuncta hi there haha ha

                  “  well ,  majesty ,  this  is  certainly  the  turn  of  the  century .  ”  the  lance  of  ruin  glows  steadily  in  his  grasp ;  the  dark  knight  does  not  fear  his  opponent ─  if  anything ,  he  has  never   been  more  at  ease .  the  field  echoes  with  the  din  of  chaos ,  &  battle  &  bloodshed .  what  a  reunion  this  makes ,  a  gathering  of  old  friends .

                  (  he  thinks  he  sees  felix ,  all  skill  &  blade .  the  aegis  shield  does  its  job  well  to  protect  him .  &  up  above ,  is  that  ingrid ,  wielding  lúin  with  such  readly  efficiency ?  it ’ s  fond ,  the  way  he  traces  their  moves .  once ,  they  might  have  trained  together  for  this  very  occasion .  )  he  focuses  on  the  one  in  front  of  him ─  dimitri ,  crown  prince ,  the  king  he  would  have  served  until  the  end  of  time ,  his  friend ,  his  friend .

                  the  lance  of  ruin  weighs  a  little  heavier  in  his  grasp .  he  raises  it  to  point  at  his  pri ─  dimitri .  only  dimitri ,  now .  “  coming  face  to  face  with  a  corpse  certainly  isn ’ t  a  pleasant  reunion ,  is  it ?  ”  is  he  speaking  of  himself ;  the  gautier  heir  who  was  presumed  dead  during  the  empire ’ s  first  invasion ?  or  is  it  the  prince ,  who  emerges  now ,  after  five  long  years ?

                  well ,  it  wouldn ’ t  hurt  to  say  a  little  bit  of  both ,  wouldn ’ t  it .  “  crown  prince  dimitri alexandre blaiddyd  of  the  faerghus  throne ─  if  you  advance  any  further ,  i  will  be  forced  to  cut  you  down ─  ”  a  pause ,  a  smile ,  that  stretches  too  thin  &  wavers  too  much .  “  ─ former  alliances  be  damned .  ”

The taming of monsters was a slow, arguably impossible affair, yet here Dimitri stood in the end more man than monster once more. It was a credit to those around him more than it was to he himself he thought, a show of their patience, of their compassion, or in Felix’s case their ability to put a boot up his ass until he stopped and listened. He owed them everything and more, but the knowledge that one had been absent had hurt, had cut deep into a heart he was still inclined to believe he truly had.

That he finds them here, now, brings nothing but grief.

“Former alliances...” Was his soft breath, great lance clutched in a grasp so tight it would have shattered any other; Areadbhar though was made for this, made for him, and so it simply glows its ominous pitch as sadness of all things makes home upon Dimitri’s face. “Is that all we were? I always considered you my friend. I thought it mutual, that you would be at my side and I at yours.”

But he had been gone for so long, too long, and so perhaps some had lost hope. They were all doing what they needed to survive, and Sylvain had always had the strongest of survival instincts, had always been far, far more astute than many might have given credit for had they not known him. Dimitri did know him, or he had once.

A step closer was taken boldly, but he makes to go no further from there. Not yet. “What... do you want, Sylvain? How might I ease your hurt?”

He did not ask his friend to join him. Would not push him.