#blaithyd

                            `  .  .  .    `

SWEAT POURS FROM her pores, woven in & out with the raindrops that fall so ironically upon the bed of graves on which they stand. drenched, her clothes stick to her flesh & she can feel crimson stain against her face. she can see mud, dried blood, & untamed hatred on his. her tongue clicks habitually as her eyes look left, blinded by the blankets of water that reign the skies.

                                     `  you and i are not so different, as you may think.   `

she thinks she is finished, but the pounding in her chest urges her onward.

           `  so dedicated to your ideals that you might do anything in your path to attain them  .  .  .  even at the expense of those you care about.   `

axe is drawn forward, some barricade to protect her from the ruthlessness that pulses through his veins -- she knows what he wants. she knows that she must not falter. one wrong step, & he ends it here.

                                                `   know, here, that i will not meet your fate.   ` 

                                                𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞  .  /   accepting.

A once honorable king-to-be left his trail of copper for commoners and nobles alike to pick up after him ; scraping up the pieces with dirt under their nails , dirt on their knuckles , dirt in their hearts. They picked it up , they tasted it , they bathed in it , they feared it. Gore between his teeth and gore left in the underbrush was this king’s landscaping ——— a make way to his path beyond the curtain fall of Faerghus.

Now king , doused in the blood of his own people ———  this fellow king with his own to lead felt the copper stick and slick to his chest. It was heavy and poured like molasses into his gut. It didn’t pool , it gurgled , stewed , hot air bellowing into his lungs and that hot air exhaled as threats of the king spewed at him with a sneering eye. 

He wasn’t one to talk about what it means to be nobility , to be king and to be a leader of the people. Hell , he’s probably not even good at simmering the flaming beast ——— whether it be by words or action. So maybe he won’t speak on behalf of his own rank , but he definitely knows how to act on account of his own feelings as a human.

              years had passed with adamant thoughts of old friend dead,     lost to death’s gates that were guilty of whispering sweet nothings into his ear    &    guide manipulate him towards endearing promise of rest     (   an eternal slumber that would bring him peace     ——   ).     OH,     HOW HE WISHED FOR HIS PEACE   !     dimitri’s soul was one he deemed with scars all over,     even at a glance he could tell    ;    some internal turmoil had always pressed him to pry,     pry,     pry,     though perhaps he was the soft - hearted fool that couldn’t find the heart to do it.     pushing him to his emotional limits to draw out the truth   ?     even claude has standards.     but he regrets it.     had he done something,     he’d still be alive.

              breathing or not,     there was a guaranteed absolute in his life    :    his faith in dimitri.     none could underestimate his faith in his skills,     his convictions on dimitri’s talents,     his obstinate view of his strength     (   rekindled,     for it was once nothing but dying embers   ),     his innate amicability,     it was all dimitri’s.     that is why relief arose on the canvas of his face at the sight of him     ———     husk of his past self,     but dimitri all the same     ———     it’s what elicited wide eyed forest greens    &    left mouth agape in absolute shock     (   ah,     guess he owed hilda a few gold that time,     too   ),     a revelation he never considered as time marched forward,     forcing him to jilt beloved past.     amidst the warfare around him,     one truth remained true at gronder field despite his loss    :    he was glad to see dimitri was safe.     perhaps not living on the inside,     though knowing his heart still beat was reassuring on its own.

              that’s why their untimely reunion at derdriu kept even smuggest of grins on his lips,     it’s why the curvature of his lips kept itself intact at losing battle against the empire     (   their forces far stronger than the leicester alliance’s   ),     yet his faith refused to dwindle.     he’d never let go of it.     some may find it too risky,     even he admits so,     though he’d continue to have faith in dimitri,     knowing it to never fail him.     if fate itself would choose to have his swan song be delivered at aquatic capital,     a crescendo before the nearing double bar,     then he’d rest after enduring all he could.     even if that were fate’s path for him,     his faith in dimitri wouldn’t be shaken,     for he knew,     better than most,     how capable of a leader he is.    how capable of a person.     &    who is anyone to call claude’s assumptions erroneous   ?     when here he was,     saved by old friend at his moment of peril.     (   even now,     it feels just like old times.   )

              ❛     ah     ———————     ❜     he expected different upon the battle’s conclusion,     foresaw nothing but harsh scolding on how foolish of an idea his was.     never did it cross his mind once that he’d be in the embrace of one he cared deeply for.     at that moment,     emotions overtook him    :    every cherished memory of their time together at the monastery began flooding into mind    &    heart alike.     their sparring sessions,     the delectable lunches they shared,     the serene moments in which they’d appreciate nature’s beauty    &    gift to the world.     dimitri’s voice     …     gods,     his voice.     he knows full well that relief is intricately tangled with it,     that his princeliness is more content with claude’s safety than a victory over the empire.

              there’s no thought put into his next action,     it is all natural    &    right    :    an arm comes to wrap itself around dimitri’s frame,     pulling him close    &    keeping him close as eyelids fell shut,     head dipping slightly to rest chin against blond prince’s head.     his breathing never didn’t change,     for claude felt at peace.     this moment was peace itself.     this would be their first    &    last time together in a long time,     he knows it     ——     as such,     he’d much rather leave him with a pleasant memory of reunion than ever deliverately sour the mood.     he finally speaks up.     ❛     i’m glad you’re safe,     too     …     ❜     but soon falls silent again,     opting for it to bask in nothing more but the soothing sound of the ocean around them,     its sweet melodies ambiance that reminds him of their victory,     their reunion,     all as they held each other in their arms.