#Fodlan will not accept to open its borders or even its heart to people who only want to kill them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

randomnameless · 5 months

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How would you feel if IS decided to release a Forging Bonds where Claude and Hilda acknowledged Cyril's situation prior to Rhea saving him, Hilda specifically apologizes to him for what her family put him through, and Claude specifies that one of his first actions upon becoming leader of the Alliance was to outlaw any and all indetured servants throughout the country and free all the ones that already existed, along with giving them support structures to help them get readjusted to normal life?

On the one hand, it'd be pretty much the only choice IS has at this point if they were to ever adress the slavery problem in Almyra, and the writing team for Heroes has clearly shown itself to be more than willing to go against stances taken by the Fódlan games, such as having Lissa call out Edelgard on how stupid her stance towards crests is, so it wouldn't be entirely out of the realm of possibility; on the other hand, they did go out of their way to conveniently skip over the part of Cyril's backstory where he was a slave when he was added to Heroes, implying they really don't want to touch that subject either, and it'd be really lame if such a major issue with one of the three major countries in Fódlan was only ever addressed and resolved in the gacha game.

Anon,

Have you seen/lived through Book 7 of FEH?

All jokes aside, I think that even in the case FEH suddenly bring backs writers from the fridge, that would teeter to close to "uwu challenging a House Leader" and we know, with the bonkers A!Ingrid FB's event, that this is something they will never do.

Claude (and Hilda) having to grow from their FE16/Nopes selves?

Nah, can't do.

In a way, I think the Nabateans (and Billy?) were able to be "tooled"/"more developed" in FEH because, as ridiculous as it is, they're not the main selling points of Fodlan.

Lissa and Supreme Leader's FB was really odd, because FEH dared to go in that direction (ditto with Mila and Hegemon!gard) - so maybe they could... or, as seen in Engage with Supreme Forehead, they will try to erase everything that made her controversial or a character to begin with, to focus on "uwu rivals uwu school friends uwu".

So, if Supreme Leader's situation is that "difficult", I can't see them give the same amounts of fuck to Claude -

And, as you pointed out, given how Cyril's BG was "modified" to make sure House Goneril isn't mentionned or whatever happened in Almyra, I don't they will ever care - even if there used to be a time (or is it still going on?) where Supreme Leader's MYH blurbs, just like Dimitri's and Rhea's were periodically edited/modified by IS (especially the JP versions, for reasons we all know :p ) so, who knows, maybe one day, Cyril's MYH blurb will also be modified?

As for the idea in general -

In the paralogue, Hilda sorts of feels sorry for Cyril's time as a "servant" in House Goneril, which is like, the minimal kindness-reaction she can give, but there are no other mentions of that situation in this paralogue.

Hell, later on, when Hilda goes to Holst after the battle, she checks on his health, and recovers Freikugel - no mention of "plz tell people not to pick almyran children or at least don't give them so much work to do because they're having a hard time".

And while I liked the idea, in FE16, of Hilda being a sort of kind and caring character, who still has a lot of prejudices against Almyrans - she is lazy and doesn't want to do her chores because she's afraid she will mess up, and yet, she can be lazy because her House is the only one mentionned in Fodlan that has "servants" who aren't fed everyday who do "hard work" - because while Tellius went ham on the people who are prejudiced against other races, sometimes racism means someone can be the kindest and nicest person you ever know... except not to some other group of people (iirc we get this with Lyn's grandpa, who didn't approve of his daughter marrying Hasan, a Sacean, and yet, through his few lines and appearance, we see how he is a kind (albeit feeble) old man - who finally managed to get over his prejudice on his "deathbed", only for him to recover and spend time with his granddaughter at the end of Lyn's story).

Of course FE16 couldn't give this character arc to Hilda - which is kind of a shame, bcs tfw an ultra minor NPC from FE7 can grow but not a playable character in FE16 - but as an idea and concept, it could have been nice.

Instead, both Hilda and Claude are in a kind of limbo regarding this issue, because their games want to push the CoS scarecrow, thus the source of "everything wrong in Fodlan" and so, human vice, human greed and human failings aren't explored in their routes.

FWIW, I don't think any major state and its issues are explored in the Fodlan games, save for, maybe, Faerghus thanks to Nopes - and the Fodlan games aren't really concerned with tackling racism, even if I still give them a spot above Tellius, since Tellius has "biological reasons for anti miscegenation", but even if the games don't pretend to make a huge point of being "anti racism", imo this issue is best presented in the Elibe games.

TBH, I'd prefer a FB where Cyril interacts with the Nabateans and/or calls them his true family, maybe to someone like Medeus and or Xane or even later Jahn when he will be released? who wonder why he is hanging out with Dragons when he is only a human, Cyril replying that human or not human, Rhea showed him kindness and saved his life when no one else cared, so she is his mother and savior, period.

End of FB ends up with the Rheas overhearing him and each taking a turn to hug him which embarasses him to oblivion, with Seiros the Warrior not participating because she doesn't know that human yet, but if there is that kind of human in Future Fodlan, then even if Adrestia will fall, her fight wasn't for nothing.

#anon #replies #FE16 #3 Nopes #Cyril stuff #i know the FB wouldn't be about him per se #but tbh I don't see even FEH trying to develop Leicester and this particular issue more than the base games #they completely ignored it #why would FEH even tackle it?#say if Nader is ever added to FEH #I don't think his FB will be about the souvenirs and rampages and saturday raids #however much like Hegemongard and Supreme Leader who leave when their BS is pointed out #I think a Claude wanting to open borders with Almyra would also have a 404 error and blue screen and ultimately leave a conversation #when another character will point out how it takes 2 to dance and as long as Almyra doesn't stop the raids souvenirs and rampages #Fodlan will not accept to open its borders or even its heart to people who only want to kill them #Cyril being doted on by the Rheas in the FEH verse is a hc I really like!#Seiros the Warrior would try too but she's still at that phase where she thinks offering raw turnips is a sign of appreciation

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demethinkstoomuch · 4 years

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Learning to Read, pt 3: C is for Commendation

Chapters: 3/26 Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro, Gustave Dominic, Original Characters, Rufus Blaiddyd Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Grief, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Tragedy of Duscur, Racism, Developing Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Blue-Lions Typical Mental Illness

Summary:

A series of 26 alphabetically-titled vignettes examining the period where, in the wake of The Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri taught Dedue to read: a time in which they learned about each other, and the rules of their relationship, perhaps more than about books.

Read on AO3!

A is For Ambiguity

B is for Book

A Note Concerning this Chapter: While some might not find this worth warning over, I thought better safe than sorry and wanted to say that this chapter features some approximately canon-style racism. There's no perfect way to skip it, but an audience member wanting to skip for now regardless would do well to read the first few paragraphs and ctrl+F to "He did the only thing he could."

C is for Commendation

Dedue tried to stand tall under the low-burning heat of gazes seen and unseen. On the other side of the doors to the throne room waited Dimitri, prepared to hear Dedue’s words and accept his loyalty. In front of a medley of rich Faerghus witnesses. He could hear their murmurs through the door, moving like a wind through trees.

It was important that this be seen and understood; otherwise, it was no different than the promise Dedue had already made inside his heart in the very moment Dimitri had reached out his hand. Even if no one heard it, that promise was what mattered to him. But words unspoken couldn’t mean he was accepted at the side of the Prince of Faerghus. For that, they needed something everyone could see – In Faerghus, such oaths had weight. Maybe even enough to silence the whispers of the knights who were watching him, aligned in one column before each side of the door.

“This is going to be a mess,” whispered a knifelike knight, whose steel blue hair matched his armor so perfectly that, to Dedue’s eye, it looked as if the armor’s material had been chosen for it – beautifully-made armor with no traces of hammered-out dents or scuffing. He continued at a clear voice, ”A Duscur hayseed couldn’t possibly understand courtesy. Look at him.”

Dedue couldn’t help but turn down his gaze, turn inward, swallow a breath gone cold and still in him. The longer he looked around, the more he might agree. The day didn’t call for armor – but he couldn’t afford it or make it if it did. He came in a borrowed white tunic, in borrowed pants, to stand bare-headed in a place that gleamed with gilt and bristled with spears. The knights had seen a million ceremonies like this one – the only novelty here was this awkward peasant from a town between the forests and plains of Duscur. From a ruin, now.

“You’re thinking about it too practically, Carston. There’s no such thing as too poor for a commendation, really; what matters is the oath well-made, and the service faithful,” commented a fair-haired knight in a reasonable tone. This provoked a forlorn sigh from the only member of the column Dedue had seen before today – Gustave, an older knight who Dimitri seemed to trust a great deal. Amid the glitter, that knight seemed shabby, tired, old. But the younger men around him hardly noticed. “You have to remember what they say about His Highness the prince: he’s got a strong sense of compassion. I think it’s admirable, a lord who can have pity.”

The knight’s last words were very much the truth. Perhaps they all were. If he could manage an oath well-made, it would be enough. He needed only repeat it and hold it inside himself. He kept his eye contact only with the stone floors underfoot, worn hazy grey-white and soft-edged by time and ages of footsteps. But the rabbit of his heart was running faster and faster. He could do nothing about his background, his station. He could do little for his appearance he hadn’t already – hair pulled back in a tidy knot, clothes and skin clean. He was scary-looking and tall, even for someone from Duscur. He didn’t know if that was for or against him, as a fighting man. And he could at least fill the role he wished for; he had no doubt of his faith.

"I promise on the goddess that I will in the future be faithful to my lord, never cause him harm, and will observe my homage to him completely, against all persons, loyally and without deceit."

They’d laid out those words until late the night before. There were words Dedue had learned just to say that phrase in Fodlani. An oath to Fodlan’s goddess wasn’t special to him, but it wasn’t for her. It only needed to reach the people in that room without embarrassing anyone. He’d hold out his hands, and Dimitri would accept them in his (they’d needed to wait until his left arm was healed enough to be used lightly for this) – and then things would be settled. The words, mincing shadows when cast against the truth, sank down his throat.

“So you’re not worried about what having a vassal like that will do for his image, Henri? Or ours?” Asked Carston, more low now. Almost actually attempting to whisper.

“What concerns us is our own liege, not his nephew,” replied Henri. “There’s hardly anyone left from the king’s own service for His Highness, the poor prince – it’s not surprising that it can’t get filled with the sort of quality it had before.”

Patience . He tried to think it over their words. His hands tensed into each other, digging in their nails. Those hands had to be good enough. He only needed to be calm.

“And whose fault is that?” Asked a third knight grimly. Older than the first two, but not old, a sharp white scar eating up one cheek.

“They’ll pay,” came a voice Dedue couldn’t place, low and slow and thoughtful. “I wish we could join the marshaling at the border.”

What had happened that day. It was still not over. It was building, catching its breath, becoming a war built on massacres. Patience , thought Dedue above the sound of flames that met his falling heart. Over the sound of steel that still was not silenced. He got so little news, and yet, each piece was a beast to tear his heart.

“I hope by the time His Lordship allows us to go, they’re not already totally crushed.” Carston lifted a hand to his sharp, jutting chin. “I’d like some decoration if it’s war, at least… But I can’t imagine there’d be a worthy fight to be had from hicks, so is there really a point?”

“Of course there is. His Late Majesty’s blood is still on their hands. Even if we never served His Majesty, we’re knights of Faerghus,” said Henri, almost gently. “We know our duty, even if we’ll never see reward or praise.”

“Then how can you look at what His Highness is doing and not feel ashamed?” Carston shook his head. “A peasant alone would be a poor – ahaha – enough choice… Has he gone mad?”

While that sickening laugh crept into Dedue’s bones, the voice that had sighed stirred from the front of the column at last.

“Do not insult His Highness,” Gustave’s voice sounded so tired that whatever his real age was might have been doubled. He was still sturdy-looking, still in fine shape, still carrot red in all his braided hair. His armor had seen more than its share of battles, though, and the places where the hammer or solder had been applied to help ease its scars were clear. The marks of age on him weren’t vast – but they were overwhelming. His lined face felt like it had been not so much worn into him as cut. His posture had something weakened running through it, a weariness that kept him from fully lifting his head. His eyes, which were in color bright, seemed dull and listless as a dead fish.

Dimitri had trusted this Gustave with making sure Dedue had what he needed and was not forced to leave. Gustave had answered that without comment or complaint. And now, he said what Dedue wanted to say, what Dedue could not say. But if he couldn’t say it, what was the point?

“Don’t be so arrogant. There is no knight alive in this kingdom who should hold up his head,” Gustave pronounced. “We have all failed His Majesty and His Highness.”

“And letting this pass by silently will help?” Carston’s voice actually lifted now above the not-truly-a-whisper.

“Have a little pity, Carston,” Henri actually whispered in reply.

“You speak of pity, Henri?” The scarred knight did not look at anyone when he spoke. “What about pity for the King? To turn around and accept claims of ‘loyalty’ from one of the scum who killed Lambert – to throw aside the honor of the royal family? To ruin his good name and good will that way?”

It fell like a veil over all the knights. Even the one who weren’t conversing, just listening. Even the ones in their own whispers. It was a punch to Dedue – his patience sank, dragged down into the depths by those words, into a feeling so black he could not even say what it really was.

The doors creaked open before he knew it. They all fell silent as the antechamber was struck with light. At the far end of the hall was Faerghus’ empty throne, shrouded in blue so rich it might well have been black. The shadow framed Dimitri’s bright hair, his pale skin, the flash of white ermine on the edges of his cuffs and cape as he stood before it, until he shone like a beacon. The great hall yawned between them like a pit, an aisle on either side of which stood a few observers, perhaps 25 people in whole, not counting the tall man with red-gold hair slightly to Dimitri’s side, his uncle Rufus. The knights fanned out to flank both sides in slow motion. The heads of the Faerghus courtiers, clad in deep colors and brocade, lined in felt and fur, poised and polished, all turned, their chuckles silenced.

Dedue came to a stop before he crossed the threshold. He stared into the crowd as his heart, his breath, his nerve all sank to the bottom of the world. Their gazes were knives sharpening themselves on his skin, his clothes, his face – burning cold, identical no matter whose face it was. Butchered by them, he understood – everything the knights had said was written on these faces as they watched this Duscur hayseed, scum and regicide, who’d demand their prince throw away his honor out of pity. Nothing could ever change this.

And Dedue couldn’t find what he was supposed to say. He couldn’t find anything but a suffocating ash in his core; ache and flames and the clang of steel blotted out anything else in the world.

He did the only thing he could do for either of them: he turned and ran, footsteps resounding. Even Dimitri’s sad voice at his back was swallowed by the sounds of an inferno in him. That plea couldn’t fix things; somewhere along the line, he’d been tricked into believing it could. What had he been thinking?

There was nothing that could wipe away the differences in his blood.

He tore through a blurring maze of grey stone, pushing himself through doorways until he broke from the stifling warm air, hitting the wall of bright, cool spring beyond.

There was nothing that could make him anything but an uneducated peasant.

He kept going, but there was no running from his own failure; he knew he couldn’t run and run and become someone who hadn’t just run away.

There was nothing that could make him not too foreign, too poor, too pitiful, to do anything but shame someone so precious.

He was out of air to run with, so when he hit true silence, he came to a stop in some corner below the walls. The garden here was old, gone wild where no one had noticed, hidden between layers and gaps in the castle walls and old buildings. His legs dropped out from beneath him there amid wilting white roses and the rustle of tall grasses.

There was nothing he could do to make the life he was given worth something, after all.

Whatever dam stood between his heart and the world crumbled with the rest of him. Now he cried; not quickly or loudly, but in quiet, rolling tears where his breath was slowed almost to the point of being held; it came out with a tremor he felt rather than heard. He curled in on himself, cursing himself in every breath.

Time could have stopped until another figure entered the garden through its only open entrance, a gap in the walls. Dimitri picked his way closer to Dedue’s figure slowly, brushing aside a vine of overgrown roses, already ready to lose petals. A pure and simple sorrow overcame the worry on his face as he lowered himself to the grass by Dedue. His cape surrounded him in a puddle of cool purple that he tugged about him as he thought about what to say.

“I’m sorry, Dedue. I’m so very, very sorry.” Dedue didn’t know how to respond to that. He should be the one apologizing, but he couldn’t begin to say it. “I should have thought more about how you’d feel.”

“No.” At last, he’d gotten a grip on his tongue. “I am sorry. I...ran away from my promise. I embarrassed you.” He didn’t look to his side to see Dimitri or reveal his own tear-stained face. He simply couldn’t, even if the breathlessness in his voice gave it all away.

“I was far too thoughtless.” Dimitri twitched his cape aside to pick at the grass between them, taking up a handful. The blades flitted down under fidgeting fingers. He sighed.

“I needed … to do better. I should not have been… frightened. That is my fault.” Dedue insisted, now lifting up his head. There wasn’t a lick of anger or disappointment on Dimitri’s face – only a softness that opened wider as he saw the paths tears had washed down Dedue’s face.

“Dedue…” a soft murmur moved the air. Dimitri turned himself wholly to face Dedue. Dimitri’s hand still could reach out and rest itself on Dedue’s slumped shoulder. “I’m not hurt; you are. So, please, tell me what happened.”

“It was nothing… Nothing happened.” Dedue looked away. He shouldn’t think there could be something like this touch, some bond between them – not when in its place there were the miles between Fhirdiad and Duscur stood between them, the soldiers preparing further reprisals, further blood, further fire. But his shoulder didn’t move to shift off Dimitri’s hand; its weight shifted the scales, threw Dedue’s judgement off its balance.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that.”

“...People spoke, that’s all.” Dedue shook his head, causing the faint clink of his earring to rise above his small voice. Dimitri leaned forward to grip Dedue’s gaze in a vise of vivid blue. “About my background. About Duscur, and… about you.”

“What about your background?” Dimitri’s voice hinted at stormclouds as his posture locked stiff with indignation.

“It was…nothing I did not know.” Dedue wasn’t lying – but he hadn’t entirely seen it that way before then, hadn’t been paying attention. He wrestled for a moment – to tell Dimitri what they had said of Dimitri’s pity, or not? Dimitri’s gaze did not release him; so, his words limped onward. “...But it made me think about… Everything. I was not able to be calm.”

“Everything...” Dimitri sounded thoughtful, but didn’t wait for an answer; he knew it. All the better – Dedue didn’t want to have to explain it. Everything was everything that had happened. Everything was that day, and all the ways it still lingered. The way no one would let it end. “I admire how calm you are about it, really. I, well, I’m not sure I have the strength.”

“You do well. It is...an effort, sometimes.” He shook his head, sighing. “It wasn’t enough. I could not help you.” Those weren’t the right words, but he was tired of fighting for them. He wanted someone to understand what he meant. he missed his sister, who always understood, without even a word -- and when someone didn’t, she’d tell them.

He missed his sister.

“Dedue, I’m not bothered, not really. I’m OK.” Dimitri insisted, giving Dedue’s gripped shoulder a shake strong enough to move Dedue’s entire body with it. Dimitri smiled sheepishly and kept talking, “I do admire that you can be calm, but if anyone has the right to cry until his tears have dried, isn’t that you? It’s OK. You don’t have to be calm now.”

All the breath was gone from Dedue at once.

In the next moment, the cool air nipped as his wet eyes. A tremor ran through him, released from some place locked in his heart. Dedue wanted to deny it after that silence, or to thank Dimitri for that – and couldn’t, not even for a moment, make an effort at it; all that came out was a faint noise too thin for his chest or throat, something that came from the top of his head or the back of his neck. Instead of words, he unfolded to reach over and grab Dimitri, pulled him over into his arms.The momentary brace of shock filtered out of Dimitri’s figure. So close there on the ground, Dedue could hear the little sound Dimitri made as he settled into the hug, and steadied his arms around Dedue’s back. The tears rolled without restraint down his face once more — but this time, they landed on Dimitri’s shoulder, where Dedue had buried his head. Like that, Dedue could catch himself – but he didn’t, not immediately. They sat in this hollow of walls and in the vast, clanging ache at the base of Dedue’s heart.

But he couldn’t push away the world forever. Couldn’t deny the truth forever, however nice it had been to simply be; he separated himself, bending grass and Garland Moon wildflowers to make a distance between them again. Dimitri didn’t fully withdraw – his eyes pleaded for something. Dedue kept going.

“I saw in their eyes… Under their looks, I knew how little I was. I couldn’t do anything. I cannot move in your world, Dimitri.” The wind filled the silence, blowing with the promise of sweet summer. The roses that climbed the walls around them trembled, sending petals tumbling down, dotting their shoulders with a perfumed rain. Dimitri’s posture fell down with them and with Dedue’s speech dropping onto him. He finally couldn’t look any more – his hands clutched at nothing from a resting place atop his knees.

“I don’t see you that way. No one should.” What people should or shouldn’t do didn’t matter – those were just kind words. But Dimitri pressed on. “Give me names, and I'll — I'll think of something to say to them." Dedue shook his head. Remembering their words, he doubted anything Dimitri could say would do anything but hurt his 'image.' It was more trouble than it was worth. Dimitri lowered his head, ashamed. "...I’m sorry for not thinking about how hard it would be, to have to be something for everyone as the center of attention, somewhere so different from your home.”

“It’s not their attention that stops me… Not only their attention,” Dedue corrected himself. “I have nothing. I know nothing of Faerghus’ honor. I couldn’t even keep my promise long enough to make it. I failed you.” There was no single word to end that sentence, though — he had failed Dimitri. He had failed everything he had in the world. He may well have failed whatever god had chosen him to be the one given his life that day. And harder to mention, because it felt so selfish to say, “...I failed myself.”

Dimitri tilted his head while his thin face, drained white as the petals interspersed across his purple cape and golden hair, knotted with concern – and with thoughtfulness. To answer that silence, regardless of whether he could stay here, Dedue reached over and gently brushed some of the roses off of Dimitri’s shoulders. Dimitri followed Dedue’s hand with his eye, not refusing the gesture. But he waited for it to finish, and for the air to lull still when the wind died.

“...And if you had another chance, is that still something you want? To swear such an oath, I mean.”

Dedue started, eyeing Dimitri, whose face was so earnest that Dedue couldn’t read what he wanted. He nodded.

“But that doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does. I don’t think you’ve failed me! I don’t want you to feel you’ve failed yourself.”

“That does not change what happened.” Dedue didn’t see the point in such a thing. Even if it was nice,

“It changes what can happen!” Dimitri insisted hotly, before his tone softened, grew warm rather than burning. “I know I might be asking a lot, but if we thought of what you could do, and find ways to lighten or avoid the rest, and tried to walk forward little by little…” Dimitri righted his shoulders and spine, lifting his chin. But even if the rest of his face tried to hold itself proudly, his eyes were so soft then, soft and blue and open as the sky overhead. “No matter what anyone says, I think that’s enough. If you chose to offer me something… I would accept you.”

The prince reached out his hands, together but open. A space between them waited to hold Dedue’s hands. For a moment, Dedue didn’t understand; when he did, he still wasn’t sure that he was right. If this was right. There was a limit to what could happen – however disappointing, there were still things no one could change. Even knowing that, would this be alright? He carried the question in his eyes, his fingers curled and hesitating. He couldn’t remember what to say – no. Those simply weren’t the words he needed now. And he saw an answer, still carried in those outstretched hands.

“I never want to hurt you,” Dedue advanced his words cautiously, almost a question. When Dimitri nodded slightly, something in him buoyed up on a gently rolling sea. “I never want to run like that again… But to always stand by you, to help you in any way I can. I wish to protect you faithfully, no matter what I must face.

“You saved more than my life.” The sorrow had melted out of his voice, and he met Dimitri’s gaze with resolve. If Dimitri said they could move forward – then no matter what he feared in his heart, he’d believe it. If he stopped, if he didn’t believe in the world Dimitri could show him, the world that still had mercy and kindness in it, even for him, then why had he come this far? If he wasn’t ready to stand by Dimitri now, he would keep trying until he became ready. If there was nothing to make him, he'd try for the rest of his life.

So he placed his hands into Dimitri’s — for a moment, those fingers which held him like a treasure could keep out the world. They seemed so small against his hands, but they were so warm. There was nowhere he would not go for them, and nothing in him they could not reach.

“I swear, I will always believe in that.”

Dimitri blinked, his lips parted from slack shock. Before Dedue could wonder how much he’d overdone it, Dimitri smiled, face graced with a little pink flush.

“That was a splendid oath! Wonderful, even!” Dimitri answered in beaming tones. He chuckled, his hands shifting over Dedue’s as if deciding when to let go. “It caught me a little off-guard,hearing something like that… I’ll do my best to live up to it.” He sighed, realizing what he hadn’t said — but he did so with the truest of his smiles, small and bright as candle-flame. “Forgive me; what I mean to say is… I accept your homage as my vassal, Dedue.”

“Hm,” Dedue could only nod, with nothing to say he hadn’t already said, and too choked up to try. No one spoke for a small while.

“I suppose that’s ceremony enough,” said Dimitri when he finally began to slowly surrender Dedue’s hands. The moment ended, not abruptly or coldly, but the simple passing of one thing into the next; Dimitri casually leaned back, propping himself up on one arm. He rotated his left arm slowly, feeling out its range of motion.

“..Is that so?” Dedue wasn’t nearly so convinced, even if he did appreciate that. However nice this was, however peacefully affirming, it wasn’t any different than it had been. “There was a reason for the original plan, wasn’t there?”

“There was, and it’s one that we can’t just leave be yet. I just think nothing good can come of hurting someone, so we’ll have to find some other way.” Dimitri nodded and lowered his jaw into his free hand. “Who could I ask… Rodrigue, perhaps, if I wrote him? He may know some method of legitimacy that involves fewer witnesses. Perhaps we’d only need the right ones with his backing.”

Dedue mentally flipped through the people who’d come to see Dimitri after he’d returned to the capital. It was a small list, but most of them hadn’t considered Dedue long enough, or at all, for him to commit them to memory. Then again. which somber man Rodrigue was might not have mattered, if he could help them.

“I hope so.”

They settled into a companionable silence; Dimitri stretched – first his newly-freed arm, causing him to wince a little at the edges of its motion, then his other arm – but the injuries on his back must still have hurt as well, because he stopped entirely with a shadowed look that soon faded. Dedue let his familiar calm slip about him comfortably as he cleaned off his face and brushed aside a few rose petals from his clothes. And then they both stopped to truly look around the almost triangular garden they found themselves in. An outer wall, an inner wall, and a building’s windowless wall formed tangents around each other, creating a small space, only opened by a gap in the inner wall and a small doorway into the building, which was sealed over with a hardy-looking shrub. The grass had grown long towards the coming birth of Faerghus’ bright, clement summer, and it was dotted with buds of wildflowers and a few perennials gone to seed. Mostly, it was roses that had gone wild, climbing up all the walls. It was, for a ruin, such a peaceful little place.

“How did you ever manage to find such a place?” asked Dimitri, looking up to where the roses climbed and tangled. “I needed more luck than anything to find you.”

“I am not sure where we are. I moved until I was done, that is all.” He hadn’t been looking for a place, but seeing it now, he felt two parallel thoughts: the first, it needed tidying; The second, though, made him smile a little. “...It’s very peaceful here.”

“Yes, it truly is; it’s rare to find somewhere so private, but I guess this little place has been forgotten altogether.” Dimitri sighed contentedly, then shook his head. A wistful look filled his eyes. “It might be selfish, but it would be nice if it could always be so.” Dedue nodded in response.

“Then we should go, before someone comes to find you.” Dedue had to admit, he didn’t want this moment intruded by someone who’d only scorn him – or to lose a place like this as a refuge.

“I suppose so.”

However, they lingered there for a while still, while the sunlight filtered down from over the garden wall. The air smelled sweet, and it carried no sound but a distant bird’s voice. It was still some time before they moved to rejoin the rest of the world.

#Fire Emblem #Fire Emblem: Three Houses #Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers #Content Warning: Racism #Dimidue #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dedue molinaro #Gustave Dominic #Other characters are in this one #Fanfic #My Writing #Learning to Read #Finally: These Boys Get a Hug

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