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#summer!sylvain my beloved
priintaniere · 2 years
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Sand, sunrise & fleur de sel
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that-wasnt-so-bad · 1 year
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Chasing Daybreak XXXXIX (Dimitri x OC ‐ Azure Moon)
Pairing: Dimitri x Easwith       Summary: Easwith Holdfréond is a childhood friend of Dimitri’s. The Tragedy of Duscur nearly took him from her, and it’s just her luck that she realises her feelings for him go far deeper than friendship during their time at the Academy. That’s what her blushes tell her when he compliments her, or when anyone mentions her staring at him for a moment too long. And when he’s not around, she feels sullen. Is it a fleeting fancy? Or are her feelings as true as her surname suggests? Does Dimitri feel the same? If he does, will it last? Or does his lust for vengeance stand in their way? Could he ever see her as more than a friend? Did he ever care at all?
(An Azure Moon/Blue Lion Route fic with my OC)
Genre: Multiple       Genre of the chapter Fluff. Some angst. Warnings:  Combat. Blood mention. I do believe that is it? Chapters: Prologue
Act 1 -Chapter 1,Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16. Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25,Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31
Act 2 - Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35, Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44, Chapter 45, Chapter 46, Chapter 47, Chapter 48, Chapter 49 Words: 5, 406 Three Houses/Three Hopes Masterpost: here AO3: here
A/N: Comments and reblogs are most welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy :) I always read the tags but it’s difficult to reply to them. Any support is greatly appreciated, even if it’s a message in my DMs or my inbox :3 Had to remove the idents because refuses to paste the text :/) Tagging: If anyone wants to be tagged let me know! :3
Easwith wiped the sweat from her brow. Whilst they had days since left Ailel, the far warmer summer climate of The Alliance made it feel as if she was still there (with the exception of an obvious lack of lava). Her throat, no matter how much water she downed, was dry. Her nose was congested from the pollen of grasses. The back of her knees, thighs and neck were sweaty whilst her back was beyond that.  If it were not for the danger of the Empire and Imperial supporting lords of The Alliance, she would have decided to not put on any armour but her boots until she had to. 
Alas, there was no such option when danger was at every corner.
She looked at Dimitri, who himself had purposefully returned to Fhirdiad during the brief restock to change his armour. It wasnt as heavy duty as his previous set, lacking in groin protection (not that she deliberately looked. He had asked how he looked and she naturally looked up from her book at the time to scan him over. Not that how often she tried to explain it to a then incessantly teasing Sylvain and Alexander (even her Uncle) aided her embarrassment (or Dimitri’s) and she hid her face within the cushion of the window seat she had been lounging upon whilst wishing the floor would swallow her). It was still more plated than not and served the same purpose. The colour scheme of silver suited him more, she thought, with the inner section of the Blaiddyd crest upon the rounded chestplate. Her only issue was how it did not follow his form. Her arms no longer had the ability to weave themselves comfortably around his waist to squeeze him when his chestplate made him… unsqueezable.
Still, the rounding did give more space between him, an axe and an arrow. That was better than nothing. Yet, even though it made him look far more regal and a beacon in the dark… she could not help but think he would be roasting with his cape (which was thicker than her and still furred upon his shoulders) in such weather.
“Beloved,” she caught his lips curl up even if he was showing her his covered eye, “I know you are staring at me again.”
“I’m simply wondering how you aren’t clawing out of your armour to let air on your back.”
“I admit, it is uncomfortable. But it is not scorching.”
She frowned. “You’re a walking fireplace in winter when I’m an ice cube, surely you’re warmer than you’re making me think at this rate…”
“I assure you, Easwith, I’m alright.” He looked up at her with kind eyes. “Should I get much warmer, I shall take off my cape.”
There was little more she could do except allow him that, as much as she would wish to do so rather than later before his shoulders were weighed down by sweat.  “I know it isn’t fire and brimstone, but don’t let yourself suffer with it tonight like you did yesterday.. No matter what happens at Deridriu, whether we succeed or fail, go for an armourless swim. We’ll stop at a lake or a river, wash our armour, clothes, and ourselves, go for a swim, and cool down.“
“Ea, I assure you I will be alright.”
“You said that yesterday, but if we did not take that hour of rest in the shade your heat exhaustion could have ended up being much worse. There wasn’t wind yesterday. There isn’t wind today. It’s dry but humid. It’s stuffy air. The ground is hard. The grass is parched.  This is different to Fearghun summers of bearable humidity.” Her sigh matched Snawthryth’s. “All I ask is that when you get too hot, you let me know.” When he seemed to want to complain, she gave him a sharp look. “None of that ‘I’m not a child’ business. You would only tell me to do the same.”
He averted his gaze with a deep sigh, eyepatch barely hiding the sloped brow of defeat. “You know me too well.”
“Hm.” Her lips curved up in feigned innocence. “No more than you know me.” She cast her gaze ahead, took a swig of her now warm water (which she detested) and drizzled some over Snawthryth’s neck. “I learned many years ago that I need to know you well in order to treat you 
better; you’re rarely open about how you feel.”
“I did not wish to cause you more worry than you already had.” He was quiet. “I felt I was undeserving of being cared for, whilst believing entirely that you were undeserving of the burden of worry. I still believe that even now…”
“If you care and love everyone without letting them do so in return, who will care for you and love you but the cold winter ice biting into your skin and freezing you until you breathe no more?” Easwith returned her gaze to Dimitri, who now looked up at her with a tight smile. “It’s so very human to not want to cause those you care about worry, but I would very much like to worry and love you in the same way you do about so many others.”
“Beloved…”
“It seems you snails have finally arrived!” Wilfred’s voice was crystal clear, the trotting of his horse slowing as he approached. “You are just in time, Your Majesty.” His cheeky grin turned to a sombre expression. “The Empire has already arrived, though my men and I, along with Alliance Troops, have met them in guerilla skirmishes. This morning, however, the Alliance troops retreated back behind the walls of Deridriu.”
Easwith’s brows furrowed. “Which tells us The Alliance is not in a position of any strength at all. For Claude to rely so heavily on another army from another nation, he’s taking a massive gamble. It can only mean he and his man are flagging.”
“That does not sound good, Lord Wilfred.” Gilbert looked at Wilfred with a hum. “If they are still able to hold out, I have little doubt they would last much longer.”
“That must be Judith of House Daphnel behind a number of the skirmishes.”
“A shared family tree at some point?” Easwith tilted her head. “Your family came from House Daphnel a few centuries back, did they not?”
“I suppose to do.” Ingrid, regardless, turned her gaze away. “To think she, a hero, would find herself backed into a corner like that…”
Easwith rolled her head back at such blissful naivety, not that she blamed anyone for it. Everyone, after all, had a hero to look to. “Heroes are not superhuman. And usually do not survive. In my territory, the heroes are the ones that died whilst those labelled heroes are simply lucky to be alive.” It mattered little, she supposed, in such a moment. “Regardless if she is a hero or simply lucky to still breathe, we’re here to give them breathing space by taking on Imperial forces on their behalf whilst they still breath.”
Wilfred hummed in agreement. “Indeed. Still, we would feasibly not be so heavily needed if Claude did not always have the tendency to sit and wait it out before making the decision to move, undoubtedly in a time where one is more likely to lose men.”
“I agree, Uncle. Just because the Empire looked focused on us, they were clearly always planning this and inaction being decided so heavily by Claude? Perfect opportunity for them to sneak their way into Alliance lands to slaughter.”
“Worry little more. I do not believe their straits are as dire as they seem.” Easwith frowned in curiosity at Dimitri’s oddly casual, though optimistic, statement. “The enemy has been drawn so deeply into the city so we can attack from behind…” He lifted his head, a smile on his face, and moved his hand as if he were to click his fingers without making the attempt to do so. “Brilliant!”
Byleth blinked. “You believe they are wanting us to pincer attack?”
“I believe so.” For a moment, his expression turned nostalgic. “During our time at the Academy, Easwith and I used to discuss both causing and defending city sieges to find the best tactics. A pincer from reinforcements with enough men to encircle the enemy would cut them off entirely and prevent escape.” A laugh. “I cannot believe Claude would risk everything on it.”
“And of all the tactics that could feasibly work better, like locking your gates and pouring boiling oil upon their heads combined with volleys of arrows, I cannot believe he chose the least… defensible tactic at all. If all fails, we have no escape routes.”
“Swith, I do not believe you would be thinking of a possible defeat.” His grin held a tease. “I am used to you seeking to win.”
“Whilst having escape routes, yes.” She sighed in defeat. “Still, we have been forced into such a situation. One could call that step-cousin of mine either incredibly smart or incredulously stupid.”
Another laugh she would have smiled at were it another situation. “Then let us not keep him waiting any longer.”
Wilfred nodded. “Eivor and Alexander are already nearing their positions. Are there any final orders to offer them?”
Easwith nodded slowly. “Yes. When one looks at a lobster or a crab, their pincers clamp at their sides, as well, correct? Make sure they send around half of their units to filter in through the side gates of our arrival and any archers onto the walls.”
“Of course. I shall make sure both men are waiting for you, Ea and Your Majesty.”
“Please, Lord Wilfred…”
A held-up hand. “As far as I am concerned, my niece has sworn her fealty and the fealty of her people to you. Besides, you have been King in all but title since the second your father died. You should have had more power and ability to do more than your Uncle let you have, for regents do not have all the powers of a King. It is good to call you as such, if even for a temporary moment.”
“I suppose I must accept such circumstance momentarily, Lord  Wilfred.” Easwith’s Uncle smiled gladly with a bowed head despite Dimitri’s dismayed sigh. “Let’s move!”
_____________________________
At first upon arriving at the outer walls of Deridriu, all Easwith could do was blink and swallow thickly. Her feet were upon the compacted sandy floor, her eyes on the wall, and her ears picked up the sound of battle. The Alliance’s Last Stand had come.   
“Claude will not die here.”
“I hope you are right, Dimitri.” Alexander’s voice was a welcome reprieve. “Otherwise my sister would have had to get some courage to face him for no reason.” Not that the comment was.
She ignored it, fingers combing Snawthryth’s mane. “Lord Arundel sounds to be within. We should take him out as quickly as possible.”
“Agreed.”
Easwith tilted her head up at Dimitri at his solemn word. “Hey, Mitri, keep that smart brain of yours thinking. I want you to be as unscathed as possible by the end.”
“And I ask the same of you.” On the outside, his lips quirked as if joyous she had stated such before him. But behind his left eye was a plead so strong he may as well never smiled at all. “You are my heart.”
“And you are my waking breath of morning.” She offered him the most reassuring smile she could. “Do not fret, so, mín díerest lufe. I have far more to fight for than I did last year.” At his surprised but curious gaze, she looked back to the wall with a slight smirk. “Live through this battle and I may consider indulging your intrigue.” “I only do not wish you to charge in recklessly as you can be inclined to do so.”
“I won’t. I’ve got a plan.” She tilted her head. “Eivor, hold back half your mean to chase down any escapees. If none happen, be on standby as reinforcements.” The older blonde crossed his right arm over his chest with a bow. “Alexander, you see the watchtower on the other side of the city? Take it. From there, keep the walls clear for our archers and set up those Ballistae. Lord Bryce, bring yourself and your dragoons with me. We’ll take the sentry tower on the waterfront. Only bring four scorpions to build.”
Dimitri nodded and a flicker of pride graced his gaze as swiftly as it left.  “Everyone else, split to offer cover and a distraction. Hit hard. Force the enemy into the ocean if you must. Let’s make sure the Empire has no escape.”
_____________________________
It was with a grunt of effort the final Imperial was kicked off the balcony of the sentry tower. Easwith’s breaths were laboured from the fighting on the way up, arms and legs begging for rest. Yet one could not come. One would not. She was swift to fire arrows, being as quick as she could be whilst aiming as accurately as possible. The set-up scorpions were deadlier, though slower. With a force capable of ripping muscle and shattering bone, sending waves of damage through the body, there was no chance of survival for those in the line of one’s fire.
Swathes of Kingdom soldiers filled the streets, and yet, even so:
“The subjugation of Deridriu is complete.”
Those words sounded close to her. Had they failed? Truly? Despite best-laid plans, had they not been quick enough? If she had not forced the rest for Dimitri to recover from his wave of heat exhaustion, would Deridriu…
Her eyes narrowed. Her grasp on her bow tightened until her knuckles, red beneath her gauntlets from the rubbing against fabric-lined metal, turned white with fury. Easwith gestured on the Scorpion users to move aside, her hands pulling on the thick rope tied to the wall as she did so. On the end of the bolt, she tied the rope tight. Her eyes looked through the centre. She aimed for a wooden pillar, strides away from the harbour, and fired. 
From the wall she had once been, she picked up the spear she had leaned against it within her reach, secured it upon the rope with her hands, and leapt from the balcony. 
The downward angle of the rope made her stop easily, no higher than her highest leaps off the ground, and she landed with her knees bending low to the ground. 
The butt of her lance hit the groin of one Imperial. A thrown-out swing broke the jaw of another. Yet more came.   
If they had failed and Claude was dead, she refused to fail again. Deridriu would be freed upon this day. Even if she were to die, Easwith would not rest until it was. 
Surrounded by no more than ten and no less than eight with just a wall at her back, if there were to be any fear within her gaze, it was well hidden by frustration. Not only at Claude for deciding such a reckless plan, but at herself. The poor blighters that brandished their blades toward her with thick swallows and flimsy glares were to be the victims of such annoyance.
The tight grip turned loose enough to allow flexibility for the weapon without it ever being let go. Her head tilted up. She waited. Patiently. Looking at each individual. A gap in the centre. A gap to her direct right and left. A handful were injured. A hastily bandaged shin. A shattered buckler that ripped the vambrace and gauntlet of another.  A head wound to take advantage of. 
Patience was simple. Easy. Waiting around for upwards of an hour as meeting overran over the course of her childhood and teenage years had made it so. It was like silence to them uncomfortable when left too long. They would grow paranoid. Not think. They would strike. Increase the gap here. Another there. Standing still for so long would only make them targets for others. An archer. A scorpion. A crossbow. A javelin. A sword. A shield. An angered horse. 
As the dagger user with a bleeding temple moved forward, she took the gap at her right with a swing of her weapon. The charger hit the wall, worsening the already critical injury, and the closest to her in her escape was dead upon the stone. Leathers were shown no mercy by barbs that ripped dried hide, worn textile, and the delicate nature of a human body as it was pulled back into the seafront air with haste.
Easwith spun at the footsteps to her right once more. She reeled, head tilting back as she stepped to dodge. A buckler, shattered, met her jaw. Her lips stung, her nerves tingling, and the taste of copper and iron tainted her tongue. She spat the blood out whilst she forced the soldier onto the blade of their colleague. A blade that was swiftly released in shock.
The clip of a galloping equine sent them running, one not escaping in enough time before having the front hooves of a rearing horse upon their face. 
“Snaw!” The mare whinnied in worry, taking a brief moment to sniff and nudge her owner. Yet the lack of a much taller male made Easwith’s eyes twitch and widen. “Where’s Mitri?” A lift of the head whilst remaining patient as she mounted the saddled on screaming ankles and thighs. “Take me to him.”
_____________________________
Snawthryth slowed to a stop, refusing to take Easwith any further down the alley. Dimitri was stood, looking reasonably unharmed, in a face-off against whom she could only assume was Lord Arundel. Although, to her, he seemed more akin to a bandit in all but wealth and finery. The raven-haired man was upon his knees, hands tainted by blood. A defeated foreign lord, just as hungry for tyrannical leadership and blood-stained streets as his emperor, finally meeting his end.
“Tell me, Uncle,” her eyes widened at Dimitri’s words, “the incident at Duscur nine years ago… You were there, weren’t you?” The question was met with silence. Dimitri did not stoop or lower himself to look into the eyes of the unresponsive. If Arundel was Dimitri’s Uncle (and with his mother not having any brother, it could only mean he was the Prince’s Step Uncle), as well as Edelgard’s, then that would mean… Lambert married the previous emperor’s ex-wife… And the emperor to be killed…
There was to be little happiness in the ending for Dimitri. Her heart squeezed in disdain at the thought. 
“What did Cornelia, no… what did my stepmother do!? ”
“You are not qualified to look into the darkness. You and Edelgard… do your best to kill each other. You are family afterall.”
Her fingers tightened around the reins. Just one more notion of such a thing, and she would…
She did not know what she would do…
Now Snawthryth decided to move towards Dimitri, who spoke as if he knew she was there. “Arundel is dead. There goes our chance of gaining more information…”
“Verbal, at any rate.” Snawthryth gently nudged his cheek before hooking her head around him in comfort. In return, he lightly stroked her snout. “We’ll get your questions answered. I assure you that.”
Dimitri shook his head with a sigh. “Even if we had managed to capture him alive, judging by the way he was acting… I doubt we would be a step closer to the truth.”
“We’ll get there." She slowly dismounted. She felt Dimitri's free hand offer her back support. As if noting her fatigue as easily as she could identify when he was upset or worried. Easwith held his face tenderly. "You may stop searching, but I won’t. I promise you as much with all that I am.”
"Easwith…" He held her hand in place for a moment before lowering it to his shoulder. "There is no need to spend the energy -" 
"With?" 
Although the voice was a whisper, carried in the salt-filled air, Easwith heard it clear as day. Her form turned rigid, her expression creased as if pained, and her sigh was so quiet she barely recognised she had released one. Even so, she turned to face him: Claude. His back faced the ocean. His eyes looked at her. 
"Claude…"
"Teach said you were alive…" He slowly began to approach. "Your arrows everywhere in the city suggested it but…" He shook his head, smiling both in relief and disbelief. His hands settled on her shoulders. "I should not have doubted you. Cousin." She did not expect to be hugged, let alone spoken to with such fondness. Or at all. Yet he did. And she could only return it in an awkward firmness, afraid of it being false and simply a prank, whilst simply wanting to make sure it was not her imagination. "I'm glad you're here." Easwith heard Snawthryth sigh. "And you, of course. How could I forget?"
"Snawthryth has never taken kindly to being forgotten." She heard Dimitri's chuckle and heard him taking the last of the wild strawberries he harvested to feed to the mare. "It's been a long time, Claude." Easwith meandered herself free. "I'm glad to see that you're safe."
"Same." Claude shifted to settle more upon his left leg. "I haven't seen you since the nightmare that was Grondor. It seems my eyes weren’t deceiving me when I thought you saw you, Cuz. Where were you on the field?"
"I was at the front, leading the cavalry charge. Getting shot at by your archers."
Claude scratched the back of his neck; his expression that of sheepish guilt. "Sorry about that.  I suppose some of those would have been…" She hardened her gaze. "Definitely wasn't me." He returned to his unabashed self. "Still, you really did come to help us… You must be a bunch of soft-hearted suckers, eh?" 
"Better than losing one's heart to the inferno of war that spreads hatred everywhere, don't you think?" Easwith folded her arms. "It's hardly something to -" 
She felt Dimitri settle his hand on her lower back. "If you truly feel that way, you would not have set up a defensive battle in the hopes that we would come. It only worked because we made it in time." When she looked up at the much taller blond, she could not entirely read his expression due to his eyepatch. By the tilt of his head, however small it was, she knew he was curious. “Did yo really have such confidence that we would answer the call?”
“Of course.” Once more, Easwith looked aside to her right at the sound of heels upon the ground. Byleth was wiping the blood from her blade. At the lack of danger, and Snawthryth having finished wolfing down the strawberries in favour of itching her front legs, Easwith returned her gaze to Claude as he spoke. “I knew you wouldn’t hesitate to put yourself second to come running to our indeed.”
“How insightful.”
“Insightful indeed.” Her brows slightly slopped and eyes narrowed in unreadable thought whilst she agreed with the ex-professor. Easwith folded her arms (no different to how Dimitri typically did so). “Especially considering…” Her words trailed off near suddenly. The metal reminder that Dimitri was not the same as Claude remembered served her little good, and verbalising it would do Dimitri even less. It was of no fault of his own, at the end of the day. If he only had more support… more help…  “Well, our circumstances were very different to what they had once been. All things considered, us lions were having a miniature breakdown in our ranks, only saved thanks to Lord Rodrigue and Gilbert. You put a lot of faith in our acts getting cleaned up.”
“As well as my focus returning to home, rather than Enbarr.” Dimitri held his free hand in front of him. “What made you risk your people on blind faith?”
“I am curious myself. You never struck me as the type to rely on faith with the number of plans you create.”
“You see, With and Your Princliness, we’re cut from a different cloth. You do things from the heart. I don’t make moves unless I gain something from it.” Claude allowed his arms to hang casually, though his expression was serious. “You, Dimitri, have always been the opposite of that, no different to With. If you didn’t come, I thought that if I really did so With… she would. And, of course,” his grin turned cheshire again while he loosely, and casually, folded his arms, “I always did like taking risks.”
Easwith rolled her eyes at the joke, folded arms tightening. “Too many where failure leads to either you, your people, or all of the above dying for my liking.” She looked at him with a gaze of steel. “What if you and your three too many plans led to the death of your people, rather than the protection of them? The city was subjugated, Claude. It had been effectively taken. You may as well have been bloody dead and your people may as well have surrendered.”
“But they didn’t.”
“Only because we barely managed to get here in time, Claude.”
“True.” As if nothing had happened or changed, he slotted his arms behind his head. “I did send an express messenger to Fhirdiad before you had retaken it. I knew that if all went to plan, it would be recaptured soon and then there would be a response to our request, sending aid and yourselves.”
Easwith’s eyes narrowed at his lack of seriousness, far too sure and carefree about the absolute dumb luck of his plan working out. “Would you like a shovel to further dig the hole with?”
The professor’s jest did not escape her ears, though she chose to ignore it. Nor did Dimitri’s stifled chuckle and Claude’s sheepish laugh of acknowledgement. “Teach, I missed your humour.”
“ Claude. ”
“It was riskier than usual, I’ll give you all that. But it was the only card I had left. I took the gamble.”
Dimitri spoke before Easwith had a chance to speak once more, evidently trying to keep things civil. “You cross too many dangerous bridges for my liking.”
Not that it kept her at bay long.
“Whilst you were sitting on your arse waiting for a move, you could have been unblocking those old passageways underground, mostly used as cellars, so the people of the city could have escaped without harm, leaving an empty city for the Empire. Instead, you chose to wait around all day, waiting for someone to slip up, and then you had nothing left but reckless foolishness!”
“I know, I know. But that all ends today.”
Easwith turned her head to one side whilst keeping her eyes, narrowed, on Claude, untrusting of his serious face. Searching for a catch. There always was one, was there not? Always a but . 
Yet it was Dimitri that spoke first. “What do you mean?”
“Take this.” Claude gave Dimitri his bow: an ancient relic, not too dissimilar an age to Areadbhar, made of bone. It’s crest stone showed no response to Dimitri’s. “Use it however you see fit.”
An archer was never seen without their bow. It was an act of dishonour to be without it. And as a leader? Even use to be without a weapon at all.
“Falnaught?” Dimitri’s surprise was less in irritation and more of pure confusion. “But isn’t this….” He shook his head and held out his hand to give it back. “Halt, Claude. This must be one of your jokes. You cannot truly intend to part with this.”
“It’s not a joke.” Claude straightened, hands upon his hips, whilst he spoke with certainty. “As of today, The Leicester Alliance is no more.”
“What do you
“ What!? ” Easwith’s voice was far louder despite her question coming from between gritted teeth. Something that Claude ignored. 
“The Noble houses have all agreed that if you  are to rule Fódlan, we will join you.”
“Who said anything about Dimitri taking over Fódlan!? I’ll hit them upside the head for it!” She snorted a sigh, like a bovine warning a living creature to get away from its young. “Our goal is only to end the war by taking out Edelgard. No plans for Fódlan unification have been made, let alone discussed .”
“It has already been decided, With. Besides, back in the day, The Alliance split from Fearghus.”
“Because King Klaus didn’t name a son to rule, when he shouldn’t have had to because his eldest ticked all the boxes. Not that it matters, because whilst your Lords and Ladies may want it, have you ever thought that maybe the actual people ; the smiths, the tailors, the carpenters, the sailors, the farmers, the merchants, your money makers that fill your coffers and don’t see a bar of silver for it , don’t want that?”
“With, I already have permission.”
“ I don’t care about the permission of your bloody round table! ” Her legs tensed to keep her standing straight. “I care about the people caught in the middle of this! The little people! The impoverished, the workers, those outside of nobility! Not your roundtable that argues amongst themselves all the time for the sake of a bloody seat of power!”
Dimitri eased her arms free from their folded state, taking the hand closest to him with ease in a tender weave of fingers. Whilst his thumb worked on calming her by running along the side of her palm, Byleth asked the all-important question. “What will you do?”
“I’m leaving Fódlan.” The air shifted. Charged..To her, it felt no different to an incoming storm of rain, hail, thunder and lightning. To another, like lightning magic had just been fired. She felt Dimitri move, almost silently begging Claude to stop. A warning that was ignored. “I have things to do “
“Screw those other tasks of yours!” Her voice echoed off the closest walls. The pigeons that had landed to snack upon seed spread about in debris were so startled they almost crashed into each other as they tried to fly away. “You’re needed here far more desperately!”
“With… I have made my choice.”
“It’s a choice of cowardice! The Alliance has been your home for eight years and you’re just abandoning it when it needs your talents!” Easwith took a step back. It would be forgiven to think that her lips remained in their resting position, yet their corners curled in contempt. She shook her head in disgust. 
“C’mon, Cousin dearest, your disappointed look doesn’t suit you.”
“Would you like me to smile after just hearing ‘here’s all my problems for you to fix, buhbye’? You have no idea what the front lines were like, sat all pretty, refusing to get your hands dirty just like now! Perhaps you had the privilege of being able to do so because Fearghus was all but lost! Because of the sacrifices of countless others, including my damn self! People have bled for you to do nothing but sail away to some unknown land far, far away from our suffering. The least you could do is show some bloody respect, Claude Von Riegan!” Where the cut to her lip had been earned, she felt a tug. She winced. Shaking fingers swiftly took off her gauntlet to press her hand, free from blood and gore, to it at the taste of copper. Beneath her touch, she felt the blood and the scab that had decided enough was enough. “If that’s even your real name. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was a lie. That all this care was…”
“Beloved, that is enough.” Dimitri stood between her and Claude. He focused his gaze upon her. His tone was final in authority, but calm in nature. His hand gently held her cheek. “I’m certain your Uncle and Alexander will be worried about not being able to find you.”
Snawthryth nudged her hip. Easwith groaned in undelightful defeat at being cast away. “Fine, I’ll go.” She stood upon a fallen beam of a market stall and unceremoniously got into the saddle with her left hand on the front of the saddle and her right elbow being her only support. “You’re not going to be forgiven so easily this time. Not like you were when you disrespected my people in young ignorance. If next we meet, pray I’ve got memory loss.”
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couldbebetterforsure · 4 months
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Since you play Fire Emblem Heroes, what are your main teams?
Okay this is the last old ask I have in my inbox it seems!
As for your question, Anon, I have a few main ones!
My number one main team is Alfonse, default Takumi, default male Robin, and default male Corrin. This squad is the very first team I ever invested in for Heroes, they've been there from the start. While they may not be able to keep up with the meta, I'm attached to them and would never disband them. That being said, my Alfonse is basically a monster, the guy can hit harder than people expect and is surprisingly tanky at times!
Next team is my Blueberry Fam! Starring Knight Exalt Chrom, default female Robin, Brave Lucina, and default male Morgan. Of fucking course I'm gonna have a team centered on my beloved Awakening family!
Another one I have that isn't a complete team is Valla Family, which has default female Corrin, default Silas, and default male Kana, with a spot open for whenever Sophie decides to show up. A team based on my true run family for Fates!
I also have my beloved Stahlivia Fam team with default Stahl, Sky High Dancer Olivia, Dancer Inigo, and Soleil. I have said several times that Stahl/Olivia is my second favorite pairing of Awakening and it's a damn shame they aren't more popular. So at least I got to make a team for the fam in Heroes!
I have a Faerghus Four team that is also my Arena Defense team made up of Summer Dimitri, default Felix, Summer Sylvain, and Summer Ingrid. Originally it was Winter Felix in the team for shits and giggles but I switched him out with default Felix for some coverage.
I have another Chrobin family team that has Valentine Chrom/male Robin duo, Valentine female Robin, Valentine Lucina, and Fallen male Morgan. I love the comedy of this team!
And last but not least, my last main team is default male Alear, default female Alear, default Alfred, and default Lumera. I love my sweet babies on this team so much!
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Stolen
Officially dipping my toes into Fire Emblem fics. Dimitri has replaced V as the traumatized sad boy I can project onto lmaooooo. Expect PTSD recovery fics in the nearish future. Yall know I’m weak for those.
Fire Emblem Three Houses | M (for violence, not smut) | Dimileth
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Dimitri used to dream of battlefields.
He’s not sure what it says about him that his mind, when left to wander, is most comfortable at war. He is soothed by the monsters in his own imagination and only sleeps comfortably with a knife under his pillow.
During the fall of Garreg Mach, he wonders if he’s dreaming, barely hearing the screams around him and reaching for his lance out of instinct and little else. He is numb to the fire and destruction and does not return to his senses until he’s tossed into a cell.
Only then does he resist it; throwing his body at the bars like an angry tiger. He does not want to be left alone in the silence; cannot stand the idea of being left in the dark. The calm and quiet leaves him thinking of corpses; it fills his nose with the smell of smoke and burning bodies.He does not sleep there unless he can help it. He paces every corner of his cell in the hope that sunlight might burn through the cracks. It’s almost cruel that the chaos of his escape is the closest he has ever felt to home.
It’s winter when he returns to Garreg Mach and the monastery is blanketed in a thick layer of snow. He glances back at his footsteps in the ice, all too aware that he walks alone.
He remembers it as he walks through the empty halls, dodging rubble and bodies on the way. In his imagination the monastery is caught in an eternal summer: Ashe sitting on a tree branch and dropping apples into Mercedes’ basket; Sylvain whispering sweet nothings into a different girl’s ear to the one the day before, only to be yanked away the ear by an increasingly frustrated Ingrid; Felix begrudgingly carrying a pile of books from the library with Annette in tow; Dedue kneeling on the floor of the greenhouse and tending to his Duscur flowers.
Ashe’s tree is gone now; chopped for firewood well over a year ago. Sylvain’s makeshift lover’s corner is nothing more than rubble. The library was swallowed up in flames and its heavy tomes left in tatters where they’ve survived at all. Dedue’s Duscur flowers are overgrown.
He remembers the Professor sleeping in the library, the focussed expression on her face as she fished by sunset. He remembers the way she pored over heavy books, familiarising herself with magic and cavalry techniques so that she might better instruct her students.
It goes without saying that the Professor is not there either, a gaping void in what had once been his home. He doesn’t know where she went and that makes it worse.
Only when he’s standing inside of the ruined goddess tower does he realise he’s been searching for her. If he’s completely honest with himself, he’s been searching for her since the invasion. He craned his neck and peered through the bars of his cell, searching the faces of every other prisoner in the hopes that one of them would be Byleth. He expected her to be there when he escaped the darkness at the cost of Dedue’s life; an echo of the moment she split the sky. He wishes now that he had told her the truth about his feelings  when it mattered. He wishes he hadn’t cracked a joke for fear of rejection.
Not for the first time in his life, he laments his stolen future. It’s easier to think of it as stolen by somebody else than lost through his own neglect.
His demons have always had faces, but now they have claws and he feels them break the skin every time he wanders the ruined halls. They whisper in his ear as he lingers on the cusp of sleep, reminding him of everything he could have done differently.
Three months after his return, he catches a thief red handed. They’re little more than a boy-as young as he was when his father took his last breath- but he cannot see beyond what they represent. They’re only holding a silver plate, but it might as well have been his still beating heart. It’s not even his plate but the idea of losing something else fills him with rage.
He doesn’t feel remorse until later; too focused on the Professor’s sleeping form and Dudue’s Duscur flowers to hold back. He watches the light fade from the thief's eyes as he once did autumn sunsets, cutting into him over and over to silence the crueler voices in his mind.
If he can save this plate, he isn’t worthless.
If he can fix this, it isn’t too late.
The other Blue Lions are stolen and might be returned if he cuts the throats of enough thieves.
They might come back if they know he’s looking for them.
He knows it’s ridiculous. He’s had dark thoughts before but this frightens even him. He can’t escape the smell of blood, can’t stop himself from taking a perverse sort of pleasure in smearing strangers’ blood across the halls. He tells each and every one of them that they’re failures as they drift away; they’re beasts and worthless and deserving of far worse. They stole away his endless summer.
He’s sure he remembers them cutting down Ashe’s apple tree. Weren’t they the ones who burned the library? The Professor is gone now and they’re the ones to blame.
He used to dream of battlefields, but now he dreams of a stolen life- a past, present and future he doesn’t belong in anymore. He no longer recognises himself in the beloved king he wanted so much to be, doesn’t want to tarnish the throne and his birthright.
That Dimitri would be frightened of him, he’s sure and that Byleth would be disgusted.
He’s disappointed every time he wakes up, wanting nothing more than to slip away in his sleep, even though he’s well aware that such a gentle fate is more than he deserves.
It’s strangely fitting when he hears her footsteps across the stone floor only when he is content to die; one last kiss from an angel before his descent into hell.
Byleth looks the same, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. The sky behind her is the perfect shade of peach and leaves a golden halo in her hair and he stares at the hand she extends, taking note of the calluses that litter her palms.
She doesn’t have the delicate hands of a story book maiden, but he’s always believed that to be one of her finer qualities. Even so, he hesitates before giving her his own. Surely she can see the blood stains and broken lives smeared across it. She’s not real, yet the guilt overrides his senses nonetheless.
Right now she is a goddess in all but name and he is not the one she came here to save.
He takes her hand, if nothing else for the fact that it’s so warm in his. For a moment, even temporarily, she’s real and returned to him and it silences his mind.
“I should have known,” he says aloud, his voice an unfamiliar rasp, “that one day you’d haunt me as well.”
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emperorcrest-blog · 5 years
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❝ you’re all i ever wanted and worth dying for, too. ❞
richard siken quotes / not accepting.
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 four years of no war, and you are twenty six and aching. four years of no war, and there’s nothing left for you. four years of peace, and you hurt profoundly and deeply. your bones feel tired, down to your very core. mercenary life suited you well. but there’s just no work anymore. the world is at peace, so utterly still and silent that it feels like there’s nowhere you could possibly exist. you should die, you think. you should fall on your sword here and now. and there would be little stopping you - you are not the fraldarius heir. you are not beloved by the world. you do not belong here.
 and yet -
                 you do not break your promises. 
 there was one, a small, enourmous promise you made at the age of eight years old, little fingers coiled round each other, and the promise of hey, we’ll always be together, won’t we? we’ll die together, right? passed in the dark of the gautier household, your heart beating fast for something so morbid. you do not break your promises. 
 you don’t know how to ask for the things you want. you don’t know how to be anything but alone. you have to leave the door open, and let other people walk in. this is how you’ve operated since you were a child. you had to think and live for yourself, for what kind of warrior relies on others? but you feel so cold, down to your bones, and you’d like to not be alone anymore. 
 parting with your favourite sword feels a little like parting with your own soul, but if you know sylvain  - and you think you do, better than anyone - then you won’t be without it for long. you take yourself back to the one place the two have returned to over and over again over the years. you’ve visited the ruins of garreg mach a lot - not to worship, but just to reminise between jobs. nine years since you were a student there, and it holds such a place in your heart still, if just for all the time you spent there both at peace and at war. the people there say he’s visited too, in bright voices - the flirtatious margrave gautier, all smiles and sunshine. you know. so garreg mach is the ideal halfway point. you want to meet him halfway.
 you wait in the hallway, under the arch, where the ruined altar sits, that neither of you willingly prayed at. it’s nothing special anymore. it’s just some rubble. it’s not holy, and it’s not beautiful. it is rock. 
  “felix.” a voice, so full of emotion that it makes your heart skip, and you turn, and there’s sylvain - less armour than you remember, with a soft smile, and something in you breaks. this is what you’ve been wanting all these years, not the battlefield, not the sword, not war, but him. it’s what you’ve always wanted. you just haven’t known how to admit it. you don’t know how to ask for what you want. 
 you’re hardly too emotional, or you try not to be. but here and now, you turn, twist, trip slightly, and run towards sylvain. you meet each other halfway, crash into each other, and it’s been four years, and he’s as warm as summer and as solid as a tree. “i missed you, felix.” it’s a sigh against your ear, and you shudder. 
 “let’s get out of here.” you tug his hand, pull him away from the rubble that used to be something, something holy, something ugly, something destructive, and out into the sunlight. and then his hands are on your face, on your shoulders, on your hair, like he can’t believe you’re there. and in all honesty, neither can you. it sets your heart racing against your chest like a drum. 
 “give me back my sword.” your words are harsh, but the tone playful, and sylvain laughs back as he presses it back into your hands, and you relish the cold steel on your skin. you missed it, even if it was just a short time apart.
 “i knew you weren’t dead. everyone said you were dead. but i knew you weren’t.” sylvain’s voice is strained, heavy with something, and he takes your hand. you feel something tighten in your chest. 
 “i don’t break promises.” you’re saying something else in those words.
 sylvain smiles sadly. “i know.” he says back, and he’s saying something else as well. you pull him into the sun, just to watch it set his hair alight like flames. it’s heartstopping. sylvain looks at you, really looks for a long moment, eyes like embers. “you’re all i ever wanted and worth dying for, too.” he says, suddenly, and what are you meant to say back?
 you’re twenty six years old, and you don’t know how to say i love you without the words getting stuck in your throat, but you do know how to lean in and catch his face in your hands the way you’ve wanted to since you were eleven years old, and you do know how to push your mouths together like pieces of twin stars.
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thethinkpit · 5 years
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Temporary Freedom
I can’t quite describe the sound of a car starting. A vroom does not quite cut it. A chug- chug- chug is what happens when the car fails to start, or nearly fails. There is a kind of hitch, and pshh and then a low purring and a rolling of the r’s. There’s no singular sound that I can write that quite describes the sound of that hitch, pshh and purr. hi-pshh-purr. hII-psh-pururur. The sound is familiar to all of us, yet it is not easy to describe. Perhaps because we never really have to.
              For some, hearing that sound can mean freedom. After walking up the long hill from the kitchen, slowly unbuttoning the top buttons near the neck, and yanking the shirt out from under the entrapment of pseudo-belt/apron rigged around through the loops of the pants all I can think is freedom.  Gravel crunching under the soles of the shoes, opening the car door and trapped latent heat pouring out and sitting on the hot seat is freedom. To wrench off tight shoes and peel now-gross socks from my feet is freeing. Slamming the door, rolling the windows down and to pressing my bare feet against the brake and the clutch while turning the key is all to hear the familiar hII-psh-pururur, the sound of my freedom. My red freedom-chariot absconds from the gravel parking lot.    
              Daily, I submit to this torture. I wake up at 4:30, get dressed and prepared to leave by 5 or usually by 5:15. I spend approximately 30 minutes driving to work, and on certain days I take the long way around to pick up my co-worker. Arriving at work by 6:00, I go down to the nearly empty kitchen. Greet the young, sourly judgmental chef named Kyle as he putters around and start the coffee, I admit though, I preferred the days where the French sous-chef Sylvain started with me.
Then I start flipping over cups and putting out the little things: flowers, carefully piped whipped butters, house made jams, salt and pepper shakers. Carefully align the silverware- spoon with a knife facing inward on the right side, forks on the left- expensive, polished glassware -Simon Pierce water glasses positioned off the mat above the knife and spoon- and the mats on which they rest, making sure that the leftmost mat always overlaps the one on the right. Then grab the stack of identically folded napkins and place them in the same identical position on every mat. Thankfully, it is raining, and I don’t have to move these all outside and put up the umbrellas.
As I do this, the housekeeping ladies come in to clean and fill the fireplaces with wood - because only rich people would ask to have a fire in the summer- as well as vacuum the crumbs from dinner last night. After they are done rearranging the chairs to vacuum and prop the hose into the housevac with the chairs, I move them all back and inspect each chair pillow for the correct amount of fluffiness. Then it’s time for the continental. The coffee is freshly brewed just in time for me to empty it into polished silver carafes, and carefully arrange pitchers of cream, milk and almond milk beside carafes of coffee, decaf coffee and hot water. Add a wooden tea box, expensive Farmhouse Pottery mugs and honey as well as napkins and it is almost ready. Finally, stacks of newspapers on the table opposite of the Barn Room with the Times, the Boston Globe and Wall Street Journal. Seriously, I don’t know anyone who reads the Wall Street Journal, must be a rich person thing. Also, if these people are here to visit Vermont, they should have a copy of the Herald or the Valley News, right? Incorrect, only one visitor that entire summer asked to have a local paper with his daily morning room service of coffee and pastries.  Still, if I am lucky, and my early morning partner competent, I should have a few moments to read the headlines. I run into the kitchen to grab the breakfast menus and stack them on the table near the door in a perfect pile. Only then is every, single, tiny, detail is similar and perfect all before we open for breakfast at 7:00.
        ��     Driving blind is generally not recommended. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. I can see, but the rushing air flying through the car moves my now loose hair in awkward, un-traceable flows. I could slow, but I do not want to slow my escape. I could tie my hair back again but denying my hair of the same freedoms I pursue seems contradictory. Especially now that I just allowed it to be free. I can see through changing masses of brown curls that infect my vision, just perhaps not completely.
              Quickly I prepare the baskets for room services. Deftly, I check that every basket is filled with whatever the guest could possibly need. Butter and Jam go with every bread like item, half-and-half with every order of coffee as well as a sugar box, and ALWAYS water and water glasses with every room service- but not the Simon Pierce glasses, those stay in the dining room, instead we send the Ridel ones carefully wrapped up in a cloth napkin. Once Kyle or Sylvain had finished the food I would wrap it and put it in the basket before running out the door.
              I didn’t love that it was raining now. Room services were not fun in the rain. At first, I had to use the map to figure out where I was on the property. The cottages were not clearly labelled “Orchard Cottage”, or “Chalet Cottage” and there weren’t signs that pointed toward where you wanted to go. When I had the pattern down though, it was amazing to drive the van around the property. For a few seconds, I had the luxury of having power. It was me versus the guest. I held their beloved coffee and buttermilk pancakes hostage. They may have the wealth and power to book a few nights at a five-star resort, but their demand for caffeine and carbs at 7:30 in the morning was thwarted by some eighteen-year-old college student from the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Of course, I had to give in to their demands, but I could’ve taken the van, ran into the woods and ate the pancakes myself.
When I would set up breakfast for guests, usually they were wearing their fluffy white bathrobes, sometimes they would ask about me to avoid awkward silences or to learn more about my backstory like I was some character in an interactive story they indulged in when they came here. The usual story was that I was working here during the summer to help pay for my college education and they seemed happy with that. The traditional idea of a hard-working girl putting herself through school usually appeased them enough to stop their questions, despite that not being the truth because it was not just me working hard. It was my entire family. My mother overworking herself, and my grandparents for taking me in. I worked fifty hours a week for something that these people could buy easily. That what was the most intimidating about these people, if they were feeling generous they could make my unending struggle go away. A couple thousand dollars was nothing to them, but it was costing me my limited, youthful summer days.
              The Royalton Turnpike was a beautiful DIRT road that wound its way from Royalton to Barnard. As I left ‘the hidden gem’ that was Twin Farms, I could see the descent into ‘my folk’. Suddenly the lawns were not all well-kept, and the further down the turnpike I was the more likely I was to see the junk in people’s yards. The further away I was from Barnard the rougher and bumpier the ride got, washboard rattles were more frequent as were potholes in the road. Driving my car, I was in control. I could slow if I wanted to, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t have go with the curve of the road, but I did. I was alone, and free of anyone’s expectations. I could pump my music as loud as I wanted, I could sing at the top of my lungs in a horrible off-key way and no one would care or correct me. My performance was only for me and no one depended on me.
              The only time I wasn’t running around- but with the esteemed grace and even-pace as if everything was under control- was in the rare case that I wasn’t doing room services and the kitchen wasn’t behind. Then I would stand diligently at the doors to the dining room (leaning was not tolerated). I would check my apron was straight, all the buttons buttoned then stand with my back straight, hands clasped behind me, and smile on my face waiting for guests to arrive. However, as the summer went on they depended on me more and more and that meant no more waiting for guests to arrive but rather I was the one running the show in the kitchen. The Expediter- or Expo- as we called it. I called the shots, told house-keeping whose room to clean, told servers where to take food. I went out and calmly took orders from the guests with a happy go-lucky persona that pleased them. I always never could understand this idea we portrayed: happy to serve and be there. Once a Guest asked me if I would be at dinner later after I had served them both breakfast and lunch. I told them that “unfortunately I had to go home and cook dinner for my grandparents”.  They seem to forget that I am an actual human being with a family and life to go home to at 4:00 pm every day. Perhaps they thought I was just part of the furniture, that I lived here, and was part of the dining room, part of the hotel’s experience.
              The longer I stayed there the less I believe I existed. I became part of the dining room, and part of the quaint Vermont existence. I became the stereotypical poor farm girl, who knew the area and could recommend good spots to go swimming. The more I served the more subordinate I became, and the more I believed in the power of these people. I became powerless. My ideas and beliefs no longer had meaning because I was meaningless in these people’s lives. They forgot me as soon as they saw me, which had never happened to me before in my life. People always remember me until I became a server.
              I need the job to be free, but I need to be free from the job. I live in a world of sacrificed happiness to obtain my eventual freedom. We are taught to value freedom because once I am free I am supposed to be happy. But what happens when our search for freedom becomes the drain of the happiness I desire? We are happy as children despite a complete, utter lack of control and ability to make decisions. Once we are given opportunity to make choices what if that’s when-
              I slam on the brake, and the curls littering my vision fall to the side.  I can see the stop sign, the same red as my freedom-chariot, bright in the afternoon sunlight. The engine sputters and stops.
              I sigh and push the clutch in as well and turn the key. The familiar HII-pshh-PUurur sound enters my mind. The sound of temporary freedom.
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One year since my exchange ended and the gang is back. Three of my beloved besties from my home in Kanagawa came to visit me for three weeks this summer vacation. It was so indescribably wonderful to see them all and improve my Japanese. Together we went to Canada for four days to visit Sylvain who was my exchange brother during my time in Japan and a mutual friend of all of us. Those who have followed my posts will know him. All of us are slowly headed down the path to becoming adults as we've know all graduated high school and are working towards our dreams. As sad as goodbye is and knowing I may not see them again until I can go on college exchange at least a year from now digs a hole in my gut but I know that they'll always be waiting for me. So for their sake the best I can do is work hard, improve my Japanese, and get back home.
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