blaiddydblood | { open post }

He's angry. It's obvious in his body language. The man is taut, tense, and just begging for someone to give him a reason to fight. Of course, it's not a fight he actually wants. Or is it? Not in the usual sense, anyway. While the man is often hungry for bloodshed, this time he craves a different sort of rush. His tail sticks swishes back and forth in annoyance and claws dig idly into the rubble at his feet within the now ruined monastery. His golden ears are up and alert but flatten back in annoyance as soon as someone draws too close.

When he absolutely had to give into his instincts before, it was easy to disassociate and be done with it. He didn't ask their name, didn't pretend it was anything more than an annoying primal need, and hoped to never see them again. Dimitri didn't want to carry on his line in such a way so he was careful still; he wasn't sure if he wanted to carry it on at all anymore. Perhaps Blaiddyd's blood should dry up with him. Perhaps it should have that day in Duscur, the capital, or countless of times since yet here we was. Pathetic. Miserable.

Now though? Now, he's reunited with 'pack' only to be surrounded by people he knows and desires he doesn't want cropping up. He hasn't entertained the idea of laying with them since... It makes him ashamed, in a way, to admit that he ever had such untoward thoughts about his friends. When Ashe smiled at him so, when Dedue or Annette hummed a calming tune in the greenhouse, when Felix turned red after he complimented him after a well-won sparring session, when Mercedes tenderly wrapped wounds that he was clumsy enough to get, or even when Sylvain winked and thew an arm around him teasingly- How could he not feel some semblance of desire now and again? It was only natural.

Just as he seems to think of him, Sylvain manifests. He's just as bright as Dimitri remembers though there's a certain fatigue to him these days. It would make his heart ache if the would-be king had one left to speak of. War has weighed on them all, he knows, and the reminder of the battles yet before them makes him feel even more deeply frustrated at the way his thoughts turn the longer he looks at his old friend. He wants to take him, claim him, ruin him for anyone else again- Anger is easier than acknowledging those thoughts, however, and so he bares his fangs and grumbles as the other man draws close.

"What do you want?"

Dimitri knows. He had heard them, the professor and his so-called packmates whispering about how something needed to be done about Dimitri's current... predicament. He may be the alpha only in name, these days, but they still tread carefully around him in case.

It's a strange position he's put himself in. The years of war weigh heavily on all of them, true, but in some ways the war has also been a relief. A way to give himself value beyond merely his blood. If he can help people, protect people, then that too would be worthwhile. People were far less interested in trying to bed a nobleman when odds were that nobleman would die at every turn, leading troops into one battle after another.

More than that it was okay to be sad and weary. No one spoke ill of a man burdened by war. There was less need for him to perform for those around him, to be bright and cheerful and stupidly flirtatious.

But it's something he's done for so long it makes him the obvious choice when Dimitri's focus truly begins to slip. The professor might bring it up first but they all know what needs to happen. The unanimous agreement is that Sylvain will at least be the one to test the waters.

"We're worried about you, Highness."

The word 'worried' receives nothing but a growl behind gritted teeth. Worried. As if. He doesn't believe for a moment that they're truly worried about him. The advantage he brings to the war, perhaps, or what it might mean if the Blaiddyd crest is wiped from existence. He isn't meaningful to them beyond that; he would be delusional to believe otherwise.

Or, perhaps, a small part of him whispers, he's delusional for thinking he isn't meaningful to them beyond that. That part of him is one that he crushes beneath his heel almost instinctually now; the naive, idealistic boy he was once was that believed in ridiculous notions like being loved is long dead.

"And so what?" he finally asks, good eye turning up to scrutinize Sylvain where he stands nearby.

Sylvain looks uncomfortable for a moment, the immediate growl in response making his ears pin back, thick tail drawn in close to his legs. It's brief though, forcing his body to relax, all easy hollow smiles and casual cruelty. He'd known damn well coming up here that Dimitri wouldn't just accept it, would probably not even acknowledge his words. It didn't matter that they were worried, did it? They've been worried about him for years, how is now any different?

So he slips back behind that comfortable playboy mask, cocking a brow. "So~ you need to do something about it, right?"

A vague sort of shrug, heart already hammering in his chest, Dimitri makes him nervous like this and intentionally grating on his nerves is a little scary but... Ignoring it isn't an option and if Dimitri isn't going to even acknowledge it then... Well the easiest way to push him into doing what needs to be done is to fray his already threadbare self restraint. Anger was more likely to do that than lust, no matter how deep into his rut he was.

If he was good at nothing else provoking people into lashing out at him was a specialty of Sylvains'. "Or don't... I guess the Empire can wait while you're......... mm. Like This."

"It can't."

He knows exactly where to strike, doesn't he? Sylvain has always known. The carefree tone he takes only serves to sting that much more. It angers him, honestly, and he can't himself from the way he suddenly moves. That's likely what he wants and Dimitri is playing right into it, he knows, but his frustration is weighing out sense the longer this goes on.

"But what, exactly, do you propose I do?"

Dimitri takes Sylvain's face in his claws, baring his teeth dangerously. They may be close to the same height but he's learned to use his stature to his advantage and seem bigger than he is. There is no 'we' in this. Not really. Despite the fact that Sylvain was here, he knows it's not genuine.

It isn't, right? It can't be.

He might not be much taller, sure, but there is a vast difference in strength there never mind how broad the blond has become. Between the grip on his face and the way Dimitri looms over him it's hard to hide his nerves but... well, he's had to hide much stronger feelings from far more dangerous people. He lets himself go loose and pliant in the wolf's hold, lips curled into a lazy, almost smug smile.

"Doesn't look like I need to propose anything~" A warm, chuckle that rolls through his chest, somewhere between a canine huff and a feline purr. "You can't keep your hands off me."

The grin widens, honeyed gaze bright with a delirious, dangerous sort of eagerness. "Get on with it, then. The sooner you do the sooner you can go back to hunting your precious little sister. Wouldn't want to do this to her would you?"

It's too much, pushing too hard, too fast... but he doesn't know how well he'd be able to look into the rage in Dimitri's eyes and not give away the hurt in his own. Better to get this done as soon as possible so they could all go back to pretending things are fine, right?

It's not. Dimitri decides in that moment, when he's taunted so, that all this is... It's appeasement. Satisfy the would-be king so he can be of some use to them. Part of him almost pulls away out of spite.

The next jab strikes the already stoked fire of his anger though. He would never, he thinks with a guttural growl, unless it was to hurt her. And isn't this-? For a brief moment, some indiscernible feeling ebbs forward. This isn't how it was supposed to go. He had wanted, so long ago, to not only be a silent audience to the moans that filtered through his open academy window from Sylvain's quarters. He had wanted-

Before that goes anywhere, he stifles the naive boy he used to be and hopes he may have held. This isn't anything to Sylvain. To him. It never was going to be.

"No," he answers, finally, the edge to his tone now ice cold rather than raging hot. "I'd much rather do it to you. Put your hollowed-out sweet words and cunning tongue to some actual use beyond being obnoxious." With that, the redhead is practically yanked forward into Dimitri's grasp as he brings their lips together harshly.

Hollow words and cunning tongue. Ah but Dimitri still knows him so so well, even while not knowing him at all, doesn't he. There's a rumble of laughter, something dark and derogatory that he has to choke back down because Dimitri claims his mouth, sudden and hard. It makes something in his chest clench and twist into a thick knot that threatens to suffocate him. The sweet boy he'd known and loved so dearly mangled and warped into this bitter husk of a man.

Sylvain barely has time to suck in a gasp beforehand, to at least make sure he doesn't become too dizzy under the fierce kiss. He does his best to maintain that looseness in his limbs, to not tense, to merely gravitate towards the blond, lean against his chest a little. One hand rests on Dimitri's shoulder, thumb tracing the lines of the plates that make up his armor until he can slip past the steel collar, a gentle stroke along the line of his throat.

Just the warmth of someone he cares for so deeply beneath his fingers is enough to make him whine into the kiss, lips parted eagerly to allow Dimitri inside, to let his king ravage him. Whatever he needs Sylvain will happily give. His other hand comes up on tje other side, fingers sliding over his jaw, sweet and gentle and-

And too telling, far too telling. No, no, no. It will hurt Dimitri to think there is anything more than necessity here. Hurt them both in their own ways. So the gentle touch to his face swiftly shifts back to sink his fingers into those wild blond strands, clenching hard, forcing them closer together and finally putting a bit of fight into the kiss.

Hollowed out with nothing but haunted echoes of the dead to fill in the empty space. At least, he knows this. He knows what Sylvain wants. Or, at least, what be believes the man wants at this moment. Convinces himself he wants because any other option is too painful to consider.

He doesn't match the other man's gentleness. Dimitri's movements are sloppy and careless. In fact, he might be trying too hard to be rough because- This isn't fair. Some part of him recognizes that. Some part of him he convinces others he has long since eradicated but in reality won't stay dead.

When his lips part, Dimitri is filling the man's mouth with his tongue. A clack of teeth as Sylvain finds his fight against Dimitri's grasp. Good. That's- He doesn't want this. It makes it easier, almost, to know that he isn't wanted than face the guilt and grief to follow if he was. If it is just necessity, just want- That's fine.

He growls into Sylvain's mouth as his hair is grabbed. It's a surprisingly pleased sound, an almost excited undercurrent to it. In retaliation, Dimitri finds the joints in his armor to begin breaking it off where he can. It may hurt. He doesn't care.

A Knight's duty was never done. While Dimitri had ascended to the throne, he was still a knight before a king. He led his forces on the battlefield as was expected of him, as his father before him had. While many, like Dedue, fret for his safety he had survived through more than enough of war that quelling uprisings in the Empire's name here or there was nothing.

Or so he believed. Perhaps it was overconfidence. Or maybe sleep deprivation? Honestly, it might be fair to assume a combination of the two since Dimitri was not known for taking care of himself. His queen, more than anyone, was aware enough of that. She had to remind him to eat when he worked too long without or find him in the library late at night asleep after not coming to bed.

He's been away for some two months now, he realizes. While the time apart was difficult, he knew it was only temporary as they restored and did their best to unite Fodlan under the Kingdom's banners. Of course, he had imagined their reunion having far less blood. He's staining the carpet, he thinks, lightheaded and dazed but wanting to see Lioriley before anything else.

He dismisses the fuss about him although they finally get him to sit in the war room while he waits. He may not be in his right mind? His chest where the lance had pierced his armor still aches and he feels colder by the minute, but he wants-

"Ah, there you are," he says, smiling despite himself as his wife finally arrives. If she looks concerned, he doesn't seem to notice. Truthfully, he doesn't really notice much beyond thinking she's as beautiful as he remembers and that he missed her more than he realized. "I'm sorry for all the commotion. My wound truly isn't that serious."

Lioriley worried. She always did. Regardless of Dimitri's inherent ability to command, to fight, to know the battlefield perhaps more than he knew anything else in this world, she always worried for him. Noble knights so frequently fell in battle, and Dimitri was no exception to that - so easily he could be lost, if just one thing went wrong.

Her worries, such as they were, were apparently not entirely unfounded this time. 'The king has returned' were words she had ached to hear for the past two months, but she cared to hear them less so when accompanied by the knowledge that he had been injured, that he was sitting in the war room because he could not muster the strength to make it to her. And she had run with little regard for the servants and guards that tried to get her to stop for a proper escort.

She did look worried, her brows furrowed, the curved lines along her dark skin glowing bright and pulsing as her heart raced. Dark eyes looked first to her husband's face, then the floor; the pool of blood, and she barely noticed what he had said as she hurried over in a flurry of pale blue skirts and silks, hands set on both his cheeks.

"My love, why have you not been tended to?" She asked, ignoring the apology and the insistence that his wound was not serious. It clearly was, she noted, with the pallor of his skin. Her fingers curled, a pulse of heat sent from her fingertips and into his skin; healing magic he was likely familiar with at this point, now more so than she had ever hoped he would be. "Look at me, darling."

"I wanted..." His breath is a bit strained and he needs a moment. Not a good sign, he thinks idly through the haze of discomfort. Had they punctured a lung? No, he would have noticed sooner. His chest is bruised, absolutely, and that likely makes things like breathing a bit more difficult. The man takes a slow, level inhale and exhales slowly. With his good eye, he gazes lovingly at his wife.

"I wanted you to see you. Perhaps I was... a bit too stubborn. They did heal me but I was in such a hurry to return that they re-opened, I think, and I was too determined to return home to notice until now." Until he was pooling blood on the floor, until his guard was beside themself with distress. Dedue would ensure that he wouldn't fall, he's sure, but had indulged him this small request.

"Besides, you're the best and most beautiful healer in the country. Can you blame me for wanting your touch more than anyone else's, in the end?" Blood loss makes him somehow more poetic, who knew!

"Dimitri..." She frowned, thumbs rubbing gently along the curve of his cheeks, leylines pulsing with both her concern for his well being, and the surges of healing magic she cast into him to assure those wounds would close and he would not collapse in the pool of blood collecting upon the floor. "You must be more careful, my love. I would much rather a delay in your return, than to hear of your demise via your own stubbornness." She chided, and yet still she blushed, unable to be angry with him for longer than two seconds.

Lioriley leaned in, carefully pressing her lips against his, a hand finally moving to tuck some of his hair behind an ear. "You should be well enough in a moment to move - and we can escort you to our chambers for a proper rest, hm?"

He adores the way that his name rolls of her tongue. Not 'your majesty,' but always Dimitri. Despite the fact that she had been corrected before, he'd always insisted that she continued to speak of him as an equal. He can feel his hurts being to heal and sighs in relief. Perhaps he'd been hurting more than he truly realized.

"That would be my demise, wouldn't it?" he asks, trying to add some levity as he comes back to his senses a bit. Ah. It's dawning him how ridiculous he had been; he's grateful for such a patient, caring partner. He couldn't ask for better. Despite the doubts cast on the union originally, well- She's right. He's stubborn. He wouldn't have accepted anyone else's hand, in the end, and doesn't regret his decision for a second.

He's quick to kiss her back and practically lean into that gentle touch. It'd been too long, he thinks once more, and vows silently to not be apart for so long again. It's nothing he can't actually guarantee, of course, given his role as king but- He can try. "I'd like that," the man answers, aches still deep in his body but not nearly as prominent. "And I promise I won't go to such lengths to ensure I take some much needed rest in the future."

[It’s been a strange few months in Rose’s life to say the least. It started with her finding Dimitri on the brink of despair, and ended with her becoming his betrothed.]

[Palace life is nice, but it hadn’t been sitting with her well recently. She’d oft wake up sick in the morning or become sick in the evening, to say nothing of some of the back pain and tiredness she’d been feeling. She thought nothing of it, until one day her cycle came late. After discussing her “problems” with the palace healers, she realized there was only one possibility.]

[Which left her with a different problem entirely. Namely, how to tell her husband. She waits until Dimitri is alone, in his study. The knock on the door is softer than usual, perhaps because she has so much on her mind.]

Dear, are you in?

[ Strange, indeed. Although Dimitri couldn't imagine that his life would have taken such turns, he is glad for them all the same. He couldn't have ended up here if not for his despair and Rose's help leading him back from it. It only made sense, in the end, that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his days with.

While there are already people buzzing with talk about potential heirs once they wed, Dimitri hasn't put much stock into it. The last thing he wants to do is add more stress to the no doubt many adjustments she's had to make as a future queen. They're not trying so much as letting what happens happen. While the proper way would be to wait until they're married, well- Dimitri is only a man. ]

Ah, Rose- [ He lifts his head up from the few of many papers he had to sign, date, file, or pass along to advisors of some sort. It's all a lot to keep straight but he's insisted on being as involved in new Fodlan as he can. ] I was almost finished. Did I stay too late again?

[ He does have a bad habit of doing that. ]

[Dimitri is only a man and Rose is only a woman. For all of the pomp and circumstance she puts out, she can be surprisingly vulnerable at times.]

[She takes a seat, as she often does, on an unoccupied corner of Dimitri’s desk and crosses her arms.]

That’s not the reason I came, but you’re correct. No sane man should still be working this late.

[She shakes her head. Here it comes.]

Especially one who’s about to be a father.

[ So common a movement is it that he merely watches her hoist herself up as she has many a time before. ]

Then wh- [ He starts, but she keeps talking and he listens intently. He feels his heart seize momentarily.

-father. It echoes through his mind as he stares at her with his good eye now wide. The pen in his hand clatters to the desk as he forgets how to grasp things briefly. His mind reels trying to process that information just dropped on him. ]

You... You're certain? [ Even as he asks it, he's moving to stand and takes her hands into his. ] I'm sure you are, I just- Truly?

Even before his Academy days, Claude had loudly proclaimed himself an alpha. He really had to, to avoid even more trouble with his brothers. He used mostly herbal things to cover any telltale scent and took his cues from people he knew to be alphas, like Nadir, to get through the posturing bit.

He couldn't do much about the heats, of course. Sure, there were suppressants, but that was always a gamble. Anyone he got them from had to be trustworthy, and so few people were, especially in Fodlan. It was a miracle he got through the Academy without anyone finding out the truth. But then, the distraction of whatever else was going on worked in his favour.

The war made it worse, harder to trust anyone, harder to get what he needed to hide behind. And now, his diplomatic partnership with Dimitri is also working against him, mostly because of bad timing. He'd thought he had another week or so before he would have his heat hit, which would be easier to deal with in Almyra.

He miscalcuated.

He's on a diplomatic visit, as always, though he and Dimitri have grown fairly close over the past year and change. Still, there's never been any reason to cross a line about it. Claude tells himself he still doesn't have a reason, because he's Claude and he doesn't want to rely on others for help. But the biological pull is strong, especially since he's spent so much of his life suppressing or ignoring it.

But he also wasn't counting on another effect. He's not immune to Dimitri. The king's scent is everywhere in the castle, and it works its intended magic on Claude completely. He can barely stand it, the need that boils inside him just being here, being close to Dimitri.

It's late at night in the castle and Claude slips out onto a balcony, trying to avoid someone catching his scent. He's too warm inside anyway, and Faerghus is as cold as ever. Maybe the air will cool him off. (It will not.)

But to get here, he had to cross another part of the castle. He didn't think anyone was around, but he wasn't thinking about Dimitri's own habit of not sleeping enough. That means he had to walk right past one of the king's studies, enticing scent and all.

Because he thinks he's alone out here on the balcony, Claude isn't trying very hard to hold himself together. He's leaning too heavy on the railing, hands gripping it vice tight to avoid touching himself. That won't be enough anyway, and he's sure he can maintain enough control to cool off just a little. He's only here a couple more days, and if he can just get back to Almyra...

Well. He has to get through tonight first. His thoughts keep straying to Dimitri, to his height, his larger hands, his strength.

"Oh, hell," Claude says out loud, softly despite his thought that he's alone.

The royal family of Fhirdiad, of course, bred and raised alphas. Even from a young age, Dimtiri had been taught what that meant and the weight of the responsibility that came with it. He couldn't lose himself to just anyone's heat, he had to hold himself to a higher standard, and he had to focus on his studies first and foremost. Once his father was gone, it wasn't as though there were others unable to teach him the finer nuances of his position but... He found he didn't want their help.

It would come back to bite him, someday. He just expected it to be a lot sooner than now. Granted, he also didn't expect to be a feral living off the land for years either. While he's come a long way from that shadow of a beast he used to be, well- Some of the wild hadn't quite left him yet. Gilbert chided his poor manners and he probably didn't bathe as often as he ought to but, really, all things considered, he was rather well-adjusted still.

If he had a tail, it would have been wagging nearly the entire lead-up to and during Claude's arrival. While the boys hadn't been particularly close during their academy days, he chalked that up to their positions both as leaders and fellow alphas. Or... he presumed that they were both alphas. Claude has always held himself as one, after all, and Dimitri naively assumed perhaps that other royal lines were founded in this hierarchy as well.

That belief is unraveled quite swiftly when Dimitri catches the sound of someone ghosting past his study late one evening. Claude, he presumes, unable to sleep while the king meanwhile had gotten caught up in paperwork and lost track of the hours but- Oh. A delicious scent tickles his nose not long after and he moves almost unconsciously to follow it.

All of his senses suddenly feel heightened as he treads lightly despite his large frame. While stealth wasn't ever his strength, one wouldn't think it with how quietly he walks down the hallway to follow that sultry scent. Oh, hell he hears cursed upon a nearby balcony. Ah, he knows that voice, but...

It couldn't be. Could it?

"Claude?" Dimitri asks, not wanting to alarm the man but also trying to fight back the growing need to bridge any distance between them. The pupil of his good eye is wide despite his best attempts to appear calm and composed.

"Are you..." he starts to ask, but his voice trails off. It seems a silly thing to ask, doesn't it? He clearly is in heat. It's just a matter of what they want to do about it now, isn't it?

Part of Claude's draw to Dimitri, he might admit to himself in a locked away secret, is that wildness. Maybe it wouldn't have been there if things had been different, and of course he regrets the circumstances that led to Dimitri's state of mind during those tumultuous years. But the wild in him almost feels like freedom, dangerous and untamed, and Claude has always valued freedom. And okay, he courts danger a little when he feels it's a controlled risk. His self-preservation is very high but he takes stupid chances; that's why he loves flying too high and acrobatics with his archery. Multitudes and all that.

Claude is a good actor generally, but nothing on earth can let him lie his way out of this now. Stupid, he thinks. Fucking stupid, letting this happen. There are worse ways it could have gone, but this is pretty high on his theoretical lists of things to avoid at all costs. And yet!

He's not easy to take by surprise, but these are unusual circumstances. That cold Faerghus air has done absolutely nothing to clear his head, of course, not with Dimitri's overpowering scent still coming from the doorway, the feeling of all of this still clamouring in Claude's mind and body. He wants to tell himself he'll never let this happen again, but this could go several different ways and he's not sure which way is the most likely and which way is the way he most wants and which way is the most dangerous. There's some overlap there he's not ready to unpack, not in this state.

So he only catches Dimitri when he's too close to ignore. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, warning, nagging.

He tries to keep from turning around, because he still knows better, and if he just looks out at the snowy ground below maybe he can pretend he has any control over this situation at all. But of course he can't do that. He turns to face Dimitri, forcing a smile that no one would believe onto his face.

He shrugs a little. What can he do?

"Surprise, your Kingliness," he says, and it sounds like an invitation in his own ears.

He's good at appearing relaxed in tense situations, and he's mostly doing that here, his practiced stance and the tilt of his head. But inside it's taking all he has not to reach out, to seek Dimitri's warmth in whatever way he can, or maybe not to go to his knees right there. But he has some dignity left for the moment.

To his credit, most people regret the circumstances that led to Dimitri's state of mind during those years including Dimitri himself. While he isn't that man anymore, he isn't quite the royal he was raised to be either. Gilbert has to remind him of his table manners, to not chew on strange objects when thinking, and to keep himself guarded from falling victim to the depths of depravity he had once before. If asked, he'd admit that such a beast was always brewing inside him and just awaiting the day it could break free in a fit of rage.

It isn't rage that pulls the beast in him forth this time though. No, it's... something else entirely. It's a strange, foreign lull but not an unwelcome one either. He's only been faced with it a handful of times in his life and he can already hear the scolding in the back of his mind that he's no doubt going to receive from such... careless ease that he falls into this predicament himself.

It's already fun, he thinks, seeing the way that Claude tenses despite his best efforts. He's not used to being caught, is he? At having his carefully kept defenses so unexpectedly at jeopardy? That's the beast, he thinks, delighting a little in the 'hunt' of it all. But he can... restrain himself. He can. He tells himself he can, anyway, and does his best as he stands there still fighting against him to not just lunge forward.

"Hm," he hums, low and thoughtful. "I hadn't realized," he says, honestly. Always genuine, Dimitri, and even now that appears to be the case. "Though I suppose I'd always been... preoccupied." Murder. Vengeance. Heads on stakes, all that. "I can..."

He can what? It's hard for him to pin down, exactly, just what he can do for Claude although his mind tries to supply several untoward options.

"I can keep your secret," he finally settles on. "If... If it is, I mean- I figure that must be the case." He grips at the fabric of his shirt to keep his fingers busy, to not reach out and find warm skin and an even warmer, inviting mouth- Ah, seven hells, he's not going to be able to hide just how much this is affecting him for long, is he? His body begins to betray him rapidly despite his best efforts. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other to help expend some of that restless energy. Try as he might though, the thought of Claude choking on his cock permeates all his other rational ones.

Edited 2023-01-16 03:14 (UTC)

It has been five years since Dedue last saw His Highness.

Five years since the day he walked into a Faerghan prison with little more than an axe in his hand to free the boy who saved him, the boy he followed, the boy he loved. The rightful king of Faerghus. Dedue knew on that day that nothing else mattered but Dimitri's survival-- so long as he still drew breath, the hope for a brighter future remained.

And that hope still remains, to this day. Dimitri yet lives, and Dedue saw him when he joined the field at the battle of Myrddin. Though there was little time during the fray to speak, Dedue kept His Highness within eyesight for the duration, so that he might at least see him even if he couldn't catch up with his frenzied pace. In battle, he was like a man possessed, fighting with the reckless abandon that he had grown infamous for while in hiding.

After the battle, Dedue seeks him out. Though he is weary from both a long journey and a long fight, he must return to His Highness' side again. There can be no rest until then.

When he draws near, however, things are... different. Much can change in a few years' time, of course, but even after so long, Dedue remembers what Dimitri's scent was like. They had lived in close quarters since they were children, after all, so how could he not be familiar? Other alphas did not smell like this. Other alphas did not have scents that were warm and sharp and seemed to reach right inside of him and stir things best left sleeping.

It's enough to make Dedue almost wish that he was still on suppressants.

They were bad for his healing, apparently, and he hadn't been on them since he had been rescued. A pity, because they would have at least given him clarity and kept him insulated from the rousing effects of Dimitri's presence. Incredible that it could affect him even through iron-clad willpower, and despite the fact that the prince before him is unkempt, malnourished, and more feral beast than desirable alpha. At this close distance, Dedue can see the tangles in his hair and the places where it has become matted from neglect, the dark blue of the bag under his remaining eye. The only thing well-kept about him is his armor and his lance.

And yet. And yet.

"Your Highness. Will you speak with me?"

It's still a bit like seeing a ghost, he has to admit. Dedue had never been one of those to haunt him, similar to Byleth, because he had never actually known for sure whether or not they were dead. He was told - for both - that was likely the case. Yet, here they were alive and breathing before him once more. Most men would be moved to have hope in the face of these so-called miracles.

But Dimitri has never been most men. For better or worse, it seems.

Despite everything, he's still lost to himself in a strange inner turmoil. Dedue was but a brief respite before he was pulled back into the tumultuous currents of his own thoughts. Even now, glancing up at the man as he speaks sees Dimitri's gaze unfocused and hazy like he's looking right through him at first.

Will you speak with me?

If it were anyone else, he would say no. Even though it is Dedue, he's tempted to say no still. What good would speaking do now? After all this time? What does he hope to accomplish?

"Fine," he grumbles, voice hoarse still from constant underuse. "Speak."

Part of him is almost surprised that Dimitri has agreed to speak with him. His temper has certainly deteriorated since Dedue left him-- though he is not entirely surprised at that-- and he is sullen, brooding, prone to self-isolation. Even as he agrees to Dedue's request, his tone is begrudging, more akin to the attitude of a surly child than a full grown adult.

There have been instances like this before, where he'd fallen into foul, black moods. Dedue had usually been around to drag him back out of them before they got to this extent, however, where he was neglecting himself so desperately. Apparently Byleth and the others had been unsuccessful at handling him in this state; it's good, then, that Dedue is here to deal with him.

"Please allow me to first apologize for my long absence," he says. "After my kin retrieved me, it was necessary for me to undergo a long recovery to fully convalesce."

If he had been able to, he would have left sooner. But after being left to the tender mercies of Cornelia-- and how mightily displeased she was that the prince she wanted dead had slipped through her fingers-- Dedue had been in no state for a long journey. So much of him needed to be mended, and his kinfolk didn't have any great proficiency in faith magic. He had healed by the grace of medicine and his body's own abilities.

"I would like to ask for your permission to formally resume my previous duties as your vassal and retainer, now that I have returned."

He's surprised, too, but perhaps there is less of the old him dead than he wants to admit. While Dimitri claims he'd killed his former self in cold blood, one of the men closest to him throughout his life could no doubt recognize that isn't exactly true. He's become a shell of himself, certainly, withdrawn to the darkest corners of his psyche and coming forth only to lash out. This is what happened when there was no one there to help him see reason.

This is what happened when there was no salvation to be found in a fellow tortured soul.

Dimitri listens to him explain in silence. If he were a pious man, he'd believe that Dedue's recovery was nothing short of a miracle. But he isn't, so- "That's it, then? You just want to return to things as they were, as if nothing has changed? As if I haven't changed?" The man grinds his teeth and hisses between them slightly. "If you so wish, then who am I to deny such a thing?"

"You have changed," Dedue says, and this is an obvious thing. Dimitri as he is now is not the same man whom he freed from the prisons, but Dedue is also not the same man that rescued him. Such is the nature of time and life. "You have suffered greatly in my absence."

Dedue steps closer, and his voice softens.

"What has not changed is my--" Devotion, ardor, love, in every way that a man can love. Were someone to cut him open, they would find Dimitri's name engraved in the muscle of his heart, immutable. "--dedication to you and to your goals. If I am to aid you in your ambitions, is there a better place for me to be than at your side, as your sword and shield?"

Close to him again, despite the... complications that his biology might impose. But if he is to help His Highness, if he is to pull him from the darkness that he has sunk into over these past few years, he must again be the stalwart and unwavering support that Dimitri had once relied upon. He would just also have to rely upon his own unyielding willpower to maintain control of himself. To not allow himself to be affected by base desires, and ones that would be above his station even were they not at war.

{ open post }

★ Sylvain (heir_to_ruin)

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★ Lioriley (invigorates)

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some babby things as promised

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shoves this here instead of on bkst, a/b/o bullshit

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Dimidue A/B/O

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