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Day 7: Past & Future, Dreams, AUs
Once upon a time, there lived a small prince.
He was very happy with his life. He had a father who adored him, a stepmother who loved him, and someone who may as well have been an uncle to him that would take him out riding in the early mornings where the sun hadn't quite claimed dominion over the sky just yet. The young prince had four trusted and beloved friends as well: three from ever since he had been born, and one who he had bonded with across the borders between their countries.
One was a boy whose hair was a red brighter than fire, and whose heart burned just as much, flickering with passion and playfulness.
One was a girl with feet that could not stay bound to earth, and could float with the pegasi as though she were one of them.
Youngest amongst them was the prince's best friend, spilling silver tears from emotions that could never be contained in the well of his body.
His friend from the border was also a boy, just like the prince, with scarred hands like the rocky mountains of their combined home, but his heart bloomed with dedication.
And the prince loved all of them dearly. He loved them as much as his heart could give love, which was quite a fair bit, or so that was hot it felt to him. Every night, he would go to his window, and clasp his hands together to send his thanks off with his prayers to the stars and moon high above his head. Surely they would carry his gratitude off to wherever it needed to be, and he felt the need to give thanks to someone. Sometimes, he even almost felt as though the stars listened.
One day, as so often happens in tales and stories, a terrible tragedy happened. The prince and so many of his loved ones - his father, his stepmother, and the knight who had loved him so sincerely - all perished in a terrible attack, along with many others. Only the prince was left, having been sent off by his loved ones to run and hide in a nearby forest while they tried to fight a losing battle. The prince did not realize it was such a battle, however, and he curled up in the hollow of a tree, certain that the terrible screams would only last a little while before victory sounded. It was this that the prince fell asleep to, tired and scared and unable to stay awake.
When he awoke, there was the terrible smell of blood and gore thick in the air, and the night was utterly silent. So dark were his surroundings that, even though he had only ventured a little into the forest so that he could not be seen, the prince did not know where to turn so that he could find his loved ones, or go back home. Wandering from the tree he had hidden in, the young prince soon become horribly lost, and knew not which way to turn.
As he had for every night up until this moment, he clasped his hands together and began to pray. Yet this time it was not a prayer of gratitude, but a desperate prayer, wanting someone - anyone - to help him home again. No one had ever really responded to his prayers before, but the young prince could only hope that someone would respond tonight. It need only be tonight.
And tonight his prayers would be heard. As he stared up at the stars, he realized that one of them was streaking through the sky and leaving brilliant light in its wake. The longer he watched, the prince began to realize something. He realized that the star was heading not to some distant part of space, not to a far off land he would never see, but straight towards him. The young prince had never thought to question what happened to shooting stars when they landed, and so he did not know what would happen to him. Still, he did not run away.
The prince stayed right where he was, until the light was too close, too blinding, and he had to close his eyes. He almost expected to be hit with something - bowled over, or filled with sensation, or something else he couldn't even begin to think about. But instead there was just a crystalline ringing in his ears, and the light stayed steady. It began to adjust itself behind his eyelids until it hurt no longer. Tentatively, the young prince opened up his eyes to see just what on earth had happened.
All around him was a beautiful light, warm like so many rooms in his home had been warm on terribly cold and scary winters. Its source? Another boy, exactly his age, who was floating right in mid-air with his arms and legs outstretched as though he had only hopped down a small ledge instead of from the night sky itself. He had warm brown skin, and eyes so green that it was though they heralded spring itself. Dark curly hair spilled forth from his head, and was held back by a headband that looked as though it had been cut from the very night itself.
That was true for all of this strange boy's clothing, as a matter of fact. Despite the light he was radiating, his clothes were dark while also deep with color, and it seemed to glitter. Around his waist was a cloth belt of sorts, something that trailed off into the night sky. There was something stitched onto the front of it, however: the moon, repeated, following its different phases.
Nowhere on earth had the prince seen a sight so beautiful, and he could only stare for a moment. The strange boy smiled at him, brilliant like the stars he wore so easily. If not for their strange material, his clothes could look like those that belonged on any other boy. "Hello, prince of the silver lands!" the strange boy said. "Let's get you home, okay?"
It was a surprisingly casual statement from someone that seemed so divine, and the prince didn't know how to deal with that. Frankly, the entire situation was strange to him, just as much as the boy himself was. What was the royal etiquette for dealing with someone from the heavens? Should he defer to him? Speak of him as an equal? The prince couldn't quite say, but he was tired, and hungry, and scared, so he nodded. "Are you from the stars?" he asked, pushing himself up onto his feet.
All the strange boy did was smile. "Something like that!" he said cheerfully, finally landing down on the earth instead of floating. The prince could not tell if he was disappointed, because he had thought him amazing like that, or relieved, because this made it much easier to take the other boy by the hand. "I heard that you were upset, so I came to help." With that said, and their hands entwined, he began to lead the Prince along through the forest.
On his own, the prince had found the forest to be terrifying and confusing, both emotions feeding one another. The strange boy, the boy from the stars, changed all of that. With the light he gave off, the forest was born anew. Everything was bathed in a soft light, and the prince could see paths he had been blinded to before. His parents were still missing, as was his beloved knight and friend, but he could see things, now. That made him feel better, as much as he could be.
But thinking about them reminded him of them, reminded him that he should look for them, and he tugged on the star boy's hand. "Can you take me back to my parents?" the prince asked him. "Or Glenn, the knight? I'm sure they must be terribly worried for me, and I miss them. Please?"
Regret and sadness fell over the star boy's face, and he turned to face the prince. "I cannot bring you back to your parents, or Glenn the knight, not as you knew them," he said. "They're dead, you see, and I don't think you, or anyone else in the world, deserves to see what has become of them."
In the depths of his heart, the prince had known this to be true. He had heard the screams of pain and violence. He had smelled blood until it nearly filled his lungs. Yet still, yet still, he had hoped he had been somehow mistaken. But there was no deception in the star boy's words, or his voice, and so the prince could no longer deny the truth. The feeble gates which had been holding back his grief broke down, and he began to cry. It was a cry of such utmost pain, that parts of his life had been so brutally removed that it felt as though it were a piece of his body.
Perhaps such intense and passionate grief was a foreign thing, up in the night sky, for the star boy did not seem to know what to do for a moment. All he did was hold the prince's hand tightly, as though it were he that needed to keep the boy anchored down to earth instead of the other way around. Finally, as more tears spilled down the prince's face, he pulled him close, and let him sob into his shoulder. They stayed like that for a very long time, a single light of grief in the cold dark forest.
Eventually, the prince stopped crying. Eventually, the star boy began to guide him again. Their journey was not a small one, but, soon, the forest opened up, and down before them was a town. With the trees cleared from his vision, the young prince could see that the sun was starting to stretch its rays over the horizon, and it was then that he realized the grip in his own was becoming lighter and pulling itself towards the sky. When he turned to look, he could see the star boy was starting to float again, like foam to the surface of water.
Crying out, the prince gripped the star boy's hand with both of his, and sought to fight gravity itself. His family had always held an incredible strength, said to move even the mountains, and so he was successful, for a short while. But the star boy knew it could not last, even as he floated in place with even his feet being pulled back to the sky. Only where their hands were connected did he stay near to the earth.
While he still had time, the star boy pulled himself close to the prince, and spoke. "It's sunrise. I can't stay here no matter how much you might want me to, prince of the silver lands. It's time for me to go home myself."
"But I'm scared," said the prince, face still stained where his tears had fallen. "I'm alone. I don't know what to do. Please stay with me."
"I can't," said the star boy again. "But I will always be with the stars when night falls, and I hear all your prayers. I won't be gone for long. Alright?" And that was not all right, but the prince understood the futility of the situation. At long last, he let go, and watched as the star boy righted himself to float up over the treetops. When he was finally high enough, he became light again, and shot off into what was left of the deep purple that signaled night.
The prince made his way into the town, and news of the massacre spread quickly. It was a town of loyal people, kind people, and they got him back to his home soon enough where he had friends, and an almost-uncle, and it was not enough... but it would have to be. As the only survivor of that terrible attack, the prince revealed the monsters that had come after his family, but no amount of searching could reveal them. Some thought the boy had been mistaken, while others thought the perpetrators had simply run away from the country without a trace. Either way, the search stopped.
No attacks were sent the prince's way again. He saw no terrifying monsters in the distance or in the shadows. If he wished, he could grow up to have a fine life, and stay safe where he was. Yet that day would not leave his memory, and had embedded itself too deeply into his soul. In the days that passed since he had returned home, he began to see things that hid not in the shadows. Things with familiar faces, and familiar voices.
In the garden where he used to watch his father practice his lance work, the prince would hear a familiar voice that demanded retribution.
In the throne room where he stood by his stepmother as she helped rule, the prince's ears would catch quiet demands of vengeance.
Along the halls where his knight and friend once patroled, the prince's head echoed with a call for satisfaction from regret.
Ghosts dogged his steps no matter where he went in the castle, in his city, riding out into wide fields where he once had fond memories of hunting and picnics and family. The prince had nothing there, now. His uncle held the throne, while he was still but a prince, and he did not look at him. It was nothing less than pure good fortune that his four friends still cared for him deeply, and his not-uncle, the father of a boy who had cried so much that he emptied out his heart, watched over him as though he were family. Left on his own, the prince was not sure how he would survive.
Even when he thought such things, he could not say if he meant to survive that attack, or if he meant to survive the voices of the dead who were trapped by regret.
One more thing helped him continue to step forward into the future: his nightly prayers, said every night, just as always. The prince could not thank them for so much good in the world, not anymore, not after he had lost so many people close to his heart. It felt almost insulting, to give thanks to anything. But whenever he would kneel down at his window and clasp his hands together, eyes focused upwards to the stars, he remembered that beautiful boy of the stars. He remembered the way they had held hands, and remembered the way he was kept close as he'd cried. He remembered that beautiful brown skin and those green eyes and curling hair.
Perhaps he could not give thanks to the stars for his family, when they did not exist any longer, but he could at least give thanks to that one boy in particular who had given him light.
The years passed. The prince, who had once been a child, began to grow into an adult. People praised him for a great many things. They praised his diligence, his sense of justice, his kindness. Yet for all they praised him, the prince did not feel such things were deserved. His steps were still dogged by his ghosts, demanding justice he had yet to give them, and, in their influence, the young prince could feel a bitter darkness welling inside of him.
How could other people be so happy when the dead were so trapped? In so much pain? How could he be allowed to be happy? It did not feel fair, and the prince felt as though he had a lance pierced straight through his chest that he could not remove. When he asked his uncle, the one of his blood, he was told that there was no point in trying to chase murder that had long since been done.
How easy it was for him to say. For whatever reason, the prince suspected that his uncle was not haunted as he was haunted, and so could not see the urgency, the pain, the justice of such a thing. Yet the prince had long accepted that he had truly only one choice, whether or not his uncle agreed with his views. He was a man, now. He was old enough to do what he wished, what he needed to do. So the prince decided he would go on a journey, and find those who had killed his loved ones for himself. If this meant he had to go alone, then he would accept that.
Thus, in the dead of night, the prince gathered the things he would need for a journey and composed a letter so that his most beloved friends would not be concerned. Once he was fully prepared, he knelt one more time at the window of his room, and prayed. The prince did not pray for safety, because he did not believe he deserved or would receive it. The prince did not pray for vengeance, because he knew that no one else could give that to his ghosts besides himself.
He prayed only that the stars would keep him company. That one boy in particular would keep him company throughout his journey, as he sought to find those responsible.
Only once in the many years he had prayed did the stars ever return any of his answers. The prince expected silence this night, too. Yet as he looked up into the sky, a shooting star streaked through the air, and he knew who it was long before that light began to draw near to him. When it burst before his window, crystalline ringing just how he had always remembered it, the prince was already hastening to open the glass panes and welcome the star boy in.
Or perhaps it was no longer accurate to refer to him as such. The prince had grown, but so too had this boy from the stars, and he had become a man, in all the nights that the prince had not seen him. He was taller, now, although not as tall as the prince, and there was a fitness to his body that spoke to how he had no doubt gone running across the night sky a million times when the prince was not looking. While most of his hair still fell in dark curls, they fell back from where they'd mostly been swept from his face. The only exception was the small braid that hung to the side, and shined with moonlight.
His clothing had changed in some ways, mostly in the cut, and how that trailing belt had now been replaced by a cloak which half hung from the man's shoulder, but it was still the same in the fabric. In that darkness, and depth of color, and starlight. The man was just as beautiful as when they'd been children... but now, the prince had to admit, he had become a very different kind of beauty in his eyes. As his friend of the stars floated there, the prince offered up his hands, and helped guide him down onto the floor of his room.
Almost without a sound, his starlit friend landed down upon the floor, looked the prince in the eyes, and said, "So, this is a seriously terrible idea. I felt that was important for you to know!" But he was smiling while he said it, and the prince didn't quite know how to take that.
Deciding to take it as a relief that his old friend had not changed, the prince frowned. "I must go on this journey. I cannot let the unjustice which happened to my family stand." And here he included his knight, his Glenn, that had stayed with him as much as any brother. "I am the only one who is demanding answers, and the only one, I think, who is tormented by these ghosts... so it must be me."
"If you ask me, you shouldn't really listen to the demands of the dead," his friend said, crossing his arms and cocking his hips. It did not match the narrative the prince thought he knew for divine beings. "If you do, then they'll never stop. But innocent people did die, and something poisonous has taken route in these lands that I've watched for so many years."
"Do you know what it is?" the prince asked, eager for a lead when he had previously had none. This entire idea had been built on desperation and hope from the beginning, including his initial direction. Anything to give it more strength could not be more appreciated.
His friend let out a low sigh, and his foot tapped against the floor. "It's something that slinks between the stars, hides in the darkness between their light," he said. "To find them would mean to go into the darkest places of the earth, eternally chasing the night and all the secrets held within. It's pretty risky. A nice prince like you doesn't belong there at all."
"I am not nice at all," the prince said, which he had not told anyone else for as long as he had known that fact. "I am darker than the new moon, and can feel something violent in me. If there is any person who can survive being in such miserable places, than it should be me, and no other should suffer through such an experience."
"Don't you think you've suffered enough?" he replied. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I agree with you on a lot of things. The dead deserve to have their memory honored. Terrible people deserve to be brought to justice so that they can't commit injustice any longer after they've already done it once - actually, with these guys, I'm pretty sure it's more than once. You don't just start off with deciding to murder a whole family of kind people, generally speaking. So what if you have a darkness in you? The moon is still the moon, no matter which side of it we see, and that doesn't mean it deserves more craters in itself. Why does it have to be you, Dimitri?"
The prince could not speak, for a moment. Were his reasons not enough? Were his ghosts not enough? Was the idea of justice not enough?
And yet it was very much like that night so long ago, when he had held this starlit boy's hand so desperately while he had wailed for parents and an almost-brother that would never come back. That boy had not lied to him. That boy had allowed the prince to cry on his shoulder when he had heard the truth and could not deny it anymore. For a long moment, the prince had to fall silent and the starlit man before him waited patiently.
At long last, the prince was able to answer with a trembling voice. "I cannot trust anyone else to do this, and I am scared that I will be let down once again. If I do not see it with my own eyes and enact it with my own hands, will it have really happened? I do not want to be hurt like this ever again, and lose Dedue, or Ingrid, or Felix, or Sylvain."
And that was the truth that the prince had been cradling inside his chest, and which satisfied the starlit man who listened to him just as he had listened to the prince's wailing as a child. "As long as it's for yourself and no one else," he said. "Well, that works out for me. I've decided I want to take off from home a little bit, and nothing sounds better than running into a dangerous situation with a prince!"
"Won't your family be worried?" the prince asked, for he could not help think of the many letters he had left behind for his friends and those who were as good as his family.
All the starlit man in front of him did was wave his hand carelessly in the air. "I think you need me a lot more than they need me," he said.
"Won't you fade away when the sunrise comes?" the prince asked, for he could not help remember those small hands in his own and how he had desperately held on so many years ago.
All the starlit man in front of him did was laugh, crystalline. "I think I've grown up a lot more since then!" he said.
And that was that. The prince could think of no other arguments to make, and certainly no other arguments that would deter a man from the stars. So he gathered his things, and saddled up his horse. Yet he insisted that the man from the stars go up first, so that the prince could hold him securely in his arms. It was then that the prince felt an emotion wind tightly around his heart, one that was not guilt or darkness or bitterness. It was an emotion he had never felt before, as he had looked up at that beautiful face, alight with verdant eyes and a smile that helped ground him.
"Thank you," the prince said, reaching up for the man before him, this man who looked as though he held a halo of stars about himself even though that was just the night sky.
His friend laughed again. It did not sound crystalline. "Why are you thanking me? I haven't even done anything yet."
The prince shook his head, and leaned up on his toes. As though guided, his friend leaned downwards. "You have done more than you could know," the prince said, before he leaned up, their face nearing as he pressed a kiss upon his cheek -
The weight of Dedue's knuckles on wood is distinct, bonedeep, and Dimitri jerks into consciousness with one foot kicking downwards as if to find a missed step. Blearily, he blinks a few times, and tries to reorient himself. "Coming!" he calls, the word muffled with the yawn that chases at its heels. Something is nagging at the edge of his mind, and he pushes himself up onto his feet - wait, how was he laying down on his bed? Does he still have his boots on? Oh - Ugh, was he drooling?
All of that is taken in vaguely, subconsciously. There are important words, ideas, floating around in Dimitri's head, and it feels so important somehow to get them out. He stumbles over to his desk, fingers a little clumsy as they grab his writing quill so that he can scrawl notes down onto loose paper. The words are just pulled out of his head as he thinks them, digging through dreams that are flimsy as cobwebs in the light of morning. That just makes it all the more important to commit them to ink and paper, to not forget them while he still has some sturdy semblance of them drifting through his mind.
Once they're done, they're done, and Dimitri doesn't even spare the time to read over what he's written. All he does is hurry over to his door, nearly tripping over a single gauntlet that he left discarded on the floor. Dedue has the patience of an actual saint - only partially part of his temperament, Dimitri suspects, and more because of circumstance - but he still loathes to keep his friend waiting. "I'm sorry," he says, fighting back another yawn. "I didn't - mm. I didn't mean to keep you waiting, Dedue."
"It's fine, Your Highness," Dedue says, which could be true or could be not true. Dimitri tentatively thinks its the former, if only because that's how it is with friends, isn't it? Minor annoyances aren't a bother, usually. He wants to think that. While he mentally fusses over what's acceptable in friendships, especially one as awkward as this one can be at times, Dedue looks over him and his brow pulls together in some worry. "Are you sick?"
"What?" Dimitri blinks, and then takes stock of himself. "Oh- blast, no, I'm not. I'm just... Come in, I'll talk while I clean myself up." And he really does need a bit of cleaning up, frankly. He's still wearing the same clothes he was wearing the night before, when he went down to the library to study, and ran into Claude. Why, there's still a gauntlet on one hand, and his boots on his feet. Without looking, Dimitri knows his hair is in an absolute state of disarray. This isn't the way a prince should present himself... Hell, any decent person, frankly.
It takes a little bit of convincing to get Dedue inside, but soon enough, Dimitri has gotten him down into his desk chair, and has tugged a small screen about so that he can change without it being wholly uncomfortable for them both. As he does so, Dimitri speaks to Dedue over it. "The time got away from me, it appears. It's not too late in the morning, is it?"
"Morning training may be cut short, but I believe we should still have some time, Your Highness," Dedue said, absolutely silent besides the sound of his voice. Dimitri has had only a couple of people in his room so far this school year, but none he's found at utterly silent as Dedue. "Did you not sleep well?"
Dimitri smiles a bit, although it's awkward even with only himself aware of it. "No... I slept incredibly well for once, as a matter of fact." But he can see why Dedue asked. Most of the time, Dimitri considers it a good night if he can sleep without dreaming at all. It's part of why he trains so hard at the end of every day, besides good health, his duty, and his utmost goal in finding those responsible for the death of so many. Some nights, if he trains hard, works himself to the bone... Then he can sleep dreamlessly, and simply wake up the next morning with another basic need met.
The worst nights are when his ghosts demand his actions spurred all the faster, berate him for not being good enough to find their murderer already. He knows that's true, and he wishes he could figure out a way to do what they ask... but he hasn't the foggiest besides just pressing onwards.
While he's never told Dedue of the details, his occasional issues with sleep are still something known between the two of them, and he hears Dedue still do nothing, but can imagine his relieved and understanding nod. "I see... That's good. Perhaps a signal that the day will go well."
"Perhaps." It would be nice if that were true, Dimitri reflects, sloppily trying to fold his clothes so that they're not too inobtrusive as he puts them in the basket meant for cleaning. There - done. Now to actually get fresh clothes on. Retrieving a fresh uniform, something he hasn't spent a whole night in, Dimitri continues to talk absent mindedly. "I actually wrote it down when you woke me up... Although I can't be certain that it makes the slightest sense. It was like... a fairy tale." Speaking about it, trying to remember the details, has him pause briefly before he tugs his undershirt up over his head. "One of my life, I suppose. The notes are still on the table; perhaps you can tell me if they're coherent or not."
If only it were a fairy tale, he reflects as he puts on his uniform piece by piece. It'd be nice if that were the case, because fairy tales aren't real. Or, if they are based on real events, then they'd be so long ago as to not reflect his life, and could be told to him by his stepmother still. At least it was still nice to dream of it, to think of it as though he were an outsider: just a prince helped by a beautiful boy from the stars, with dark curling hair and green.... eyes... and a casual way of speaking even in dreams...
Dimitri freezes, feeling his heart outright stop, and pokes his head out from behind his screen. A sinking sensation goes down all the way to his stomach when he sees Dedue's head is turned, looking down the the scribbled notes that are a far cry from what Dimitri swears he is normally capable of... but unfortunately still legible, from what he can tell. "Dedue," he asks, careful and awkward, and immediately earns the attention of the other man immediately. "Did I... perchance write anything embarrassing?"
For example, any particular details on how he had described Claude as "celestial".... or how he'd grown more beautiful as an adult... or repeated references to how gorgeous his eyes were... or, Saints, did he write down anything about the kiss he'd given to Claude, towards the very end? The thing that was clearest in his mind? Standing on his toes, drawing closer to that lovely face, that sense of shared breath - Dimitri can feel his face getting hotter, and he desperately tries to order his body to cool down. It does not.
Dedue stares at him for a moment, clearly choosing his words with the utmost care as usual before he speaks. "It was only a dream you had, Your Highness," he says in that same calm way which always brings Dimitri back to earth. "And these are only notes. No one is automatically privy to either."
Breath returns to Dimitri, and he nods. "That's right," he says. "You're right, Dedue. It was only a dream. All sorts of things happen in dreams that we do not necessarily want." Ducking back behind his screen, Dimitri finishes dressing proper, and attaches his cape properly to himself. "I simply - well, I would feel wretched if this got back to Claude in some way, and you know how he is, with the way he doesn't miss a whiff of information. He doesn't deserve to have this hounding him, or feel uncomfortable by it." He deserves better, frankly. Dimitri knows that much.
"Of course," Dedue agrees, and is already tucking the papers out of sight just in case anyone else ducks into Dimitri's room by the time the prince finally steps out from behind the screen. "Although, if I may speak freely-"
"Always," Dimitri says hastily, nearly tripping over his own words.
"I do not think that Claude von Riegan would be concerned himself," Dedue finishes, leaning away from the desk now that he's finished this small favor for Dimitri. "He seems to be rather relaxed, no matter what rumors swirl about him."
Dimitri reflects on that as the two of them exit his dorm room, making their strides just a bit longer and quicker on the way down to the training grounds. Dedue, as he so often is, is telling the truth in this area. Dimitri is no gossip hound by any means, but even he is well aware that the Riegan heir is someone surrounded in mystery, and that mystery is only amplified by his charm and overall likeable nature. It makes for quite a social weapon, even if Dimitri can't quite agree with him on his tactics for the battlefield or most conflict.
"Still," he says, because that does not take care of the matter in regards to his own embarrassment, and his own strong feelings on how Claude surely deserves better. "Well, at any rate, now that we are talking about Claude von Riegan, I wonder if that simple encounter is what influenced my dreams. You see, I actually ran into him in the library last night. I'm looking for more tales to regale the children with, after we finish our sword lessons for the day. We got to discussing how, even if Fodlan is divided into three parts, our stories are still strongly connected. That must have influenced me when I turned in for bed." He shakes his head. "I was up rather late..."
"I'm glad it was only that," Dedue says, and offers up the faintest trace of a smile. It really is a hard-to-spot thing, but Dimitri has spent years, now, familiarizing himself with Dedue's habits... and this is one of those which has always been worth it. It makes Dimitri smile back; maybe today really will be a good day.
Of course, the moment that he thinks that, they step out int the hallways of Garreg Mach as a whole instead of just the student dorms, and Seteth immediately beckons him over. Dedue comes with, because of course he does. If it is something that they need to do for the good of the Blue Lion house, whether a task or mission, then Dedue is Dimitri's right hand. Alternatively - well, Dimitri doesn't think he has done anything that would warrant the bishop speaking to him personally, but one can't find themself too arrogant in situations like this.
"Is something wrong, Seteth?" he asks, the moment that they're close enough. Dimitri can tell that he's being looked over, and, for a moment, he's stricken with the idea that somehow Seteth can tell that he was sloppy this morning, that he overslept or wrote sappy things about the beauty in Claude's wonderful dark brown curls. Somehow, possibly with the powers of the divine that surely come to high enough members of the church instead of even glancing at a thing like himself, Seteth can tell he was thinking impure thoughts.
A split second later, and Dimitri realizes he's being ridiculous in more ways than one. Seteth doesn't have mind reading powers. Dedue wouldn't let him leave his room if he thought he looked a mess. Also, even if Seteth did have mindreading powers, there is nothing inherently immoral about having a dream presented like a fairy tale where he kisses Claude von Riegan on the cheek. If it's politically smart is another thing entirely, but it is not inherently immoral.
Seteth gives him the same polite smile that Dimitri thinks he's received ever since he first arrived at Garreg Mach, and the older man has little troubles that might hinder such an expression otherwise. Being that this is Garreg Mach and so much has happened in the year already, those moments are actually somewhat uncommon. "Oh, not at all," he says. "However, do you recall much of last night, Dimitri?"
For a second, noncomprehension. In the next, a foggy memory floods back through him, and Dimitri immediately goes contrite. "Oh - I apologize, Seteth. I would have sought you out immediately, but I must have been more tired than I thought. I can barely remember anything at all, but you escorted me to my room, didn't you?"
"Oh, it was no trouble at all," Seteth says, seeming to have confirmed something for himself in the way he nods. His gaze briefly flickers to Dedue before settling back on Dimitri. "However, if I may grant some advice?" He continues only when Dimitri nods. "I would recommend keeping a better eye on the clock... and perhaps, for whatever extracurricular project you and young Claude von Riegan are doing, spending that time outside, in the town."
"Of course," Dimitri agrees immediately, glad that this is all that's happening. Being out beyond curfew, when he's expected to be a model student and prince? He could have gotten a lot worse.
This seems to be enough to satisfy Seteth, and he nods down one of the halls - away from the training grounds. "Speaking of such, I believe I interrupted you and he in the middle of something. He was near the lake, last I checked."
Yes, he really should apologize to Claude for falling asleep on him... That was so rude! How wretchedly he must have acted. At least, Dimitri assumes he must have acted wretchedly. He was so tired that he fell asleep on his bed face first, legs mostly off of it, with his boots still on. As far as he's concerned, that means all bets are surely off. Dimitri hastily but politely gives a bow to Seteth. "Of course. I will go see him immediately. And I offer my sincerest apologies for staying out past curfew, Seteth, along with any rudeness I may have demonstrated."
Because he had to have been rude. He knows it.
Yet Seteth really is a good man. Dimitri had always sort of known it, because Seteth had reminded him in some ways of Rodrigue, and because no one but a good man could have been such a good brother that Flayn so clearly cares for other people and allows her to smile so joyously. He's a good man now as he nods to Dimitri. "Think nothing of it. Youth is meant to make the occasional mistake." There's that smile again. "And to have fun, as well. I, for once, am relieved to see that you were able to get a good night's sleep, for once."
It's not a judgmental tone, and Dimitri takes some relief in that. After all.... At this point, he's fairly certain that all of the professors, with the exception of Professor Eisner, know about his late night habits, although he tries not to sneak out past curfew unless it is truly a terrible night. Manuela has her parties, Hanneman his research, and Seteth, well, Seteth makes his rounds. "Thank you, sir," he says, because he's not sure what else to say, giving one last bow before he heads off in the direction Seteth had pointed out.
Of course, there's one last thing he needs to take care of before he just runs off to see Claude, and he looks sidelong at Dedue as the two of them stride onwards. "I apologize for dragging you with me, Dedue... Do you want to go ahead to the training grounds? I know how diligently you train..."
He remains wholly unsurprised when the answer is a shake of Dedue's head. "I imagine I will already be too late to find a partner to spare with," Dedue says, and there is an unsaid sentence beneath that. Dimitri doesn't press, only nods his head. With that unspoken agreement, they keep walking.
Finding Claude really isn't that hard at all. Him and Hilda are standing along the edges of the lake, their heads bowed together as they have some sort of quiet and secret little conversation. Faintly, Dimitri wonders if he should be worried. Hilda is a nice girl, of course. She knows how to see the best in other people, or at least some of their best qualities, and always has a steady compliment on hand.
Unfortunately, he thinks this means she's actually a lot more... something than she pretends to be. Dimitri isn't sure what, exactly. All he's certain of is that whenever her and Claude, more than notorious enough in his own right, get together and tilt their heads close like that... It surely can only mean they're scheming something.
Well, if it becomes a problem, he supposes it becomes a problem. He'll have to keep an eye out, and let some of his house know that something may be amiss. In the meanwhile, he cups a hand to his mouth. "Claude! There you are!"
The effect is immediate. Immediately the Deer pair straighten up as though they've been shocked, and, even at a distance, he can see that Hilda has a hand to her mouth as though that can possibly hide her smile or the way that her eyes widen as she looks in his direction. Claude is a lot more subtle, shoulders easing up even as Dimitri watches; he must have startled them with all his yelling.
Claude casts one of his usual easy smiles back towards Dimitri as he approaches. "Wow, you're sure lively so early in the morning, Your Princeliness! Although I suppose I shouldn't be surprised considering how hard you go at training every morning." He tilts his head towards Dimitri and Dedue. "Although the usual suspects, sans yourself, are probably all at it already. Skipping out today? If so, welcome to the club!"
Is Claude glancing over him in a particular manner... No, no. Dimitri resists the urge to shake his head in response to his own thoughts. This is just him overreacting to Seteth all over again. Dimitri is sure things are fine. They have to be fine, right? Trying to outrun his own nervous mind, Dimitri smiles to Claude as he comes to a stop before him. "Now, we both know that's not true, Claude," he tells him. Claude may act so carefree, that's true, but Dimitri knows he trains just as hard as anyone else, especially with a bow. A few times, when Dimitri has been especially early and ahead of Dedue, he's stumbled upon the Riegan heir practicing with an axe. "Besides, we're only taking a quick moment away from the training grounds."
"I see." Claude hums a bit. "Diligent as always, Your Princliness, although now I'm even more curious."
Hilda lets out a long sigh suddenly. "Honestly, some of the knights are really getting on my case about training.... But I'm just no good at it!" Dimitri believes that Ingrid once went on a mission with Hilda for some thing or another. If he recalls correctly, she expressed a lot of approval to the way Hilda could fling an axe dead center at a target. "Hey, Dedue, you use axes too, don't you?"
Perking up, Dimitri glances at Dedue from the corner of his eye. His friend and right hand man has raised his eyebrows, undoubtedly caught off guard. No doubt he assumed this would be a conversation primarily between Dimitri and Claude, with his own person playing little to no relevance in it. That's how it's often gone in the past, after all. But now... Dimitri contains his own excitement, and just watches as Dedue simply nods. "I do," he says, no dressing it up, no boasting. This is also very much like Dedue.
"Wwwwwwwell...." Reaching up, Hilda twirls some of her hair from one ponytail in her fingers. "Do you think I could watch you practice, or you could tell me how you handle an axe so well? Maybe it could help me out too! I mean, everyone knows how good you are at it!"
Already, Dimitri can tell that Dedue might sidestep the matter, or outright refuse it. He'd never order or force Dedue to do anything, nothing at all, but, well... He can at least give his blessings, right? "I wouldn't mind if you went ahead of me," he says encouragingly, smiling at him. "Besides, I'm certain you must be getting tired of only having me for a sparring partner."
"I never said anything about training," Hilda says, doing her very very best to not seem too hasty or desperate.
Dimitri pretends he didn't hear her. But, politely. "And you really are amazing at using an axe. I'm sure anyone would be stunned. Besides, this shouldn't take long at all. If the two of you don't end up as a good match, I'm sure Claude and I will be there shortly."
"Are you just dragging me to training, now?" Claude asks in amusement. Dimitri more obviously ignores that, too.
For a moment, Dedue simply looks at Hilda, making his own observations and judgments. Dimitri understands why he has to do so, although he wishes it wasn't such a necessity in the first place. Perhaps something about Hilda passes muster, because he soon nods. "I suppose it cannot hurt," he says.
"Yay!" Hilda says with a clap of her hands.
"We can see where you are at in a sparring session."
"Wait, no."
But there's no dissuading Dedue as he begins to stride off towards the training grounds once again, Hilda trailing behind him and trying to slip her way out of it all. Dimitri watches them with a slight grin. When it comes to pure stubbornness, he doesn't think he and Dedue can be beat. But - that's not what he originally came over for, even if it has become an unexpected bonus.
A smile is on Claude's lips when Dimitri turns his attention back to him. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching you fuss over Dedue," he says, chuckling. "You act like a mother hen."
"Oh, this is hardly fussing," Dimitri says, well aware of how much he's actually fussed over and gotten protective of Dedue. "But I love him dearly, so of course I want him to be happy." Btu his brain is stumbling over itself the second he says those words, and Dimitri hastens to correct himself. "I mean, in a platonic manner, of course! He's as dear to me as family would be." It's - important, suddenly, that Claude knows Dimitri didn't mean to imply anything romantic, there. More important than just something lingering from a silly dream Dimitri had.
His heart twists in his chest, awkward and clumsy. Oh. Oh no.
If there is a good side to this, it is that Claude doesn't seem to take his earlier statement seriously, just laughs again. "Don't worry, Your Princeliness, I get it. You don't have to repeat yourself. So - " Claude crosses his arms, cocks his hip to the side. Dimtiri is hit with a peculiar sense of deja vu. "What did you want to come talk to me about?"
Of course. He has to stay on track. Dimitri takes a deep breath, centering himself so that he doesn't just go scattering everywhere, mentally. "Well... I wanted to talk to you about last night. I... felt I must have acted rudely last night."
"Well..." Claude glances away for a moment, in the direction that Hilda and Dedue stepped off to. Dimitri wonders just what he talked about with her, and starts to worry that it wasn't just a scheme. But then Claude is looking to him again, smile just a touch softer. "I will say that it was rather sudden. But you don't have to worry about it, Your Princeliness."
"No, I should worry about it," Dimitri insists, leaning forward slightly. Is Claude leaning in as well? No, it's just his imagination. "I was the one who went to you for assistance in my studies, and I fell asleep on you! That was terrible of me."
For a second, somehow, it feels as though the world freezes - or is it just Claude? Something certainly shifts, and Dimitri feels as though the world has taken a step to the left, leaving him exactly in place, even as Claude laughs again. "You seriously were worrying about that so much? That's just like you." Somehow, it feels as though the conversation subject has changed, even though Dimitri knows they're talking about the same night. "Seriously, Your Princeliness. Don't worry about it. I was starting to fall asleep myself."
"Well.... I suppose as long as you're certain." Dimitri hesitates, not liking how this conversation has started to end even though it is arguably the best possible result for it. Still, if he does not like it, then it's up to him to change it, isn't it? He presses forward. "Do you still want to help me with what we talked about last night? Looking up fairy tales, for when I go down to visit the children in town."
Claude rolls his shoulders in a shrug, starting off in the direction Dedue and Hilda had gone of his own accord. Dimitri walks alongside him. "Sure! It would be a nice break from the mundane schedule of school life, right?" He glances sidelong at Dimitri again, smiling. It seems different, somehow. "Although I'm guessing you don't remember me saying it last night, but I did suggest that we make up our own fairy tale story for the kids, if you were really running out of Fodlan ones to tell."
That does tug at his memory a little bit, and Dimitri lights up in a smile. It feels like he's lit up. "That would be wonderful!" he gushes, brushing against Claude. A part of his chest tenses up, certain that he's gotten too close, but Claude doesn't pull away. Perhaps it really is fine. "I'll have to make time inbetween my studies and training... but I will make time."
"If it's a promise by the crown prince of Faerghus, then I suppose it's a promise I can rely on," Claude teases him, and - and he looks beautiful, like this. No, he's not wearing clothing woven from the very night sky itself. He's not literally radiating actual light, a star fallen down to earth. But... There is a light in him, a glow to his smile, stars in his eyes as he looks straight ahead to the future. It makes Dimitri want to clutch at his own heart, even though he knows he can't possibly deserve someone like this.
...But they will be working on a tale together. They can do that much. Dimitri thinks back on what Seteth had told him, not that long ago. "Then, if we're both agreed on working together... Perhaps we could discuss our ideas and plans down in town." His heart clenches again. "I could treat you to dinner as well, as an apology."
Claude's steps stutter, and he looks to him, that casual smile wiped away and replaced by wide eyes, raised eyebrows, his lips parted ever so. It's an expression that lasts only a second before Claude glances away. When he looks back at Dimitri again, the light in his eyes shines all the brighter, and that smile is back to being different, again, but in the good way. "Well, I'll never turn down the opportunity of a lifetime to be treated by the future king of Faerghus. Let me see what my schedule is like, and I'll get back to you."
"Of course," Dimitri says, his heart no longer clenching but beating rapidly, fluttering against the inside of his chest. The two of them fall silent, then, with Claude's gaze focused ahead of him, and Dimitri's gaze focused on a spot beneath his eye, along his cheek. He thinks of the awkward shift in the world, in Claude, just a second ago, and he thinks of how it had felt, in his dream, to lean up and kiss him there.
Quickly, Dimitri looks away and tries to focus on just walking. Tries not to think about how realistic that dream had felt, becase he couldn't have, right? He would never have. Right? But it's so tempting... No. Nope! Best to never mention that to Claude at all.
...But it had been almost a nice tale, really, even close to home as it had obviously struck. He tries to remember how it had ended, how the prince of the silver lands and the young man from the stars had been preparing to set off....
...Well. Perhaps he can share the dream with Claude just a little bit. Just, with the details of the ending snipped off.
After all, there's absolutely no reason for Claude von Riegan to know he dreamed about them kissing. Right?
He was very happy with his life. He had a father who adored him, a stepmother who loved him, and someone who may as well have been an uncle to him that would take him out riding in the early mornings where the sun hadn't quite claimed dominion over the sky just yet. The young prince had four trusted and beloved friends as well: three from ever since he had been born, and one who he had bonded with across the borders between their countries.
One was a boy whose hair was a red brighter than fire, and whose heart burned just as much, flickering with passion and playfulness.
One was a girl with feet that could not stay bound to earth, and could float with the pegasi as though she were one of them.
Youngest amongst them was the prince's best friend, spilling silver tears from emotions that could never be contained in the well of his body.
His friend from the border was also a boy, just like the prince, with scarred hands like the rocky mountains of their combined home, but his heart bloomed with dedication.
And the prince loved all of them dearly. He loved them as much as his heart could give love, which was quite a fair bit, or so that was hot it felt to him. Every night, he would go to his window, and clasp his hands together to send his thanks off with his prayers to the stars and moon high above his head. Surely they would carry his gratitude off to wherever it needed to be, and he felt the need to give thanks to someone. Sometimes, he even almost felt as though the stars listened.
One day, as so often happens in tales and stories, a terrible tragedy happened. The prince and so many of his loved ones - his father, his stepmother, and the knight who had loved him so sincerely - all perished in a terrible attack, along with many others. Only the prince was left, having been sent off by his loved ones to run and hide in a nearby forest while they tried to fight a losing battle. The prince did not realize it was such a battle, however, and he curled up in the hollow of a tree, certain that the terrible screams would only last a little while before victory sounded. It was this that the prince fell asleep to, tired and scared and unable to stay awake.
When he awoke, there was the terrible smell of blood and gore thick in the air, and the night was utterly silent. So dark were his surroundings that, even though he had only ventured a little into the forest so that he could not be seen, the prince did not know where to turn so that he could find his loved ones, or go back home. Wandering from the tree he had hidden in, the young prince soon become horribly lost, and knew not which way to turn.
As he had for every night up until this moment, he clasped his hands together and began to pray. Yet this time it was not a prayer of gratitude, but a desperate prayer, wanting someone - anyone - to help him home again. No one had ever really responded to his prayers before, but the young prince could only hope that someone would respond tonight. It need only be tonight.
And tonight his prayers would be heard. As he stared up at the stars, he realized that one of them was streaking through the sky and leaving brilliant light in its wake. The longer he watched, the prince began to realize something. He realized that the star was heading not to some distant part of space, not to a far off land he would never see, but straight towards him. The young prince had never thought to question what happened to shooting stars when they landed, and so he did not know what would happen to him. Still, he did not run away.
The prince stayed right where he was, until the light was too close, too blinding, and he had to close his eyes. He almost expected to be hit with something - bowled over, or filled with sensation, or something else he couldn't even begin to think about. But instead there was just a crystalline ringing in his ears, and the light stayed steady. It began to adjust itself behind his eyelids until it hurt no longer. Tentatively, the young prince opened up his eyes to see just what on earth had happened.
All around him was a beautiful light, warm like so many rooms in his home had been warm on terribly cold and scary winters. Its source? Another boy, exactly his age, who was floating right in mid-air with his arms and legs outstretched as though he had only hopped down a small ledge instead of from the night sky itself. He had warm brown skin, and eyes so green that it was though they heralded spring itself. Dark curly hair spilled forth from his head, and was held back by a headband that looked as though it had been cut from the very night itself.
That was true for all of this strange boy's clothing, as a matter of fact. Despite the light he was radiating, his clothes were dark while also deep with color, and it seemed to glitter. Around his waist was a cloth belt of sorts, something that trailed off into the night sky. There was something stitched onto the front of it, however: the moon, repeated, following its different phases.
Nowhere on earth had the prince seen a sight so beautiful, and he could only stare for a moment. The strange boy smiled at him, brilliant like the stars he wore so easily. If not for their strange material, his clothes could look like those that belonged on any other boy. "Hello, prince of the silver lands!" the strange boy said. "Let's get you home, okay?"
It was a surprisingly casual statement from someone that seemed so divine, and the prince didn't know how to deal with that. Frankly, the entire situation was strange to him, just as much as the boy himself was. What was the royal etiquette for dealing with someone from the heavens? Should he defer to him? Speak of him as an equal? The prince couldn't quite say, but he was tired, and hungry, and scared, so he nodded. "Are you from the stars?" he asked, pushing himself up onto his feet.
All the strange boy did was smile. "Something like that!" he said cheerfully, finally landing down on the earth instead of floating. The prince could not tell if he was disappointed, because he had thought him amazing like that, or relieved, because this made it much easier to take the other boy by the hand. "I heard that you were upset, so I came to help." With that said, and their hands entwined, he began to lead the Prince along through the forest.
On his own, the prince had found the forest to be terrifying and confusing, both emotions feeding one another. The strange boy, the boy from the stars, changed all of that. With the light he gave off, the forest was born anew. Everything was bathed in a soft light, and the prince could see paths he had been blinded to before. His parents were still missing, as was his beloved knight and friend, but he could see things, now. That made him feel better, as much as he could be.
But thinking about them reminded him of them, reminded him that he should look for them, and he tugged on the star boy's hand. "Can you take me back to my parents?" the prince asked him. "Or Glenn, the knight? I'm sure they must be terribly worried for me, and I miss them. Please?"
Regret and sadness fell over the star boy's face, and he turned to face the prince. "I cannot bring you back to your parents, or Glenn the knight, not as you knew them," he said. "They're dead, you see, and I don't think you, or anyone else in the world, deserves to see what has become of them."
In the depths of his heart, the prince had known this to be true. He had heard the screams of pain and violence. He had smelled blood until it nearly filled his lungs. Yet still, yet still, he had hoped he had been somehow mistaken. But there was no deception in the star boy's words, or his voice, and so the prince could no longer deny the truth. The feeble gates which had been holding back his grief broke down, and he began to cry. It was a cry of such utmost pain, that parts of his life had been so brutally removed that it felt as though it were a piece of his body.
Perhaps such intense and passionate grief was a foreign thing, up in the night sky, for the star boy did not seem to know what to do for a moment. All he did was hold the prince's hand tightly, as though it were he that needed to keep the boy anchored down to earth instead of the other way around. Finally, as more tears spilled down the prince's face, he pulled him close, and let him sob into his shoulder. They stayed like that for a very long time, a single light of grief in the cold dark forest.
Eventually, the prince stopped crying. Eventually, the star boy began to guide him again. Their journey was not a small one, but, soon, the forest opened up, and down before them was a town. With the trees cleared from his vision, the young prince could see that the sun was starting to stretch its rays over the horizon, and it was then that he realized the grip in his own was becoming lighter and pulling itself towards the sky. When he turned to look, he could see the star boy was starting to float again, like foam to the surface of water.
Crying out, the prince gripped the star boy's hand with both of his, and sought to fight gravity itself. His family had always held an incredible strength, said to move even the mountains, and so he was successful, for a short while. But the star boy knew it could not last, even as he floated in place with even his feet being pulled back to the sky. Only where their hands were connected did he stay near to the earth.
While he still had time, the star boy pulled himself close to the prince, and spoke. "It's sunrise. I can't stay here no matter how much you might want me to, prince of the silver lands. It's time for me to go home myself."
"But I'm scared," said the prince, face still stained where his tears had fallen. "I'm alone. I don't know what to do. Please stay with me."
"I can't," said the star boy again. "But I will always be with the stars when night falls, and I hear all your prayers. I won't be gone for long. Alright?" And that was not all right, but the prince understood the futility of the situation. At long last, he let go, and watched as the star boy righted himself to float up over the treetops. When he was finally high enough, he became light again, and shot off into what was left of the deep purple that signaled night.
The prince made his way into the town, and news of the massacre spread quickly. It was a town of loyal people, kind people, and they got him back to his home soon enough where he had friends, and an almost-uncle, and it was not enough... but it would have to be. As the only survivor of that terrible attack, the prince revealed the monsters that had come after his family, but no amount of searching could reveal them. Some thought the boy had been mistaken, while others thought the perpetrators had simply run away from the country without a trace. Either way, the search stopped.
No attacks were sent the prince's way again. He saw no terrifying monsters in the distance or in the shadows. If he wished, he could grow up to have a fine life, and stay safe where he was. Yet that day would not leave his memory, and had embedded itself too deeply into his soul. In the days that passed since he had returned home, he began to see things that hid not in the shadows. Things with familiar faces, and familiar voices.
In the garden where he used to watch his father practice his lance work, the prince would hear a familiar voice that demanded retribution.
In the throne room where he stood by his stepmother as she helped rule, the prince's ears would catch quiet demands of vengeance.
Along the halls where his knight and friend once patroled, the prince's head echoed with a call for satisfaction from regret.
Ghosts dogged his steps no matter where he went in the castle, in his city, riding out into wide fields where he once had fond memories of hunting and picnics and family. The prince had nothing there, now. His uncle held the throne, while he was still but a prince, and he did not look at him. It was nothing less than pure good fortune that his four friends still cared for him deeply, and his not-uncle, the father of a boy who had cried so much that he emptied out his heart, watched over him as though he were family. Left on his own, the prince was not sure how he would survive.
Even when he thought such things, he could not say if he meant to survive that attack, or if he meant to survive the voices of the dead who were trapped by regret.
One more thing helped him continue to step forward into the future: his nightly prayers, said every night, just as always. The prince could not thank them for so much good in the world, not anymore, not after he had lost so many people close to his heart. It felt almost insulting, to give thanks to anything. But whenever he would kneel down at his window and clasp his hands together, eyes focused upwards to the stars, he remembered that beautiful boy of the stars. He remembered the way they had held hands, and remembered the way he was kept close as he'd cried. He remembered that beautiful brown skin and those green eyes and curling hair.
Perhaps he could not give thanks to the stars for his family, when they did not exist any longer, but he could at least give thanks to that one boy in particular who had given him light.
The years passed. The prince, who had once been a child, began to grow into an adult. People praised him for a great many things. They praised his diligence, his sense of justice, his kindness. Yet for all they praised him, the prince did not feel such things were deserved. His steps were still dogged by his ghosts, demanding justice he had yet to give them, and, in their influence, the young prince could feel a bitter darkness welling inside of him.
How could other people be so happy when the dead were so trapped? In so much pain? How could he be allowed to be happy? It did not feel fair, and the prince felt as though he had a lance pierced straight through his chest that he could not remove. When he asked his uncle, the one of his blood, he was told that there was no point in trying to chase murder that had long since been done.
How easy it was for him to say. For whatever reason, the prince suspected that his uncle was not haunted as he was haunted, and so could not see the urgency, the pain, the justice of such a thing. Yet the prince had long accepted that he had truly only one choice, whether or not his uncle agreed with his views. He was a man, now. He was old enough to do what he wished, what he needed to do. So the prince decided he would go on a journey, and find those who had killed his loved ones for himself. If this meant he had to go alone, then he would accept that.
Thus, in the dead of night, the prince gathered the things he would need for a journey and composed a letter so that his most beloved friends would not be concerned. Once he was fully prepared, he knelt one more time at the window of his room, and prayed. The prince did not pray for safety, because he did not believe he deserved or would receive it. The prince did not pray for vengeance, because he knew that no one else could give that to his ghosts besides himself.
He prayed only that the stars would keep him company. That one boy in particular would keep him company throughout his journey, as he sought to find those responsible.
Only once in the many years he had prayed did the stars ever return any of his answers. The prince expected silence this night, too. Yet as he looked up into the sky, a shooting star streaked through the air, and he knew who it was long before that light began to draw near to him. When it burst before his window, crystalline ringing just how he had always remembered it, the prince was already hastening to open the glass panes and welcome the star boy in.
Or perhaps it was no longer accurate to refer to him as such. The prince had grown, but so too had this boy from the stars, and he had become a man, in all the nights that the prince had not seen him. He was taller, now, although not as tall as the prince, and there was a fitness to his body that spoke to how he had no doubt gone running across the night sky a million times when the prince was not looking. While most of his hair still fell in dark curls, they fell back from where they'd mostly been swept from his face. The only exception was the small braid that hung to the side, and shined with moonlight.
His clothing had changed in some ways, mostly in the cut, and how that trailing belt had now been replaced by a cloak which half hung from the man's shoulder, but it was still the same in the fabric. In that darkness, and depth of color, and starlight. The man was just as beautiful as when they'd been children... but now, the prince had to admit, he had become a very different kind of beauty in his eyes. As his friend of the stars floated there, the prince offered up his hands, and helped guide him down onto the floor of his room.
Almost without a sound, his starlit friend landed down upon the floor, looked the prince in the eyes, and said, "So, this is a seriously terrible idea. I felt that was important for you to know!" But he was smiling while he said it, and the prince didn't quite know how to take that.
Deciding to take it as a relief that his old friend had not changed, the prince frowned. "I must go on this journey. I cannot let the unjustice which happened to my family stand." And here he included his knight, his Glenn, that had stayed with him as much as any brother. "I am the only one who is demanding answers, and the only one, I think, who is tormented by these ghosts... so it must be me."
"If you ask me, you shouldn't really listen to the demands of the dead," his friend said, crossing his arms and cocking his hips. It did not match the narrative the prince thought he knew for divine beings. "If you do, then they'll never stop. But innocent people did die, and something poisonous has taken route in these lands that I've watched for so many years."
"Do you know what it is?" the prince asked, eager for a lead when he had previously had none. This entire idea had been built on desperation and hope from the beginning, including his initial direction. Anything to give it more strength could not be more appreciated.
His friend let out a low sigh, and his foot tapped against the floor. "It's something that slinks between the stars, hides in the darkness between their light," he said. "To find them would mean to go into the darkest places of the earth, eternally chasing the night and all the secrets held within. It's pretty risky. A nice prince like you doesn't belong there at all."
"I am not nice at all," the prince said, which he had not told anyone else for as long as he had known that fact. "I am darker than the new moon, and can feel something violent in me. If there is any person who can survive being in such miserable places, than it should be me, and no other should suffer through such an experience."
"Don't you think you've suffered enough?" he replied. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I agree with you on a lot of things. The dead deserve to have their memory honored. Terrible people deserve to be brought to justice so that they can't commit injustice any longer after they've already done it once - actually, with these guys, I'm pretty sure it's more than once. You don't just start off with deciding to murder a whole family of kind people, generally speaking. So what if you have a darkness in you? The moon is still the moon, no matter which side of it we see, and that doesn't mean it deserves more craters in itself. Why does it have to be you, Dimitri?"
The prince could not speak, for a moment. Were his reasons not enough? Were his ghosts not enough? Was the idea of justice not enough?
And yet it was very much like that night so long ago, when he had held this starlit boy's hand so desperately while he had wailed for parents and an almost-brother that would never come back. That boy had not lied to him. That boy had allowed the prince to cry on his shoulder when he had heard the truth and could not deny it anymore. For a long moment, the prince had to fall silent and the starlit man before him waited patiently.
At long last, the prince was able to answer with a trembling voice. "I cannot trust anyone else to do this, and I am scared that I will be let down once again. If I do not see it with my own eyes and enact it with my own hands, will it have really happened? I do not want to be hurt like this ever again, and lose Dedue, or Ingrid, or Felix, or Sylvain."
And that was the truth that the prince had been cradling inside his chest, and which satisfied the starlit man who listened to him just as he had listened to the prince's wailing as a child. "As long as it's for yourself and no one else," he said. "Well, that works out for me. I've decided I want to take off from home a little bit, and nothing sounds better than running into a dangerous situation with a prince!"
"Won't your family be worried?" the prince asked, for he could not help think of the many letters he had left behind for his friends and those who were as good as his family.
All the starlit man in front of him did was wave his hand carelessly in the air. "I think you need me a lot more than they need me," he said.
"Won't you fade away when the sunrise comes?" the prince asked, for he could not help remember those small hands in his own and how he had desperately held on so many years ago.
All the starlit man in front of him did was laugh, crystalline. "I think I've grown up a lot more since then!" he said.
And that was that. The prince could think of no other arguments to make, and certainly no other arguments that would deter a man from the stars. So he gathered his things, and saddled up his horse. Yet he insisted that the man from the stars go up first, so that the prince could hold him securely in his arms. It was then that the prince felt an emotion wind tightly around his heart, one that was not guilt or darkness or bitterness. It was an emotion he had never felt before, as he had looked up at that beautiful face, alight with verdant eyes and a smile that helped ground him.
"Thank you," the prince said, reaching up for the man before him, this man who looked as though he held a halo of stars about himself even though that was just the night sky.
His friend laughed again. It did not sound crystalline. "Why are you thanking me? I haven't even done anything yet."
The prince shook his head, and leaned up on his toes. As though guided, his friend leaned downwards. "You have done more than you could know," the prince said, before he leaned up, their face nearing as he pressed a kiss upon his cheek -
The weight of Dedue's knuckles on wood is distinct, bonedeep, and Dimitri jerks into consciousness with one foot kicking downwards as if to find a missed step. Blearily, he blinks a few times, and tries to reorient himself. "Coming!" he calls, the word muffled with the yawn that chases at its heels. Something is nagging at the edge of his mind, and he pushes himself up onto his feet - wait, how was he laying down on his bed? Does he still have his boots on? Oh - Ugh, was he drooling?
All of that is taken in vaguely, subconsciously. There are important words, ideas, floating around in Dimitri's head, and it feels so important somehow to get them out. He stumbles over to his desk, fingers a little clumsy as they grab his writing quill so that he can scrawl notes down onto loose paper. The words are just pulled out of his head as he thinks them, digging through dreams that are flimsy as cobwebs in the light of morning. That just makes it all the more important to commit them to ink and paper, to not forget them while he still has some sturdy semblance of them drifting through his mind.
Once they're done, they're done, and Dimitri doesn't even spare the time to read over what he's written. All he does is hurry over to his door, nearly tripping over a single gauntlet that he left discarded on the floor. Dedue has the patience of an actual saint - only partially part of his temperament, Dimitri suspects, and more because of circumstance - but he still loathes to keep his friend waiting. "I'm sorry," he says, fighting back another yawn. "I didn't - mm. I didn't mean to keep you waiting, Dedue."
"It's fine, Your Highness," Dedue says, which could be true or could be not true. Dimitri tentatively thinks its the former, if only because that's how it is with friends, isn't it? Minor annoyances aren't a bother, usually. He wants to think that. While he mentally fusses over what's acceptable in friendships, especially one as awkward as this one can be at times, Dedue looks over him and his brow pulls together in some worry. "Are you sick?"
"What?" Dimitri blinks, and then takes stock of himself. "Oh- blast, no, I'm not. I'm just... Come in, I'll talk while I clean myself up." And he really does need a bit of cleaning up, frankly. He's still wearing the same clothes he was wearing the night before, when he went down to the library to study, and ran into Claude. Why, there's still a gauntlet on one hand, and his boots on his feet. Without looking, Dimitri knows his hair is in an absolute state of disarray. This isn't the way a prince should present himself... Hell, any decent person, frankly.
It takes a little bit of convincing to get Dedue inside, but soon enough, Dimitri has gotten him down into his desk chair, and has tugged a small screen about so that he can change without it being wholly uncomfortable for them both. As he does so, Dimitri speaks to Dedue over it. "The time got away from me, it appears. It's not too late in the morning, is it?"
"Morning training may be cut short, but I believe we should still have some time, Your Highness," Dedue said, absolutely silent besides the sound of his voice. Dimitri has had only a couple of people in his room so far this school year, but none he's found at utterly silent as Dedue. "Did you not sleep well?"
Dimitri smiles a bit, although it's awkward even with only himself aware of it. "No... I slept incredibly well for once, as a matter of fact." But he can see why Dedue asked. Most of the time, Dimitri considers it a good night if he can sleep without dreaming at all. It's part of why he trains so hard at the end of every day, besides good health, his duty, and his utmost goal in finding those responsible for the death of so many. Some nights, if he trains hard, works himself to the bone... Then he can sleep dreamlessly, and simply wake up the next morning with another basic need met.
The worst nights are when his ghosts demand his actions spurred all the faster, berate him for not being good enough to find their murderer already. He knows that's true, and he wishes he could figure out a way to do what they ask... but he hasn't the foggiest besides just pressing onwards.
While he's never told Dedue of the details, his occasional issues with sleep are still something known between the two of them, and he hears Dedue still do nothing, but can imagine his relieved and understanding nod. "I see... That's good. Perhaps a signal that the day will go well."
"Perhaps." It would be nice if that were true, Dimitri reflects, sloppily trying to fold his clothes so that they're not too inobtrusive as he puts them in the basket meant for cleaning. There - done. Now to actually get fresh clothes on. Retrieving a fresh uniform, something he hasn't spent a whole night in, Dimitri continues to talk absent mindedly. "I actually wrote it down when you woke me up... Although I can't be certain that it makes the slightest sense. It was like... a fairy tale." Speaking about it, trying to remember the details, has him pause briefly before he tugs his undershirt up over his head. "One of my life, I suppose. The notes are still on the table; perhaps you can tell me if they're coherent or not."
If only it were a fairy tale, he reflects as he puts on his uniform piece by piece. It'd be nice if that were the case, because fairy tales aren't real. Or, if they are based on real events, then they'd be so long ago as to not reflect his life, and could be told to him by his stepmother still. At least it was still nice to dream of it, to think of it as though he were an outsider: just a prince helped by a beautiful boy from the stars, with dark curling hair and green.... eyes... and a casual way of speaking even in dreams...
Dimitri freezes, feeling his heart outright stop, and pokes his head out from behind his screen. A sinking sensation goes down all the way to his stomach when he sees Dedue's head is turned, looking down the the scribbled notes that are a far cry from what Dimitri swears he is normally capable of... but unfortunately still legible, from what he can tell. "Dedue," he asks, careful and awkward, and immediately earns the attention of the other man immediately. "Did I... perchance write anything embarrassing?"
For example, any particular details on how he had described Claude as "celestial".... or how he'd grown more beautiful as an adult... or repeated references to how gorgeous his eyes were... or, Saints, did he write down anything about the kiss he'd given to Claude, towards the very end? The thing that was clearest in his mind? Standing on his toes, drawing closer to that lovely face, that sense of shared breath - Dimitri can feel his face getting hotter, and he desperately tries to order his body to cool down. It does not.
Dedue stares at him for a moment, clearly choosing his words with the utmost care as usual before he speaks. "It was only a dream you had, Your Highness," he says in that same calm way which always brings Dimitri back to earth. "And these are only notes. No one is automatically privy to either."
Breath returns to Dimitri, and he nods. "That's right," he says. "You're right, Dedue. It was only a dream. All sorts of things happen in dreams that we do not necessarily want." Ducking back behind his screen, Dimitri finishes dressing proper, and attaches his cape properly to himself. "I simply - well, I would feel wretched if this got back to Claude in some way, and you know how he is, with the way he doesn't miss a whiff of information. He doesn't deserve to have this hounding him, or feel uncomfortable by it." He deserves better, frankly. Dimitri knows that much.
"Of course," Dedue agrees, and is already tucking the papers out of sight just in case anyone else ducks into Dimitri's room by the time the prince finally steps out from behind the screen. "Although, if I may speak freely-"
"Always," Dimitri says hastily, nearly tripping over his own words.
"I do not think that Claude von Riegan would be concerned himself," Dedue finishes, leaning away from the desk now that he's finished this small favor for Dimitri. "He seems to be rather relaxed, no matter what rumors swirl about him."
Dimitri reflects on that as the two of them exit his dorm room, making their strides just a bit longer and quicker on the way down to the training grounds. Dedue, as he so often is, is telling the truth in this area. Dimitri is no gossip hound by any means, but even he is well aware that the Riegan heir is someone surrounded in mystery, and that mystery is only amplified by his charm and overall likeable nature. It makes for quite a social weapon, even if Dimitri can't quite agree with him on his tactics for the battlefield or most conflict.
"Still," he says, because that does not take care of the matter in regards to his own embarrassment, and his own strong feelings on how Claude surely deserves better. "Well, at any rate, now that we are talking about Claude von Riegan, I wonder if that simple encounter is what influenced my dreams. You see, I actually ran into him in the library last night. I'm looking for more tales to regale the children with, after we finish our sword lessons for the day. We got to discussing how, even if Fodlan is divided into three parts, our stories are still strongly connected. That must have influenced me when I turned in for bed." He shakes his head. "I was up rather late..."
"I'm glad it was only that," Dedue says, and offers up the faintest trace of a smile. It really is a hard-to-spot thing, but Dimitri has spent years, now, familiarizing himself with Dedue's habits... and this is one of those which has always been worth it. It makes Dimitri smile back; maybe today really will be a good day.
Of course, the moment that he thinks that, they step out int the hallways of Garreg Mach as a whole instead of just the student dorms, and Seteth immediately beckons him over. Dedue comes with, because of course he does. If it is something that they need to do for the good of the Blue Lion house, whether a task or mission, then Dedue is Dimitri's right hand. Alternatively - well, Dimitri doesn't think he has done anything that would warrant the bishop speaking to him personally, but one can't find themself too arrogant in situations like this.
"Is something wrong, Seteth?" he asks, the moment that they're close enough. Dimitri can tell that he's being looked over, and, for a moment, he's stricken with the idea that somehow Seteth can tell that he was sloppy this morning, that he overslept or wrote sappy things about the beauty in Claude's wonderful dark brown curls. Somehow, possibly with the powers of the divine that surely come to high enough members of the church instead of even glancing at a thing like himself, Seteth can tell he was thinking impure thoughts.
A split second later, and Dimitri realizes he's being ridiculous in more ways than one. Seteth doesn't have mind reading powers. Dedue wouldn't let him leave his room if he thought he looked a mess. Also, even if Seteth did have mindreading powers, there is nothing inherently immoral about having a dream presented like a fairy tale where he kisses Claude von Riegan on the cheek. If it's politically smart is another thing entirely, but it is not inherently immoral.
Seteth gives him the same polite smile that Dimitri thinks he's received ever since he first arrived at Garreg Mach, and the older man has little troubles that might hinder such an expression otherwise. Being that this is Garreg Mach and so much has happened in the year already, those moments are actually somewhat uncommon. "Oh, not at all," he says. "However, do you recall much of last night, Dimitri?"
For a second, noncomprehension. In the next, a foggy memory floods back through him, and Dimitri immediately goes contrite. "Oh - I apologize, Seteth. I would have sought you out immediately, but I must have been more tired than I thought. I can barely remember anything at all, but you escorted me to my room, didn't you?"
"Oh, it was no trouble at all," Seteth says, seeming to have confirmed something for himself in the way he nods. His gaze briefly flickers to Dedue before settling back on Dimitri. "However, if I may grant some advice?" He continues only when Dimitri nods. "I would recommend keeping a better eye on the clock... and perhaps, for whatever extracurricular project you and young Claude von Riegan are doing, spending that time outside, in the town."
"Of course," Dimitri agrees immediately, glad that this is all that's happening. Being out beyond curfew, when he's expected to be a model student and prince? He could have gotten a lot worse.
This seems to be enough to satisfy Seteth, and he nods down one of the halls - away from the training grounds. "Speaking of such, I believe I interrupted you and he in the middle of something. He was near the lake, last I checked."
Yes, he really should apologize to Claude for falling asleep on him... That was so rude! How wretchedly he must have acted. At least, Dimitri assumes he must have acted wretchedly. He was so tired that he fell asleep on his bed face first, legs mostly off of it, with his boots still on. As far as he's concerned, that means all bets are surely off. Dimitri hastily but politely gives a bow to Seteth. "Of course. I will go see him immediately. And I offer my sincerest apologies for staying out past curfew, Seteth, along with any rudeness I may have demonstrated."
Because he had to have been rude. He knows it.
Yet Seteth really is a good man. Dimitri had always sort of known it, because Seteth had reminded him in some ways of Rodrigue, and because no one but a good man could have been such a good brother that Flayn so clearly cares for other people and allows her to smile so joyously. He's a good man now as he nods to Dimitri. "Think nothing of it. Youth is meant to make the occasional mistake." There's that smile again. "And to have fun, as well. I, for once, am relieved to see that you were able to get a good night's sleep, for once."
It's not a judgmental tone, and Dimitri takes some relief in that. After all.... At this point, he's fairly certain that all of the professors, with the exception of Professor Eisner, know about his late night habits, although he tries not to sneak out past curfew unless it is truly a terrible night. Manuela has her parties, Hanneman his research, and Seteth, well, Seteth makes his rounds. "Thank you, sir," he says, because he's not sure what else to say, giving one last bow before he heads off in the direction Seteth had pointed out.
Of course, there's one last thing he needs to take care of before he just runs off to see Claude, and he looks sidelong at Dedue as the two of them stride onwards. "I apologize for dragging you with me, Dedue... Do you want to go ahead to the training grounds? I know how diligently you train..."
He remains wholly unsurprised when the answer is a shake of Dedue's head. "I imagine I will already be too late to find a partner to spare with," Dedue says, and there is an unsaid sentence beneath that. Dimitri doesn't press, only nods his head. With that unspoken agreement, they keep walking.
Finding Claude really isn't that hard at all. Him and Hilda are standing along the edges of the lake, their heads bowed together as they have some sort of quiet and secret little conversation. Faintly, Dimitri wonders if he should be worried. Hilda is a nice girl, of course. She knows how to see the best in other people, or at least some of their best qualities, and always has a steady compliment on hand.
Unfortunately, he thinks this means she's actually a lot more... something than she pretends to be. Dimitri isn't sure what, exactly. All he's certain of is that whenever her and Claude, more than notorious enough in his own right, get together and tilt their heads close like that... It surely can only mean they're scheming something.
Well, if it becomes a problem, he supposes it becomes a problem. He'll have to keep an eye out, and let some of his house know that something may be amiss. In the meanwhile, he cups a hand to his mouth. "Claude! There you are!"
The effect is immediate. Immediately the Deer pair straighten up as though they've been shocked, and, even at a distance, he can see that Hilda has a hand to her mouth as though that can possibly hide her smile or the way that her eyes widen as she looks in his direction. Claude is a lot more subtle, shoulders easing up even as Dimitri watches; he must have startled them with all his yelling.
Claude casts one of his usual easy smiles back towards Dimitri as he approaches. "Wow, you're sure lively so early in the morning, Your Princeliness! Although I suppose I shouldn't be surprised considering how hard you go at training every morning." He tilts his head towards Dimitri and Dedue. "Although the usual suspects, sans yourself, are probably all at it already. Skipping out today? If so, welcome to the club!"
Is Claude glancing over him in a particular manner... No, no. Dimitri resists the urge to shake his head in response to his own thoughts. This is just him overreacting to Seteth all over again. Dimitri is sure things are fine. They have to be fine, right? Trying to outrun his own nervous mind, Dimitri smiles to Claude as he comes to a stop before him. "Now, we both know that's not true, Claude," he tells him. Claude may act so carefree, that's true, but Dimitri knows he trains just as hard as anyone else, especially with a bow. A few times, when Dimitri has been especially early and ahead of Dedue, he's stumbled upon the Riegan heir practicing with an axe. "Besides, we're only taking a quick moment away from the training grounds."
"I see." Claude hums a bit. "Diligent as always, Your Princliness, although now I'm even more curious."
Hilda lets out a long sigh suddenly. "Honestly, some of the knights are really getting on my case about training.... But I'm just no good at it!" Dimitri believes that Ingrid once went on a mission with Hilda for some thing or another. If he recalls correctly, she expressed a lot of approval to the way Hilda could fling an axe dead center at a target. "Hey, Dedue, you use axes too, don't you?"
Perking up, Dimitri glances at Dedue from the corner of his eye. His friend and right hand man has raised his eyebrows, undoubtedly caught off guard. No doubt he assumed this would be a conversation primarily between Dimitri and Claude, with his own person playing little to no relevance in it. That's how it's often gone in the past, after all. But now... Dimitri contains his own excitement, and just watches as Dedue simply nods. "I do," he says, no dressing it up, no boasting. This is also very much like Dedue.
"Wwwwwwwell...." Reaching up, Hilda twirls some of her hair from one ponytail in her fingers. "Do you think I could watch you practice, or you could tell me how you handle an axe so well? Maybe it could help me out too! I mean, everyone knows how good you are at it!"
Already, Dimitri can tell that Dedue might sidestep the matter, or outright refuse it. He'd never order or force Dedue to do anything, nothing at all, but, well... He can at least give his blessings, right? "I wouldn't mind if you went ahead of me," he says encouragingly, smiling at him. "Besides, I'm certain you must be getting tired of only having me for a sparring partner."
"I never said anything about training," Hilda says, doing her very very best to not seem too hasty or desperate.
Dimitri pretends he didn't hear her. But, politely. "And you really are amazing at using an axe. I'm sure anyone would be stunned. Besides, this shouldn't take long at all. If the two of you don't end up as a good match, I'm sure Claude and I will be there shortly."
"Are you just dragging me to training, now?" Claude asks in amusement. Dimitri more obviously ignores that, too.
For a moment, Dedue simply looks at Hilda, making his own observations and judgments. Dimitri understands why he has to do so, although he wishes it wasn't such a necessity in the first place. Perhaps something about Hilda passes muster, because he soon nods. "I suppose it cannot hurt," he says.
"Yay!" Hilda says with a clap of her hands.
"We can see where you are at in a sparring session."
"Wait, no."
But there's no dissuading Dedue as he begins to stride off towards the training grounds once again, Hilda trailing behind him and trying to slip her way out of it all. Dimitri watches them with a slight grin. When it comes to pure stubbornness, he doesn't think he and Dedue can be beat. But - that's not what he originally came over for, even if it has become an unexpected bonus.
A smile is on Claude's lips when Dimitri turns his attention back to him. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching you fuss over Dedue," he says, chuckling. "You act like a mother hen."
"Oh, this is hardly fussing," Dimitri says, well aware of how much he's actually fussed over and gotten protective of Dedue. "But I love him dearly, so of course I want him to be happy." Btu his brain is stumbling over itself the second he says those words, and Dimitri hastens to correct himself. "I mean, in a platonic manner, of course! He's as dear to me as family would be." It's - important, suddenly, that Claude knows Dimitri didn't mean to imply anything romantic, there. More important than just something lingering from a silly dream Dimitri had.
His heart twists in his chest, awkward and clumsy. Oh. Oh no.
If there is a good side to this, it is that Claude doesn't seem to take his earlier statement seriously, just laughs again. "Don't worry, Your Princeliness, I get it. You don't have to repeat yourself. So - " Claude crosses his arms, cocks his hip to the side. Dimtiri is hit with a peculiar sense of deja vu. "What did you want to come talk to me about?"
Of course. He has to stay on track. Dimitri takes a deep breath, centering himself so that he doesn't just go scattering everywhere, mentally. "Well... I wanted to talk to you about last night. I... felt I must have acted rudely last night."
"Well..." Claude glances away for a moment, in the direction that Hilda and Dedue stepped off to. Dimitri wonders just what he talked about with her, and starts to worry that it wasn't just a scheme. But then Claude is looking to him again, smile just a touch softer. "I will say that it was rather sudden. But you don't have to worry about it, Your Princeliness."
"No, I should worry about it," Dimitri insists, leaning forward slightly. Is Claude leaning in as well? No, it's just his imagination. "I was the one who went to you for assistance in my studies, and I fell asleep on you! That was terrible of me."
For a second, somehow, it feels as though the world freezes - or is it just Claude? Something certainly shifts, and Dimitri feels as though the world has taken a step to the left, leaving him exactly in place, even as Claude laughs again. "You seriously were worrying about that so much? That's just like you." Somehow, it feels as though the conversation subject has changed, even though Dimitri knows they're talking about the same night. "Seriously, Your Princeliness. Don't worry about it. I was starting to fall asleep myself."
"Well.... I suppose as long as you're certain." Dimitri hesitates, not liking how this conversation has started to end even though it is arguably the best possible result for it. Still, if he does not like it, then it's up to him to change it, isn't it? He presses forward. "Do you still want to help me with what we talked about last night? Looking up fairy tales, for when I go down to visit the children in town."
Claude rolls his shoulders in a shrug, starting off in the direction Dedue and Hilda had gone of his own accord. Dimitri walks alongside him. "Sure! It would be a nice break from the mundane schedule of school life, right?" He glances sidelong at Dimitri again, smiling. It seems different, somehow. "Although I'm guessing you don't remember me saying it last night, but I did suggest that we make up our own fairy tale story for the kids, if you were really running out of Fodlan ones to tell."
That does tug at his memory a little bit, and Dimitri lights up in a smile. It feels like he's lit up. "That would be wonderful!" he gushes, brushing against Claude. A part of his chest tenses up, certain that he's gotten too close, but Claude doesn't pull away. Perhaps it really is fine. "I'll have to make time inbetween my studies and training... but I will make time."
"If it's a promise by the crown prince of Faerghus, then I suppose it's a promise I can rely on," Claude teases him, and - and he looks beautiful, like this. No, he's not wearing clothing woven from the very night sky itself. He's not literally radiating actual light, a star fallen down to earth. But... There is a light in him, a glow to his smile, stars in his eyes as he looks straight ahead to the future. It makes Dimitri want to clutch at his own heart, even though he knows he can't possibly deserve someone like this.
...But they will be working on a tale together. They can do that much. Dimitri thinks back on what Seteth had told him, not that long ago. "Then, if we're both agreed on working together... Perhaps we could discuss our ideas and plans down in town." His heart clenches again. "I could treat you to dinner as well, as an apology."
Claude's steps stutter, and he looks to him, that casual smile wiped away and replaced by wide eyes, raised eyebrows, his lips parted ever so. It's an expression that lasts only a second before Claude glances away. When he looks back at Dimitri again, the light in his eyes shines all the brighter, and that smile is back to being different, again, but in the good way. "Well, I'll never turn down the opportunity of a lifetime to be treated by the future king of Faerghus. Let me see what my schedule is like, and I'll get back to you."
"Of course," Dimitri says, his heart no longer clenching but beating rapidly, fluttering against the inside of his chest. The two of them fall silent, then, with Claude's gaze focused ahead of him, and Dimitri's gaze focused on a spot beneath his eye, along his cheek. He thinks of the awkward shift in the world, in Claude, just a second ago, and he thinks of how it had felt, in his dream, to lean up and kiss him there.
Quickly, Dimitri looks away and tries to focus on just walking. Tries not to think about how realistic that dream had felt, becase he couldn't have, right? He would never have. Right? But it's so tempting... No. Nope! Best to never mention that to Claude at all.
...But it had been almost a nice tale, really, even close to home as it had obviously struck. He tries to remember how it had ended, how the prince of the silver lands and the young man from the stars had been preparing to set off....
...Well. Perhaps he can share the dream with Claude just a little bit. Just, with the details of the ending snipped off.
After all, there's absolutely no reason for Claude von Riegan to know he dreamed about them kissing. Right?