Dimiclaude Week: Day 1 - Courtship

[warmskies]

 "There is an... issue in regards to our diplomatic efforts with Almyra," Dimitri admits one day, after having called all of them into a meeting, and some of their faces twist into a grimace.

It's been a couple of years since the war ended, and yet there's still so much work to do. While some things have certainly improved, such as the former Adrestian territories settling down, it's still a job that's far from finished. People are still feeling the effects of five long years of suffering and starvation, especially here in the capital of Fhirdiad. Cornelia did quite a number on the place.

If there's one good thing about it all, it's that it seems as though they've managed to luck out in regards to the many hostile neighbors that Fodlan shares. Thanks to Petra, their connection to Brigid, all relations with Dagda have improved, and so there's been no disputes so far. Then, up to the north, Sreng seems to have been preoccupied with its own internal politics, but those that Sylvain has managed to reach out to have been tense... but willing to listen. That's more than they can ever say for a lot of the past years. Maybe they too, much like Fodlan, have gotten tired of endless battle.

The wildcard, of course, has been Almyra. All of them can remember the constant clashes that were spoken of in their childhood, especially their allies who are Leichester born. And yet, at the same time... What's been more obvious is how quiet the desert country has been for years now, creeping towards a decade.

At the very end of the war, news managed to make its way past Fodlan's Locket that a new king had taken the past king's place, which is nothing too unusual. Apparently it had been a real underdog candidate, someone actually in the royal family that no one believed in. From their sources, rumor was that he had no interest in starting up more battles against Fodlan, whether simple hit and run skirmishes or the all out war that his ancestors favored.

But if Dimitri is worried... Ingrid leans forward to brace one arm against the table, face grim. All of Dimitri's close classmates are in attendance for this, the original Blue Lions. Everyone else is busy in their parts of Fodlan, including the Professor, so... It's up to them to figure out this initial bit of news. "Did King Khalid say something in his correspondence to you?" she asks. "Did he put forth a challenge?"

Dimitri blinks at her. "A challenge? Oh. Oh!" He shakes his head, looking embarrassed and ashamed. "No, it... The issue has nothing to do with Almyra wanting to attack us, not right now." He seems to make sure to enunciate that last bit.

Around the table, some of them ease up, although only a little bit. "Are they making unreasonable requests?" Felix snorts, eyes narrowing. That's the next reasonable assumption, after all. Even if they're not chomping at the bit to start war, their new king might want to see if he can take advantage of a country still getting its legs back under it in the aftermath of a war. "They're a martial country, aren't they? I'm telling you to just let me duel someone important, and they'll shut up."

"That's just what you want to do, Felix," Annette chides with a gentle fondness.

Still, Dimitri shakes his head again. "It's not like that, not exactly," he says, looking extremely awkward. It's times like this that he almost looks like the student he used to be back in Garreg Mach, before they all took their wounds in that long and miserable war. Back then, he could still be just a young adult to some degree, fumbling with scissors so they wouldn't break in his hand and protesting when the Professor considered him as the White Heron Cup representative.

Felix scowls. "Just spit it out."

"We can handle anything as long we face it together, so you don't have to worry, Dimitri," Mercedes says, much more gently.

Dimitri takes in a deep breath - in, and then out. "I believe," he says slowly, "that the King of Almyra is courting me."

All of them stare. Maybe a couple of them blink, like they aren't entirely sure that they've heard right. It's Sylvain who reacts first, shaking his head with a laugh. "Oh boy, Dima," he chuckles affectionately, and pushes himself up on the table so that he can lean over. There's a letter that Dimitri has been nudging his finger against repeatedly since they all first came into the room, and, now, it's clear to see just who it must be from. Sylvain doesn't waste any time in reaching over and snagging it up for a quick skim. "Your inner romantic is leaping out again, buddy. I don't know if it's the Almyran king not putting together the right words in Fodlish, or you just misunderstanding something in a latter, but..." Which is around the time that Sylvain trails off, absorbed in the letter.

Well. Ashe is the first one to break, although if only because Annette's own excited vibrating might be interfering with her ability to talk. He leans a little closer in Sylvain's direction, not at a good position to get a peak at the letter himself. "What does it say?" he asks.

That is quite possibly the wrong thing to say in regards to Dimitri, whose flush and complete lack of eye contact with any of them hints he may just expire underneath the weight of his own embarrassment. Sylvain, however, has no such issues, and just slowly lowers the letter a little bit. "Hoo!" He whistles out a breath, undeniably impressed. "Nevermind! I take back everything I said! This is definitely flirting with you, Dima."

Annette and Ashe gape, until the former lets out an astonished and delighted squeal. Gingerly, Mercedes raises a hand to her mouth with a mild, "Oh my!" Dedue, more focused on Dimitri than any of their nonsense of course, just gives them all a simple glance before he leans in close and murmurs something to him. Whatever it's said is, as usual, a secret between the two of them.

In the end, of course, it's two of Dimitri's close childhood friends who are left staring practically the hardest, disbelief pouring out from both of them like a waterfall.

Objectively, Dimitri is attractive. This is a basic fact, understood from keeping an eye on the kinds of things people look for in a person, and also just listening to people talk. Back in school, there were many students - from all genders - that obviously appreciated the serious and earnest fairytale prince that Dimitri seemed to be. He was the kind of person one knew would treat them right, no matter anything else. And then, after the war, when they could all bathe a little more and Dimitri finally began to eat regular meals again, talk started up in the noble circles as well.

And.... Maybe for good reason? Dimitri's shoulders are broad, the kind of posture and figure that one could feel protected by. On good days, when he's not haunted so much by his own past, and he's managed to get enough sleep, his smile is sweet and wonderful to see. More often than not, his hair is done up too, in a way that frames his face better than a simple blond mop.

It's just... hard to look at him, and think of him as a person to be courted, when they can remember him in plenty of other ways, too. The most recent, of course, being during the war, before  he was pulled back together, when he was all blood and thorns. 

The oldest is from when they were children, and he shoveled a whole handful of clovers into his mouth in an attempt to explain that they were sweet.

It's Felix who manages to recover first, although that's not always a good thing. A prime example of this is how he finally shakes his head and says, "Has this idiot even ever met you!?"

They all know the answer to that, of course, is a resounding 'no'. Fodlan has managed to meet with a few different leaders and diplomats since the war ended, as it has managed to get up on its feet once more. Sylvain had managed to break through to Sreng, most notably, and a couple of visitors from their northern neighbor had warily visited for occasional meetings. Petra was their connection in Brigid, and things went much smoother over there.

But things with Almyra have been... much more slowgoing, so far. No doubt that was because of its own internal politics, much like Fodlan has been dealing with itself. From what they've all heard, Almyra's former king had quite a number of sons - issues of succession are a problem in any country, it seems. No doubt the latest king, youngest of them all, has had to defend his right to the throne quite heavily. You can't make an alliance with other countries until you've got your own in slightly more stable condition, and all that.

So it's no surprise when Dimitri shakes his head. "We have been discussing him visiting, but the timing simply hasn't been right on his end yet. He apparently has quite a few duties that he is involving himself in, and so only the diplomats that you have all either seen or heard about have had the time to visit."

"Perhaps they spoke well of you," Dedue says, and this doesn't sound like the most outrageous thing ever. The primary Almyran diplomat they've dealt with in the visits so far is a person named Phoi, who apparently assists in matters of finance in the Almyran royal palace. Contrary to the stereotypes everyone has heard a good few dozen times over, they had proven themself to be level headed and calm, taking in everything with a patient smile but sharp eye. Even among those of the court who were wary of any Almyran influence had struggled to find anything actually wrong with their visitor's conduct. It had spoken a great deal about just how much that the new Almyran king had learned about Fodlish customs and behaviors, and then imparted that upon his diplomat to the country.

Still... Even Mercedes is a little bit concerned, her fingers sliding down to rest along her jaw as she thinks. "It may be that he heard other things about you as well... Since the Leicester Alliance was Almyra's neighbor, they were undoubtedly keeping tabs on it... or something like that, right? So hearing about your accomplishments during the war might have intrigued them." She sighs and shakes her head. "I don't know..."

Vibrating out of her skin, Annette finally succumbs. "We don't even know what the letter says!" she exclaims, falling back into her chair energetically. "Sylvain, tell us what parts of it were flirting!"

It's hard to resist a request from their dear and precious Annette, especially when she's so often busy over in the school. So even as Dimitri looks as though he's going to perish and turn to dust in his very seat, Sylvain clears his throat. "Alright, so.... First of all, there's a lot of the customary nonsense you guys don't care about, the standard greetings and inquiries about how the last visit went from Dimitri's point of view, you know. All of that." He waves one hand dismissively. "You get the idea.

"But then he starts talking about how everyone talks so much about Dimitri's lance skills-" This is the point where Sylvain takes a moment to waggle his eyebrows, and Ingrid picks up an inkwell with the clear intent of throwing it at his head. He hastily hurries on. "Anyway, he goes on to mention about how he's looking forward to seeing Dimitri's stunning visage in person, and if Dimitri has made any particular plans for when he finally has time to come and visit." Sylvain finally sets down the letter back in front of his king again. "That just about covers it, right, Dima?"

Dimitri's pinched expression indicates he would rather swallow a sword and perish right there. Still, he didn't stop Sylvain, and he does give an answer. "Yes... That's right. Although you did skip some of the elegance in his writing, Sylvain."

"That's what you're complaining about?"

Before this can dissolve into a stupid argument - not uncommon among the former students of the Blue Lion house - Dedue speaks up with his low and steady voice pushing through much like the man himself does on a regular basis. "Has King Khalid written this way to you before in past letters, Dimitri?"

The awkward pause from Dimitri says all it needs to, honestly, even before he sighs. "I... suppose he has," Dimitri confesses, and Annette puts her hand over Felix's mouth before he can say something about that I suppose. "When I noticed some of the more overt things in this most recent letter, that encouraged me to go look through past letters that we had exchanged. He was always exceptionally friendly. I simply had not realized how much so..."

At long last, Ingrid finally finds her voice. "And - it never occurred to you to speak up about this before?" she says, in completely disbelief.

Dimitri's lips thin. "It was not particularly high on my priority, although I admit that to be a fault of mine. However, while juggling our relations between Sreng, Brigid, Dagda, and Duscur, all in the aftermath of a war, all I could find in myself was pure relief that we at least had one country with a leader that seemed amiable enough to us to not start outright war. It was suspicious at first, but his actions matched his words. Perhaps still it was foolish of me to not think so deeply of it."

"No, no! That's not..." Ingrid sighs, easing back into her seat a little bit. "...I'm sorry, Dimitri. I didn't mean to imply that."

Mercedes nods. "All of us were just as relieved, hearing that Almyra was pulling back on any skirmishes, and their own naval forces were keeping an eye out for pirates," she agrees. "It isn't as though we were any more suspicious." A light laugh flutters out of her, and somehow that sounds seems to help soothe the air. "Certainly I don't think anyone could have expected this!"

That much is certainly true. When it comes to romance with nobility and royalty, especially the head of an entire united country, it's something of an arranged thing, although of course genuine love can still be found in such situations. Certainly, Dimitri has had plenty of eyes on him, almost as soon as the war was over. No small share of invitations have gone his way, both written and in person whenever they've had reason to celebrate events. If there's one good thing about it all, it's that Dimitri has either been too much of a workaholic to indulge the letters, and he's sternly kept celebrations to only the sort of thing commoners can engage in as well.

Fodlan as a whole had suffered with the war, no matter whose side they were on. It didn't feel right to any of them, but especially Dimitri, to have private little celebrations that only the most rich and safe could afford to enjoy. Well... It's certainly changed how some of the nobility still around have had to connect and rule. Certainly that's how they all like it.

Unable to help his eyes from straying to the letter, Ashe rubs the back of his neck. "If it isn't too invasive to ask, Your Majesty... How do you plan to reply?"

Undoubtedly, that's been the question all of them have been quietly wondering in the back of their heads. It's just... How do you even begin to approach such a thing? The future weighs heavily down on all of them for a moment, not only for Dimitri, but every single one of them, too. Dimitri has been getting attention as the most famous example, but none of them can say that they, too, have been exempt from such gazes and thoughts.

It's a hard answer to come up with, and Dimitri curls his hand against the table for a moment, gaze distant. The answer to this... would have a heavy effect, not only on the complicated politics between Fodlan and one of its neighbors, but also on his own life.

Honestly, it says a great deal about himself that he could deal with another bout of political turmoil, tiring though it would be, but the idea of having someone pursuing him so much, who might genuinely adore him... It is... That alone would be a troubling matter to him.

Annette's hands flutter through the air, anxiety in every little gesture. "Why not just reply the same as you always have been? If he really likes you, then he'll let you know, and, if this is some sort of trick, he'll slip up sooner or later," she suggests, wanting to smooth the wrinkles from between Dimitri's brows. That sort of stern expression was never particularly rare on their proper prince, back when they were in school, but it was truly at its worst during the war, when they all finally managed to reunite after thinking him dead for so long. In the aftermath, it's eased up... But still, too often does he look worn down and tired from all he wants to accomplish.

It's a sensible idea, really. A solid one. And yet Dimitri takes in a deep breath, and shakes his head. "If he presses... Then I will have to consider how to best refuse his advances," he finally states. "I cannot ever reciprocate, after all. Hopefully, a lack of indicated interest will be enough. On either end."

That is the end of it, for the most part, although the group still talks a bit more about it - the political implications, when this foreign king might ever arrive, how they'll all have to act.

Dedue, for the most part, stays quiet, all up until the meeting adjourns, and the majority of them go their separate ways. Fodlan still has much in it that needs to be restored, reworked, made better. All of them contribute in their own ways, and so it was difficult pulling this meeting together in the first place. But with the rest gone... "Have you received any correspondence lately from Claude von Riegan?"

The falter in Dimitri's footsteps gives him the answer, and his sigh heralds the details. "No... Not in some months, although he did warn me that this would happen. Wherever he is, whatever he is doing... It must be difficult. I wish..."

What he wishes is obvious, and is something he's spoken to Dedue about many times before. Claude's inclination towards secrecy has always been one of his most notable characteristics, making him an incredibly difficult person, at times, to understand the true depth of. All Dedue can say with any certainty is that he had an inclination towards poisons, liked feats and celebrations with other people...

And that his liege, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, king of a united Fodlan, loves him dearly.

Well, 'love' is a strong word, but it is not as though Dimitri seems capable of anything less when it comes to his emotions. That does bring to mind the ever present issue, of course. "Did you speak of your feelings in the last letter you sent?" Dedue asks.

Once again, Dimitri's reaction - the sharp spasm of a grimace across his face - says all it needs to. "Of course not," he says, slowing his stride and purposefully walking besides Dedue so that it's easier to whisper to him. Dedue briefly considers making it harder for him, but that is a very quiet thought that is just as quietly buried away. "Dedue, you know that would be unfair of me." Pursing his lips, Dimitri looks ahead of them again, towards the long stretch of hallway that makes up so much of the castle. "Whatever it is that Claude is doing... It was so important that he couldn't manage to stay here in Fodlan. Not even someone as clever as he could think of a way. In that case... It must be vitally important. I cannot sidetrack him, interrupt such an important thing that he clearly holds dear, with silly nonsense about  my own emotions."

"They are not silly," Dedue correct, quiet and gentle.

Another pause. Another slow, soft exhale of breath. "Maybe so," Dimitri concedes. "But they would still get in the way of whatever it is that he is trying to do. If it is of any reassurance... I promise that I am being no coward. I have practically begged him to let me know when he will return to Fodlan, and will celebrate with him in any way he likes, whether an enormous feast like those he was so fond of when we were youths, or something more private."

Anything to encourage him to return to Fodlan, where Dimitri waits.





Of course, the waiting would be much easier to accomplish without the attempts of King Khalid to get his attention, in a decidedly romantic manner. The letters, apparently, were just the start of it.

"Greetings to His Majesty, King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd of Fodlan, may he live a good life," Phoi says on one of their greetings - Dimitri can't tell what gender they are today just yet, the jewelry they use to signal such things hard to spot at a distance. "King Khalid sends his well wishes, and has sent with us a gift." With that, they gesture behind them.

For the most part, the Almyran diplomatic groups that come to Fhirdiad are somewhat small, which is surprising in a way. They're still composed of people with quite the amount of character, but it is not such a large group that it would put the people stationed at Fodlan's Locket on absolute edge. That surprise the first time it happened was quite shocking, honestly. That was the first time that it became apparent that not only was the new king of Almyra was intelligent enough to recognize what small actions could impact his neighbors, he was also genuinely interested in bringing about peace between the two countries. It's something that's always remained true, even now, as Dimitri glances past Phoi's shoulder as he approaches.

The change to the group has been minimal, with only a couple more individuals . The most apparent and decorated one is around as tall as Dimitri, with most of her head shaved save for curling bangs that are at the front part of her head cut in a mostly straight line, and two braids that frame her face - one short, stopping right around the jawline, and the other reaching down her shoulders. She holds herself with an easy confidence even as she looks over the leader of an entirely foreign nation. She also holds reins in her hand, connected to a stunning breed of horse Dimitri has never seen before.

It's her that Phoi gestures to, which helps make her all the more noticeable. "This is Devorah, one of our own most talented lancers, and a fine rider as well. She was chosen as an escort for King Khalid's gift to you."

And what a brilliant gift it is. Dimitri had long heard of how different Fodlish and Almyran horses could be compared to one another. Fodlish breeds, after all, have to contend with notable winters that touch all corners of the continent, even if the degree of harshness varies depending on where one is. A warm and heavy coat is a necessity, as much as it is a rather charming part of them that Dimitri has always known. It is simply a matter of fact that other horse breeds, in other lands, would be different.

He's just never gotten a chance to see that in person. Sreng didn't favor horses, instead preferring reindeer as their steeds in battle and apparently in simple travel. Dagda and Brigid were separated from Fodlan by the sea, and additionally not neighbors that Dimitri had to think about for most of his life until after the war. And Almyra, well, Almyra was so far from Faerghus, and never an issue.

What a pity, he thinks now as he steps closer to the horse and their handler. She is a beautiful mare who would surely earn the adoration of any who looked upon her, and so incredibly different compared to the horses he has grown up with all his life. And yet, she is a little more similar to them than he would have expected, with her broad chest and this height of hers that towers a bit over the humans who stand around her. Dimitri has seen much larger Faerghan breeds, but also much smaller ones, and she leans closer to the former than the latter.

Yet in so many ways, she's much more different. Instead of a soft coat of fuzz upon her body, it's clear even without touching her that she's an incredibly smooth creature. In fact, Dimitri doesn't think he's ever seen an animal with a hide as smooth as hers, a pretty pale thing with a tan that's almost white, and speckles of some sort of gray-ish brown along her legs and decorating her rump. Her mane and tale are pale, too, save for the very base.

And the ears, so different, a little more round than the sharp points of Fodlish breeds....

Sylvain's low impressed whistle snaps him out of it. "She's a beautiful little lady, isn't she?" he comments, one of his retainers that's at the castle today. "Although I thought Almyran breeds were a bit more streamlined and made for racing? I have no doubt she's fast, but she looks a bit more sturdy than anything."

Having one of them actually remark on anything has the handler, Devorah, lean closer to Phoi and ask something in Almyran - she doesn't even try to lower her voice about it. Phoi's response is much quieter and unworried, also in Almyran, before - ah, it's "he" today, Dimitri recognizes that ring when Phoi first mentioned this aspect of themself - before he speaks to Dimitri and Sylvain in Fodlish. "You have a good eye, Sir Gautier." He smiles, a very well made one for politics. "While many of the most popular breeds of horse in Almyra are made with speed in mind, especially across the plains and dunes of our homeland, Almyra is host to mountains as well. There are horses who have adjusted to such terrain, and this is one of them."

"Laleh," Vorah says suddenly, and grins over at Dimitri when he just blinks at her in confusion. "Dimitri and Laleh. Perfect pair."

All Dimitri can do is look back to Phoi, whose smile seems to twitch for only a moment. "I am afraid that my studies in Almyran are still lacking. May I ask what laleh means?"

For a moment, Phoi's grey eyes flick towards Vorah, who only looks satisfied about something, before he focuses back up at Dimitri. "Laleh is the name of the horse," he explains. "Although if one were to be more specific, it means 'tulip'. From what I understand, King Khalid chose carefully when it came to this gift." Placing a hand to his chest, Phoi bows very slightly. "Of course, this is only what this servant of the desert has heard secondhand. I cannot claim to know anything about what goes through our king's head unless he has outright stated it."

Dimitri is already waving a hand towards Phoi, trying to be dismissive in the most well meaning way possible. "There is no reason to demean yourself," he says gently. "I have no doubt that King Khalid chose carefully, because he seems to be a very thoughtful and intelligent man, although I have not had the pleasure of meeting him." Now to turn the conversation to something more pleasant... "Has Laleh been properly trained?"

"Yep," Vorah says immediately, which earns tired look passing through Phoi's eyes. Dimitri is starting to suspect that Vorah was supposed to play a silent supporting role for this visit, and she is very casually ignoring that bit of instruction. "Race?" Leaning a little bit forward, Vorah winks and holds up one hand for some sort of hand gesture that Dimitri doesn't recognize. "Mine is good too."

Dimitri has a lot of things he should probably be doing, if he's honest. There are letters and reports he needs to look at from Ashe and Ingrid as he's sent them to inspect the Adrestian countryside villages, in order to make sure they are recovering just as well as all the rest. The next day, there should be some particularly stubborn nobles visiting who he has to do his best to convince into his plans for the future of Fodlan. And he still has so much studying to do, all to help Fodlan grow from its bloodied soil into a place of peace where flowers bloom into life instead of people losing those they love instead.

Maybe he would have refused. Maybe he wouldn't have. It's hard to say what he would have decided on, because, in his moment of indecision, Sylvain leans forward with a wide grin. "Sounds good!" he says encouragingly. "Why don't all three of us take part? I'm a fairly good rider myself, if I do say so." And he winks, because of course Sylvain does.

Adding to the fire, Vorah's grin only becomes more sly. "All riding?" she says, and winks right back.

Phoi's smile looks like it is practically plastered on, and its hardness could potentially be used to murder someone. "Let us get our favored horses," Dimitri says, so as to prevent murder from being committed on Fhirdiad Castle's grounds, again. "Sylvain, I believe yours should have been recovered..."

The Gautiers, having often produced cavalry in the family, of course would have given Sylvain the finest horse that they could have gotten their hands on. Dimitri isn't particularly sure that he has ever ridden that horse since their school days, however. Instead, during the war, he took to riding a fine gelding from Fraldarius, and since that ended, since he began negotiations with Sreng on behalf of Dimitri, overriding his father...

When the race begins, Sylvain takes off on a fine bull reindeer, and Vorah is right alongside him with a lovely chestnut-colored mare of her own.

Dimitri lets them do as they like. Instead, he stays behind, adjusting to how Laleh feels underneath him as a steed, and making sure she stays in step alongside Phoi's own steed. "It seems we've swept you up into something quite troublesome," he tells the diplomat. "Sylvain is quite proud of his riding capabilities, so he said some things he did not have to. I will speak with him about this."

"It is fine." Phoi shakes his head, and smiles again. There's that patient politician's sort of smile again... Although it seems a little more genuine than all the times before that Dimitri has observed him. "This was on my own head as well. I should have known better than to bring such an energetic and troublesome lover along with me on my trip here."

Fortunate favors him for once today, as Dimitri is riding Laleh instead of walking on his own two feet. If he were doing that, no doubt he would have tripped on himself at that casually blatant admission. Instead, he just barely managed to avoid his mouth dropping open in surprise, although he can't stop thet momentary staring. "Oh," he says, brain running on old manners drilled into him so much they're as natural as breathing. When you don't want to be too obvious, then you make some meaningless noise. It's still obvious, but not as blatant. Besides, it helps kickstart him into proper conversation. "She must mean a lot to you, to take her with you on a trip."

"She does," Phoi agrees, something like affection filtering through their words before it disappears again. "She is also one of the best lance wielders in Almyra, and does well with horses, although not wyverns." This time, it's their sharp gaze that goes to skim over him. "Is it unusual in Fodlan for diplomats to take their lovers along on journeys?"

Well, it was obvious that he would be found out... Dimitri shakes his head. "Not exactly. It is simply unusual to be so open about it. Many Fodlish nobles prefer to be more subtle about such things." 

Although... Speaking of subtlety, this is something of an opportunity for him, isn't it? While he has said that King Khalid has been courting him, that's just been guesswork, and going by what his friends have said. If he wants to handle this in the best possible way, and ensure there are no misunderstandings... Maybe this can be his opportunity to learn more, straight from the mouth of someone who would know the country best.

With that in mind, Dimitri smiles over to Phoi. "Actually, if it is in Almyran culture to be so frank about one's love life... Would it be rude if I were to inquire more about how the two of you met, and how your relationship came to be? She seems quite different from you."

Then again, that does not mean a relationship is impossible, whether romantic or something purely friendly. Dimitri... has to hold onto that hope, and remember how he and Claude knew one another, back in their school days. The uptight prince, and the duchal heir who could laugh during their mock battles. Dimitri had used to wonder if Claude had never experienced true battle, with how he could laugh, and yet, during the war, he still could.

Dimitri only truly understood that day he and Faerghus's forces arrived in Derdriu, and Claude laughed then. Sometimes, laughter is not for mirth, or happiness, but to know you are still alive. You have still managed to emerge well enough to laugh, and haven't been dragged down into the mud.

Understandably, this wasn't the kind of question that Phoi was expecting for this visit to Fodlan, and he falls silent a moment as he reflects. Probably, that's what he's doing, at any rate. "We met during a celebration for the aftermath of a tournament a few years ago," he says at last. "As often happens when blood runs hot and liquor runs just as fast, a few trivial incidents happened, and Vorah became interested in me. With someone like that, her intentions were obvious from the very start. After a few things, I decided to return her interest."

"You make it sound so simple and unremarkable," Dimitri comments. "What were the things that happened that had you return her interest? Here, in Fodlan, depending on one's standing, courtship can be quite a bothersome thing..."

"Is it?"

Dimitri nods. "Due to various circumstances, I was able to not get too involved in such matters..." His immediate family had died just before such talk could be brought up or finalized, and, well.. His uncle had simply not cared one way or the other. Dimitri's romantic life had ended up in his own hands, only to be spoiled away as he had focused almost all of his life onto revenge. That didn't mean he'd been oblivious, however. "Yet I had been taught about the matter quite extensively, and many of those in my immediate circle dealt with it in their own lives I have introduced you to Lady Ingrid Galatae, haven't I?"

He has, of course, and from there it's easy enough to explain the many different steps and tribulations that come with courtship in the noble families of Fodlan. There are the concerns about Crest lineage, the land that is under a family's rule, how good things are in terms of trade or combat ability... All of that goes into affecting the steps taken, the family members that must be spoken to.

In turn, it seems as though things in Almyra are done a bit more personally - although Phoi admits it to be different for him and Vorah, both orphans who'd not had immediate family to judge their choice of lovers.

"When it comes to making sure things are well with the family, the lover will be introduced during a proper meeting," Phoi explains as they pass through the forest path, having long lost sight of Sylvain and Vorah. "It's customary in a few different areas of Almyra for the parents to then demand the lover do something to prove their worth. You can tell how the feelings of the parents from what they make the lover do. Just as much, you can tell how strong the bond between parent and child is if the child in question gets in the way of the challenge, or never introduces the lover in the first place."

With neither of them having to deal with that potential future, Phoi and Vorah only had to think on the immediate and more pleasurable aspects of courtship. Some of it, from what Phoi describes, seems very similar to what Dimitri has seen before in the past.... especially from watching Sylvain. One flirts, one compliments, one tests the waters if there is any interest whatsoever.

And then they dedicate a goal to them.

It takes a second for Dimitri to parse this, or maybe a few seconds. "You mean..." He struggles, trying to find the right words, or proper comparison. "They ask for something of theirs, and take it with them into battle, or a tournament?"

"Is that what people here in Fodlan do?" At least Phoi seems interested in it all. "But no. Some particularly loud idiots, of which there are far too many, will win a battle, and then declare with their whole chest who it is that they're seeking to impress... But that is just as likely to get them shot down in public than anything else."

The smart people - or at least smart, according to Phoi - simply get some proof of this grand goal that they've sought after, and present it to the one whose hand they're seeking.

Almyra is often thought of as a war-like country. In truth, while it is true that there is certainly a culture around battle there, things are never so neat and clean. Anywhere that seeks to call itself a country needs many other things behind it. Farmers, cooks, builders, tailors... Battle is something for the desperate, or the overly prosperous, in the end. It can only occur if you have nothing left, or have enough to engage in such things without worrying about becoming desperate.

So sometimes a cook will strive for perfecting a challenging dish or using a rare ingredient, presenting it to their lover to be eaten. A tailor will craft some garment that is their pride, all made for their hopeful lover to wear.

In Vorah's case, she had strove towards being the absolute victor in a tournament, taken her opponent's weapon as a prize, and waited for Phoi at the royal palace where she worked to present it to him. "This won't be the first time," she'd apparently said, and smiled wide.

But that is apparently the way of that particular tradition. In very few cases will one's romantic love be the driving force in their life, as Phoi explains. There will be family, and friends, and a goal to strive for or work that they love. Through the act of giving a potential love something to do with their goal, it effectively functioned as not only an explanation of what they were most passionate about in their life, but that they wanted the other person to enjoy that passion along with them.

They didn't have to enjoy that aspect of the one proposing, didn't have to have that same passion for it... But it was something that was nonetheless an important part of that life.

"Of course, others who are more interested in the warrior's life, and who are pursuing other warriors, do things differently," Phoi tells him, as the trees begin to thin out, reveling a meadow or plain of sorts past just a few more. "For example, in the area around Almyra's royal capital, there's a romantic ideal of one person challenging the other to a fight. If the challenger loses, the winner invites them to stay a while in their home for the inevitable rematch. When the challenger wins that much, of course the other party has to have them stay a little while longer for another round."

Hm. "That is an interesting way of doing it," Dimitri says, and thinks of Felix.

"It was how the past king and queen became romantically interested - at least, his last wife." Phoi says it a little bit distractedly, however, and it's easy to see why. The meadow ahead of them is where their companions are, their steeds tied up to some trees and both of them engaged in what looks like quite the energetic conversation despite Vorah seeming to have only a slight understanding of Fodlish. "I suppose it is for people who need an excuse, and need to muster up their courage, although those are the exact kind of people who would take offense if it was said."

And, well, that is the end of their conversation as it exists. Soon enough, Sylvain and Vorah rope them into their conversation - made all the easier with Phoi's ability to act as a translator. It is a good break, if Dimitri is honest. Perhaps he needed one. Trust Sylvain to always think of these sort of things... No doubt it was why he interfered in the first place.

Now, thanks to that small break, he's relieved to say that they all may have been misunderstanding King Khalid's intentions. Yes, there were compliments paid towards him in the letters, plenty of them, but that doesn't mean anything. In hindsight, wasn't it possible that was all just a way of teasing him? Whether for good or ill, it probably doesn't matter. When he thinks of it like that, Dimitri can't help but think of...

At any rate, Dimitri supposes he's just been played with a bit, much like how Vorah had meant nothing when she'd winked at Sylvain but to simply mirror him and make an inappropriate joke. King Khalid hasn't made any advances like the one Phoi had described. Certainly he hadn't brought up challenging Dimitri in any sort of fashion! That is often how one would do things, isn't it? By following in the steps of their parents, the people they admire first in the world should all go well? Right. That's it exactly.

Dimitri tells himself this, and just tries to enjoy Laleh's presence as a wonderful companion given to him as a sign of good will by the king of another nation.





Reality loves to crash down on Dimitri's head, of course, and so it honestly shouldn't be the surprise that it is when the next time Phoi comes to visit for diplomatic talks, it's with a slightly heftier caravan than any of the times they'd come before.

"May I introduce my other lover, Irbon," she says as she sweeps out a gesture to the tall man besides her. While she has the same practiced smile as always, Dimitri could swear that there's something in her tone that quietly adds I figured I might as well bring the whole set. "He is one of the royal chefs, sent here by King Khalid's recommendation and encouragement. Recently, our king has had incredible success with some of the other warlords in the land, and so he sent this to share his success with you."

In the back of his head, Dimitri feels a rolling sense of dread and the feeling he's heard something like this before.

What King Khalid has sent over is a variety of ingredients, as it turns out, each one treated as best as could be possible so that they would survive the journey over to Fhirdiad. Every ingredient is from an area that each Almyran lord claimed territory in. Apparently, they were sent to King Khalid as a sign of respect and finally willing to follow his lead properly as king... at least for a year or so. Dimitri doesn't understand every Almyran holiday just yet, so all he can say for certainty is that there is a certain time of the year where it is tradition for people to renew vows and the like.

On one hand, he can't help but be quiet pleased for the man who he has exchanged so many letters with now, and who has such personality that comes from every written word. If there is anyone in the world who can sympathize with such a difficult position, Dimitri likes to think that it's him.

Fodlan and Almyra may have their own forms of governing, but it does have something similar in how their kings must play nice and clever with a bunch of other people in power in order to get what they want truly done. Dimitri has had to work on that a great deal since becoming the king of a united Fodlan, and it has somehow only become all the harder since the war ended. It sounds like it should be the opposite way around, he knows... All he can suppose is that the desperation and quick action the aftermath required let him get away with a good deal.

From what he understands, King Khalid didn't even have that to work out in his favor. With a great many brothers who would still take the throne if they saw the chance, and various political issues at play which mean the many factions are fractured to favoring at least a dozen options before the current king... Well.

Gaining allies is difficult, in such a situation. For this sort of victory to happen... It must have taken a good deal of work, not to mention how much sweat and tears.

It's just, by him sending all of these ingredients, and even his own personal royal chef with no doubt a great deal of training... Someone invaluable in a position where you never know who might want to put what into your food. Dimitri can still remember his father and Rodrigue talking about it, when he was so much younger. King Khalid is in a much more vulnerable position.

There's no escaping the truth here: the other man is completely serious about all of this, and maybe far more than Dimitri could have expected.

Still, just turning away so much would be a problem. Dimitri loathes to waste food on a normal day; it would be a spit in the face for his Almyran guests. So he concedes the kitchen to them so that Irbon and a few others of the caravan can make the absolute best meal they can for all of them. That leaves an entire day to entertain the rest of his guests, including Phoi.

This is good in some ways. Dimitri has a question he suspects he already has the answer to, but, as always, he wants to have someone confirm it one way or the other for him.

"From what I could see in the wagons, King Khalid certainly received quite a bounty if this was only a small portion of what his subjects gave him," Dimitri says delicately as he entertains Phoi over a game of chess. If he's honest, Dimitri isn't very good at it. This is mildly a problem, since it seems like Phoi takes to it quite well, but that's fine. Diplomacy is about more than if you can win a simple game of chess all on your own. "Is it truly alright if he sends something to a foreign country, especially one so far away...?"

"Not at all," Phoi says, moving a rook into a position that seems far too blatant. Dimitri wonders if he's overthinking that. "When he was preparing all of this, among some of the protests from certain other parties, he said that such a prosperous country as Almyra shouldn't even have to flinch at the idea of a one time offering such as this." While Dimitri studies the chess board carefully, Phoi folds their hands on their lap. "And he said something else in slightly more private areas."

In private? Dimitri tries to split his attention equally between the two things he's engaging in, conversation and game both, but it's hard to not favor the former just a little more. "What did he say?"

"He said that for a feast, as many people as possible should take part, or else it's not a proper feast at all."

A feast should have as many people as possible... Dimitri isn't thinking when he moves his next chess piece forward. Instead, his mind is stuck in the past, thinking back to those school days where things had often been tough, but had still seemed like it was something they could all triumph through together. Back then, during things like the mock battles... Claude, too, had been so eager to start up feasts at the slightest bit of good news, hadn't he?

And not just for the pleasure of the people, the students, who took part in those kind of silly little battles that didn't truly prepare any of them. He insisted that the nuns, the monks, knights and guards and cooks, all took part as well. Even visiting merchants.

Dimitri had always thought of him as secretive and careful, teasing and distant, when he was younger... And yet it had been clear even to him that, in Claude's ideal world, everyone would be able to enjoy themselves to such an extent. There would be no barriers because of silly terms like "count" or "gardener". For a feast... Everyone could be happy. Everyone could sit side by side, and enjoy themselves.

It hadn't escaped him that such a haul could have not only the retainers and visiting nobles in Fhirdiad, but was more than enough for the various servants of the castle to partake in as well. Would it be overstepping his bounds if he asked the royal chef of another king to prepare some things for the rest of the castle?

Right as he's doing his best to go over political etiquette in regards to ordering the chefs of another country, Phoi reaches out to knock one of his pieces out of action and says, "Of course, with that in mind, King Khalid specifically requested that you allow the workers in your castle to partake in the feast as well." She smiles up at him when he stares, even with one of his pieces in her hand. "He said he didn't want a single soul to think that Almyra's hospitality was lacking, of course."

Of course.

"This does not mean anything, does it?" Dimitri asks of Ingrid when the two of them have a moment to themselves later. "He isn't trying to impress me, is he?"

Ingrid just has her hands clasped in front of her, looking pale and more than a little out of her comfort zone. Dimitri feels bad about it, honestly. He thought that Ingrid would have one of the more down to earth thoughts on this whole matter, among his friends and inner circle, but, now that he's actually thinking about it... While she had to deal with a lot of marriage discussion when she was younger, those were often made without her input, and she never went through with any of them due to various factors.

Including, well, him taking her in as one of his knights.

Still, no one can say Ingrid is not a dedicated individual who does anything less than take her duties seriously. No one would ever really say this is a normal part of a knight's duties, and yet she furrows her brow determinedly. "It very well could just be an attempt to show off how well Almyra is doing," she suggests, although her tone doesn't seem the most confident about it. "That sort of thing isn't uncommon during the initial diplomatic stages between two countries, especially those with uneasy relations."

Of course, she's not wrong there. It does well to show another country that you are in fine condition economically and in regards to food. Of course, that sort of thing could backfire very easily, with people wanting to rob a prosperous country of its good fortune, but, more often than not, it showed that one's own country was doing so well that they'd have no difficulty in fending off any opponents.

It's just... Dimitri resists the urge to fidget, and glances out the window towards the courtyard he has a fine view of. A lot of Almyrans are still here instead of in the kitchens, speaking with Felix and Leonie, who'd traveled up to visit and bring news from a little more down east. They all get on quite well, from what he's observed. It's reassuring to see. Just not reassuring enough to wipe away his current worries. "That is the most logical thing to go with," he admits. "And yet... Ingrid, have you looked over the various food that King Khalid has sent us?"

Silly question. Ingrid absolutely took a look at everything as it was shepherded into the kitchen by various servants, Fodlish and Almyran alike. Dimitri knows that not only because he heard about Ingrid taking her duties as a guard and knight very seriously, but just by looking at her expression right this moment. Her eyes are practically off in another world as she no doubt thinks back to all the delicacies she got to see and smell. "I did," she admits. "It all looked incredibly delicious and fascinating. I didn't think that somewhere hidden away deep in the desert would ever have so many different kinds of foods. But they have talked about how there is a lot more to Almyra than just desert, haven't they?"

Mountains, and underground springs, and towns along the coast... Perhaps, in some ways, Almyra is so much more varied than even Fodlan is. In the back of his head, he wonders if Claude has gotten to see such magnificent places. It would no doubt suit him so well, seeing another country so very different from Fodlan...

"That's right," he agrees quietly. "But then... That means you know for a fact the list of food that was focused on, don't you?"

Snapped out of her daydreams where all sorts of meats and fruits dance about, Ingrid glances at him with a puzzled quirk of her brows. "Yes....? Oh!" Her eyes widen. That's right, for someone with such a focus on food.. No doubt she must realize that a lot of the foods sent over seem to very specifically cater to Dimitri's own "tastes", as much as they can be called that.

Maybe he is thinking too much on it. Maybe it is just one of those coincidences, a silly little thing that fate lines up to taunt those who think themselves clever.

Despite that, he thinks of Phoi's words, her recollections from when Devorah was first courting her and buying her drinks, sending her gifts, all leading up to that one grand statement that she would be herself to the end of her life, and wanted Phoi there along for the ride.

It's a worry that troubles him all the way up until the grand feast - which, to his delight, involves everyone exactly as he would have wanted it to have. Really, he must commend King Khalid's choice of royal chefs, for Irbon is the one to request it only a few hours before the feast itself. That's exactly the kind of excuse Dimitri needs so that various idiots of the court won't get on his rear end about mingling with the servants of the castle. Some of those kinds of people wouldn't bother looking twice at the workers responsible for keeping an entire castle running... But he's pleased to say that far more of them will, thanks to many of their representatives here being those of the new generation who are interested in bridging the gap just like he is.

So there's Lorenz who goes to compliment the workers who set up the entire dining area that's filled to bursting with people, and Sylvain goes around complimenting every single woman of the workforce with words that could come straight out of some romance novel. Dorothea makes some connections, takes some song requests, all from those who know the kind of life she's lived too.

It's the kind of thing that gives Dimitri hope that he'll be able to restructure this land enough... to make this a more common sight. Not only the plentiful food, from lands outside of Fodlan, shared by people who want to see a bright future too, but all the different individuals mingling together. Noble, cook, Fodlan, Almyra - one day maybe none of it will matter in that way.

Of course, that doesn't mean that the food should be ignored, either. Dimitri normally isn't one to give much praise to any sort of food, not anything personal. How could he? Instead, he praises what he can.

It's just that, tonight... there really is so much to praise. Maybe it's just because it is something so different than what he normally has in Fodlan, but the smell of almost every single food is truly tantalizing, and is enough to actually rouse his miserable stomach into interest. A part of him had heard of the various spices that are from places such as Almyra - different from Dagda, and Duscur too - but it's something else entirely to smell them for himself. And when he actually takes a bite... More than just his favorite sort of foods, or those that seem as though they would be close, the texture is different enough in everything to keep him from getting bored.

How much of this was something that the chef, Irbon, thought of on his own, and how much of it was something asked by King Khalid? Just how did that man learn so much about him?

The thought flits at the back of his mind throughout the entire evening and night, carrying with it the worries on just what kind of person King Khalid truly is past the letters that they've exchanged with one another. Does the other king only need how Dimitri appears in his own letters to him to be so infatuated with him? Is that simply the way of it, over in Almyra? It hadn't sounded like it, with how Phoi had described things, but he really can't be certain. While maybe it is flattering on some level to have someone so interested in him... A part of Dimitri can't help but feel as though he is lying to someone else. Especially since he still hasn't mentioned just how much he's been holding onto another....

Does it matter to someone like that if he's a monster? If he'll have to repent for everything for the rest of his life? Dimitri has far too many questions, and is scared of getting the answers. They flit around his head, even as he engages in polite conversation with everyone else, from the servants as he inquires about their work conditions, to the nobles who are doing their best to impress, to the visiting Almyrans.

What snaps him out of it is when he's talking with Hilda and some of the workers who came up from the Leichester area, and one of them says, "Oh, that's right, wasn't the last queen of Almyra a foreigner?"

Dimitri blinks, snapping out of his own thoughts and focusing back onto the conversation at hand. He's just in time to see Hilda press her hands together, smiling. "That's right! Or, at least, that's certainly what some of the people we had stationed at Fodlan's Locket said. The details are still a little hard to get a hold of entirely... But apparently it's common knowledge over in Almyra. We just never heard about it for ages because of how tense things were between us for so long! Now that things have relaxed even a little bit, we've been hearing a lot more~."

If the last queen wasn't an Almyran by blood, but instead someone labeled as a foreigner to the country... And King Khalid is apparently the youngest of the royal line... Would that explain why he's so interested in opening up to other countries? What countries might be on the other side of Almyra? Is that why he learned so much about people like even some person like Dimitri...?

He doesn't have very long to wonder about that sort of thing. In the middle of the feast, a messenger steps inside and makes a beeline straight for him. It clearly isn't dire or anything of the sort; Dimitri has learned to recognize that kind of messenger. There's no sweat coating her body, no desperate flush across her face. Her breathing is normal. It's just a message that he's told his people to bring to him right away, no matter the time or place. Having this small bit of selfishness gone through with, he encourages her to take a break, and enjoy the festivities that their Almyran guests have brought them.

And then, of course, heart thrumming in his chest, Dimitri steals himself away into a private room, holding tight a letter sealed with the Riegan crest.





Claude is coming back to Fodlan.

Upon reflection, Dimitri can't recall what the rest of the night is like. All he can remember is the aftermath, going back to his bed and his mind buzzing with energy. Sleep has always been something that has come to him with no small amount of difficulty, but usually it's because of the nightmares he fears haunting his every step, or sounds that only he can hear which verge on annoying to tension-filling to painful.

It's different, that night. That night, all he can think of is the anxious and excited pounding of his heart - almost like when one is about to go into battle, and yet not exactly the same. He probably won't die, after all, regardless of whatever happens with Claude.

Probably.

But there's so much to do, even if he has to hold himself back from any sort of outright marriage proposal. Obviously, that would be the ideal, but it's too much, too soon. Even he knows that much. What kind of foods did Claude like the most, back in school? Did those tastes stay the same after so many years? He thinks they did, from what he's spoken with some of Claude's old classmates, and even Hilda, who was with him the longest and all the way up until Derdriu, but who knows where Claude has traveled since then... What if he now likes mostly Dagdan food? Dimitri isn't sure if he can get a hold of any of that.

It's probably quite silly, to worry so much about the kind of food that Claude likes nowadays, but, well. Dimitri can't help it. He wants to make a good impression.... A better impression than when they clashed at Gronder, a more honest impression than when they spoke with one another in Garreg Mach as students.

He wants to show that it wasn't a mistake, for Claude to go through so much trouble for him, leaving behind both the Alliance and Failnaught.

Confiding all of this in Annette does not help as much as one might hope, although maybe that was always going to be a given. She just squeals, before her hands quite audibly smack against her mouth. "I'm sorry," she says sheepishly, when she's finally pried them away. "I know that it must have taken a lot to talk about this kind of thing with, with - any of us! But oh my gosh! You like Claude! And Claude's coming back! Have you thought about what you're going to do!?"

Dimitri resists the urge to wind his cape anxiously inbetween his hands. Knowing him, he would tear through it, and that would just be a waste of a perfectly good cape. "He said that he would be quite pleased if he could steal a moment of my time, and have dinner with me, just the two of us, when he first arrives," Dimitri tells her.

At least he's reminded of why exactly he chose to come speak with Annette, out of all of his dear friends. She claps her hands together excitedly, eyes so bright that he could almost forget his nerves. "That's a good sign!" she gushes encouragingly. "That means he wants to have some time with you, away from a bunch of other people that would make it political! What are you going to wear?"

Oh goddess. He hasn't thought about that. He's been trying very hard not to think about that. deciding on the details make things feel - real. "My finest clothes?" he suggests, only for Annette to shake her head vigorously.

"That would make it seem like it's meant to be a formal and political sort of meeting," she says, serious as her fists clench in front of her chest. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Dimitri! You definitely look really, really great when you dress up for meetings with diplomats, and going out to see people, and all that! But, well... It always seems to have that kind of context with it, you know?"

"I... believe so," Dimitri says thoughtfully. There really is a difference between the kind of clothing that one would wear in the face of a foreign dignitary, and while around someone they, well, adored. "But then, what would be appropriate?"

Dimitri's dating experience is rather limited. As in, he has had appropriate tea time with visiting nobles and the daughters they were quite insistent he meet, once upon a time when he was younger, and then exactly one date when he was a student in Garreg Mach, and that was.... Well, he'd rather not talk about it. When he was younger, he, well, he wore the very fancy clothes that were picked out for him because it was the easier thing to go along with, all while his mind was focused on either Dedue or when he could get back to training. And when he was a student, he. Ah. He just wore his uniform that time, didn't he?

...He has never actually and seriously dressed with the intent of wooing someone, has he?

Oh no.

While Dimitri quietly wonders and laments at his own inexperience in this one particular area, when he is already well within his twenties, Annette clasps her hands together. "You just have to find a balance! What you want is something that looks really nice, and is a sign of how you're royalty, but that isn't too detailed, or obviously expensive, or anything like that!" Annette's hands flit through the air as she describes it all to him, although Dimitri has a slightly hard time envisioning exactly what she's describing. "Or maybe something that has multiple layers...? So that you can look good in front of people when you go to meet him, and then look a lot more casual when you two get a chance to eat in private!"

Multiple layers.... Dimitri curls his fingers at his chin, thinking carefully. "That way, I could look proper in public, with everyone's eyes on me, and then I could have a more relaxed image when it is just the two of us... Which would make me look, ah, more interested?"

"It would show Claude a side of you that not a lot of other people get to see!" Annette says, spreading her fingers wide with a smile to match. "I mean, even back in school, you always wore your uniform, and armor! By looking like this, it would make you seem like you want to be a lot more intimate, and he'd feel touched that you'd want to be like that in front of him!"

When she says it like that, it makes completely obvious sense. And honestly, it's true - Claude always did seem to favor a more relaxed way of things, including in the way he dressed, with his jacket and shirt collar often left open when they were younger. Things seemed a little different during the war, but, well, it was war. Obviously one couldn't dress so casually back then. If Dimitri dresses a little more casually in turn, shows that he wants to be on the same page as Claude, then...

While he is stewing on that, carefully going over the different clothes he thinks he has in his wardrobe, Annette keeps talking. "Are you sure you just want to have dinner with him, too?"

Oh boy. Dimitri looks up at Annette and blinks. "I... What else could I do that would not be too overbearing?"

He genuinely doesn't know. His best source of inspiration for such things, Sylvain, is someone whose schoolyard activities with other people were something Dimitri tried very hard to ignore. So, while he knows some of the words - words that have gotten him and Sylvain both in trouble - he doesn't know anything else really beyond that. Everything he does know is, well, a more proper sort of courtship than he thinks Annette would really encourage. That probably anyone would encourage.

Well, at least he does have Annette on his side. Her smile doesn't fade in the slightest. "I remember speaking with Claude a few times back during school! Don't worry - I'll come up with the perfect evening schedule!"





Of course, as seems to be the way of his life, everything he'd carefully planned earns a kick right in the shins, because Ashe comes riding in hard one day, breathless and carrying a message. "The Almyran King is coming to visit!" he bursts out to Dimitri, once he's had a moment to gulp in a lungful of air.

Dimitri's mind goes blank, to the point that he thinks he almost forgets how to breathe. "What?" is the first dumbfounded word that comes out of his mouth.

At least Ashe doesn't waste any time. There in Dimitri's little study where he's been polishing up on his understanding of all their many neighbors, Ashe tells him everything. King Khalid had made the decision quite suddenly, or at least that's how it looked like to their people on the Fodlan side of things. One day, they were going about their business as normal on the border. By the next, they'd suddenly got a messenger who had rushed ahead slightly of the royal escort to deliver the message that the king would be there in only a few hours time.

It had been pure coincidence that Ashe had been down south, going to visit how Marianne was doing, and so he had been entrusted by Holst to deliver the message as fast as he could  back up to Fhirdiad. When Ashe had still been down south, apparently King Khalid had been content to wait for Holst to give him the go-ahead to pass over the border into Fodlan... Anything to ensure something like this happened smoothly, no doubt.

You know, as smoothly as the surprise visit of a foreign king from a formerly aggressive nation could be made smooth.

Dimitri resists the urge to fall back into his chair, when Ashe has finished telling him everything. Out of all the things he could have expected to deal with once he became king, and the king of three countries with such a fraught history between them... He certainly wasn't expecting anything like this. "Holst will likely let them through," he says, in a daze. "No - that's foolish, I'm sorry. My mind just... skipped some words." A bad thing to show in front of strangers, but, in front of a close friend like Ashe... He thinks he can get away with it. "No, he would need my go ahead for something like that... And I will give it."

This is too good an opportunity to just let slip by him. For whatever reason, the king of Almyra is suddenly interested in coming to take a visit to Fodlan, when he has delegated that to people like Phoi before. This is a good chance for him to finally get a handle on the other man, to make more strides to peace between their two countries.

Although there's still so much that he has to consider... Dimitri scrubs at his face, taking care not to nudge his eyepatch out of place. He doesn't like having it messy when in front of other people. "How did King Khalid's retinue look? Were you able to catch a glimpse of them?"

Ashe shakes his head. Fortunately, the words that leave his mouth are a little less disheartening. "Holst told me some things before I rode off. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Honestly, not counting the diplomatic parties that have passed through, he said that it was probably one of the most peaceful looking caravans that have ever come from Almyra that have carried a high ranking individual. There were still a few guards, but, less than one would think. Oh-!" He snaps his fingers, a memory coming to him. "But it seemed like some of the people who were there were apparently really impressive types!"

"Impressive in what way?"

"Well..." Ashe tilts his head to the side. "One of them we already know, since she visited once to help escort your horse from Almyra? Vorah, the lancer? She seemed to have a good reputation among the rest of the Almyrans. Then there was someone that Holst was really surprised to see, a famous general named Nader.... I think a wyvern rider that was getting known too? Not many more people than that..."

Only a handful of figures, but all of apparently top quality... Is it an assassination mission? No, in that case, Dimitri is fairly certain that King Khalid would be a lot more subtle if he was going to do that. For example, he would have arranged a visitation a lot sooner in advance. Yet if he wanted to start a war, well, he would have done that from the start, instead of staying at Fodlan's Locket so serenely. Just what on earth is going on here? Dimitri wishes he could have a better answer.

Almost more than that... He would like to know more about this mysterious man who he's only spoken with through letters. Dimitri doesn't even know what King Khalid looks like, besides, presumably, with features typical to those of Almyra. While he might be determined to turn away King Khalid's advances, well... It doesn't stop him from being curious.

"Did he make any sort of particular demands?" Dimitri asks. "For food, resources, particular members of the nobility...?"

"For resources... They just asked for merchants from whom they could buy from directly," Ashe reports. "Although, now that you mention it... I only heard this as I was riding out, but apparently King Khalid asked to see Lorenz - or, well, apparently he was referred to as the Glouchester heir. I never really heard the reason why. Maybe to get an idea of how Fodlan royalty was turning out himself?"

The whole thing just gets stranger and stranger. If it were a request to see Holst, or maybe even Hilda, Dimitri could understand that. The Goneril family have been the ones holding strong against Almyra for generations, now. No doubt any member of the royal family in Almyra, or any Almyran in power, would want to see for themselves the family that has been their most immediate foe for so long. Yet Glouchester.... That family should have had little to do with Almyra.

Dimitri rubs his fingers against his mouth idly, thinking. Glouchester isn't the farthest territory from Almyra - it wasn't when that land was still known as the Leicester Alliance, and it certainly isn't anymore in a unified Fodlan. Still, it's far enough for this decision to be confusing.

"I wonder if it's because of the absence of Riegan from that area," he murmurs, mostly to himself than to Ashe. Even if House Goneril was what Almyra immediately encountered in their many years of being the Leicester Alliance's neighbors, of course they would have come to know about House Riegan in that time. In a very rough comparison, Goneril would be the soldiers, while Riegan would have been seen as something like an enemy commander because of its high position within the Alliance.

But with the Riegan house currently no longer a true force considering Claude had left years ago, well... No doubt that they would have looked to the second highest power that would have reigned in the south-eastern area of Fodlan. That would have been Gloucester, of course.

Needless to say, that's not how things are exactly in Fodlan, with three countries being united into one, and Dimitri is certain that King Khalid knows that. They've communicated too much with one another, and King Khalid is too intelligent, for that kind of foolish mistake to have been made. But maybe... Dimitri taps his lip. Maybe he's getting an idea of just how the other lords of Fodlan are responding to this unification, by talking with someone from Gloucester. And since the unification, Lorenz has indeed essentially taken up his father's position nowadays.... He would not be a bad choice for feeling out the political state of Fodlan.

Well, if that is the case, Dimitri supposes he cannot blame King Khalid for making that choice. Perhaps that's even a part of his plan, for appearing so suddenly. More than getting an idea of how Fodlan is doing at its prepared best, he wants to see them in a slightly more honest light...

It's a clever idea. Dimitri wishes he could have thought of it himself, although he supposes that sort of tactic wouldn't work on another country the exact same as it would on Fodlan, and he'd never have though of it anyway. Regardless, he will just have to trust that Lorenz can handle himself in a matter befitting a representative of Fodlan. While they may not have been the closest of friends when they were students, the other man has been incredibly valuable during the reunification effort, and a vast improvement over his predecessor. He's become a better man since they were students, and a better man since the end of the war. Really, trusting in him is all that Dimitri can do at this point in time. He'll have to write him a letter, later.

No, right now. Dimitri gestures for Ashe to take a seat. "I know you have just ridden a long way, Ashe, but... I have one more task for you. I need someone I can trust to deliver a message to our fastest pegasus knights, and..."

He feels guilty, honestly... But Ashe took incredibly well to horses some time ago, no doubt because of how much he adores the idea of knights, and only Sylvain matches him, in Dimitri's opinion, and Ingrid of course. If he wants his best rider on this case... Ashe only smiles at him, even as he carefully sits down. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Really, he was gifted with friends that are far too good to him. Allies that are too generous. Dimitri calls for someone to bring up a pot of mint tea for Ashe, and gets to writing many letters to be sent off.

After that, well, needless to say, things become hectic within Fhirdiad, and no doubt a great many other places in Fodlan as well. Dimitri receives new letters almost every day, from exhausted pegasus messengers, as he does his best to keep an eye on King Khalid's movements and how he is dealing with the rest of Fodlan. Funnily enough, his fellow king does not immediately head straight towards Fhirdiad. Dimitri thought he would, of course. It seems like the most sensible thing to do, on a diplomatic visit like this, and, well... You know. Considering the signals he has been sending towards him.

Yet King Khalid does not seem to be in a particular rush to come visit him. Instead, the letter he sends along with one of the messengers  - once his admittance into Fodlan has been given the clear -  is that he would like to take a slight detour through the former Alliance lands, with Lorenz and a few others as his companions.

That certainly makes sense with a few things Dimitri has been told of Lorenz's movements while he's been kept at the side of King Khalid... Apparently he's done things like called for Ignatz, now one of his best knights, and also ask for Hilda and Marianne's assistance, or at least have them visit. Dimitri trusts all of them, of course, those who were once a part of the Golden Deer house. If anything, it's a relief to know that Lorenz has called for assistance for their old classmates, and his close companions. It means that Dimitri knows he has some of his best people watching after King Khalid, in both a way to give him the best impression of Fodlan, and to make sure he doesn't do anything to... troublesome.

At least he doesn't have to wait too long for an estimate on just when King Khalid will make his arrival in Fhirdiad. Soon enough, Hilda sends him a missive of her own, and gives him a rough estimate of when they will all arrive in Fhirdiad and just what their schedule will look like as they arrive in different parts of south-eastern Fodlan, weather permitting. It's good of her, to be so helpful... and yet Dimitri cannot help the way his stomach twists, when he reads the schedule.

If everything goes as it should, then King Khalid will arrive on the same day that Claude said he would.





"I am not challenging him to a duel over the fact that I would not want to entertain him, Felix," Dimitri says tiredly on the day of the supposed arrival, even as he stares at himself in the mirror with no particular pleasure. For meeting foreign royalty, a person who can make or break the peace between Fodlan and Almyra, Dimitri knows that he should dress his best. His appearance must show that Fodlan is recovering well, in what he is wearing and thus what he is permitted to wear with no criticism.

A lot of thought has to go into how a king dresses. Dimitri always knew that, but, honestly, sometimes he kind of misses the days where he had to survive out in the wilderness or the slums. No one cared at all what he dressed like then.

Granted, that was also one of the most miserable times in his life, full of miserable things to start with, but still. There had been a kind of freedom to it.

While Felix has never lived on his own for five years doing absolute and quite bloody nonsense, Dimitri suspects that his dear and oldest friend feels very much the same way. It shows in the way he glares at anyone who talks much about his clothes, and gets annoyed easily when a situation or occasion demands he dress in something besides what he is most interested in. Mostly he seems annoyed at Dimitri's own outfit. "Annette told me," he says, blunt and awkward as usual. Dimitri can't be particularly surprised at this bit of news. "You're really going to let some lackadaisical king from some other country get in the way of someone you haven't seen in years? That you care that much about?"

Aggravation prickles at the back of his neck; Dimitri is almost positive that's Felix's goal. All of his friends and allies seem determined to help him to the best of their abilities, and, on the outside, besides doing his best with the Fraldarius area, Felix sometimes seems as though he's aiming for the opposite.

But... Dimitri knows, now, that this is just Felix's way of helping, too. Holding back his anger, his frustration, is something that always does him in in the end. and... Well. He can't lie. Right now, more than anything else, he wants to be selfish, wants to snap at this stranger, push him away because doesn't he realize what he's doing? What he's getting inbetween? Even if he's nice, and seems interested in an alliance between Fodlan and Almyra. Even if his letters to Dimitri are always so attentive, remembering every little thing. Even if that beautiful horse has never done him wrong, as they've traversed fields and mountain paths both.


Sometimes, the good thing about going so deeply into a relationship and being able to come out of it is that, well, Dimitri doesn't have to worry about how he appears to Felix. He can pause, and scowl, and hold his arms a little closer to himself. It feels immature and stupid. Fortunately, Felix has thought him stupid in far worse was. "It's not just some lackadaisical king from another country," Dimitri says, a fact that they both already know.

If this was something so isolated to be just between two men, Dimitri would turn his head away from King Khalid without hesitation, although maybe not without some regret. But he had already long ago made his choice on who he would wait for.

Maybe King Khalid is clever. Maybe King Khalid, much like him, wants to envision so much more for his country than what it currently is. Dimitri appreciates these parts of him. Very possibly he could feel something even stronger, in completely different circumstances than what they're in now.

But instead, whenever he tries to think of this king from another land... All he can think of is Claude.

Claude, who used to lean in and smile at him with those eyes as green as paradise.

Claude, who had bloomed so brilliantly around other people even as he had looked so distinctly alone.

Claude, who had flown fearlessly over a battlefield many years later, trying to bring as little people to harm as possible as he'd called to Dimitri for peace, unity, a strength that the Imperial Army could not overcome. Who flies now back to Fodlan, where he thinks Dimitri is still patiently and eternally waiting for him.

Except he and King Khalid are not merely two individuals, whose drama affects no one but themselves. If anything, it is very much the opposite, and Dimitri is painfully aware of it.

Felix is aware of it too, however much he might disdain politics and such societal niceties. That he scowls the way he does shows as much, and he doesn't argue that particular point. "Riegan never said that he was going to stay, coming back here," he opts to say instead, somehow driving the point of his words right into Dimitri's weakest spot, as well as he wields a sword. "It's foolish to waste your chance, here."

Honestly, it's rather sweet, to see Felix worry and fuss over him in his own way. Dimitri tries to smile at it, focus on that small kernel of warmth in his chest instead of the tightness in his throat as he looks at himself in the mirror.

This isn't the outfit he was hoping to wear, on the day that Claude came back. Just a little too much armor gauntlets like that kind he wore as a schoolboy, and that he's tried to avoid ever since the war ended. "I know," he tells Felix's reflection in the mirror, still fiddling with the clasps of his cape. He'd wanted to wear his old one, but, well, five years on the run and then being stubbornly held onto have done its condition no favors. It isn't "proper", although it holds up well enough in every practical way. He thought Claude would like seeing it again. "And... I do not intend to go along with everything so easily."

"And what does that mean?"

"There is no point in attempting to be sly about what I am attempting to do." Dimitri shrugs, and finally forces his hands down. The longer he messes with something, the higher the chance becomes of him breaking it. "I will simply tell him that I have an additional engagement." He bites at his own tongue, and grimaces. He's not that nervous, is he? Ugh. "I don't plan on abandoning any meeting with him, not when so much relies on a good relationship between our countries, but..."

Felix just scoffs. "His own sudden arrival means he won't get nearly as much hospitality as he wants. He'll just have to put up with it."

Exactly, Dimitri thinks and then doesn't say aloud. He has to pretend at least a little it about how he is, after all, even if it's just with Felix. It keeps them on track, or at least that's what he hopes. "At least his arrival was enough time to get the castle workers properly prepared," Dimitri muses, finally convincing himself to stop messing around with his attire. His hair, too. He hates fiddling with his hair, and yet he keeps it long... This is truly a problem of his own making. "That means, even if I have to step away early, I'm hoping the feast that has been prepared is good enough by his standards. Phoi, his ambassador, and the Gonerils have truly been invaluable in figuring out Almyran tastes." Clasping his hands together, he looks at Felix with a hopeful gaze. Maybe he's making it a little too corny, but that's fine. "Yet it still wouldn't do for me to leave a guest of such high standing all on his own during a big event, so, if you don't mind..."

"Ugh," Felix exclaims, scowling, except he doesn't look that upset about it. "You want me to babysit some random king. Just spit it out if that's what you're going to say." Resting one hand on his hip, Felix jerks his chin up in Dimitri's direction. "Don't bother asking me for anything. Regardless of what your plans were, I always planned to trap him in a conversation. There's a lot about the Almyran way of fighting that I still want to know about."

Of course. Dimitri smiles over at him, and manages to coax a smile out of Felix in turn. "Then I wouldn't want to interrupt a conversation of such interest to you. I'm going to double check all of the rooms that will be for King Khalid and his escorts. Would you like to come with me? Almost everyone else, besides our friends who have been recruited by Lorenz to watch after King Khalid, have made it back to Fhirdiad as well out of curiosity." Honestly, their friends aren't even the only ones. While thoughts about the ongoing attempts at peace with Almyra might have mixed opinions all over, most people wouldn't dare miss a chance for such an important event.

So of course various nobles and successful merchants have dropped into Fhirdiad as the day of King Khalid's arrival has come every closer. It probably doesn't help that this is the first proper feast in years - probably the first real one after the war, honestly, with Dimitri doing much quieter events for anything else such as his birthday, or the anniversary of the war. 

By the time night falls... Ugh. Dimitri squeezes his eye shut for just a brief moment as the two of them make their way through the halls and rooms. Already he dreads the night that lays ahead of him, with all the greetings he'll have to make.

Sometimes, it feels as though the more power a person gets, the more they'll throw a fit over the smallest of things, like if a king doesn't bother to greet them during a party because being a king is a very busy job as it turns out. Ugh. If King Khalid had simply arrived at a different time, even a day or two later...

Staying busy helps keeps Dimitri's mind off of such childish and selfish thoughts, so it's for maybe his own reasons as well as that of the Kingdom's that he checks on the lavish guest room the Almyran king will be sleeping in, and gets a good look at how the dining hall is being set up. At some point, Felix departs from his side to go see how Annette is doing from where she's helping guide some people along with stringing up some south-eastern flowers. That's fine. It's not as though Dimitri is lacking for company as he goes down into the kitchens to find Ashe, Mercedes, and Dedue helping out out of their own curiosity in a foreign cuisine, and Sylvain and Ingrid are outside where he manages to catch them just in time before they head out to welcome and escort the Almyran travel group the rest of the way into Fhirdiad.

All of it is going quite well, honestly. The decorations are coming along beautifully, the cooking has run into no snares in regards to ingredients and preparation, and the weather has been kind across all of Fodlan. There should be nothing stopping King Khalid from arriving, right on time.

And yet it isn't him that Dimitri is wondering about, every time he looks to the skies. Every time he hopes to see a glimpse of white that moves faster than clouds.

The Almyran royal travel party arrives before Claude does. Of course. Dimitri does his best not to think about it - to not think about the sinking of his heart, the concerned twisting of his stomach, that little seed of bitterness nestled inbetween his ribcage. Instead, he tries to prepare himself as the sounds of excitement draw ever closer.

It isn't enough to prepare things in the castle alone, after all. It is for the good of Fodlan and Almyra both that Dimitri has had his people go into Fhirdiad itself for preparations throughout the city. A union between two countries isn't just something that can be decided by royalty alone. Its success is reliant purely on what the people think, and if they believe that it will hurt or hinder them... or even do nothing at all.

On some level, a degree of apathy is understandable and expected from the average individual. Unless things go out into complete war, such matters often seem distant and unimportant. Does it affect the growth of their crops? If they have the materials for their clothes and houses? Often it does, but in such distant ways that it's hard to comprehend. Dimitri knows that well, having listened to his friends when they were all in school, and having lived among such tired people in the five long years of the war. On one hand, that's not a bad thing.. So long as people don't think an alliance with Almyra will lead to suffering, and impact their daily lives, then they'll clearly let this happen without much protest.

But Dimitri wants more than that. He wants more than apathy, its layer letting any deeper prejudices and old feelings lay undisturbed, unchallenged. This is something that should be celebrated, thought of as wonderful.

Of course, only so much of that is in his hands as it is. It's not as though he can snap his fingers, and make people automatically happy to see an Almyran travel group. That's not how royal decrees work, and Dimitri loathes forcing things like that too much anyway. That only has a certain level of value, especially when one thinks long term. Yet that doesn't mean he's been completely helpless. He's had his people buy products along routes carefully considered by Sylvain and Ashe, along with others from other parts of Fodlan like input from Ferdinand, or Leonie. Money has been put into certain routes, all to make things easier for people to take a day off or so to cheer on the travelers passing by. And in places where Dimitri has been able to found schools and other things, the effect has been even easier to encourage.

That's especially true for Fhirdiad, which of course has been the easiest place to do just about anything for fairly obvious reasons. So as he stands there, waiting for the arrival of the carriages, Dimitri closes his eye and just... listens.

Cheers. Whistles. Applause. It's something that buoys the city up, that he doesn't think he's listened to so clearly since his coronation, done properly.

Back then, he can't exactly say that he felt a lot of joy for that moment... Just the overwhelming responsibility that had been placed on his undeserving shoulders. Yet it had all been something he'd been entrusted with, and the one thing he could do to truly repent for everything he had one.

Is this a happier memory for King Khalid? To be welcomed so jubilantly by a country that has repeatedly clashed against his? Dimitri can only hope so.

Maybe he will be turning King Khalid down, when it comes to courtship, but... He doesn't want to make him miserable either. If anything, it's because he's going to turn him down that Dimitri wants to make this a happy occasion in whatever other way he can.

When the traveling party finally arrives there before him at the front steps leading into Fhirdiad Castle, Dimitri has to admit that he's impressed. Before, Phoi and whoever else accompanied them traveled in slightly more modest methods. Usually it was just by plain horseback. Occasionally it was by a carriage rented out or borrowed from some Fodlish noble. Either way, while still clearly of excellent quality one way or the other, their methods of travel had been plain.

Plain is not a word that can be used to describe the traveling party for King Khalid.

Sylvain quirks up his eyebrows over at Dimitri as he helps lead the way, a little grin spread across his face, and behind him? Beautiful horses, hides sleek just like Laleh's, and there is absolutely no doubt about their fine lineage as they patiently make their way across the stone path. No armor decorates them, like most Fodlish steeds even in time of peace, but instead colorful patterns adorn them from their saddles to the bits. Somehow, it feels as though they usher in a warm wind.

Perfectly, they match their riders, and indeed they make up a rather small number than one would normally consider. Only a few that look like warriors are present, and they all ride ahead of the entourage as well. The oldest among them is hardly old at all, maybe in his 50s or so? Possibly even older, and with a fine dark beard growing along his chin right beneath a broad smile. Vorah rides nearby, utterly at ease back in Fodlan, and following all of them nearby in the throng is a female archer with short and (surprisingly) brilliant red hair whose distant expression doesn't reveal a single one of her thoughts.

The new faces stand out the most, of course. It's just... They're not the only ones that catch his eye, and Dimitri has to stare a little bit. There, riding alongside her fellow redhead, is Leonie with an amused smile on her lips. Not too far off, closer to the carriages, is Ignatz. Somehow, it's one thing to read in letters that Lorenz had picked up the assistance of his fellow former classmates. It's just different to actually see it.

Focusing on Ignatz, however, draws his attention to the beautiful carriages that are being pulled along by more fine Almyran horses, and those are definitely leagues above the regular carriages he's seen for even most nobles, let alone the Almyran ambassadors. Even from a distance, as the group approaches, Dimitri can tell that only the absolute best material was used for them. Every bit of distance closed makes it even more apparent that they've been carved exquisitely as well. Various little markings, and paint... Are those dear, carved along the side, as a symbol of the old Leicester Alliance?

No, that's not quite right. It's been a long while since Dimitri has had to think of Fodlan in terms of its old divided self, especially compared to all the new things he's had to remember in their stead. So only a faint nagging is in the back of his mind as he takes in the carriage decorations, one he easily dismisses for the time being.

Lorenz must have made a recommendation or choice to King Khalid for these particular carriages. They're too grand and clearly expensive for anyone to have chosen without a connection to the Leicester Alliance, and, well, Lorenz is never one to lack for hospitality. Dimitri brushes the thoughts out of his mind, instead waiting for the carriages and troupe as a whole to come to a stop. While the warriors dismount, giving their horses to servants and waiting to the side, the process of the carriage passengers stepping out begins.

It's not right, of course, for the king to make an entrance right away. Dimitri may not be a complete expert in Almyran etiquette and politics just yet, but he knows enough that people should be in the right place for this kind of thing. So it is King Khalid's escorts who step out first to line up with the rest who have come off their horses.

Dimitri thought there would be plenty of faces for him to work at memorizing. Yet as he looks at those stepping off of their carriages... There's Phoi, and a few others, representing Almyra, which is what he would have expected. so what are all of his old classmates from the Golden Deer doing as they step out as well? Marianne, and Lysithea even - how on earth was she convinced to pull herself from all her work? Did Lorenz promise her something extravagant in order to have her magic helping them on the way here?

Speaking of which...

From one carriage in particular step out a pair of extremely familiar faces. For what has surely been a long trip, Hilda looks as sprightly and lovely as ever, taking position on one side of the carriage doors. Dimitri might have even gone as far as to say they're sparkling, although he imagines that's just his mind running away from him. In contrast, Lorenz looks paler than ever, and in such a daze that Dimitri wonders just what on earth he's been doing that's made him clearly so exhausted. That's the only explanation for the state he's in.

Despite whatever his issue is, Lorenz still displays a lifetime of vigorous noble training and etiquette as he takes a stand right across from Hilda on the side side of the carriage door. They're both speaking to King Khalid - presumably the last one remaining in the carriage, although Dimitri has to admit that it's not as though he can see the man just yet. He's still just a little too far...

Someone else is approaching, however - right, Phoi, and Dimitri is able to clock the location of the proper jewelry he's wearing this time relatively quickly. "Greetings to His Majesty, King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd," he says with a polite and practiced bow. "May I present to you King Khalid of Almyra."

King Khalid, who is finally taking delicate steps out of his carriage, with a shimmering gold veil draped over his head and shoulders. It makes it hard to get a good look at the man properly. Dimitri can't tell if it's because the fabric is thick enough to hide his face, or because the way it glitter in the sunlight  - the weather is good today. Well, he supposes it doesn't matter. He'll get a good look at him shortly, no doubt.

Dimitri keeps talking. "Unfortunately, I may have to depart from the festivities early on, as I am waiting for important news-" The arrival of Claude, and Dimitri has to fight to keep his eye from going up to the sky once again. "But hopefully everything I have prepared for you will ensure my absence is hardly noticeable, should it need happen." If it could please happen. If he could just see him one more time -

"Oh? Is that news really more important than me?" says a familiar voice, and King Khalid of Almyra finally turns his face to him, veil sliding from the soft brown curls of his hair.

Claude von Riegan, done up in Almyran finery with more elaborate patterns than would ever be found in Fodlan, smiles up at him from where he's standing right behind Phoi. Claude, in beautiful jewelry, and hints of makeup along his eyes, and those same brilliant green eyes that just shine in amusement and something brighter.

Dimitri misses a step and almost falls down the stairs.

It's only thanks to quick reflexes that he manages to slam his other foot down on another step, arms flailing outwards so that he doesn't go tumbling forward. And that is how he ends up freezing, like a buffoon, staring with a wide eye down at one Claude damned Riegan, whose own smile has frozen in place on his lips. For what feels like an eternity, the rest of the world doesn't exist.

Unfortunately, that idea is very quickly disproven by a hissed-in wheeze of a laugh from somewhere in the assembled group of people, and time once again restarts. To be more specific, it restarts with Claude slapping his hand up to his mouth, which is not nearly enough to muffle the loud laugh that crackles out of him. Now that he's snapped out of it, Dimitri is extremely aware of all the people that are all around both of them. "Oh!" Claude wheezes, while Dimitri's face turns scarlet. "Oh, this is even better than when Lorenz saw me back at Fodlan's Locket. Oh, my stomach-"

Dimitri's legs finally start to register the demands of Dimitri's brain. Ignoring how graceless he may or may not look, Dimitri storms down the rest of the steps, and reaches out to grab one of those pretty sleeves. "Claude!" The name shoots out of his throat almost faster than his mouth can form the syllables. What is he supposed to feel here? Because he feels far too much as it is, right now. Dimitri can't even imagine what the look on his face is like. "You!"

All Claude does is look back up at him, hand lowered just enough to reveal that smile of his - the smile that Dimitri had gotten distracted by far too many times back in school, when they were younger. The smile he always hoped to see, when they got older. "Me," Claude says. "Although technically it's Khalid right now, Your Kingliness."

Claude. Khalid. This seems almost like some sort of joke, except Dimitri distantly recalls being told that Claude took his name from a grandmother, he thinks. Dimitri's mouth works wordlessly, but, in the end, all that he can think to say is, "I cannot believe you!"

"That is what I said, Your Majesty!" Lorenz groans, hands behind his back as he grimaces in a look of pure torment. Now his demeanor from exiting the carriage makes perfect sense.

And yet honestly, Dimitri barely pays Lorenz any mind. He can pay just about nothing any mind, because absolutely no thought is forming in his head. It's just all emotion that has him keep a tight hold on Claude's sleeve - not his arm itself - and then whirls around, hopping off of the steps as he drags Claude away. "You are coming with me!" he says maybe a little too quick and sharp over his shoulder. Distantly, he thinks he can hear Mercedes' heels clicking on stone, and her calling for the others to please follow her into the castle. He'll have to show his appreciation of her later.

Right now... Right now he can hardly think of anything else as he keeps pulling Claude along. All that laughter starts to ease away into something softer, a little more sheepish. It's only when Dimitri is nearly at the royal stables does he finally look back at the other man.

No long does Claude look smooth, confident. Gone is that cackle of a smile underneath eyes so bright. Instead, his brow is so faintly pulled together, and his smile is now a more reserved thing. Most telling would be his eyes. A shadow has fallen over his gaze, careful and subtle, as he looks over at Dimitri as though he's waiting for some sort of trap to be sprung. A tragedy to occur.

Ah. Of course. He's being too rough - what a bullheaded mistake. After making such a long travel in comfort, Claude is now just being jerked about. Dimitri lets go of him abruptly right as they reach the shelter of the stables, holding his hand to his chest while embarrassment rolls off of him in waves. Stupid, foolish little mistake. What was he thinking? "I apologize," he tells Claude, now that he feels a little more certain there are no prying eyes laid on them both. There are a few places in the castle where he could have a conversation in complete privacy, but they are a long distance away. The stables do for now, and, besides. There's something he wanted to show Claude. "I just... Claude!"

"That's my name," Claude says, and smiles again in a way that faintly reminds Dimitri of some of his old smiles back in Garreg Mach. Back when they weren't quite as familiar with one another. "I guess I really caught you by surprise, didn't I?"

Probably Dimitri should say something about how yes, he was very surprised, or how could Claude keep such a huge secret like this, or was Almyra really where he was all these years? Instead, as Dimitri looks at this man, he feels his heart swell and ache much like it did the day that he watched Claude get onto a ship that would take him away for saints only knew how long, and what he says is, "I was waiting for you."

Somehow, those five simple words make the smile freeze on Claude's face awkwardly, and he ducks his head down again with a low laugh. At some point, it seems as though his veil fell off - probably Dimitri's fault, with how much he was pulling him along and how fast he was going. "Who, exactly?"

Claude von Riegan never was one for very silly questions with very obvious answers. Or, well, sometimes he was, but only when his goal was to purposefully rile and tease others. This, however, seems somehow genuine, and for reasons that Dimitri can't pinpoint. He decides it doesn't really matter. "You," he says, quietly and simply. "Of course you." With that point clarified, Dimitri huffs, and tells himself that he's absolutely not pouting in any way whatsoever. "I was going to turn down royalty in the event that you managed to make it here at the date you said you would!"

Claude glances up at him from beneath his eyelashes. His smile, this time, seems a lot more like the one Dimitri saw at Derdriu, once upon a time. "Yeah, you were," he says, and there's something in his tone that does something truly stupid to Dimitri's heart. It's gone in a flash as Claude's grin widens, and there's that troublemaker that vexed him so in school. "So it's a good thing they're one and the same, right?"

"Honestly!" Dimitri exclaims again, and reaches out for Claude's sleeve once more. This time, Claude's smile doesn't wane in the slightest.

Considering his very important and special guests, Dimitri couldn't just go off or so much as think about it. That means there are no stablehands present, and no horses are ready. Dimitri himself is the one who has to grab Laleh's saddle. At least he's a practiced hand at it, no matter that he's a proper king or not. As he goes about readying Laleh quickly and efficiently, Claude stares at him. "Wait, what are you doing?" he asks.

Dimitri unclasps his cloak, tosses it to the side. Normally he'd wear one no matter where he decided to ride, for better or for worse, but it would just get in the way right now. "This time, it's my turn to surprise you," he tells Claude, before he reaches over and hefts his crush and fellow king up onto Laleh's back.

Most horses aren't really made for carrying multiple bodies on their backs. Laleh is one of the rare breeds that seems capable of it, and she just huffs a little bit as Dimitri hefts himself up right behind Claude. If he's honest, this is reckless, and probably a bit of a terrible idea, you know, politically speaking... And yet, fully aware of every single thing, Dimitri doesn't let himself care. Instead, with Claude against his chest, he spurs Laleh onwards, and straight towards the back entrance of the castle walls where servants and food often come in. The guards on duty there absolutely boggle as he dashes through.

In the back of his mind, Dimitri suspects Felix is going to kill him for leaving him in charge of a party where he won't even get to bother the one person Dimitri promised to him. Still, he was there when the veil stepped from Claude's face. Hopefully he understands.

All the hubbub of the event was focused mainly at the front gates, where the Almyran travelers entered through. That means the back gates have slightly less crowds to worry about as Dimitri spurs Laleh through the streets. At some point, Claude recovers - starts to laugh again as he rests his hands against Dimitri's own at the reins. There is so much of Fhirdiad to make way through, even encouraging Laleh to go as fast as she can... But this is Dimitri's city. He knew it when he was younger, and he only made even more of an effort once he was able to return home after so long away. Stone turns to dirt underneath Laleh's hooves. Chimney smoke soon turns to sweet sea salt in his lungs.

Fhirdiad is close to the sea. Sometimes, Dimitri forgets that little fact.

But he's never forgotten Claude.

"I was waiting for you to come back for years!" he says, voice rising above the pounding of hooves and the wind rushing past their ears. They're out of the city now, and Claude is warm in his arms. All that's left around them are farms that work hard in the north's difficult soil, and occasional clusters of buildings, stables for those who don't want to guide their steeds deep into the city. "I had important things to tell you!"

"You can tell it to me now!" Claude points out, tilting his head back as though he can look at him properly in this kind of position.

The best view of Faerghus is from the nearby plains, watching how the wide stretch of the Tailtean Plains comes to meet the city's stone. The second best view of it is from some of the nearby hills to the west, which are just a small sample of the mountains which divide Duscur and Fodlan. It is partway there that Dimitri brings Laleh to a slow stop, and dismounts.

Looking up at Claude, Dimitri marvels at him. When they were young, he was such a mystery that he used to compare him to trying to catch a firefly. When they were adults, in that brief, desperate, and miserable period where they ran into each other on the battlefield... Claude burned like a fire, like a guide, like a call for aid.

He's different, now... More polished. More reserved in some ways, even, maybe. Yet no matter how much he's changed, one thing has remained the same:

Claude's brilliance still shines so brightly, and Dimitri is forever drawn to it.

"Were you being serious?" he asks as he stands there, staring up to where Claude still sits on Laleh's back while the sunlight kisses his skin. "In all the letters you wrote to me as King Khalid." In the letters where he talked so fondly about how 'other people' had heard of Dimitri's skill with a lance, or the strength he used to defend his homeland, or his hopeful dreams for a peaceful future. Or, well... More flattering things about his appearance. All of that, words that he'd never gotten to hear from Claude's actual lips.

Claude's smile softens as he just looks down at Dimitri. "I know that it might be hard to believe, with the entire scheme I just revealed as I came back to Fodlan... But besides my name, on everything else? I was completely honest, Dimitri. Honestly, this might be a little hard to explain right now... But, as much as I enjoyed catching all of you off guard, I had another reason for staying quiet like this. I wanted to make sure this day happened."

This day... the day when an Almyran king could be welcomed into Fodlan, on a good day, with smiles in the streets and the first feast in a long while happening. A day where Claude could take one step closer to a dream of peace, like they used to speak of together.

Despite what Claude is thinking... Dimitri is fairly certain he understands.

"You had something important you wanted to tell me, I'm pretty sure," Claude reminds him, a soft breeze catching at their clothes, their hair. In the back of his mind, Dimitri is certain that Dedue and Lorenz and so many others will be upset at this bit of foolishness, but he can't regret it. Not when Claude looks beautiful like this, those eyes focused not only on the future, for once, but to where he is standing right there with him.

Or, maybe, just maybe... Dimitri is ahead as well, there with that future.

And so Dimitri smiles back at him, hand held out to him, and tells him what has waited in his throat for so many long years.