perfectteatime | Verdant Moon

Verdant Moon

When they told him Dimitri was finally awake after so long, Byleth had simply dropped everything. Despite the insistence that they let some of the servants help clean him up, he had advised against it. No, he'd rather see the man first. It's better that he sees a familiar face, at any rate. His hands clutching the tray of food as he briskly walks toward where Dimitri was staying. A fairly nice room, though evident it was now doubling as the man's medical bay. His wounds were mostly healed at this point, but one can never be too careful.

"Dimitri." His soft, low voice filtering through the door, he gives a soft knock-knock to announce himself before pushing it open with his shoulder.

It's hard to say if he's still asleep or simply trying to ignore Byleth as he crosses the room, setting the tray on the bedside table and taking a seat at the edge of the bed himself.

"Dimitri? It's me. Byleth." Hesitantly, he rests a hand on the man's form under the blankets. "I have food for you."

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The last bit of memory he has is Gronder Field. That woman was slipping away with her army, and his head rung with the screams of the dead as they demanded their due. And so he followed, feral as any animal, throwing himself across the battlefield to chase her down.

Then he was pierced. Again and again. He'd killed in return, snarling, the taste of blood in his mouth either from his own wounds or theirs.

This is where I fall, he had thought then, with a morbid sense of relief.

Yet, here he is, eye cracking open as he stares up at the familiar ceiling, dully aware of the knock on the door and the approach of someone he knows.

Dimitri's hand snaps out to grab at Byleth's wrist, and he bares his teeth, as if that would somehow do anything to deter the professor.

"A waste of rations," he snarls. "Why am I here?"

He should have expected this, really. Given Dimitri's apparent mental state during the battle, and everything that lead up to it. He does wince though when his wrist is grabbed like that mostly just for the discomfort. His expression though, remains unchanged for the most part. He just places his other hand over the one on his wrist.

"Hilda saved you. Brought you back to us." He explains calmly, trying not to let it bother him visibly as much as it does inside. " I would really appreciate it if you tried to eat something. You won't recover your strength otherwise."

His approach is rational, almost clinical in a way, but it does betray some of his underlying feelings. The softness that comes through in his eyes.

"I'm glad you made it." He adds, perhaps an admission that will fall on deaf ears at least for the moment, but it's worth saying.

The hand over his own does flicker something in him. It wasn't quite the same as his burning relief at discovering Dedue was still alive. This was more like a candlelight struggling to stay aflame in a pitch black cave, dying but trying to prevail. His chest tightens, and he would rather claw that sensation away.

There is no place for him to feel this way about Byleth. Not anymore.

"She should have left me."

Not very inspiring. Not that he's trying to be.

Dimitri peers his eye at Byleth from under his mess of bangs, the gaze cold and hard. "When I saw you on Gronder Field, I thought to myself that you must have joined them too. You must also be haunting me. Yet, you live. So, did you leave us to rot these past few years, Professor?"

He knew there would be that question, and he can't blame anyone for being angry. For feeling abandoned. It does hurt to think about, but he does deserve to know. His free hand tightens over Dimitri's bruising grip.

"I will tell you the truth, if you are prepared to hear it." He suspects Dimitri will demand it of him regardless. "During the attack o the monastery, I fell to the bottom of the chasm that opened. I died. Or I would have if Sothis had not spared me. It took her that give years to repair the extensive damage, knit bones and mend flesh. When I woke and pulled myself out of that crevasse, I found the world in this state." He knows it must sound insane, but he also has no reason to lie, and he hopes Dimitri will realize as much.

"I know it means very little, but I regret leaving you for so long. I would never leave like that, if I had a choice. I am sorry, Dimitri."

Sothis. "The Goddess--?!"

The Goddess who ignored the plight and plea of so many people in Fodlan. Somehow, she came to Byleth's aid and truly protected him, truly brought him back? With everything else that has happened, it must be true. The way that he wields the Sword of the Creator, how he escaped the spell that was cast on him when they were demanding vengeance for Jeralt.

It is, at least, enough that his grip is no longer bruising on Byleth's wrist.

"...I saw you fall," he says slowly. "After that, and after I thought Dedue died in my stead..."

Well. That, and the horrors he's faced, how he's survived these past five years -- that was enough to make him break.

But.

"This changes nothing," Dimitri says suddenly, his hand pulling away from Byleth completely. "That woman still breathes. I will not stop until I have her head."

"Yes. The Goddess. You did see me fall... and for all intents, I did die. I am just lucky really, to be favored in such a way." Well, really to share a body with Sothis, but that's a discussion for another time. The grip on his wrist releases, and he rubs at it tenderly.

Of course he would be still so single-minded. He can't deny that it makes him ache in new ways to see him like this. How acutely he had felt it when he saw his body, like a holder for spears and arrows thinking surely no man could survive that.

"So you may, but if you want to exact your revenge properly you will need your strength." He nudges the tray over with a determination on his face that warns not to try him on this one. "Eat."

Regrettably, he knows that Byleth is right. If he tries to storm out now, it would end pathetically, with him crawling. He has been in such a position before, and he will not do it again, not when he can recover much more easily.

"So be it. Know that I stay only for the dues owed to the dead. If this path takes me to her, then I will use it."

The tray is taken. No matter how good it might smell, it holds no flavor as ever. He takes no enjoyment as he shoves it into his mouth, chewing, the textures grinding away into ash.

At least it's something. He can be appealed to... somewhat. Byleth wrings his hands slightly in his lap, just a tiny motion, one of those little self-soothing gestures.

"I will be staying in the conjoining room. Just on the other side of that wall." He nods towards the other door in the room that could have been taken for a closet. "Should you have need of me, there's a bell."

Indeed, a small string is rigged on a small pulley system that goes up into the ceiling.

"Pull that and I will know you need something."

It's perfectly like the Professor to arrange something for someone else like this. To look after others, even when they aren't his own. Isn't that what happened during their days at the academy? How often Dimitri volunteered his services on the idea that it was to be an active student -- but that was not the truth then either.

The truth will help no one here.

So, in affirmation, he merely grunts at Byleth, no better than the animal he has become. If nothing else, he might as well eat.

He admittedly had cleared most of his schedule to be available to Dimitri, knowing full well the man would be resistant. He expected to be afforded a lot of uncomfortable silence, and that was fine. He retires to the chamber next door, but finds that sleep eludes him.

Many hours late into the night, he lays awake, listening for that bell that he doubts Dimitri will use. He was resistant to asking for anything when he was in the best of moods, why should now be any different?

And yet, here he is, sliding out of bed and cracking open the door to the next chamber, peeking in to see if he's resting or not.

There is no sleep for Dimitri either. Even after he eats, he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling. As the night goes on, he can hear the whisperings of the dead, scolding and weeping at him. He makes him cringe, his arm draping over his face.

"I know," he mutters mournfully. "I know. I was weak. She was just a hair away-- but I won't fail you. I need more time."

The wailings ring in his ears and mind. He could practically feel them clawing and cold against him, making their demands, crying for retribution. So no, sleep does not come to him, not even in the morning when he has his hand over his face, mumbling.

"I'm sorry. Father, please."

Oh Dimitri.

He opens the door wider, holding it there.

"Dimitri." He says softly at first, then a bit louder, trying to stir him from his visions. "Dimitri."

Crossing the room at last, unafraid of whatever lashing out the man may do, he pulls over one of the small rocking chairs from the corner, dragging it up to beside the bed.

"Hey. It's just me." He reaches for the candle on the bedside table, pinching the wick between his fingers to ignite it with a small fire spell. "There we are, that's better."

He still dares to reach down and rest his hand on the large shape of Dimitri under the blankets, a silent anchor.

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Verdant Moon

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