Chapter Text
The Striking Flyer Inn had never been quite so bustling. By midday the halls were crowded with an anxious stillness. Ashe had hours ago stopped trying to move everyone downstairs around the hearth.
Instead, he was in near constant motion up and down the stairs with tea and provisions to the people who crowded the corridor.
Marianne slept in the grandest room, the one that faced south and got the best light and warmth. Bundled in blankets because hours after reverting back into herself her skin was still ice cold and her breathing shallow and labored.
Nothing would stir her.
Dimitri tended the fire under Ashe’s watchful eye all morning, and now Dedue had taken up the charge.
Annette paced the hallway anxiously, refusing to still or rest at all as she poured through a heavy parcel of letters. Felix sat, hand on a sword, face bandaged and arm wrapped. He’d taken dozens of direct strikes of magic and his skin was bruised and warped, peeling already under the burns. He napped on and off, but refused to take a room. The wall was just fine as a place to rest his head.
Dimitri was sure he was much the same. Injured, manic, exhausted.
Ashe rushed up the stairs again, “Mercedes has arrived.”
They’d called on a healer, one who didn’t work for the palace.
“And we’re sure she’s trustworthy?” Dimitri asked for the tenth time that morning.
Dedue and Annette responded in a chorus, “Yes.”
A mutual friend. Versed in curses. Working in the infirmary at the school of sorcery. Smart. Discrete. Trustworthy.
Annette looked up from her letter, “Mercie is the best healer in Faerghus, and at the school she sees all sorts of strange things. She’ll be able to help Marianne, I promise.”
Dedue nodded in agreement, moving to the side to allow more space for everyone to move. The hall had not been built for congregating. Everyone remained content to ignore that to keep watch over one another.
Dimitri kept vigil in Marianne’s doorway. Ashe warned not to open the door too often, not to let the warm air out.
But he didn’t want her to wake alone. Every breath of Marianne’s he didn’t verify was one she might not have taken at all.
What a fine mess they were all in.
Mercedes von Martiz seemed trustworthy in a way that was almost distracting. She greeted everyone by name, himself included despite never having been introduced, and followed Dimitri into the room.
Marianne laid in bed, covers pulled up to her chin with only a sliver of her pale skin illuminated by the roaring fire. It was uncomfortably hot, yet as Mercedes pulled the covers back she shivered, hands grasping weakly for the blankets.
Alive.
Ever the professional, Mercedes began to look over her, smoothing out the ruined chemise.
Her dress was nearly destroyed, laying in tatters of velvet and fur over a small wooden chair in the corner. Dimitri watched with a level of focus he was unused to in a sated state. Every movement of Mercedes was large, deliberate as if to show him what she was doing before she did it.
It did wonders for his paranoia, though there was still a pinprick of suspicion that the curse tried to latch on to.
Stranger. But not to his friends.
Magical. Using the same methods and skills Marianne was well versed in. White magic was not quite so suspicious.
von Martiz is an Adrestian name, like your uncle and Monica. And scores of others who were not trying to murder him or incite chaos.
He let each suspicion go as quickly as it came, maintaining his facade as best he could.
Mercedes’ face remained focused, the small warm smile plastered as she hummed. He understood nothing of what was happening.
“Dimitri would you ask Ashe for some broth?” She asked, as if she were not commanding a king.
Which, in this moment, she wasn’t. Just a concerned husband who would jump as high as this woman told him if only Marianne would come out okay in the end.
He helped sit Marianne up as Mercedes poured warm soup down her throat, prompting her to swallow with a skilled and delicate care.
They laid Marianne back down, pulling the blankets up over her. Dimitri snuck a gentle kiss on her brow, unashamed of who was watching.
It was hard for him to pray, most days, but for her sake he cast a thought upwards. Wordless, but full of every good intention he could muster. He was worthy of no comfort, but perhaps the protection she asked for could be bestowed inward.
“That is a very severe case of magic exhaustion.” Mercedes noted, hands glowing white with healing as she brushed some blue hair out of Marianne’s face. “She’s lost quite a bit of blood, severe dehydration as well. She will be just fine after a few days of rest. We should refrain from moving her, but if we keep her warm and fed when she wakes all will be well.”
The heavy weight of the unknown did not vanish at her words. Yet it was easier to carry. When she woke. She will recover.
She would be okay.
The taller woman turned to Dimitri, “Now, about your injuries.”
Dimitri flinched as she began the familiar words of a heal spell, the glow of the sigil instinctively making him take a step back.
“Perhaps tend to Felix first.” Dimitri said, ducking out of the way as he ushered her outside the room.
Mercedes gave a small “Oh,” that made him feel oddly understood but did little to protest his refusal. “Please eat a full meal, strong thick food. Black magic burns like that are difficult to heal naturally. Especially in this sort of cold. Magic will help.”
Dimitri ran one hand against the rough of his face. Faith magic made him somewhat less nervous than reason. But it still made his skin itch and his curse cry out. He did not want that voice echoing in his head while he was already so burdened by nerves. He’d do little to aggravate it for the time being.
Dimitri stood ten paces back as Mercedes knelt over Felix.
“I don’t need it,” Felix halfheartedly protested as she touched his cheek. The skin shone, glowing pink as it knit together under her touch.
“His leg as well.” Dimitri commented, watching as Felix removed his jacket to let Mercedes look at his arm.
“What are you talking about? He didn’t get my leg.” Felix commented through gritted teeth as his arm cracked with proper placement.
No. Felix had been limping, slow and careful over the snow.
“You… Last night. He didn’t?” Dimitri questioned, unsure what strange pride was making his advisor lie. Was he trying to make sure Mercedes still had some healing left?
He hadn't looked in a mirror yet. How terrible were the black magic burns that Felix would lie for him?
Annette coughed awkwardly, giving Felix a pointed look. But the swordsman just shook his head, mouth pressed into a hard line.
It was almost a physical relief that this private, silent conversation did little to him. Something between the two of them, then.
That was fine. They were permitted to fret and argue with each other. He need not intervene between the two of them.
The healer looked over him expectantly.
Dedue placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Your Majesty, please, allow her to help you. Marianne will jump to heal you when she awakens. That will impede her recovery.”
“Is my face so terrifying to behold?” Dimitri asked and while Dedue said nothing there was a small raise of an eyebrow that let him know that, indeed, it was bad. Dedue cared little for appearances.
Four sets of eyes bore into him, each one full of a different kind of concern.
“If not for yourself, please, allow her to heal you so Marianne may focus only on her own healing. You do not wish to worry her.” Dedue responded, steady and reassuring. Not letting any of his concern bleed through into his voice though Dimitri knew it was there.
Dedue had been oscillating between the kitchen and the hallway, practically clinging to his husband when he wasn’t desperately trying to make Dimitri rest or eat or bathe.
By all standards, his retainer was as much of a wreck as he was. Just far calmer about it.
He did not want to worry his friends.
He would not want to worry Marianne when she woke. She did rush to heal his every minor injury, even as he protested. Her magic was nearly familiar at this point, almost comforting for being hers.
With a heavy sigh he approached Mercedes, “My face was burned I believe. My back as well. If you wouldn't mind?”
Mercedes gave him a warm smile, and took to healing.
Ashe’s patience with the day long hall picnic wore thin, and they ate dinner around a large table in the main room.
Thick, hearty foods as Mercedes ordered. Venison and cheese and the thick, hearty vegetable stews that Dedue spiced so well Dimitri could imagine the taste from the bit of aroma he could discern.
Conversation revolved around gardening, plants. The sweets that Mercedes had snuck off into the kitchen to prepare.
Mercedes was a friend of Annette’s from school. Annette and Ashe had known each other from their upbringing in Southern Faerghus, traveling to Fhirdiad together in their teens for school and squireship respectively. Ashe had introduced Mercedes to Dedue some years back. Dedue had introduced Felix to Mercedes, who put him in touch with Annette last spring. Friends, everyone but him.
Dimitri sat, observing the ease and joy. Reassured that life moved around him. Marianne slumbered upstairs. There was an inn full of people who cared for her.
For him.
For each other.
Marianne was right last time they sat in this room together. Dimitri was certainly not alone.
Annette stood from her spot at the table, grabbing a sweet from the tray that rested in front of Ashe and taking a seat next to Dimitri. “I recovered some papers from the cabin before it burned. I’m working on the translations, but um…”
Big blue eyes studied his face and Dimitri did his best to not react. He could handle information. No matter how grim. “Is there something I should know?”
Annette nodded, “I think it is good news. Well… Interesting news. Not bad. Definitely not bad.”
A shame that not bad was enough to give him hope these days.
“We were right. Monica was one of them, um… Do you remember their associate Kronya? Same person. The letters lamented her failure to, well, kill you.”
“Confirmation is good.” Dimitri tried to keep his voice quiet, not that anyone at the table could be considered untrustworthy. But no need to worry everyone further over things they already knew.
Did that change anything? Was it any more reassuring to know these attacks had come from one force?
“I also have a guess as to what happened last night. At least, their intent. I was half right. I think. Um… The letters mentioned that they would be trying to discern Marianne’s… State.” Annette refused to meet his eye as she spoke, drawing out shapes on the table instead.
“State?”
She let out a small noise of aggravation, “I’m trying to be polite. If she was pregnant or not. And they had… Well… Another plan in place if she wasn’t. I don’t have details of that yet, the letters are now coded for some reason where they weren’t before. I can read them, it’s just… tricky.”
She seems awfully aggravated, this cursebreaker.
The familiar refrain of his curse was predictable at this point. It was plain that her frustration was with herself. Not him. Not the failed plans of their conspirators.
She’d literally saved the correspondence from a burning building. Was that not an act of loyalty?
Speaking of, “Who wrote the letters? Whom was this correspondence between?”
The knowledge lit her from within, and it was a relief to see her confidence restored “The letters were written to a man named Solon. By someone named Thales, we’ve seen his name before.”
“You believed Thales to be their leader, if I recall. But no mention of Arundel at all?” Annette confirmed, “Has anyone found him?”
“The knights haven’t been able to trace him; he just… disappeared. Maybe Marianne will be able to explain. But I have more letters to read. Perhaps I’ll find the answer. I’ll try to get through as many as I can tonight.” She grinned through her promise, unaffected by the wariness that seemed to plague both himself and Felix. Had she, too, not fought and run and trekked with little sleep?
He stopped her, “Please, Annette, you must rest. The letters will still be there in the morning after you sleep.”
Annette laughed, a full loud belly laugh that made everyone at the table turn, and nodded at him with a certain sparkle in her eye.
“Is that an order, your majesty?”
“No. Merely a friend trying to look out for a friend.”
Mercedes had declared it completely fine and likely beneficial for Dimitri to spend the night beside Marianne. Body heat would help, and he could be nearby if she woke. Ashe followed him in, carrying a tray of tea and food that wouldn’t spoil if it sat out all night.
Ashe set the tray down by Dimitri’s bedside, pointing out each thing with a certain pride, “She likes Cinnamon tea, or, well, she reached for it last time. I think she will enjoy it. Something warm.”
Ashe had once dreamed of knighthood and gave it up for a simpler life. Yet, Dimitri realized with a smile, he was just as brave. As protective. The weapons were different, war waged with food and blankets and simple kindness.
Sleep did not find Dimitri. Too hot between the fire and blankets. His mind too clouded with worry. Instead he sat in bed, replaying his conversation with Annette.
Marianne’s pregnancy with his child had been their goal. A monstrous child, passed a curse from birth because of Marianne’s condition.
What would be the breaking condition of a child with the curse of violence? Would they be tethered to another from the moment they were born? Or would there be another solution?
Could he guide a child to the shaky control he carried? Was the restraint he’d found the night before something he’d always known how to do? Was it new?
What had he done, really?
Kept the curse ignorant to surroundings.
Focused thoughts on something tangible, actionable. Followed the truest desire of his heart.
Ignored the voice on his mind.
All pressing and circling around the question he refused to ask himself. Could he do it again?
The bed shifted and Marianne’s face moved with an unease, showing him the nightmare she was surely enduring.
Dimitri did not know how to comfort, but he did his best. “I am here, you have nothing to fear. All will be well, just please, rest.” He tried to run a soothing hand over her face, hair dampened with sweat at sticking to her forehead.
Without warning Marianne’s eyes shot open, glassy and wild as they darted around the room.
Her mouth opened into a silent scream.
Dimitri froze, hand still on her head.
“Marianne,” He said as low and gentle as he could muster. She must be frightened, confused, exhausted.
He often woke disoriented from his states, and anything familiar at all helped. A kind face, someone trusted. Something safe.
He could be that for her- once she was calm. At least she was awake.
As if she didn’t even notice him she began to fight against the blankets, movements heavy and weak.
He reached for her, pulling layers of quilts down to free her from prison of wool and fur.
“Too hot,” she panted out, sitting up hunched with her hands on her knees. Breathing. Alive.
He smiled despite himself, “I didn’t know you were ever too hot.”
Her eyes snapped to attention, turning to look at him as if she’d just discovered he was laying beside her. He gave a sheepish smile, unsure if anything he said would matter or get through.
Marianne let out a hoarse laugh, breathy and dry. Right. Food. Water. He was supposed to feed her if she woke up. Overwhelmed by the responsibility of caring, he set to his task. The plain relief at seeing her awake lightened him.
“You have magic exhaustion.” He noted, handing a bowl of thick bland porridge over to her.
She nodded, seemingly unphased by the information as she lifted the bowl to her mouth.
“I was very worried for you. Irritably so if Felix was to be believed.”
Rambling was useless, he should be reassuring her. He lacked the skill she had to think of encouraging words, to fall back on a practiced script. He had only the words from the heart.
“You are incredible,” spilled out of his lips and Marianne lowered the bowl, wiping across her lips as she caught her breath.
Dark eyes turned towards him, clearly puzzled by his enthusiasm.
“I am…” She sighed, “That is not the word I would use, Dimitri. But I’ve stopped trying to understand how your mind works.” It was without malice, laced with the wary amusement that he cherished from her.
Marianne, his Marianne.
Heartened, he refused to let her fall into any level of self depreciation when she deserved no hatred, especially from herself. “You led me to your kidnapper. Attacked him yourself. Led me here. Marianne even in the throws of my madness you led me to safety.”
Dumbfounded, she reached a hand over to his face as if to detect a fever, “You’ve seen what I am, and yet you sit here and tell me I’m incredible. Compliment me.”
He could not stand for her self hatred, though he knew it ran deep. “I do that because you are deserving of my accolades. My curse turns me mindless-”
“And mine makes me a monster.” She cut him off, shaking with fear or exhaustion or the cumulation of a day she’d not yet had time to process.
“As does mine. Marianne, I am not diminishing what you have suffered. I truly feared for your life, as well as my own. You are carrying a burden. But none of that changes how I feel about you.”
“It… Doesn’t?”
“No. I love you. I am glad to see these parts, difficult and cold as they are.”
She flinched, “Cold?”
Yes. Quite literally.
“You were made of ice. I have heard women described as such in the past, but this was extreme.”
Marianne’s nose wrinkled and she let out a laugh, “That’s not funny, Dimitri.”
“Then why are you laughing?” He teased, encouraged by her protest. How far had they come. This difficult conversation laced with laughter, not tears.
She threw up her arms heavily, “You are ridiculous. I’m not sure if it’s Faerghus or royalty or you, but you discover that your wife is a literal beast and you laugh and say-”
“It is you, of course.”
“Me?” She squeaked, surprised at his joy. At how lovely this strange conversation was because at last they could speak openly about such things.
She would not look away from him, not sink in to herself. The world had never given either of them the patience or understanding to simply be. To hide such a thing was a burden. Was this not easier- To be who they were?
“Marianne you are so much more than your curse. Am I to judge you by what you become when pushed to your limits? No. Marianne I hold you in the very highest regard.” He could not hide the affection in his face as he reached for her hand.
She let him, shocked into silence by his statement. Her long hair covered her face as she looked away from him.
“You said you loved me.” She repeated as if the words had finally sunken in.
He raised their held hands to his lips, “I do, truly. All I could think of yesterday was you. Your safety. Your happiness.”
Marianne shook her head with a long suffering sigh, “Dimitri you are a very good man, but this sort of sentimentality will make you a poor king. Am I to be the reasonable one between us?”
Yes, she was, and it was clear in the warmth in her voice, and the way she leaned into him.
“I’ll have you know my stepmother lamented similarly.” Perhaps this was the Blaiddyd way, to be so unendingly earnest. The warrior kings, with wives who chastised them for sentiment. He could do that, gladly. “I find I care little for such notions. Difficult to accuse me of being soft, and yet you see me and do exactly that.”
He handed her a cup full of now lukewarm tea, not wishing to demand answers from her when she was still so plainly exhausted.
None of that would matter. Not one whit. Why argue over goodness, worthiness, beastiliness and humanity when the truth was plain and clear- They were both. A match.
Loneliness had been a lifelong condition, pushing others away to keep them safe from his true nature. Marianne as well, never leaving home, never maintaining a friendship over anything but correspondence.
No matter the circumstances of this marriage, no matter the insidious intent, the reality of his life was sitting in this bed with his wife, amused with each other’s weakness, and oh so very in love.
She drained the cup easily, handing it back to him with shaking fingers. Dehydration. She should have more.
As he went to rise, seeking a warmed kettle, those same fingers gripped at the sleeve of his shirt.
“Please don’t leave.”
The dark shadows under her eyes belied a need for sleep. The tea could wait.
He urged her to lay back against the pillows, resting his head on his arm to better watch her. “I will stay. I promise.”
Dimitri brushed the sigil on the edge of the copper tub, pulling back as it shone to life and the water began to steam.
“I don’t think I need assistance.” Marianne mumbled, “Magic is supposed to be my expertise.”
Dimitri smiled, turning to where she was perched awkwardly on a bench in the side of the bathing room.
“Miss von Martriz was very clear that you are not to use any magic at all for at least a few days.”
“Miss von Martriz is far too strict for someone who smiles so much.” Marianne said heavily, though she’d spoken at length about church matters with the woman over a fruit and herring tart.
“I am grateful to have her here,” and thinking better of it, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly where the dark magic was beginning to give way to fresh skin, “Though I prefer your healing. Once you’re well.”
“I’m perfectly fine! I recover quickly from…” She sighed and his heart thundered in his chest.
“You shouldn’t speak of it if it will harm you.”
Her fingers found her mouth, biting at the edge as she tried to explain, “I can speak of it now. Um… It does not prevent me from talking to someone who has seen me transformed. I just… I’m very exposed.”
He helped her stand, though his clumsy fingers struggled to unlace the edge of her chemise, laughing at the aptness of her words. Exposed. Weren’t they both?
Hands held, he helped her into the hot water. She refused to be lifted though her steps were still slow and careful.
He held his breath as she ducked under the hot water, asking as she emerged, “May I ask you a question?”
She nodded, leaning back and stretching as the enormous tub dwarfed her. It seemed all was too large for her these days. Too much bed, too much food, to much magic.
The confirmation that she could speak of it emboldened him. He understood nothing of curses, he hardly had a grasp on his own. But the hazy memories of that night in the woods were confusing.
Was she like him when her curse took hold? Or was it something different entirely?
“You did not attack me when you were transformed. Was that intentional?”
Her eyes shot open, studying him as she answered quietly, “No. It wouldn’t... That form desires… Well my curse desires innocence. Hunts it.”
“Innocence?” He repeated.
“Yes.” She refused to look at him, leaning back so her mouth was hardly above the water, hiding, “The break clause, the passing… it’s all tied to a need to corrupt.”
So that was it then, “You did not attack me because I am…”
“Because the monster recognizes its own.” She confirmed.
Heavy and painful. But there were two ways to hear such a thing. Despair at being so brutally categorized.
Or the small comfort of someone who was like him. Could understand him.
Knowing that he could see that form and remain safe, perhaps. Could be her guardian. Hunt off anyone who would harm her as such.
“You are far faster than me like that.” He noted, watching her struggle to reach over the side of the tub for the soap Annette insisted she use in her hair.
“I guess.”
He came closer, passing the bar to her, “And it simply ends with the sunrise.”
“Yes.”
His eye met hers, “And you will not attack me, because I am so equally tainted.”
He watched as she caught onto his train of thought, “I think so…” Her eyes racked up and down his form and she changed the subject rather suddenly.
“You haven’t bathed either.” She noted quietly.
With what time? He’d refused to leave her side for even the hour it would take. Dedue had made a short comment about buckets of melted snow that did not go unnoticed. “I guess not. Um…” Was he disgusting then?
“The tub is rather large.” Marianne pointed out, scooching back as if to demonstrate how much space remained.
“Oh. Well. Would you like me to join you?”
“I would like that very much.”
As they rode back to Fhirdiad, Annette and Mercedes pulled Marianne and Dorte off ahead so they could discuss some letter or book Annette had translated. Deeply uninteresting, the magical talk was far above his head.
That left him to pull up the rear with Felix, who had spent the last several days stewing uncomfortably. Avoiding most conversation to glower in corners, strangely still.
After a few minutes of silent riding, Dimitri could take it no longer. His gratitude bubbled over, “Thank you for coming. I know the past week has been a trial for you.”
Felix rolled his eyes, scoffing, “Idiot, that’s my job.”
It wasn’t. Not really. “Guarding an inn while my wife convalesces is not your job. You hardly even trained.” He’d hardly left the inn at all.
Felix was unmoved, “My job is to keep you from flying off the handle. Stop thanking me, I can’t stand it. If you’re so grateful, grant me a vacation.”
Felix, who obsessed over excelling at whatever he tried. Who paced around the palace for the past few months with anxiety masked in indifference. “A vacation?”
A hand laced through dark hair, tugging uncomfortably, “I have to… ugh. I need to go to Fraldarius for a bit. Maybe somewhere else. Not sure.”
Dimitri couldn’t follow, “What do you mean?”
Felix seemed put out by the question, “Need to find a lot of wind. It’s stupid.”
“Wind?”
Felix refused to elaborate any further, “I’ll be back. Don’t think I’m abandoning you or going off and trying to betray you or something stupid that your curse is going to make up in my absence.”
Dimitri laughed, “You think so highly of me.”
“You’re fine minus the bouts of paranoia. Your wife is pretty smart, let her take on some of my shit. You have to learn to govern sometime.”
That was the Felix he knew.
“So you think these… Agarthans are taken care of?” Dimitri asked, bringing up the uncomfortable business of the day. If he was willing to leave, Felix must believe that things would be safe for a moment.
That might help quiet his curse.
Felix drummed his fingers against his thigh, “I’m pretty sure that was Thales and Solon, and Annette agrees and she’s smarter than us. They were running on a skeleton crew. Their assassins were sloppy and uninformed. These were the first few who posed any threat at all. I’m not sure who is left, now. If anyone.”
“And my uncle…”
“Or someone wearing your uncle’s face.” Felix interjected.
Marianne had described how the man wearing Arundel’s face had led her into the woods under thick guise of magic, but as the sun set the form dropped into the otherworldly being they encountered.
If that was the true Arundel or simply a clever disguise remained unclear. But it put his curse ill at ease to know these dark beings could wear friendly, or at least familiar faces.
Trust would be paramount, going forward.
The gates of Fhirdaid came into view and Felix seemed to shudder with a sudden chill.
“Are you okay, Felix?” Dimitri asked, concerned.
Felix’s face fell into a tight line, and his gaze traveled ahead to Annette.
“No. But I will be.”
The morning Felix left for Fraldarius, Glenn arrived to act as some kind of advisory proxy. As was his way, he waltzed into the palace unannounced, entered Dimitri’s office without knocking, and asked if Dimitri was in need of a genius for a few weeks.
“I do not need a nursemaid,” Dimitri glowered, head ducked over a report from the knights as Marianne laughed from a seat in his office.
Her seat. Though there was an official office for queen’s duties she was still learning the ins and outs of Faerghus. It was, therefore, useful for her to be able to ask about the temperament of this lord or that rather than rely on third hand notes.
It also served to grant them additional time together. Each passing day it was becoming a hair’s breadth easier to not have her presence and safety assured at all times.
Dedue suggested, gently, that men should not be so overprotective or they would annoy their spouses to the point of irritation. Dimitri assured him he’d listen to that advice.
Eventually.
Each passing day he found he missed her all the more when she went to attend to duties in the church and town. Mercedes had forgoed payment for her services, but passed along a list of small local churches that needed more resources.
Life moved on in Faerghus. There were mouths to be fed, people to keep warm, places to protect.
Glenn pulled a chair out for himself, grasping a thick leather folio off the desk, “My father is in a state at the idea of the two of them in his home unchaperoned, so I am the third best option until that idiot is cured.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to criticize Felix for-” Dimitri started but he was cut off with Glenn’s sharp tone. Ah, he’d interrupted Glenn’s planned speech.
“I’m half convinced if it were any other curse Felix would just live with it. But count on Felix to be twice cursed, twice cured so openly . Frankly, if my father was trying to avoid a scandal he should have had a different heir. Not me either, granted. But we must have some cousins who have a modicum of common sense.”
Dimitri tried to cut in, defend Felix’s choices, point out that slow footedness would be an issue for Felix’s swordplay in addition to the bitter irony of it also being his father’s affliction.
But he was given no time to form such an argument because Glenn began to loudly review the random papers in his hand. The older man scanned the paper a few times, eyes glazing over as he threw it back on the desk, “The hell is this?”
Marianne rose up to look at the diagram, and blushed as she responded, “That is Annette’s research for me. Who to call on in case of an emergency while she is gone.” She picked at her thumb, refusing to look him in the eye.
Glenn raised an eyebrow, looking every bit the Fraldarius he was, “It is my father’s third greatest disappointment that I am completely shit at magic, but I’ll take it. I do not know how you mages do it. It’s so boring.”
Marianne shrugged, “Reason is not so challenging if you understand power.”
“I pretty definitionally shy away from that. Ugh.” He stood, pushing papers aside as he searched, “Give me an economic problem, something in my wheelhouse.”
Dimitri pushed another scroll over to him, ignoring the way his curse clung to Glenn’s statement, “Fine. If you insist on being useful.”
“That I do.”
Glenn’s company was appreciated, really, but his presence itched at Dimitri’s skin.
He needed to know. The answer would do nothing, but they were connected. It was important, if not rude.
He straightened his shoulders and forced himself to look in his eye, “May I ask you an awkward question?”
Glenn grinned, “You already have. But I’ll grant you as many as your wish.”
Dimitri sighed, hating that the comment was sort of funny.
The men walked side by side down the corridor. Empty for the evening, pointedly far from Dimitri’s own room. “Do you… Experience your curse?”
“How do you mean?”
He’d asked this question of Felix, of Dedue, of Marianne. None were similar to his- the small voice in his head so singular and specific as to shock a cursebreaker. It puzzled him just as much as the cold trail of assassins. Of the letter from the Emperor of Adrestia noting that Arundel was both not to be trusted, and unaccounted for at the present.
But maybe Glenn’s was similar in its nature. “Do you hear it in your head?”
The familiar face of surprise answered before Glenn spoke, blue eyes trained towards the ceiling as he thought, “No. It is at times a physical thing. Nausea. Chills. An unwillingness for my body to act in a way I know it once did. But I suppose a sudden and complete distaste for violent solutions was not always my nature. It is in my head in that way.”
“But you do not hear it as a voice separate from your own?”
“No. Do you?”
Dimitri nodded, feeling at once like something on display. Curses were respected, but private, he wasn’t used to parsing out the specifics. Yet, the point remained.
“I usually hear it as a voice. It urges me to do things, terrible things. Whispers poison into my ear.”
Glenn stopped walking, crossing his arms as he studied the man he’d tried to give his life to. The man who held the key to his freedom.
“And do you listen?”
A childlike shame came over Dimitri, as if he’d broken a priceless vase while playing and was trying to hide it. But he could not hide, not from Glenn. Not from himself, “I try not to. It’s difficult. But I find the suggestions distasteful if I am not in immediate danger.”
Glenn was satisfied with his answer, smiling broadly as he clapped Dimitri on the back, “Good. Hah. Perhaps it’s not the form of your curse at all, then. Maybe it’s you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Glenn had always been smart, but he seemed overly fond of his own idea. His voice, usually projecting to be heard from across any room fell quiet. The smile widened.
“You’re too kind for such things, Dimitri. If our fates had been reversed perhaps they would have won.”
A moon passed with nothing but hastily written letters from Rodrigue. One rather angry letter from Ingrid indicating that she was quite sure that the monarchy could continue to run without a Fraldarius present in Fhirdiad, and she, in fact, had great need of her husband as she moved into the final moons of her pregnancy.
Winter arrived with full force to Marianne’s chagrin. Dimitri half delighted in watching her find increasingly creative ways to keep warm. To find the small pleasures and beauty of winter.
He could hear the roar of the fire in his room even before he opened the door. But it was drowned out by the muffled sounds of slippers on carpet.
Marianne paced around their bedchamber, her thick woolen cloak billowing after her as she gnawed nervously at her nail. Not unfamiliar, but concerning, certainly.
“Are you okay?” Dimitri asked, closing the door gently behind him.
She practically jumped, letting out a small shirek of surprise that he could not help but find cute. It stilled her, long enough that he could place a quick kiss on her head as he placed a heavy tome on a table.
While his back was still turned Marianne said hardly above a whisper, “I have something to confess. Something terrible.”
He turned, quickly as he could.
It was difficult to discern his wife’s state in the darkness but her face appeared clear of tears and there was still color in her face. She was okay then. Merely the fear and anxiety that clouded her thoughts.
He could handle such things. Happily.
This was the way of it now between the two of them. They’d vowed to carry their burdens together, no matter the weight or cost.
Simple as telling her after a mishap in the stables I think Dorte hates me, though the truth was he was simply jealous.
And these, the more complicated, messy issues. Together.
He went to her, “I will listen with open ears and an open heart.”
“Open ears?” Marianne asked, amusement peeking through her sadness as she brushed long hair out of his face.
“But your confession?”
She sighed, “Glenn puts me ill at ease. My curse is drawn to him.”
It was not surprising in the least, and Dimitri nodded in understanding.
“I guess he is nearly as innocent as a babe.”
“Correct. And I don’t wish to tell him to leave. But I…” She wrapped her arms around him, placing her face into his chest as she worried through a thought.
“You struggle in his presence. Is it the trapped feeling?”
Marianne could only explain her curse as feeling trapped between two bodies. Her own, her true self, Marianne who spoke and prayed and wrote in a childlike hand.
And the beastly form, pulling at any magic it could find. Desiring satiation.
Her curse was, truly, unusual. Drawn to its very solution.
The beast sought to devour innocence, and that was its truest nature. If allowed to run free, to find its charge, it would be done. The price paid in blood.
Marianne bore the burden of the curse. Carried the beast, denying it with every second, every breath. A dull thrum like an old injury.
The curse did not protect itself. But it did protect her.
She hummed, disagreeing, “I like Glenn well enough. I only wish I did not feel so called to transform in his presence.”
So many of his friends were difficult for her. So many people were difficult for her. Yet, she tried. More lately. A world in which she could speak of her worries freed her in a way. She and Dedue had taken to sharing a pot of cinnamon tea as the weather turned even colder.
It was a joy to see her so happy.
Dimitri let her pout, running a thumb along her face, pausing on her lip, “I am sorry. You did very well today. You deserve a reward for such restraint.”
She pulled back, smiling at last, “Oh?”
He kissed her again, holding her face in his hands as she pulled back, “I have a whole kingdom at my beck and call. Whatever you desire, I will give you.”
Arms found their way around his neck, “I desire a king. A good man.”
Rather than feel enticed the words echoed with Glenn’s statement from when he first arrived. Dimitri’s face fell.
He’d forgotten. Ignored in his anxiety.
“ I am troubled over something myself.”
She pulled back, ushering him to sit.
“Glenn said my curse resisted me because I am kind. Annette says the voices are unusual. I cannot understand what any of that means. I merely thought every curse was so… vocal.”
“Glenn’s curse is not, then?”
“No. And… I have been thinking lately that perhaps I need the commands to come from outside of me. The paranoia doesn’t suit. It had no well of bloodlust to pull from, and so it’s constructed a whole separate being. One I can blame for what I do.”
It was a thought he’d had once or twice since discovering his difference. The curse was meant to pull on his thoughts, blend into his patterns so he couldn’t tell what was curse or himself. But he didn’t. And it made no sense.
Marianne had heard the theory before, listening to him puzzle through it late at night when insomnia held both of them in its thrall, “I suppose.”
Encouraged, he let the deepest hope of his heart free, “And if such things were true, then perhaps it would be the smallest bit easier to feel worthy of this. To want to be worthy of this. All of this. This happiness. The power. You.”
“Me?” She blushed so beautifully and he lifted her up to better see her face. Forehead to forehead he spoke,
“I love you. Surely you know.”
Marianne laughed, “You do like to tell me ten times a day.”
Ten times? “And I shall endeavor for it to be more. Because I love you.”
He carried her to a warm chair in front of the fire, sitting with her still held aloft.
She sighed, curling in his lap by the fire as the lionhead pin glinted in the light. “I love you as well, you know. You make me happy.”
“You make me lucky.”
“You make me laugh.”
Well that was worthy of skepticism, “Then you have very odd taste in humor, my love.”
Marianne smiled, pulling his face oh so close to hers, “Luckily, you’ve already promised that you’ll be odd with me.”
“That I have.”
It was said that at times a strange beast roamed the forests around Fhirdiad. Huge, lumbering with terrifying red eyes. It appeared in moments of tumult, as if to warn to the citizens of Faerghus that not all was well.
It was lightning fast and stank of dark magic- No man could hunt such a beast, least of all one with no experience on a battlefield. It was law, then, that none should attack such a thing.
Those who went to hunt the beast would later report of a strange cloaked figure who followed. A protector of sorts, fast and deadly strong. The beast ran ahead, the figure behind, until morning when both would disappear without a trace.
Some considered it an omen, then, when the princess of Faerghus was born on a beast night.
The king and queen ignored such rumors, marveling over the absolute perfection they created together.