Chapter Text
Beams of moonlight filtered into Byleth’s room through her bare windows. She was watching motes of dust float lazily through the air from her cocoon of blankets – the riveting activity that had held her attention for the past two hours. She sighed. Sleep evaded her as skillfully as she did arrows, so there was no point in fighting much longer. The former professor untangled herself from the sheets and moved to sit at her desk, resting her chin in her hand. The past few weeks had been tough, to say the least. Realizing she was gone for a transformative and trying time in her students’ lives was a harsh blow. They were all so different - Ashe had matured from the wide-eyed boy he once was, Annette carried herself with confidence, even Felix was… Well, maybe some things stayed the same.
But one student had changed so much, he was almost unrecognizable: their house leader and prince of Faerghus, Dimitri. Each time she closed her eyes, she could picture a different face of his. A sidelong glance and lazy smile at Dedue over lunch. Blink. A flush of exhilaration after winning a spar. Blink. Sunken eyes dismissing her outstretched hand. Blink. A savage grin as a bandit’s blood spattered his pale skin.
She shook her head, as if to shake off the memories. Wallowing in them did her no favors. They’ve already cost her hours of sleep tonight, not to mention other nights. Maybe she should continue where she left off in her reading? Her fingertips traced the title of a well-worn book, Studies on Psychological Damage . Many pages had the telltale creases of dog-ears, but a letter bookmarked a chapter on the deterioration of survivors. Unfortunately for Byleth, it was the lone text in Garreg Mach’s library on the subject, but it was merely a record on what effects psychological damage had. She had hoped to find ways to alleviate trauma, even if it was a fool’s errand to search for easy answer for such deep-rooted pain. If only enough faith magic could cure it! She’d take the veil and pray to Sothis and Seiros with every breath. She leaned back in her chair and briefly pressed her hands to her eyes, defeated for the moment. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Brooding accomplished little. Searching for a distraction, she cast her gaze contemplatively around her room.
When she returned to the monastery after her years-long slumber, she was pleased to find her old room in the almost the exact condition she left it in; only a vase was missing. Everything else remained, joined by a thick layer of dust that accumulated in her absence. Now her room was back to its old pristine appearance. Her bed was a standard monastery bed with simple white sheets. Across from it, a cork board was posted with a few items pinned up. One was a love letter from five years ago, delivered to her by Manuela. She was almost certain that Sylvain was the author – after all, who else could write such cliché, sickly-sweet poetry in such steady handwriting? When reading it, she swears she can hear him delivering the sleazy lines, each worse than the last, with his brazen confidence, and it never failed to cheer her up. Her relic weapon, the Sword of the Creator, rested against the wall by her bed. Next to that stood varnished wood cabinets. Few, but enough to hold her meager belongings. Her most luxurious item hidden behind cabinet doors was actually secondhand: her tea set. Besides that, she had a few spare garments, her father’s diary, and lesson plans. Everything else was for battle. She owned a few weapons, items for weapon maintenance, potions, and jewelry. The jewelry really did help in battle, Byleth had insisted to her disbelieving students – but there was one piece besides her father’s ring she kept for purely emotional reasons.
She walked over to the cupboard closest to her bed. Bending down, she opened it and searched for a small burlap bag. Her searching fingers grazed rough material under her spare shirt, and she pulled it out into her hands. She carefully untied the knot closing the bag and slid its contents into her palm. A delicate silver necklace rested in her hand. Dangling off the chain was a lone sapphire, its color radiant in the ethereal glow of the moonlight. The symbol of the Blue Lions house was etched into the gemstone. This necklace reminded her of a time long passed. Her students’ joys and sorrows, their dreams and fears – she felt them just as strongly - if not more so - as she did when she first received this on her birthday. Hopefully she would be able to express her feelings properly to her former students now, after they had taught her to open up emotionally. They had all gone through so much, yet they would continue to be challenged again and again. It would be impossible to shield them from darkness and suffering - part of the reality of life - but she could support them through their struggles. She would be here for them this time. No matter the cost.
Byleth stood and slipped the necklace into her pocket. She stretched, stiff from crouching for so long – she was unsure exactly how much time she spent caught up in memories, but the moon still hung high in the sky. She deliberated for a moment before tossing her usual overcoat on top of her sleepwear and heading out the door.
Chilly air nipped at her sensitive ears and cheeks as she trailed past the other female dormitories towards the dining hall. They sustained minimal damage from battle that was long since repaired, and bandits had neglected the sparse living areas for the fancier main halls and cathedral. She could almost believe that she was back five years ago, walking down to sit on the dock at midnight. Typically she didn’t have trouble going to sleep when she was travelling around as a mercenary with her father. It was a simpler time back then. The two of them moved around to different towns, completed jobs with their fellow mercenaries, ate well at taverns and slept under the stars. When she moved into the monastery and started forming relationships with others, she had more worries to keep her awake at night: lesson plans, student concerns, the Flame Emperor’s plot, memories of her father. After moving into the monastery for a second time, her worries narrowed down to one.
Upon entering the dining hall, she easily found the cookware and ingredients she was looking for. An hour later, she walked out the door with a steaming bowl of onion soup. It was missing its usual layer of cheese on top - cheese might be too heavy for someone missing meals - but the pungent odor of onion and fish was still there. Her feet took her to the cathedral - to Dimitri. He was always there at night. Sometimes he would stand at the front of the pews, bracing on his lance, and other times he would slump against a wall. Not that Byleth had ever seen him haunting the cathedral herself; it was just common knowledge at the monastery. Everyone knew about it, but it was rare to hear someone talking about it. It was discussed with hushed whispers and furtive glances, as if giving voice to it would seal the kingdom’s - no, all of Fódlan’s - doom.
She stepped inside the doors and noticed immediately that tonight was not one of his better nights. His agitated voice carried through the still nighttime air.
Byleth walked through the cathedral in his direction, making sure to step loudly against the stone floor so her heels clicked in warning. She stopped an arms-length behind him. When her footsteps paused, so did his babbling.
She searched for that emotionless voice she could pull off so well. Letting any pity come through in her tone would be a disservice to him. “Dimitri, eat. Even beasts must.”
Silence.
She turned around and set the soup on the front pew.
Stillness.
Ignored as expected, but it was worth a shot. As she pushed past the door to leave, she heard him start up again.
Despair settled in her stomach as a heavy weight. She couldn’t let this keep happening. She couldn’t let him go down this path of self-destruction. She had already failed him once, five years ago. She didn’t see how dangerous his shadows from the past were, but worse, she added to them when she fell.
She couldn’t fail him now that she was awake. Her hand found the necklace in her pocket and squeezed it. She and her students had tried everything they could think of, from simply treating him politely to trying to spar and eat with him like old times. What was there to try when you tried everything already? Perhaps they were missing something, something they didn’t - or couldn’t - know yet. There was only one way to find out: she needed an inside look. She slipped through the shadows towards the boys’ dormitories and made her way down the hall to Dimitri’s room. Felix was bound to wake up, but he most likely wouldn’t disturb her. He understood what her goal was. In return she would do her best to disturb his nighttime peace as little as possible. The brass knob turned easily - unlocked. No need for locks, she supposed, in a ghost-town filled with only your former classmates.
Moonlight lit up Dimitri’s room much the same as it did hers. She would need to move fast, though. Rumors had it Dimitri left before sunrise for a few hours without fail, so come sunrise Dimitri might stop by in his room for something. She’d also need to use some discretion - no candles, but the moon was on her side tonight. Byleth was banking on Dimitri being too distracted to notice her intrusion, but she didn’t want to add extra suspicion by leaving blatantly obvious evidence.
Younger Dimitri’s room was almost immaculate. The bed was always tightly made with no creases to be seen, books were set up in neat stacks. Older Dimitri’s room was… the exact same way. He definitely returned to his room on occasion, considering the disturbances in the accumulated dust. There were quite a few training manuals and Fodlan history books stacked up, so she leafed through each book individually but found nothing. Dresser drawers held some plain linen shirts and cotton breeches from his academy days but nothing remarkable hidden in them. Nothing was stuck to the underside of any of the drawers, either. When Byleth felt under the mattress, though, her fingers hit something hard. She pulled it out to get a better look. A date was written: 1170. Her breath caught in her throat when she flipped the frame over.
It was a miniature portrait of his family. Looking back at her was King Lambert Blaiddyd, who Dimitri resembled quite a bit; a woman with purple eyes, presumably the Queen Consort Patricia von Arundel; and Prince Dimitri, a child of only eight years. All of them were expressionless, as expected from a portrait of royalty, but they still had an air of closeness - of family - about them.
She slipped the portrait back where she found it, her neck prickling with unease. It was a necessary invasion of privacy, she told herself. She had to check all the usual hiding places, even if she was overstepping boundaries. There was nothing under his pillow or inside its pillowcase, but it appeared unused. Did he sleep in the cathedral every night or was there a different place? The cork board hung up some papers with handwriting - her handwriting? She took a closer look and found some of his old assignments with her comments on them. He always was an excellent student, and clearly he took personal pride in it. She flipped the board around - nothing - before turning her attention to his desk. The writing desk seemed innocuous enough, standard with a shelf and three drawers. None of the papers on the desk’s top was anything special, just a few drafts of letters and strategy plans in his messy cursive. There was a box filled with broken pens in the top drawer, which explained the time he snapped a pen during her lecture.
It was a seminar on swordsmanship, and Byleth was demonstrating some easy counters with Felix’s assistance. Dimitri was quickly jotting down notes, trying to make sure he didn’t miss anything, but he forgot to mind his grip and broke his pen in two, covering his right hand with black ink. At first she didn’t understand what the loud snap was, so she stared blankly at him. It was one of the few times she witnessed him flush in embarrassment.
Wait a minute. Byleth dipped her finger into the pen box; the ink was fresh. She opened the second drawer to reveal a small, plain book. Her hands opened it to the first page, and her eyes widened at the single sentence. Journal of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.
Bullseye.