Chapter Text
The end of the too-long war sees Dimitri crowned king of a newly united Fódlan and thrusts him into a frenzy of paperwork, transitions of power, and governmental reforms. He implements plans to send aid to those throughout the land still suffering the effects of the war, figures out how to improve foreign relations, draws up a campaign to rebuild Duscur, and tries to meet directly with the citizens and visitors of Faerghus as often as he can to listen to their grievances and needs. It is arduous work, but it is important to him that he not sit idly while there are things he can do to better the lives of those he now rules.
There is something, however, he desperately wants to do but has not yet had the proper time to accomplish: personally thanking those who helped him end the war, those who saved him from his enemies and himself. In a moment of quiet while he is alone at a desk poring over new legislation, his mind begins to wander making a mental list of everyone he needs to thank. He wants them to know how much he appreciates them and how instrumental they have been in helping Fódlan get back on its feet.
His stream of consciousness leads him to thoughts of Dedue. He remembers the conversation he had with him during the war, telling him how he proudly bears his scars from the Tragedy of Duscur because they remind him of saving Dedue. He remembers telling Dedue, out loud, that he sees him as “irreplaceable. Cherished.” Those were true words from the heart, but they were quite bold, Dimitri thinks. Still, Dedue listened and did not look appalled by my language. He even said my given name that day instead of referring to me as 'Your Highness.' I do not think I simply imagined the rose-colored flush that graced his features then.
He sets that thought aside to instead focus on how he is going to thank Dedue for his service – for everything, really. What words would even suffice for all that Dedue has done for Dimitri? He still can’t believe how lucky he is that Dedue is alive – those long years without him, when he thought he had lost him forever, were agony. But those days are in the past, and he knows he needs to turn his gaze now to a brighter future.
The brighter future he first imagines involves him and Dedue holding hands. Those strong, calloused hands that are always so gentle when tending to the greenhouse plants or Dimitri’s injuries. He imagines the two of them together, doing something nice for the children of Fódlan, such as teaching them horseback riding or planting a communal herb garden like Dimitri and Dedue did in Fhirdiad after the Tragedy of Duscur. He imagines kissing the scar that runs along Dedue’s cheek and thanking him every day for being by his side.
Dimitri slams his quill down and covers his eye with his hand, feeling his face heat up. He has always treasured Dedue, but when did his feelings start leaning towards something romantic? He has never had these kinds of uncharted feelings for anyone before, and he certainly does not want them to ruin the special bond he already shares with Dedue. But what if Dedue is harboring similar feelings? Ugh, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, get ahold of yourself, he shouts internally.
Taking a break from the document he has been reading knowing his mind is putting forth too many distractions for him to dedicate the full attention the words on the paper merit, he decides to no longer put off thanking his friends and allies, and he sets out to find them around the castle so he can finally express the gratitude they deserve to hear. Dedue especially.