Chapter Text
Rhodos is in a somewhat remote coastal region of Faerghus. The village is nestled in amongst the hills a few miles back from the cliffs, hidden in the twists and turns like a little green gem. It sees a surge in visitors during the summer months when hundreds of people arrive seeking the tranquil cool of the pristine beaches but, during the other nine months of the year, it’s the type of place where everyone knows your name. It’s a town that feels a little bit lost in time. The roads are still cobblestone, the pharmacy is an ‘apothecary’, and you can actually see the stars in the sky at night.
It reminds Dedue of home. Maybe that’s a little odd to say, given that he’s hours away and Rhodos doesn’t look at all like his hometown, but it has that same feeling. He had expected to be treated as an outsider. Instead he was welcomed with open arms.
Perhaps it helped to have Dimitri with him. He’d heard endless tales of childhood summers in Rhodos, of fireworks and scabbed knees and ice cream, and the friends Dimitri had made there. He knew all the tears and tantrums. All the stories that left Dimitri laughing so thoroughly that he cried. In a way he felt that he’d known these people since long before they’d met.
It was a strange relief to meet them, and learn that they felt the same.
“Here’s the man of the hour!” A red-headed man shouts at them as soon as they’re out of the car. He makes a beeline straight for Dedue and offers his hand.
A blonde woman behind him rolls her eyes. “Must you greet people like that? You’re not making a good first impression.”
Dedue isn’t quite sure how to react. Yes, he had expected there to be a greeting committee of some sort, but he had also assumed they wouldn’t arrive until after they’d unpacked. And why is he ‘the man of the hour’? He glances over to Dimitri, who shrugs back at him.
“I assume you are Sylvain,” he says, opting to shake hands. He’s seen pictures but they were at least a decade old - this Sylvain is much taller.
Sylvain grins, pulls him in, and claps him across the back. “Don’t be shy; we’re huggers here.”
“No, we’re not,” another man calls from beside the blonde woman.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous.”
The woman - Ingrid, he assumes - shakes her head and elbows Sylvain out of the way. “I apologise for them. They never learned proper manners.”
Dimitri circles around the car to join them, only to be dragged into a hug by Sylvain. “I see you three haven’t changed.”
“Unfortunately,” she sighs.
They’re standing just outside town hall - an ancient building of red brick in the centre of town. The front of the building comprises a hardwood door flanked by two decorative stone pillars, with three square windows on each side. It’s considerably smaller than the civic centres Dedue is used to in the capital. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. He’s never liked the sharp architecture of modern buildings.
Next to the hall stands a small wooden house. It’s sandwiched between the hall and what looks like a diner, the space just wide enough for the door and a single bay window. It’s the house they’ll be staying in - he knew it was close to work, but he didn’t realise it was right next door.
He moves to start unloading the car and Ingrid taps him on the shoulder.
“Not a chance. You just drove for what, eight hours? Let us take care of that.”
“Besides,” Sylvain says. “We might have a surprise for you.”
Dimitri visibly pales at his words. “Is this the good sort of surprise, or the bad sort?”
“The sort where we tell you we went to clean that dump yesterday and found half the building rotted. There’s no way you’re staying there,” the other man says. Ah, he must be Felix.
Dimitri sighs. “A minor setback. Can I assume you’ve made alternative arrangements, or shall we be sleeping in our car?”
Alternative arrangements turned out to be a choice between one room at the Dominic household two blocks over, and a restored fisherman’s shack a few miles out of town. Given that Dimitri is already acquainted with the Dominics (of course he is, he knows everyone, or at least everyone knows him) and Dedue had expressed an interest in fishing during their stay, the choice is obvious.
That was a month ago.
The shack is, blessedly, more liveable than the word ‘shack’ had implied. It sits at the base of one of the many cliffs, a little rocky beach and a pier the only things separating it from the ocean. The exterior has been weathered to give the appropriately seaswept look, while the interior is fitted with all the usual modern conveniences. There’s a compact kitchen complete with stove and kettle, enough sitting room to entertain company, a newly fitted bathroom, and, to Dedue’s great relief, a king-sized bed. It even comes with a rowboat.
Apparently Sylvain’s family owned the land and he’d intended to rent it out during the summer.
“I told daddy dearest that I’d offered it to Dimitri as a favour,” he said, when Dedue had asked about rent. “He got so excited at the prospect of a Blaiddyd being in our debt that I thought he might actually ascend, said he could have the place for as long as he needed - no charge. Not my fault he didn’t ask any follow-up questions.”
Indeed.
With the beginnings of a garden, the shack is very much starting to feel like home. The sun warms his back as he plots out the latest additions in the soil. The tomatoes will need to be placed in such a way that they don’t overshadow their neighbours once they’ve sprouted, and with the limited beds available it’s a bit of a jigsaw.
Still, it’s a nice problem to have. The apartments in Fhirdiad have so many rules about what could or couldn’t be grown on balconies - he hasn’t been able to have a proper garden in some time.
He’s just about to open the seed packet when a gust of wind snatches the sun hat from his head. It sails past his outstretched hand and over the stony shore, skittering across the pier and into the water before he can scramble after it.
Well. He liked that sun hat. Hopefully the fish will enjoy it as much as he had.
The distant thrum of an engine alerts him to the approaching car long before it winds its way down into the cove. He has time to plant the tomato seeds and dust himself off before an old white Volkswagen pulls up at the end of the road.
Sylvain bursts from the passenger seat as soon as the car stops moving, waving an arm over his head enthusiastically. “I brought groceries!”
Ingrid rolls her eyes from the driver’s seat. Dedue can’t hear her from this far away, but from the way Sylvain laughs it must be one of her usual acerbic responses.
Sunday lunches at the shack have quickly become a tradition. Ingrid rounds everyone up, they cook together, and then sit around - either in the kitchen or on the beach, depending on the weather - chatting about nothing in particular. And even though Dedue isn’t the type to join in, it’s still nice to have company.
Dimitri gathers the grocery bags into his arms and heads for the kitchen. “Felix won’t be joining us. He sends his apologies.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Sylvain calls from where he’s holding the front door open. “I texted to ask if he was coming and the answer was: ‘fuck you’.”
“Maybe you should have let me ask, like I suggested,” Ingrid sighs. “He’s still mad at you.”
“Well maybe he should get over himself! I only asked for Annie’s number so I could give it to him anyway.” He waves Dimitri inside. “He might come back if we bribe him. Hey, Dima, you think you could get the elusive Miss Dominic to grace us with her presence?”
Ah, so today will be another episode in the ongoing saga of Felix’s potential love-life. No wonder he stayed away. Dedue follows them inside and helps Dimitri sort the supplies. Somewhere behind him, Ingrid is making a racket going through his pans.
“What are we cooking today?” he asks.
“I thought it might be nice to try omelettes,” she says.
“Bottom right drawer. We’ll need a skillet and a frying pan.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Meanwhile, the drama continues.
“What do you mean she’s too busy?” Sylvain whines. “She’s a teacher! She doesn’t work weekends.”
“She has lessons to plan,” Dimitri says. “I wouldn’t want to interfere.”
“Surely she can take one afternoon off.”
Dedue filters out the noise, instead focussing on finding the necessary materials. A bowl for mixing, something to mix with, a chopping board, a knife. He’ll need a large bowl to hold enough mixture for the four of them. He hands the chopping board to Ingrid, who shoves it at Sylvain.
“If you must gossip, can you at least do it while you help with the prep?”
“Fine, but my point still stands. And I’m pretty sure that if it comes to it, we can bribe Annie with sweets.”
“Must it always be bribery with you?” Dimitri asks, incredulous.
Sylvain shrugs. “Hey, whatever works.”
They settle into their usual rhythm. Sylvain continues to whine about perceived wrongs while he chops vegetables, Dimitri somehow manages to mangle a capsicum beyond recognition, Ingrid fries the filling when they’re done, and Dedue manages the egg part of the equation. The end result is pleasing enough, both to taste and to look at. It will be even more satisfying in a few months when they can use home-grown tomatoes.
“In any case,” Ingrid drawls, setting her cutlery down on her freshly cleared plate, “you should apologise. If only to keep the peace.”
Sylvain rolls his eyes. “Fine. You’re such a mother.”
There’s a sharp bang as she kicks him under the table and he yelps, flinching away.
“How is your fishing coming along, Dedue?” Dimitri asks, smiling.
Finally, a conversation in which he can comfortably participate. “Well enough. The mullet are plentiful; I could eat them almost everyday if I were so inclined.”
“Wonderful. Perhaps you could spare a portion of your next catch? I would like to thank my hosts for their hospitality, and I think one of your fish would make a suitable offering.”
“Of course.”
Dimitri could have anything of his, if he asked. When he’d gone to the capital for school - an opportunity too good to pass up, even if it took him far from his family - Dimitri had been the only one to treat him as though he belonged. They’d survived that hostile environment together. It was why he hadn’t hesitated to follow his friend to the other side of the country when Dimitri had been offered the city management position.
But that’s too heavy a topic for such a light-hearted lunch, so he chooses a different one instead.
“Will you visit the clinic tomorrow?” Work: a familiar fallback.
Dimitri thinks on it a moment, then frowns at him. “You’ll not trick me so easily. No work on Sundays, not even for you.”
Ah. The golden rule. They’ve both had enough bosses over the years that demanded every waking minute of their lives and, now Dimitri is in charge, he’s in a position to change things.
“My apologies. Old habits die hard, it seems.”
“No harm done,” Dimitri says. “But to answer your question, I haven’t decided yet. We’ll need to see how the office is looking tomorrow morning.”
Sylvain slides across the table on his elbows towards Dimitri, fluttering his eyelashes. “Can I come with? Thinking about that nurse gives me a fever - I might need a checkup.”
“You’re the worst,” Ingrid sighs.
The sun is dipping towards the horizon by the time he waves them goodbye. The car disappears around the bend and he meanders back to the garden, gloves on and trowel in hand. He makes quick work of the carrots. Next comes the rosemary and sage, and once they’re planted he takes a step back to survey his work. Four neat rows each of carrots and tomatoes, and a pot that will hopefully soon be overflowing with herbs. Not bad.
He stretches, waters the plants, and is about to head back inside for the evening when something on the dock catches his eye. It’s not immediately clear what it is from so far away so he moves closer, cautiously, as though whatever it is might bite.
It’s his hat.
The hat sits on the pier, tipped upside-down, a rock placed inside to keep it from blowing away again. Dedue looks around. There’s no one here but him, no indication that anyone beside his friends have set foot in the cove all day.
Perhaps someone further out found the hat and brought it back? No, if anyone had bothered to fish it up it would have been to throw it away. A wave, then? But the waters are calm. They have been all day. And it’d take one hell of a storm to toss a rock like this up on the pier. What are the chances such a thing would also blow his hat back to shore?
Carefully, he picks up the two objects and examines them. His hat is wet but no worse for wear, and there doesn’t appear to be anything special about the rock. He looks around again. Maybe it’s a prank? But his friends arrived after he lost his hat. It doesn’t make sense.
As strange as it is, it almost feels like someone has done him a favour. He crouches to drop the rock into the water and looks out across the waves.
“Thank you for returning my hat.”
If there is something out there that retrieved it for him, it’s only right to properly thank it.
He turns to walk back inside, pinning the hat on the clothesline on the way. At least now he won’t have to buy a new one.
--
He mentions it at work the next morning, and Sylvain looks at him like he’s lost his mind.
“You’ve got to be messing with me,” the red-head says between gulps of tea. “There’s no way that happened.”
“I assure you, I have made no embellishments. I will show you the hat if you like.”
Sylvain raises an eyebrow as him. “I mean you can, but that doesn’t really prove that it was blown out to sea.”
“Well I think it’s wonderful,” Dimitri’s voice calls from somewhere behind a tower of permits. The requests for the tourist season had started coming in over the weekend, and the office was covered in them. “It reminds me of those stories Ingrid’s grandmother used to tell when we were young.”
“The ones about merfolk?” Sylvain scoffs. “Come on, you know they’re not real.”
Dedue is familiar with the concept. Humanoid creatures of the deep, a huge tail in place of their legs, teeth sharp enough to bite through an oar. The stories of his homeland usually include disappeared children and a warning not to stray too far from the watchful eyes of elders. It’s not surprising to learn that a coastal town like Rhodos might have their own myths.
Dimitri sticks his head around the paperwork. “The sea is a very large place. Can you honestly say that there is no possibility for such things to exist?”
“If some hot fish lady wants to hang out I’m down,” Sylvain says. “But I’ve never seen one, and Ingrid has never seen one, so I’m pretty sure they’re not real.”
Dedue notes that Felix’s name is absent from that list. Something to look into later, perhaps. He ignores Sylvain and turns to Dimitri. “What do the local legends say?”
Dimitri hums, taking the first sheet of paper off his pile and starting to read. “I don’t remember all of the stories, but I think you’re supposed to properly thank the merfolk if they choose to help you.”
“Yeah, they might sneak onto land in the night and eat your heart if you don’t,” Sylvain supplies.
“And how would one properly thank them?” Dedue asks.
“Grandmother Galatea said they liked things you wouldn’t find in the sea,” Dimitri says. “Fruit, household items, jewellery, that sort of thing.”
He thinks on it as he goes about his day. There is something out in the cove, and is there really any harm in leaving out some fruit overnight to see what happens? He buys a couple of apples and a container to keep them in during his lunch break.
He has a theory. If there’s nothing out there, or some sort of animal, the container will either vanish overnight or remain unopened. Anything intelligent will be able to open the container and reach the apples within. Maybe it’s not the best plan, but it’s better than nothing.
So when he arrives home that evening, the first thing he does is walk out onto the pier. He crouches at the end and peers into the water. Nothing. As calm and clear as ever.
He sets the container down and drums a simple pat-pat-pat on the lid. There’s no movement, only the rolling of the waves.
“Hello,” he calls, feeling foolish already. “Thank you again. For my hat.”
A gull cawing in the distance is his only answer.
“I’ve brought some apples as thanks. You can find them in here.” He drums on the lid again.
Still nothing. Of course there’s nothing. Merfolk aren’t real. And if they are, they certainly don’t go around showing themselves to humans.
He stands and starts walking back down the pier. This is silly.
He’s going to wake up in the morning and that container will be right where he left it, apples and all.