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Byleth sat staring at the fire dancing. Flames licked the logs hungrily, cracking and snapping as they devoured their fodder. Flames that marked her too. Flames that smouldered in her blood and sinew, and promised...something.
Hanneman was so eager to finally give a name to her mysterious crest, one she did not even know existed within her until a few brief months ago. The mercenary shifted her hands around her knees, her dark eyes fixed on the fire. She’d heard precious little about crests before coming to Garreg Mach, but the more information she learned, the more confused she grew. To hear Sylvain talk, crests were a curse that had ruined lives and left their bearers to float on the whims of others’ political aspirations. To Lorenz, they were a divine gift: a way for the goddess’ hand to shape the world through her followers’ descendants.
Byleth found herself unable to make sense of it all. Would these flames inside her illuminate the world around her, bring light to her students, shelter them from harm? Or would they consume her and those she cared about like the wood that burned before her?
The log snapped in half, releasing a storm of sparks into the night sky. They floated upward until they blended in with the stars themselves.
“Professor, it’s my turn to take watch.”
A gentle voice interrupted Byleth’s musings. She looked up to see Dimtri walking quietly to the sentry fire. For a young man of his size, he carried himself quite gracefully, belying the draconic strength he possessed. Byleth released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Rarely did The Ashen Demon feel so uneasy by the musings of her own mind. Having someone else nearby felt comforting in a primal way.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, nothing in her voice betraying the disquiet in her heart.
“Well enough,” the young prince replied noncommittally. “Second watch isn’t the most conducive to a restful night.” The edges of his lips curled ever-so-slightly into an anemic smile.
‘He’s dodging the question.’ The thought niggled in her mind the past few months, but now it had grown more insistent. Every mission, night watches were divided first by volunteers, then by victims. And each and every night, without fail, Dimitri volunteered for second watch, resigning himself to a night with only short bursts of non-restorative sleep. At first, Byleth thought little of it. Now, tonight, some instinct told her something was off, though she could not say what. All her years as a mercenary taught the Ashen Demon to listen to that disquiet.
Byleth, in an oddly informal mood this evening, decided to probe him a little, explore that instinct. “Then why do you always volunteer for it?”
Dimitri stiffened, “Well, a commander must look out for his troops. What better way to do that than to take the least restful watch?” He had never been a skilled liar, and Byleth had grown accustomed to her house leader’s tells.
Byleth raised an eyebrow incredulously, “A poorly rested commander is a slow commander. If you aren’t getting adequate sleep, you will endanger all your men the next day.”
The young man floundered for a moment, his eyes darting from the fire, to the ground, to the sky, to the professor, as if searching for something to grab onto. “Perhaps I still have much to learn. You’ve much more practical knowledge of troop management than myself after all, Professor.” The prince’s blond bangs shaded his eyes as he became suddenly engrossed with the haft of his lance.
“Dimitri, you are one of my brightest students. You and I both know that you know better than to place a tired commander at the head of the battle if it is at all possible.” Byleth turned to face him and patted the ground next to the fire. “Tell me, what’s really going on?”
Dimitri hesitated for a moment, teetering nervously from one foot to the other before acquiescing and seating himself next to the flames. For a few moments, the prince cradled the lance between his bent legs, staring at the ground. Finally, he met his teacher’s eyes sheepishly. “I’ve been having difficulty staying asleep lately.”
Byleth found herself slightly surprised by this information. The young prince was always one of her most attentive students, always presenting astute questions and engaging in fruitful discussion of the lecture. His strikes in sparing remained quick and almost shockingly strong. Nothing in his demeanor or performance suggested he had been struggling. Perhaps he was better at deceit than she had previously thought.
“I promise you, Professor, it’s not anything too dramatic. I just find my thoughts racing at night with small things. I’m sure it will pass on its own before long.” There was that wan smile again, charming in spite of its frailty.
Once again, something in Byleth’s gut knew that there was more to it than Dimitri was letting on. Nevertheless, she could tell she wasn’t going to get much further, (the prince’s pitiful attempts to sidestep the truth aside). Still, she could count a victory in his admission of trouble. As his professor, this was something she could help him with, albeit in her own clumsy way.
The mercenary reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small wooden flask. Wordlessly, she handed it to her student. The young prince reached out his hand hesitantly. He had grown somewhat accustomed to his teacher’s abrupt mannerisms, but they still had a tendency to catch him off-guard. Especially now with the two of them alone as the rest of the class slept in their tents.
He looked from the small flask to Byleth, unsure for a moment. Byleth nodded simply, a quiet encouragement that the drink was for him. With a smile, he uncapped the flask and took a hesitant swig. “Lavender tea?” Dimitri smiled warmly in surprise, treasuring this small secret, “I didn’t think you the sort to keep this in a hip flask.”
“You’d be surprised how often I find it harder to fall asleep after watch ends than to remain awake for it,” she replied with a warmth to her voice Dimitri found unusual, but not unwelcome. It felt like a secret, like the lavender tea in her flask, something warm and private she had shared just with him.
“In all honesty, I figured it would be brandy,” he smiled as he took another sip.
Byleth’s eyes brightened ever-so-slightly. “You don’t say? That’s more Dad’s speed.” A wistful warmth filled her gaze as she leaned back to look at the stars. “I never cared for the stuff much, but Dad always had some on hand for tough nights. He always gave me a big swig if I ever caught a small cold. Burned my nose so badly I forgot I ever had trouble breathing out of it.”
Dimitri couldn’t help but chuckle as he pictured The Ashen Demon as a small child, coughing and sputtering from the spirits. “Really? My father would sometimes sneak me a taste if I was well-behaved on Saint Seiros Day or my birthday. It was our little secret from my stepmother, a pact between men as he put it.”
The fire seemed to highlight the warmth on his face, and for a moment, he seemed more relaxed than Byleth had seen him in months. The prince paused a minute, the lightness of his demeanor ebbed as the silence continued. “I miss Father terribly. Some days, it feels like I’ll come back and find a letter from him saying that this was all some horrid thing I’d dreamed up, and that he was frustrated with my lack of correspondences.”
Byleth listened quietly. This was the first time she had heard him discuss his feelings regarding his deceased family in anything besides a passing comment.
“I want to be the sort of man he was: kind to his people, warm to those he loves, merciful to the innocent, and a scourge to those who threaten peace. But I can’t help but feel he just didn’t have enough time to teach me how to be all that.” His blue eyes brightened with welling tears as he continued, “I want so badly to see him again. To make him proud.”
An ache settled into Byleth’s chest, something new, foreign, fragile. She could not place the name of this feeling, but instinct moved her forward once more. She reached her hand up to Dimitri’s blond head and led it to her shoulder, a motion her father had done for her many a time before in her own moments of pain. Like Jeralt, it was rough, but tender. While the prince stiffened at first at the unexpected contact, he quickly relaxed into the crook of Byleth’s neck, letting her cloak soak up his tears as they streamed silently down his cheeks.
For a few minutes, all was quiet. Instead of a teacher and student, a prince and a mercenary, there were just two people in the embrace of quiet, shared pain beneath the endless gaze of the stars. Only the wind in the grass and the crackle of fire disturbed the quiet.
With a deep breath, Dimitri steadied his voice that threatened to crack. “Thank you, Professor,” came the muffled voice of the prince. With a sniff, Dimitri lifted his head and gave a strained but earnest smile. “It feels good to talk about him again.”
Byleth felt the corners of her lips turn imperceptibly upward, mimicking Dimitri’s own expression. “I can’t hope to know your pain, but I do know it’s nice to just have someone be there for a bit.”
The prince smiled, his eyes and cheeks flushed with recent tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened his old wounds like this. It felt...good, like fresh air entering a tomb. Maybe with his teacher, he could let these wounds breathe, and find some solace again. “Then, know this professor: as you’ve been here for me...let me know if I can ever be there for you,” Dimitri spoke with a subdued enthusiasm, slightly more normal for him.
Byleth nodded, a warmth in her gaze the prince felt honored to see. ‘Surely,’ Dimitri mused, ‘she is the bearer of the Crest of Flames. Who else could be so warm?’