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Dimitri remembered his escape from Fhirdiad in flashes.
Dedue’s broad back; the last he saw of his dear friend. The smell of smoke and heat of fire. Using the chains attaching his shackles to strangle a guard shouting for backup. Blood. Tearing down a Kingdom banner and throwing it about his shoulders like it could hide him. Darkness outside the walls of Fhirdiad, bare feet scraping on sharp stones as he ran for his life from the city, into the bordering woods.
He walked without direction, then. Knowing that capture would mean death, or worse, and that Dedue would go unavenged, Dedue-
Dimitri kept walking, even when the sun had long set and the sky grew dark.
In the distance he spotted lights, blurred by his exhausted eyes. It looked small, likely an outlying village close enough to Fhirdiad to be safe, but too far away to partake in the commerce drawn in by the capital.
He hitched up the old banner further, hiding his face and the shackles still on his wrists, and plodded onwards. He would find a hidden place to sleep on the outskirts, where Beasts were still likely to avoid the human population, and rest there. At least long enough to regain his strength a little bit.
The building on the outskirts, long and low with a stone wall on one side, was what Dimitri saw first. Exhausted, he crammed himself in the corner, between the wall and the tall stack of firewood flush to the rough brick.
To call it true sleep would perhaps be too generous, but Dimitri managed to settle into exhausted rest, regardless.
—
The first thing Dimitri noticed, blearily, was the light seeping through the treetops, heralding the morning.
The second thing was the woman looming over him and he was literally cornered, his legs stiff with exertion, he needed to move-
“And what,” the woman asked, acid lacing her voice. “Is an escaped convict doing, sleeping outside the forge of all things?”
Dimitri swiftly tugged the blue cloth over the clinking chains; not that it would do him any good, seeing as she saw them already.
“Leaving,” he said, voice more of a raspy cough than the intended assertive tone. Damned smoke inhalation.
“Whatever. You didn’t take anything, so I won’t bother turning you in to the militia.”
Dimitri grunted in acknowledgement and heaved himself up, using the wood stacks to give himself more leverage. He swayed, but considered staying upright a victory, and-
The makeshift hood slid from his head, and when Dimitri saw the woman’s eyes widen, he knew he’d been identified.
All he could think was a rather succinct and heartfelt ‘Fuck’.
“Prince Dimitri?”
“Please,” he beseeched, preparing to run, or fight, do whatever it took.
“… Come with me, get out of sight,” she commanded. Seeing him tense and get ready to flee, she continued, “No, I’m not going to turn you in, but when word gets to this shithole that you’ve escaped I can’t stop people from recognizing you.”
He followed her into the forge.
The forge was small, as expected of such an outpost. There was a pair of stools in front of a table littered with nails and an axe-head. The forge was cold, but already there were a few lumps of iron on the brick sides, close at hand to be heated and molded.
“Sit,” the blacksmith said, pointing to the chair. Gingerly, Dimitri sat.
“I’m going to get my wife, she knows healing magic. If you leave, I ain’t chasing you down to help,” she grunted.
With that, Dimitri was alone, and wondered if he should just cut his losses and run.
—
Ilah woke to her wife shaking her awake.
“Mmmmng, Tethys, it’s too early,” she groaned.
“Yeah, I know,” Tethys huffed. “But you’ll want to be awake for this. Found a princely escapee sleeping by our house.”
Ilah sat upright and let the covers pool into her lap, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “Wait, you don’t mean… I thought he was dead!”
“Yeah, the duchess. Cordelia or whatever. She really made sure to publicize news of his execution. Turns out she was wrong.”
Tethys rummaged through the chest at the foot of the bed and tossed one of Ilah’s robes at her face, and Ilah squeaked at offense when the projectile hit home.
“I parked his ass in the forge, but there’s no telling how long he’ll stay put. Flighty lookin’ kid, not that I blame him.”
Hastily Ilah donned the robe and pulled dark hair into a simple tail. “I guess if you got me up he needs healing?”
“Probably. He still had the shackles, and there were bloodstained footprints tracking the deck. It’s how I found him, actually.”
Ilah’s heart began to ache at the thought. Her wife sometimes teased her for her softheartedness, but Ilah was happy she managed to hold on to her compassion, especially in the dark times that plagued the Kingdom in the past four years.
“Alright, take me to him,” Ilah said, determination writ on her brow.
—
Ilah wouldn’t have been able to identify any of the royal family if she hadn’t been informed beforehand, not like Tethys with her time in the Fhirdiad military. To be fair, Prince Dimitri really wasn’t the expected image of royalty. He looked worn and exhausted, with a wild edge to his eyes and bloodstains still on his clothes.
Tethys was right. It’s a miracle the boy hadn’t bolted already.
Softly, Ilah clapped her hands together. “Right then, let’s get started. My name is Ilah, and I’ll be doing the healing. Tethys, be a dear and start on the chains.”
Tethys said nothing, but began to rummage through her criminally unorganized crate of miscellaneous items.
“Now,” Ilah began. “I was told you left bloody footprints- did you walk from Fhirdiad the entire time?”
Looking pained, Dimitri responded. “…Yes.”
“Let’s start there, then. Stay still, please.”
The prince said nothing as she maneuvered his left leg up and guided the white magic through his skin, sealing the wounds until they were nothing but half-healed scabs. She was no Bishop, after all, and was unable to completely scar over open wounds. He was similarly pliant for his other foot. Ilah was eternally grateful she’d focused more on eliminating infection and forcing foreign objects up out of the flesh when she was still in training, because she didn’t want to know what kind of grit would have gotten sealed inside if an untrained Monk had attempted to heal his torn feet.
Dimitri let his still-healing leg swing back down, flexing to make sure he hadn’t lost mobility.
“… Why are you helping me?” he asked.
“Well,” Ilah explained. “Not many people actually believe that you killed your uncle; it wouldn’t even make sense, since he was about to step down anyways.”
“Also-” Tethys interjected, holding a metal wire, a thin iron rod, and one of her hammers meant for more delicate work. “I hate Cornelia’s guts. Met her once on palace gate rotation, she pissed me the hell off.”
Ilah resisted the urge to giggle and brought the prince’s attention back to her. “Alright, hands on the table,” she instructed. He did so, careful to avoid stabbing himself on the nails and various scraps scattered around.
Tethys grabbed the shackle and raised an eyebrow at the chains that had been wrenched apart by sheer force, but didn’t comment on it. She looped the wire around the pinhead to loosen it, then used the heavy pair of cutters hanging from the wall to pinch off the pinhead. After tapping out the pin, she wrenched open the cuff, and Ilah winced when the scab around his wrist split and began to ooze blood. From consistently struggling to break free, most likely. She worked on his wound while her wife repeated the process on his other side, disdainfully tossing the chains into the scrap-metal bin when she was done.
Dimitri flexed his newly freed wrists, marveling at the freedom of movement and lack of pain. “Thank you. Truly.”
“Think nothing of it. However, I will ask that you stay a few days. I wasn’t able to fully heal your soles, and if you go reopening the wounds you’ll be back to square one.”
“… What are the chances a search party will be here soon?”
Ilah hummed. “Not high. We’re pretty off the map, and we don’t even have an official branch of the Home Guard.”
“Alright, then.”
—
Dimitri probably should have run right after Ilah healed him.
Oh, the pair seemed altruistic, and sincere, but so had Cornelia and Edelgard. And he was now a wanted criminal according to every official and paper-pusher in the kingdom. But reluctantly, he realized they were probably right, as much as it galled him. He wouldn’t last very long on the run if he couldn’t run, after all.
So, he let Ilah roll out a futon for him in the single bedroom in the house attached to the forge. And there wasn’t much else to put it, really; the home just was a tiny herb-laden kitchen with a two-person table in it, a bedroom, and a chamber-pot closet.
Ilah insisted he rest, but he mostly remained still and awake, listening to her bustle about through the thin wall while she organized jars of medicine and portioned out herbs. Another reminder of the ever-encroaching war that Edelgard was spreading, another place that would turn into a wasteland because of the emperor.
It was a long time before he actually slept, and even then, he was jolted awake by every scraping sound and bang.
—
It didn’t take him long to crack from the verdict of ‘stay off your feet’. When he asked if there was something he could do to repay them, or make himself useful, Ilah beamed, and told him she definitely could use some help speeding up her work.
Which was how he found himself sat on one of the chairs in the tiny kitchen with a mortar and pestle. Ilah claimed it would be good for his healing wrists, and would cut down on her prep time by half. Grinding down the various things she shoved at him was repetitive, but soothing, something that didn’t require the delicacy that he was so dreadful at.
Ilah chattered more at him rather than with him; talking about the stray cats she fed sometimes, or the taverns Tethys had been banned from in Fhirdiad (which was a truly impressive number, actually). It was… nice, in a way, but Dimitri knew it wouldn’t last. Edelgard was ensconced across the border, but she wouldn’t be for long. And he knew, soon, that Dedue’s voice would join the other dead- Glenn, Father, Patricia, and Byleth. A shame, that he wouldn’t be able to slay the Emperor five times over, once for each of their ghosts.
Dimitri was broken from his dark thoughts when the chair across from him scraped harshly while Ilah got up to deposit the full jars of whatever poultice she’d been making into the cabinets. There were still some tougher ingredients that she’d left out for him to grind, so he continued on his assigned task, pouring the end results into the other clay jars provided for this very purpose.
What surprised him when Ilah sat back down was what she brought. Simple black thread, sewing needles, and-
“Is that the banner? Why did you keep it?”
“Sure is. And you don’t just waste nice, sturdy fabric like this,” Ilah replied, tugging a portion of the banner between her hands to demonstrate. “I think it’ll make a nice travel cloak.”
“I’m sure it will serve you well this winter,” Dimitri responded.
—
Dimitri had known he shouldn’t get complacent, had known Adrestia had claws everywhere, and yet almost fell into the trap once again.
Cornelia’s men had found him less than a week after his escape.
Dimitri’s restless movement had brought him to the forge, where Tethys immediately put him to work pumping the bellows. The utter lack of deference was somewhat refreshing after his continuous insistence that even his classmates could call him by his name, and he could see why she’d been released from the military for misconduct of some kind.
The finished blue cloak, Faerghus coat of arms still embroidered on it in white thread, was carelessly tossed over the stool from where Tethys had flung it. Dimitri could understand; Tethys said she appreciated her wife’s gift, but the heat inside the forge was oppressive even without the extra layer.
There was a harsh knock, the creaking of the door opening, and Dimitri froze when he saw Faerghean armor.
The guard didn’t even have a chance to finish pointing an accusatory finger before Tethys hefted up an unattached axe head and flung it at the man, burying right between his eyes.
But he didn’t come alone. Cornelia really had sent her search parties everywhere.
Tethys swore heavily and ran to the backroom with Dimitri on her heels. She grabbed the cloak and wrapped it around the venison jerky she kept at hand, hefted an iron lance off the wall rack, and tossed the bundle towards Dimitri.
“You need to go. Now,” she commanded.
“But Ilah-“
“I’ll take care of Ilah,” Tethys grunted, hefting her hammer up.
He whirled towards the crashing sound as the Dukedom patrol smashed open the door, but a surprisingly firm hand seized the back of his shirt and flung him out the back door, out in the sun.
“Run, kid!” Tethys bellowed, followed by the crunch of armor and the flash of magic from Ilah, who must have come up behind the soldiers.
Shamefully, he ran, ghosts nipping at his heels and castigating him for his cowardice, his lack of headway in their vengeance.
Even with the clamoring voices begging to be heard, he still caught Ilah’s scream as he disappeared into the woods.
—
The first kill was a stroke of luck, in a way. Dimitri had been huddled beneath a tree, conserving energy and attempting to sleep off the effects of a perpetually empty stomach when the scout had found him.
He’d heard a rustle accompanying the creak of a bow, his eyes snapped open and his hands had moved before his thoughts did.
The scout lay dead, dressed in imperial reds with a lance through his heart.
Desperately, Dimitri clawed through the corpse’s pack, wasting no time cramming the bland army rations into his mouth. Taste didn’t register to him, but even the disgusting texture mattered little in the face of true hunger.
The pack he carried also held other things. Flint & steel, a waterskin, practicals for any scout sent out into the wilds for a few days. Dimitri divested the carcass of its pack and the leather gauntlets; not much, but better protection than nothing. He also slung the quiver of arrows behind his back and pried the dead scout’s fingers off of the bow. He wasn’t exactly an exceptional shot, but he could catch dinner that way, at least. And while he preferred to avoid being outnumbered, if lone soldiers stepped into his line of sight, who was he to let them stomp about his meagre shelters and messy camps?
He needed to survive. When Edelgard marched into Faerghus’s cold wilds, he would be waiting.