Chapter Text
Before she was murdered Dimitri’s stepmother used to lament, “A good man can never be a great king.”
It was unfortunate then that he was neither.
The heat of summer crept to a sticky close and Dimitri longed to leave his sweltering office if only for a moment. Being a king was not a leisurely occupation if one was to attempt to be worthy of the responsibility.
He’d inherited his throne far too young. Took the helm of a kingdom out of the hands of a regent who cared little for the duties of the position. His advisors were quick to push him to coronation at the ripe old age of eighteen. No one could be worse than his predecessor.
In his more confident moments, Dimitri would admit he was not worse.
As a child Dimitri was an ideal prince. Handsome, well spoken, idealistic in the ways that made lords think him well intentioned and easily manipulated. None dared call him weak, his monstrous strength won him bouts against all but the most seasoned knights by the time he was fifteen.
He will be a true king of Faerghus, a warrior king like the legends of old.
He wore the praise like a prophecy.
Then came Cornelia. The attempted coup. His father and stepmother murdered along with half of the court as mages descended, causing chaos in their wake.
He fought his way out as the palace burned, and did not realize until he escaped onto the streets of Fhirdiad that he could not stop fighting- his lance swung wildly, cutting a path through all who approached him as his mind screamed at him to keep going, that this was righteous, that any who did not stand with him was responsible for the screams of his family.
The smoke consumed his lungs as his father called out for more blood, more flesh, a tribute worthy of a king.
By the time he awoke his eye was gone, and he realized something was terribly, terribly wrong.
He could barely stand, but still, he wished to keep fighting.
A knock sounded at his door, and a steward announced, “Your Majesty, Lord Arundel of the empire, is here to see you.”
“Please, let him in.”
Arundel hadn’t aged a day since Dimitri last encountered the man. His uncle was still tall and well groomed, though there was something cold and shielded about him that always set Dimitri on edge.
“Uncle, this is a welcome surprise.” It wasn’t, not really, not with the whispers of bigger things to come that were consuming the inner circle of Fhirdiad. There were no welcome surprises these days.
Yet, Arundel was the only family Dimitri had left, even if merely by marriage. He could make time for him.
Then perhaps he’d take his horse out for some exercise. And himself. Escape his stuffy office for even an hour to breathe freely. It would relax him, make him stop fantasizing of letting whatever conspirators and assassins were after him just come . Let them challenge him and meet their bloody end by his own hand. Revenge at last.
He swallowed, trying to refocus on his unexpected visitor.
Arundel gave a polite bow, “You are looking well, nephew. You look more and more like your father each day.”
“Are you here on Empire business, or just passing through?” Dimitri asked. His uncle always seemed to have his finger every pie. It wasn’t totally unusual for him to breeze in and unsettle the careful balance Dimitri managed to maintain with a rumor or a proposition.
“I would say I am here on a more personal matter. As your oldest living relative, I feel it is my duty to look after you in a paternalistic sense.” His words suggested warmth, but his gaze remained as calculated as ever.
“Uncle, I am a man fully grown, I require none of that. My advisors are quite enough.”
Arundel scoffed, “Advisors are not family. Speaking of, where is the sour one? The Fraldarius boy?”
With his beloved cursebreaker, translating one of the hundreds of documents recovered from Cornelia’s home. Documents that seemed to spell out his doom, noting the precarity of Faerghus’ position. How one dead king shook the kingdom to its core- another could wipe it from the map entirely.
As he had the thought, his eye fell to a stack of untranslated notes in Nabatean. He should have hidden them before he let his uncle in. They were Cornelia’s originals. All written in an indecipherable language to anyone without the magic of curses or cursebreaking. Aruendel was no such mage- it would be fine.
His body was still on edge, the familiar din of paranoia pulling at him. Dimitri tried to speak evenly, “He is occupied today. I do not mind the solitude.”
“I’d heard he’d left court rather abruptly last spring.” His uncle’s voice dripped with implication.
“He’s returned.” Dimitri answered.
“Yes allegedly with a cursebreaker in tow.” He said Annette’s profession as if he were calling her a criminal, “I know you hold the family in high esteem, but truly does anyone around here think that’s an appropriate match for a future Duke of Fraldarius?”
No. Not really. But Annette had proven her worth ten times over in the few months she’d been in Fhirdiad. She made Felix more bearable too.
“I did not realize you were so invested in Faerghus politics.” Dimitri said tightly, and then trying to diffuse the situation he said, “Or matchmaking.”
“I am invested in the realm. And matchmaking is exactly what I am here to discuss with you.”
Dimitri felt the beginnings of a headache, “Uncle I am quite uninterested in the endeavor.”
“Dimitri you are a king- It’s high time you start considering your legacy. You are a leader of Faerghus who is unable to join his troops on a field of war because of the risk while you have no heir.”
Dimitri could not join his troops on a field of war because there was a real chance he’d slaughter his own soldiers before the day ended. But that was a carefully guarded secret, one that an Adrestian lord need not know, even if he was family.
“There is no war Uncle.” Dimitri pointed out. Even the very word war excited his thoughts, made his fingers itch for the heavy weight of a gauntlet and the grip of a lance.
“And if there were? I only come because I met the most interesting young woman on my travels.”
Dimitri held a hand up, trying to act regal when really he was a nervous wreck, “Please, spare me. There are plenty of eligible women in Faerghus. I do not need your meddling.”
“If there were a woman in Faerghus that would satisfy you, you would have married her by now.” Dimitri had no response to that, because it was the truth. He would not tie himself to any woman, not as he was. “I only push because you are family and I do believe the two of you would get on famously. Are you acquainted with the Margrave Edmund?”
“Yes. A recently risen family in the Alliance. His prowess is spoken of well.” Von Edmund was said to be some kind of genius politically.
“The Edmunds are neighbors to Faerghus and control an important port. They would be a savvy choice- Well connected both politically and in commerce.” Dimitri waited for the point, “They have been unsuccessful in making a match for their daughter.”
“And you suggest I might be the solution to one family’s prayers?”
“All nobles pray their daughters might marry a king. No. The daughter is smart, an accomplished healer and horsewoman. She has the unfortunate condition of being cursed in her childhood.”
“I thought Alliance nobles typically broke severe curses?”
“That’s the issue- it’s a bit of a black mark on her reputation because apparently even with the vast resources of the family, she remains cursed. I am unaware of the specifics of the curse in question, only that it is more inconvenient than dangerous.” Lucky her, Dimitri thought sourly, “Even so, Alliance superstition has rendered her ineligible for any appropriate match. Her father is on the high council, he’ll settle for no one less than a duke. In fact, he lamented to me that she might only have a chance in Faerghus.”
Dimitri caught his meaning almost instantly, “A curse would not mar her reputation in Faerghus.”
“Yes you do like to wear such things as a badge of honor here. Only the girl wishes not to marry a cursed man, which renders most of your nobility ineligible.”
By those standards Dimitri himself was not suitable. Badge of honor or no, Dimitri’s curse would ruin him if discovered.
It already had.
Arundel kept speaking, “How convenient, that my dear nephew, the King of Faerghus, remains uncursed even in his majority.”
Dimitri gritted his teeth together, “Indeed.”
“She is quite shy. But she is beautiful, very wealthy, and her father insists she is up for the task. You have much in common, she enjoys the company of animals, she is appropriately religious. Her aptitude for healing is a good compliment to your rather accident prone nature. She’s a very gentle soul.”
For one small moment Dimitri tried to imagine himself as a husband, having the joy and company of a wife. What it would be like not to be alone anymore.
A perfect match, someone who might understand him as he was, and loved him for it.
His father had loved his stepmother, though their time together was so short. Could he have that sort of affection with someone? He could for one brief moment imagine holding a child and the whole idea almost seemed appealing.
A shred of hope for something joyful to come.
Then his brain curled the image into something terrible and reminded Dimitri who he was, what he was. What he did to delicate things.
As his thoughts turned bloody Dimitri turned his eye to the window, trying to find something to anchor himself onto. Reality. He was in his office. He tried to sound human as his mind screamed, “Speak to Rodrigue about the matter. I- I cannot picture myself marrying. I’ll defer to his judgement if you are so confident in the match.”
“You will need to marry, nephew. I only present an option because I am absolutely confident in its perfection. If you defer the responsibility to Duke Fraldarius, I will honor your request. Is he present?”
“Yes. Please, I have other matters to attend to.”
“May I assist you in anything else before I make my leave? You seem worried.” Their eyes met and Dimitri tried to remember the compassionate man from his youth, “What weighs on you?”
The weight of a country. A curse. A planned attack by a shadowy force he couldn’t begin to understand or identify.
He realized before he spoke that even asking was a risk, yet, his uncle was one of the most well connected men in Fodlan. Perhaps he might have an answer.
Even a breadcrumb would put everyone at ease.
“Uncle, do you know a man named Thales?”
In all of the letters and documents they’d recovered from Cornelia, one name kept popping up over and over again. She answered to Thales, whoever he was.
Arundel’s eyes widened for just a moment before he schooled his face back into impassivity, if Dimitri blinked he would have missed it.
“No. I have never heard that name before. Why do you ask?”
“It’s no matter. Only a curiosity.” His mind whispered to follow that thread, but it felt careless to press. “I will grant you leave to discuss with Duke Rodrigue. Please, I am not unhappy to see you, I only-”
“I am taking up too much of your time. Please, excuse me nephew.”
It was decided not two weeks later that Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd would marry Marianne von Edmund, and for the first time in almost a decade Faerghus would have a queen.
When Rodrigue delivered the news Dimitri faced it bravely. He was twenty five years old, and it was high time he married. Stronger ties with Leicester was a prudent political move.
It was for the good of Faerghus.
“Do you wish to arrange a meeting before the wedding? We are not so barbaric as to tie you to a woman you’ve never even seen before.”
“No. Please, excuse me. I feel the need to train.”
He did not miss the pity in Rodrigue’s gaze as he brushed past him out of the palace.
Dimitri’s private training grounds were nestled high on a mountain that could only be climbed on foot. It was a small room full of dummies, weapons, and targets with a huge wooden door that required several magical conditions to unlock.
He went alone, without even Dedue by his side, and planned to spend the night. He never knew how long an episode might last.
His father would be so disappointed in him, in his cowardice, in his lies.
Dimitri breathed as he entered the training grounds and felt himself begin to sweat in anticipation. The air was stifling by design. He pulled his tunic over his head, casting it aside. He’d only ruin it if he kept it on. He’d likely ruin it anyway.
He locked the door behind him, feeling the magic take hold. Only then could he approach the weapons rack, filled once again, and lift his lance, admiring the make.
It would be ruined by morning, he lamented. Perhaps a different weapon, one less expensive or fine.
No. This was a luxury he afforded himself so rarely.
He’d indulge himself, then maybe he could act human once again. Could remember that in all things Faerghus came first.
Dimitri laughed, staring up at a training dummy. “You are as worthy of my crown as I.” This one was straw, though there were others, stronger, harder to break.
Ones filled with paint and iron and all sorts of things to attempt to trick his curse. To satisfy his cravings.
He wondered where they were hidden, what they were made of this time? He had vague memories of metal that could move, run, fight back.
The reasonable side of him lamented how expensive it must have been for mages to build such things.
Then Dimitri hefted his lance, and his mind had no more thoughts.
The curse of violence was simple in its severity. When Dimitri fought he lost control, everything serving an endless bloodlust. He would fight until there were no more enemies.
His cursed mind couldn’t discern between an enemy and a friend.
It made him terrifying on a battlefield, but unpredictable, volatile. Dangerous.
In Faerghus, people wore their curses as proud battle scars. But not him. The curse of violence was a hidden, secret shame. What he bore was too vile even for the warriors of Faerghus.
He came to as the first morning light hit his face, sore and dazed. The lance was in splinters on the ground, and there was a gash across his hand from where he’d picked up the point and used it as a dagger.
He climbed over piles of wreckage to place the splintered weapon remains back on the table. A rush of magic, acrid and electric, came through the room and the door creaked as it unlocked.
Dimitri tried to ignore the scratches in the wood and the corresponding pain in his fingers.
As he made his way back to the palace in the morning light his head was blissfully clear and quiet for once.
It didn’t last. It never did.