Work Text:
There was a lot Dimitri didn’t know about the upcoming coronation.
It made perfect sense, really. Dimitri had grown up in a world so different than Claude’s, with entirely different beliefs and traditions. He’d have been schooled on what his own coronation would be like since he was a child, but there were very few things in Fodlan’s traditions that had similarities here in Almyra. Claude understood it was a culture shock for his beloved – it had been the exact same for him, after all, when he was taken to Fodlan by his grandfather at sixteen. Claude, at least, had grown up learning the Fodlani tongue from his mother, but for Dimitri, the adjustment had to be twice as difficult. He was getting better at the Almyran language by leaps and bounds since he was constantly exposed to it, but there were still a few things he didn’t yet grasp. Despite his lacking fluency, however, Dimitri had insisted upon being present for the council meetings which discussed Khalid’s upcoming coronation and their wedding shortly thereafter. Claude had agreed that he should come, of course. Still, the sheer amount of questions that he faced from Dimitri after the conclusion of every meeting still brought an amused smile to the Crown Prince’s face.
“Were they really talking about dressing you up in a dead man’s clothes?” was the question of the day as they headed through one of the breezeways of the palace, away from the council chambers and back towards the more private areas that made up the royal villa where Dimitri and Claude currently lived, along with Queen Regent Tiana, Claude’s mother. In days past, this villa had been flooded with those of the royal bloodline. It was common practice for Almyran Kings to have harems with dozens of women and perhaps even a hundred children, but that was not so much the case anymore. A plague which had swept through the land before Claude’s birth had killed much of the royal family, and though Claude did have a few distant relations among the Almyran populace and nobility, his father’s siblings had all died with no surviving children. His father, too, had only loved one woman and had one son: Khalid. So while Claude had plenty of detractors and one hell of a target on the back of his head, he was the undisputed heir to the throne despite his mixed blood. He would be the one taking the Almyran crown.
This, of course, meant going through all of the pomp and circumstance that came along with the coronation. Chuckling softly, Claude gently corrected his partner. “Well, sounds kind of gross when you put it that way, but it’s more symbolic than you make it sound,” he said. “During part of the ceremony, I will put on the recreated vestments of Rustam, the first King of Almyra. I’ll sit in his ancient throne and eat a traditional meal, hand-fed to me by my consort,” he chuckled as he bumped his hip up against Dimitri’s, giving him a little playful wink. “And I’ll even wear his old crown. In doing so, I supposedly become Rustam himself, spiritually,” he said. “Think of it as sort of like a play. I’m not just going to be a King of Almyra – I’m going to be the King of Almyra,” he explained. Dimitri hummed and nodded his understanding, but there was a blush on his features. Claude idly wondered if it was too warm outside for Dimitri, but when the man spoke again, Claude realized the reason behind his blush.
“Will your consort also have to dress up in something traditional?” he asked, and Claude couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. He understood Dimitri’s concern. While plenty of Almyran Kings had had males in their harems before, never in the history of Almyra had a man been named King-Consort.
“Oh, Dima, are you worried about having to wear a dress?” Claude teased, and Dimitri scowled at him – an expression which only became more scrunched and displeased as Claude went on. “I, for one, think you would look beautiful… think about it, my love. Being all wrapped up in fabric as sheer as gossamer and as soft as gauze… feeding me figs while I kissed your fingers…”
“Claude!” Dimitri snapped, his features burning. Claude laughed again, even more brightly now that Dimitri had called him by his Fodlani name. He was the only person here in Almyra who called him that, and it was sort of special. Dimitri knew that it wasn’t his real name, but it was a name that he liked well enough. And, well… when he got teasing and impish like this, he couldn’t deny it – he was definitely Claude in moments like these.
“Fine, fine. You fret too much, Dima,” Claude said, standing on his toes to kiss Dimitri’s cheek. “Yes, there’s a traditional outfit you’re supposed to wear, but we’re already breaking tradition just by having you be my consort. I’m sure we can bend the rules a little more and get you something you’re comfortable in,” he said. Dimitri didn’t look much comforted by this, and Claude understood why. But it was confirmed when Dimitri spoke again.
“Are you certain you want it to be me?” he asked, and Claude sighed. He knew the reason behind the concern. With so many people already looking for reasons to keep Khalid off the throne, almost everything he did was already being questioned. Breaking tradition like this – having not only a man at his side, but a Fodlani man – was already causing quite a stir. “If it will make the Elders happier with your decision, I’ll wear whatever they want me to wear,” Dimitri insisted, and Claude gave him a small smile.
“Dima, it’s okay. We’re only bending rules, not breaking them. Besides, you’re my husband-” he said, but Dimitri interrupted him.
“Not yet. Not to them,” he murmured, and again Claude sighed, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Dimitri’s to hold hands. They’d been married in Fodlan months ago in a small ceremony at Garreg Mach. Byleth had presided, Felix had been Dimitri’s Best Man and Hilda had been Claude’s Maid of Honor. They’d had very few guests for the ceremony itself, but the reception had been a grand one not unlike the ball where Claude had first proposed. It had been a wonderful time, and in the eyes of the Church of Seiros, Claude and Dimitri were wed.
Here in Almyra, though, things were different. The Elders didn’t recognize their Fodlani wedding. Here, if Khalid wanted to marry a man of Fodlan, he needed to be King first so no one could question him. (They’d still question him, of course. But then they’d be questioning a King, not a foolish prince who’d fallen for a foreigner, which made all the difference in the world.) Claude knew that it was traditional for an unwed Crown Prince to have their mother, the Queen of Almyra, stand in the position of consort for the coronation. But Tiana had agreed with her son that having Dimitri there would be the best thing. Claude planned on shaking up this world, breaking down barriers and unifying two lands which had long been at war with one another. At least there was something of a standard set for it. Even though Dimitri would be the first male to hold the position of consort in the ceremony, at least he wouldn’t be the first citizen of Fodlan. That would have been Tiana, who, despite her fearsome reputation, was doing all she could to comfort and support Dimitri and Claude in her own way.
“We will be,” Claude assured Dimitri softly. “Soon. I promise. We just have to get through the coronation first,” he said. Dimitri nodded and, for now, let the topic drop. Inwardly, Claude was relieved. After all… there were still some things about the ceremony he hadn’t yet told Dimitri about. He had promised as part of their vows in Fodlan that he’d never keep secrets from his husband, but this… wasn’t exactly like keeping a secret. It was more of just… waiting for the right time to bring it up.
“Tell me about Rustam,” Dimitri requested next, and Claude smiled.
“Certainly. Which of the Seven Labors would you like to hear about, first?”
----
“Paga-sar-dee,” Dimitri murmured to himself one night, lying in their bed as he awaited Khalid to join him. He was trying to remember to think of his husband as ‘Khalid’, now, a much easier thing than it had been in Fodlan because, here, it was what everyone called him. It wasn’t as easy as someone might expect, though. After all, Dimitri could see the difference in his husband’s eyes. When he was Claude; when he was Khalid. And the face that he so often wore in court was Claude, despite it not being the name everyone called him.
It was Khalid right now, though, that peeked up from where he was washing his face at the vanity, chuckling softly. “Pasargadae, Dima,” he corrected, and Dimitri hummed.
“Pass-ahr-ga-dye,” he attempted again, and this time, Khalid nodded.
“Pasargadae,” he parroted back, coming over to the bed and slipping under the thin sheets to lie alongside Dimitri. “You’re practicing,” he noted, and Dimitri nodded.
“It’s an important word,” Dimitri said. “The name of the Temple-Palace where you are going to be crowned.” It was complicated, learning everything he needed to about Khalid’s coronation. Coming to Almyra had been a bit like being tossed into an ocean without really being told how to swim. Dimitri had known it was going to be a difficult thing, moving to this country where so many despised and distrusted him with only Khalid to guide him. But Dimitri was doing his best. Learning the language, learning the culture, learning the customs. Eventually, he hoped, the people here would come to accept him at Khalid’s side. First, though, they had to make sure that Khalid was accepted, and that all started with the coronation. “Pasargadae,” he muttered yet again, and beside him, Khalid chuckled and reached up to smooth the crinkle in his brow.
“You’re doing well,” he promised. “So very well, my beloved. You’re a quick learner,” he praised, and Dimitri gave a small smile. He’d known he had a knack for languages for a while, or at least suspected. Dedue had taught him how to speak Duscur’s language a long time ago, but Dimitri had worried that growing older had dulled his mind from the tack it had once been back when he was an adolescent. He had worried that spending five years of his life living as nothing more than a beast in a human’s body would have caused some sort of damage to his mind (well, aside from all the other damage it had caused to his mind, which was its own beast, entirely…) but, it seemed, his worries about his memorization skills had been unfounded. He was picking up Almyran quickly. Turning his head, he pressed a small kiss to Khalid’s lips.
“It is only because I have such an excellent and patient teacher,” he spoke to his husband in Almyran, and Khalid’s brows lifted as he grinned.
“I did not teach you how to say that. You’ve been learning behind my back?” he returned, and Dimitri chuckled.
“I may have asked your mother to teach me a few phrases,” he admitted, which made Khalid chuckle.
“What a brave man you are,” he said, switching back to the language of Fodlan. Dimitri felt himself glow with a bit of pride. He enjoyed being able to share a conversation with Khalid in his native language. It made all the hard work he put into it worth it, and while Dimitri was sure he would never have full mastery over reading and writing in Almyran with its strange script that his one eye and clumsy hand found hard to follow, he was determined to become fluent in the speech, at least. Even if that meant going to the so-called ‘Demon Queen’ for lessons every once in a while so he could surprise Khalid with something new.
“She is kind to me,” Dimitri said with a shrug. “With the exception of all the threats she’s made against me if I should dare to break your heart.”
Khalid laughed again. “Yeah, that sounds like her,” he agreed, cuddling up firmly against Dimitri’s side. Dimitri adjusted his arm so that he could wrap it around his husband, linking their fingers together and smiling as he felt Khalid’s ring brush against his own. They didn’t match, exactly – both of them wore gold bands, but Khalid’s was set with a sapphire while Dimitri’s was set with an emerald. Each matched the other’s eyes. Playing softly with his husband’s fingers, Dimitri spoke up again.
“Tell me about… Pasargadae,” he requested, taking an extra moment to fit his mouth around the strange word. “Your Elders have so many different names for it. I can’t keep up with them all,” he confessed, and Khalid nodded.
“You’re right about that. The Temple-Palace, the Forever Home of the First King, the King’s Tomb, the Great Throne, the Home of the First Flame… yeah, there’s a lot of names for it. But Pasargadae, the Temple-Palace is the most common one. That’s what it would have been called in Rustam’s time,” he explained. “It was Almyra’s first Royal Palace, before the capital was moved here due to the shift in water levels. Pasargadae used to be known for grand gardens and beautiful fountains, but those have all dried up, now. Still, the red marble’s stood up well to the erosion of the desert. Especially the interior of the place, which is still maintained by the priests that live there, tending the Sacred Fire,” he said.
Dimitri nodded. He had learned about Almyra’s religion a great deal since moving here. It was very different than what they had in Fodlan. For one, they didn’t worship only one deity, but rather an entire pantheon which Dimitri was sure he’d never learn all the names of. But the deities themselves weren’t even the core of the religion, which was a bit baffling to someone who’d grown up worshipping Sothis as the only Goddess. The religion of Almyra, commonly referred to as Rustam’s religion, circled around rites of purity and truth, mainly involving rituals of fire and water. But, besides having completely different beliefs and practices, religion was so different here in Almyra than it was in Fodlan. For one, not everyone was required to follow the beliefs and practices, unlike in Fodlan where the Church had presided over everything, even the names of the months. Here in Almyra, religion was not as present, typically only followed devoutly by priests that often lived separate from society at large. There were no large churches or grand cathedrals, even here in the capital. If someone wanted to worship, it was generally done within the privacy of their own home. It was a private thing in Almyra, and Dimitri found that he liked that concept. Somehow it made the beliefs seem that much more personal.
Khalid, unsurprisingly, wasn’t exactly devout. Growing up as the child of two worlds, he’d had a lot impressed upon him at a young age and had been taught to question everything by both of his parents. As King, he’d have to make a show of respect and devoutness to keep the esteem of the clergy, but it wasn’t as essential here. In fact, the coronation itself was the most religious thing he would ever see Khalid partake in, Dimitri was sure of that. There was an inherent sacredness that seemed to come with stepping into the role of being King here, donning the mantle of the man who had unified Almyra and championed the faith. But it was all for show, Dimitri knew. Things just had to be done a certain way to make everything official.
…even if Khalid seemed intent of subverting tradition at every turn he could get away with. Dimitri was still nervous about playing the role of the consort in the ceremony. But a meeting earlier today had seemed to cause even more stir among the clergy with an announcement Khalid had made to them. Reaching up to brush his fingers through his husband’s hair, Dimitri hummed.
“What was it that you said earlier that made the Elders so upset?” Dimitri asked. “Something about a song?” he questioned, and he felt Khalid’s chuckle bubble out of him.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “As part of stepping into the role of Rustam, I must sing one of seventeen sacred songs,” Khalid explained. “By my choosing, of course, but… no King has ever chosen a song besides Song Six or Song Eight,” he said. Dimitri hummed.
“What are those about?” he questioned. Khalid shrugged.
“Both are just a bunch of pretty prose, as far as I’m concerned. Song Six is about devotion to duty… it’s sort of similar to the vows you would take in Fodlan before becoming king. The vows to protect people and land, uphold the faith… all that sort of stuff, though with a heavier emphasis on truth than I’m comfortable with…” he chuckled. “Eight’s more of a coming-of-age thing, not as popular for coronations, but it has been used before. The song of realization… it’s sort of about declaring yourself before the faith and promising to do your best. Similar sort of flavor to Six, but with a more religious bend in it.”
Dimitri hummed. Both songs sounded incredibly appropriate for a ceremony like a coronation. He understood why those two would be traditional. Still, though… from the look Dimitri’d seen on the Elder’s faces earlier that day, he could guess that neither were what Khalid had chosen. Looking to his husband, he quirked his brow. “…and you chose…?”
Khalid gave a wry grin. “Song Eleven,” he confessed. “The one about suffering.”
That made Dimitri quirk his brow. “Suffering?” he echoed, and Khalid nodded.
“You know I’m not very religious,” he said. “And that I don’t sing for anybody but you. But if I have to sing and dance for the priests, then I’m going to sing the part of their pretty book that speaks to me,” he said, determined. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, calling the scripture to mind. “To what land shall I turn, and whither turning shall I go? For my kinsman and my peers have deserted me. Not the people, nor their wicked rulers, favor me. How then can I serve you, oh Truth?” he recited. He peeked up at Dimitri. “…that’s the first line, or at least a rough translation of it into Fodlani,” he said. “And the entire thing is a lamentation. A song about rising above the hatred and wickedness of the people around you to become something great,” he said. Khalid grinned again. “The priests hate that they can’t stop me from using it,” he chuckled, and Dimtri gave his husband a sad smile. He understood. He understood exactly what this was about. Khalid had borne so much abuse for his mixed blood, but he had risen above it and become something so much more beautiful than what his people expected him to be. It sounded like… that was the meaning of the song he’d chosen, too. Khalid was not shy about who he was, not in the slightest. And seemed like he was going to use whatever means he could to throw back the undeserved hatred of those who despised him. The Almyrans probably didn’t like the reminder that the boy they’d once been so cruel to was going to become their King. Khalid, though, wasn’t going to let them forget just how much he had overcome to get to where he was today.
“It’s perfect,” Dimitri murmured, and Khalid smiled brightly.
“I think so, too,” he said, snuggling up once again. “It’s a good song. The perfect song.” Khalid yawned softly, and Dimitri brushed his fingers over his husband’s cheek to try and soothe him closer to sleep. It had been a long day of agitating the Elders for the both of them. Khalid didn’t get enough rest as it was, so Dimitri was glad to have him here beside him, tonight.
“You should get some sleep, Khalid,” he murmured, and his husband smiled and tucked his face into Dimitri’s neck.
“You want the lullaby?” Khalid asked, and Dimitri nodded.
“Always,” he said, settling into their shared bed and closing his eye. He felt a warm smile rise on his lips as Khalid’s soft voice graced his ears. He slipped off to sleep dreaming about ancient kings and red stone castles, knowing that, in just a few days more, he’d be seeing them for himself.
----
Claude knew that Dimitri was going to find out eventually. He had told his husband nearly everything about the coronation ceremony, even the parts that he knew would have Dimitri blushing, like the fact that Claude would be singing and dancing under the moonlight, entirely nude and soaked to the bone from a purification bath. Shortly after that, he’d be dressed up by Dimitri in the traditional clothing and take his place on the throne while Dimitri fed him figs and cheese and wine mixed with honey. That’s what most of their conversations had been about so far, from serious to silly. Claude had gotten plenty of joy from teasing Dimitri about feeding him in front of everyone, playing up the intimacy of such an act that Claude knew would make someone from Fodlan blush. But they’d also been rehearsing quite a lot. The outfit that Dimitri would have to put Claude in was not a simple one, there was lots of wrapping and folding and tying that would have to be done and in the days leading up to the event Dimitri and Claude had practiced for hours on end, just Dimitri dressing and undressing him in the complicated outfit over and over again.
The first few times, doing so had made Dimitri blush and caused his fingers to fumble here and there as he worked so closely with Claude’s bare body. But by the fiftieth time, Dimitri was doing it like a professional, quickly and efficiently. So long as nerves didn’t get the better of him during the ritual itself, Claude was confident that Dimitri would play his role just fine.
But therein lay the major hurdle. Because Claude wasn’t sure that Dimitri wouldn’t get nervous. And the reason for that boiled down to the one aspect of the ceremony that Claude hadn’t told him about.
It wasn’t like there was anything particularly wrong with it. Dancing naked in the moonlight was certainly much more scandalous than anything else in the ceremony. Being dressed and fed by his consort in front of a crowd would be awkward for Dimitri, likely, but Claude wasn’t particularly modest and they’d get through it together. But the part Claude hadn’t mentioned, the part that he knew would upset Dimitri the most, had nothing to do with the cultural differences between Almyra and Fodlan and everything to do with Dimitri’s own limits. Claude had been putting it off, waiting for the right time to tell Dimitri what was going to happen and assure him that everything would be fine, but the moment he heard Dimitri come thundering down the hall towards Claude’s study and all but bust through the door, Claude knew he had waited too long. Bracing himself, Claude took a deep breath and turned to face his husband. “What’s wrong?” he asked, though he already knew exactly what it was from the distress featured on Dimitri’s face.
“You didn’t tell me that they were going to light you on fire,” Dimitri whispered in horror, his blue eye wide with fear. Khalid let out a deep breath, his features softening as he beckoned his beloved closer. Dimitri wasted no time in taking the invitation, scooping up Khalid in his arms immediately and holding him close to his chest.
“Dimitri, that’s not exactly what’s going to happen-” he tried to explain, but Dimitri was shaking his head vehemently, tucking his face down against Khalid’s hair and clutching him tight.
“I can’t watch something like that. You know I can’t. You know I can’t,” he whispered, and Khalid wrapped his arms around Dimitri’s shaking shoulders.
“My love, I promise, you’re making it a bigger deal inside your head than it really will be,” Khalid said. “I know why, I understand exactly why you’re so upset. But it won’t be like that,” he said. Idly, he wondered exactly how Dimitri had found out about this on his own. Someone must have mentioned it to him unknowingly and Khalid wondered who, but that was a question to be answered later. Right now, he needed to reassure Dimitri. “I’ll bathe in the sacred water, and then I’ll sing the song,” he said. “After that, two priests take vases full of the sacred water and dump it over me so I’m entirely wet. Then two other priests will approach me with torches that are lit from the sacred fire in the temple. They’ll pass the torches over and around my skin to dry me off. Then I come to you, and you dress me,” he said. “I’m not going to be burned. And as much as the priests insist otherwise, the sacred fire isn’t magical. It’s not going to sear my skin,” he murmured. He placed his hand on Dimitri’s arm, where one of Dimitri’s own burn scars was visible thanks to his sleeveless top. “They’re not going to hurt me like you’ve been hurt,” he promised.
Dimitri, though, didn’t seem quite convinced. He was still shaking, still clinging to Khalid so tightly. All Khalid could do was sigh when Dimitri suddenly sat down on the ground to hold him, wrapping all of his limbs around Khalid like some sort of oversized, cuddly octopus. Khalid embraced him in return, staying in his arms and petting his golden hair and reassuring him softly until Dimitri found his voice again.
“I… am afraid,” Dimitri whispered, sounding as small and frightened as he had in the days after Khalid had first rescued him from the depths of Shambhala and hearing that voice again made Khalid’s heart ache. “Claude- Khalid-” he stumbled, torn between his husband’s two names. “I-I lost so much to flames. My father, my friends… even pieces of myself, I… I don’t want them near you. I don’t want the flames anywhere near you,” he pleaded, and Khalid sighed, tilting his head up to press small kisses to Dimitri’s jaw as he stroked his cheek softly. Dimitri still had feeling in some places, and Khalid had started to learn where. His left cheek was one of those places. So Khalid drew little circles with his fingers just under his partner’s eye, hoping the touch would reassure him.
“It’s not going to be like that,” he murmured. “I promise you, it won’t be anything like that…” he said, but Dimitri shook his head.
“Then why didn’t you tell me about this part?” he asked. “Nader was talking to me about my role in the ceremony and asked if I was comfortable dressing you yet and I mentioned that I hadn’t done it with you soaking wet but then he told me that you’d be dry because of the fire…” Dimitri said, starting to pick up speed in both his words and his breathing. Nader… that made sense, Khalid thought. The man was sort of Khalid’s replacement father and saw no issue with speaking to Dimitri in a familiar fashion. He was one of very few Almyrans who would even bother talking to Dimitri at this early stage. Of course he would have found out something like this from Nader’s teasing.
Reaching up, Khalid gently put his fingers over Dimitri’s lips, hushing him. “Dimitri,” he murmured. “I was going to tell you, I promise. I just… was trying to figure out how to do so without scaring you,” he said. “I knew that this was going to affect you deeply, I was just…”
“…strategizing,” Dimitri finished the sentence for him, and Khalid gave an empty laugh at the word. Yes, that had been exactly what he was doing. Thinking and thinking and overthinking all the possible outcomes that his selection of words might offer. Khalid knew that he was smart. But sometimes he got so tangled up in the web of his own thoughts that even he couldn’t act decisively. He was good enough in battle and politics. But when it came to matters of the heart…
Khalid let out a deep breath. He was still trapped in the cage of Dimitri’s embrace and it seemed his husband wasn’t keen on letting him go anytime soon. All he could do was continue to reassure him as best he could. “Dimitri… it’s going to be fine,” he said. “I won’t burn. I promise you, I won’t burn. If you don’t trust me, do you at least trust my Crest?” he asked. Those words, at least, seemed to have some effect on Dimitri. The Crest of Riegan would heal Khalid from any harm he endured. It had protected him all his life, put in so much work that Khalid didn’t even have scars, though he’d been in plenty of situations that would have left them on an ordinary man. He pressed a kiss to Dimitri’s face. “If the torches touch me, then I’ll heal. But the priests know what they’re doing. They wouldn’t-”
“They might,” was Dimitri’s unexpected response, and that had Khalid silencing immediately. Oh.
Dimitri was right. They might.
It honestly floored Claude that he hadn’t considered such a possibility when Dimitri had. But that… made sense, didn’t it? Claude had been functioning under the impression that no one would mess with a ceremony as sacred as the coronation rites to try and use them as an opportunity to bring him harm. Certainly not the priests. He’d done his due diligence in sourcing the food and wine that Dimitri would be serving him, already too well acquainted with poison for his liking. But Claude hadn’t even considered the priests as a threat. Why should he have? Khalid was one of the last remaining inheritors of the blood of Rustam and the priests had their heads stuck so far up their asses that he had assumed they wouldn’t see him as anything more than that.
What a stupid, stupid thought. A priest was just a man, as corruptible by hatred as any other man. Suddenly, worries that hadn’t been present in Claude’s mind came rushing forward. Someone could attempt to drown him in the bath, or even taint the water with a contact poison to kill him. Someone could shoot him while he was dancing, bare and vulnerable. And the torches… they could be lit with magical fire. Magic which would do far more harm to Claude than a simple burn from an ordinary flame.
“Claude?” Dimitri questioned softly, pulling the prince from his downward spiral of thoughts. The soft side that was Khalid must have disappeared from his features for Dimitri to refer to him with that name. Claude took a deep breath and tried to summon Khalid back, but he wasn’t particularly successful. Dimitri saw the attempt and just pulled Claude closer. Had Dimitri been thinking of all these things the whole time? If he had, then Claude had to give him more credit. So often it slipped his mind that Dimitri had been born and bred for court life. When Dimitri was with Claude, he was so soft and honest and sincere that it was hard to see him as anything but. But Dimitri, too, knew to peek into the shadows, even if he didn’t do it as habitually as Claude did. He had this time, however. And in doing so, he had covered a major blind spot in Claude’s own approach towards this ceremony. Especially since he had been riling up the clergy at every turn…
“Claude?”
“I’m here,” Claude said softly, looking up at his husband. “I’m… I’m thinking.” Dimitri hummed in response to those words, tucking his head against Claude’s shoulder once again. After taking a deep breath, Claude continued. “Dimitri… you’re going to have to be there,” he said softly. “I need you to be there, I need you to watch.” He felt Dimitri tense up and he knew that his husband was afraid for him. Claude shook his head and pressed a kiss to Dimitri’s forehead since it was the only thing in reach with Dimitri’s face hidden as it was. “You’re my protector,” he insisted. “I need you there. If something goes wrong, if someone tries to hurt me… I’ll need you,” he said, and Dimitri let out a deep breath. It took a moment, but Dimitri steeled himself, lifted his head, and nodded.
“If anyone tries to harm you… I’ll kill them,” he said, and the look in Dimitri’s eye made Claude’s heart skip a beat. It wasn’t often that he saw the savage beast that lived deep inside of his husband. But he was there in the room with them, right now, and he stole Claude’s breath as surely as the chill of winter. He felt himself shudder and Dimitri lowered his head back to Claude’s shoulder, holding him and letting out a deep, possessive growl. Claude exhaled.
“I know you will,” he sighed. “I know, Dimitri. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
----
Dimitri prepared for the coronation ceremony like he was preparing for battle. Maybe he wasn’t putting on armor or sharpening weapons, but the headspace he entered as his husband helped him dress for the elaborate ritual was the same. He could feel himself slipping into it, the single-minded focus with only one thought inside his head. Not too long ago, that thought had been a terrifying one. Kill them, kill them, kill every last one of them, he had once whispered to himself. But that wasn’t the mantra that ran through his head now.
Protect him. Protect him. Protect him.
“Dimitri, please come back,” he heard Khalid whisper into his ear, and Dimitri shook himself with a tiny growl, blinking out of the battle-trance. It was a testament to how much power his husband’s voice had over him, that it could beckon him back with just a whispered ‘please’. But Claude’s voice had always been special. He looked down at saw worried green eyes peering back up at him. Khalid’s hands came to rest on either side of his face, holding his gaze. “I need you here with me, Dima. Stay with me,” he petitioned, and Dimitri took a deep, steadying breath.
He knew he had been scaring Khalid over the past few hours. They’d flown to Pasargadae yesterday, along with the rest of Khalid’s new court and anyone else that was of high enough rank to attend the coronation. There had been a small feast last night, and today had been filled with festivities and celebration, all gearing up for the main event tonight. But Dimitri hadn’t enjoyed even a second of it. Khalid had compared him to a lion with his hackles up, and more than once Dimitri had heard the words ‘vicious Fodlani savage’ murmured in his direction. Dimitri knew he wasn’t doing any wonders for his personal image here in Almyra but he was far from caring about that. Surrounded by these Elders and nobles who all cloaked their hatred for his partner behind smiles and lies, Dimitri had to stay on guard. Any one of these people could pose a threat at any moment, and he needed to be ready to stop them. He knew he couldn’t lash out in blind fury, doing so would only reflect poorly on Khalid. But restraint was still difficult for him and in a tense situation like the one they found themselves in this evening, surrounded by strangers, it was hard for Dimitri to maintain any sort of outward calm that might endear him to Khalid’s court.
“Dimitri…” Khalid’s hands stroked gently against his temples, rubbing his clenched jaw and shushing him. “Please, I need you here,” he pleaded once again, and Dimitri had to close his eye and take a few more deep breaths. He was slipping. He could feel it, Khalid could see it. Khalid’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and rubbed at his back until the tension slowly fell out of him, and Dimitri finally settled his hands on Khalid’s bare sides. They both wore green for tonight’s ceremony. Khalid was only wearing trousers for now, since changing clothes was part of the ceremony he’d have to partake in. Meanwhile, Dimitri was wrapped in bolts of emerald and peridot and gold cloth, forming a long tunic that fell to the floor and swished as he walked. Dimitri trusted that the ties Khalid had put into the fabric would hold it secure on his body, but still, the outfit was a lot more… liberating than what Dimitri was used to.
Almost as if Khalid could read his mind and sensed that his thoughts were wandering to safer places, he pulled back, offering Dimitri a small smile. “Are you with me?” he asked gently, and Dimitri nodded.
“I am here,” he affirmed. Khalid breathed in what seemed like relief, tilting forward to press his forehead against Dimitri’s chest. Dimitri ran his fingers through Khalid’s short hair, playing with the loose curls, and slowly he felt a smile returning to his own face. This was a moment of peace he could indulge in. They were the only two in this private chamber within the temple. Soon they’d be stepping out of here and to the bath chambers, but right now, they were in the calm before the storm.
They’d taken every precaution and made every exception they could in the name of Khalid’s safety. It wasn’t traditional for the chosen consort to be the one to bathe the Crown Prince but like hell was Dimitri going to let Khalid wander off to some secluded chamber with priests they couldn’t trust for a bath. He had terrible images in his mind at the very thought, strangers holding his beloved’s head under the water to drown him, overpowering him to abduct him and take him somewhere where he’d only be harmed… the thoughts alone had Dimitri’s heart racing and he clutched Khalid tighter.
“I’m here,” Khalid said softly as the arms around him tightened. “I’m right here, too, Dima.”
Dimitri nodded once. Khalid was here, safe in his arms. He’d keep him safe, not let him out of his sight tonight. Today was, after all, Khalid’s last day as a prince. After tonight, he’d be a King, and while Dimitri didn’t think it would stop the attempts on his beloved’s life, maybe there would be a few men with some amount of honor who wouldn’t attack a King. That was Dimitri’s hope, anyway.
Eventually, Khalid pulled out of his arms, giving Dimitri a once-over before nodding. “You’re all dressed,” he said, reaching out to adjust the golden bangles on Dimitri’s wrists just to have something to do with his hands. Khalid wore matching jewelry; the bangles on his wrists and ankles as well as a golden choker around his throat, though Khalid’s ensemble included an earring and Dimitri’s did not. Dimitri hadn’t yet stomached the idea of getting a piercing himself. Of course, each of them also wore a piece of jewelry that wasn’t traditional for the ceremony – their wedding rings from Fodlan. Dimitri joined his left hand with Khalid’s to look at the rings brushed up against one another, and Khalid smiled gently. “Are you ready?” he asked. “They’re waiting for us.” With a squeeze of Khalid’s fingers, Dimitri nodded. He was ready.
“Are you?” he asked gently, and Khalid nodded.
“As I’ll ever be,” he said. “Come, now. I’ve kept them waiting for long enough. It’s time.” Khalid turned away from Dimitri then, letting go of him and moving to the door. Dimitri stayed a half-step behind him, as they had practiced. Khalid only took one more moment to himself in front of the door, breathing deeply. Dimitri reached out and put his hand gently between his husband’s shoulder blades and Khalid gave him a smile in response. “…I’m ready,” he insisted once again. Dimitri’s hand dropped back to his side as Khalid opened the door and they stepped into the temple. The priests and a few venerated Elders were waiting for them in the hallway. Ordinarily, this would be when the consort excused themselves and went to sit in the main hall with the rest of the court and those awaiting the new King. The ritual washing was meant to be done in private, with the priests presiding. Neither Khalid nor Dimitri had buckled at their insistence that they should separate, though. Dimitri was staying at Khalid’s side through the whole thing.
The priests and Elders weren’t exactly happy about it, but there was nothing in their traditions that forbade Dimitri from coming along and Khalid’s silver tongue had eventually needled them into capitulating to that wish. The priests would still come, and the Elders would still supervise. But no one would touch Khalid except for Dimitri. The priests still seemed to be upset about this, but there was nothing they could do about it at this late stage. They were just very quiet as they bowed to Khalid and began to lead them all down the hallways to the bathhouse. It wasn’t long at all before they had arrived, and the priests motioned for Khalid and Dimitri to go ahead. Dimitri knelt at the water’s edge while Khalid stepped out of his trousers and slipped into the water. The gold jewelry he wore was pure and didn’t have to be removed, but Khalid himself needed to be made pure, too. That was the point of all of this. To purify their sovereign so that he could step into the shoes of Rustam, don his mantle and lead Almyra forward. Dimitri watched Khalid dunk himself under the water and then surface again, droplets of water falling from his hair. Any other time and Dimitri might have found the sight attractive. Right now, though, he was almost certainly too on edge to think about just how beautiful his husband looked.
Khalid returned to Dimitri’s side, sitting at the edge of the pool with his back to his husband, and Dimitri picked up the bar of soap waiting nearby. He dragged it over Khalid’s dark skin and started to scrub him clean, only to stop immediately when he saw a faint golden glow among the suds. Khalid’s Crest? He froze, his eye wide.
“It’s okay,” Khalid whispered to him, looking over his shoulder. “Just lye soap. Not the best for my skin, but it’s not going to hurt me. Just make me turn a bit pink,” he assured, and Dimitri let out a breath. Thank the Goddess. If the soap had been poisoned, the unknown assassin would have gotten Khalid and Dimitri both in one fell swoop. Worries assuaged, Dimitri continued the task of scrubbing down every inch of Khalid’s body, staying focused and dutiful. When he’d at last gotten everything, he sat the soap aside and nodded. Khalid slipped back into the water to rinse himself off while the priests filled two urns with water from the pool to carry back to the main chamber. Dimitri rose to his feet as Khalid stepped out of the bath, pushing dark hair from his eyes and stepping over his trousers to follow the priests. It still baffled Dimitri to some extent, how the Almyrans were so uncaring about nudity. But Khalid didn’t seem to be bothered a bit by the fact that he was bare as they all headed towards the throne room.
“Are you prepared, Prince?” one of the priests finally spoke up in Almyran as they neared the doors that would take them to the throne. It was the first thing they’d said all night, but Khalid didn’t make any smart comment about that which was enough to tell Dimitri that he was taking this entirely seriously. Instead, Khalid just nodded to the man and motioned for the doors to be opened. They stepped inside.
The room was unlike any throne room that Dimitri had ever seen. The floors were polished and pristine and the walls were supported by grand columns but there was no ceiling, only an open space that led up to the night sky above. The moon was full in the sky and surrounded by stars, both of which provided the majority of the illumination in the room; the other source of light was the Great Fire in its brazier behind the throne. Around the edges of the room stood their audience, all of whom quieted immediately as the doors came open. Dimitri took a deep breath and Khalid offered him a reassuring smile as he stepped away, following the priests to the center of the grand hall while Dimitri approached the dais that led up to the throne. Several golden bowls sat around him, each filled with things that he’d feed Khalid when that part of the ceremony came. They’d been supervised by Tiana and Nader up until this point, ensuring that no one could sneak poison into Khalid’s food. Sitting on the throne itself were the vestments that Khalid would wear after he’d passed through the final step of purification. Dimitri sat beside the throne and bowed his head, though he peeked up through his eyelashes to watch the rest of the proceedings. Just because they were in public now didn’t mean they could let their guard down, and Dimitri remained vigilant.
Khalid was picking up a tambourine. Dimitri had seen him do this many times over the past couple weeks, rehearsing the song he had to perform before the court as he stepped into the role of his ancestor. Not everyone gathered there was familiar with the Prince’s selection, however, and this was made clear by the way a small murmur went through the crowd as Khalid began to sing.
“He’s not using the traditional text,” Dimitri heard someone whisper, and he felt his hackles go up. They had both been worried about this. If at any point the coronation was going to turn into a riot, it would be now. He could see how Khalid’s sharp eyes were scanning the room for any threat even as his posture remained loose and his body stayed limber for the dance.
“When evil marks me as the object of its assault, who shall be the protector of one like me?” Khalid sang in Almyran and Dimitri lifted his head to watch and listen. “Who, but thy Sacred Fire and thy Thought? Verily through their powerful force shall Truth and Righteousness come into their own!”
“He has a nice voice,” Dimitri heard someone else murmur, and he felt himself breathing again. The whispers were dying down and people seemed to be listening now, and that was the best thing that Khalid and Dimitri could have hoped for.
Khalid reached the final verses of the song, and Dimitri slowly felt himself relaxing. Soon, Khalid would be back in his reach. Soon, soon, soon.
With a few final rattles of the tambourine and one last drum of his fingers, the song ended and Khalid froze, holding his final pose in the dance for a few moments more. Then, the people began to clap their hands and stomp their feet in appreciation and Khalid could breathe again. He sat down his instrument and turned towards the throne and Dimitri, smiling.
Dimitri wasn’t smiling. He knew what was coming next.
Dimitri held his breath as he saw two priests coming forward with the urns of water and two more stepping towards the throne with unlit torches. They were caught alight in the flame sitting just a few meters behind Dimitri and the man could only watch as the priests took the fire over to his beloved. One bucket of water was dumped over Khalid’s head, then the second. And then, the torches. Dimitri couldn’t help how he got to his feet when the fire neared Khalid’s skin, but any murmurs about his action were lost to Dimitri’s ears. He was focused on where Khalid’s green eyes were staring up at him, mouthing around the words ‘it’s okay’ for only Dimitri to see and understand.
It still felt like a small eternity passed before the priests pulled the torches back and Khalid was allowed to step away, finally approaching the throne. Dimitri wanted to run to him, wanted to embrace him. They’d done it. They’d gotten through the hard part. It would be smooth sailing from here, and Dimitri was relieved.
He only just managed to restrain himself, instead dipping his head in a deep bow as Khalid neared him.
“Dress me, my beloved,” he murmured, and Dimitri nodded.
“Of course, Rustam, my King,” he responded as he’d been taught. Like learning the lines of a play, there were only specific phrases that Dimitri could say to Khalid because, right now, Dimitri wasn’t looking at Khalid. Spiritually in the eyes of the people, Khalid was Rustam, his ancestor, the first King of Almyra. And so it was with as much reverence as Dimitri could muster that he picked up the layers of cloth sat atop the throne to wrap them around his partner. He had done this probably a hundred times by now and Dimitri was proud of himself when Khalid only had to tell him to tighten one knot. Nervous as he was, Dimitri was being gentle on purpose. Last thing he wanted to do was rip the outfit apart because he couldn’t control his strength.
But, he managed. And soon enough he was sitting back down beside the throne as the priests came forward to add the final touch to Khalid’s outfit – the ancient royal crown. Four of them together placed it onto Khalid’s bowed head, and when he rose, he was beaming.
“Behold, people of Almyra!” Khalid announced when he stood, holding his hands out to the sides to present himself to them. “I am your King!”
It was done.
A great cheer rose around the room, people were stomping and clapping and music began to play. Khalid sat down upon the stone throne with excellent posture as his people applauded him and the festivities surrounding the event began in earnest. The reverent air disappeared as servants appeared from nowhere, bringing huge bowls of figs and great goblets of wine to all those in attendance. Khalid and Dimitri weren’t done playing their roles, but the stressful bit was over. Most of the eyes in the room were no longer on them.
At Khalid’s side, Dimitri lifted the bowl of figs and offered one to his husband – his King – with a smile. Khalid turned towards him as he slowly relaxed back in the throne, grinning at Dimitri as he plucked one of the fruits and bit into it. “Thank you,” he whispered to Dimitri in Fodlani, and Dimitri knew it was for more than just the fig. Khalid would have spoken Almyran, otherwise.
Still, Dimitri played his part, giving a small dip of his head with a little smile. “Of course, Rustam, my King,” he responded, and Khalid laughed softly.
“You’re doing so well,” he praised, and Dimitri grinned. Khalid held out one hand. “The wine?” he requested, and Dimitri nodded, picking up the goblet from the floor. He made to hand it to Khalid but his husband just gave him a teasing little look until Dimitri caught on. Right… he was supposed to attend to Khalid’s every whim so long as this play of theirs lasted. With a little sigh meant to conceal his own smile he lifted the goblet to Khalid’s lips and tipped the wine into his mouth. Only a little bit escaped to fall down Khalid’s chin but his husband just gave a soft chuckle and took the goblet into his own hand after that. “Would you like a sip?” he asked Dimitri, which made Dimitri look up in surprise.
“Is that allowed?” he asked, breaking character for a moment. Khalid just clicked his tongue.
“It is if I say so. Come on, now, what’s your line?” he quizzed, and Dimitri chuckled quietly.
“Of course, Rustam, my King,” he answered dutifully, and took a long drink from the goblet when it met his lips. Khalid handed it back over to Dimitri to set aside after that, requesting the platter of goat’s cheese next. He alternated between feeding himself and feeding Dimitri bites of the little slices, and it was getting some attention from the crowd. Dimitri heard several whispers pointed their way about the new King feeding his consort instead of the other way around, and Dimitri felt his cheeks go rosy. “Are you sure we should be doing this?” he murmured in quiet Fodlani. Again, Khalid just smiled at him.
“You are my equal, Dimitri,” he said in response. “Whether they see it yet or not. This is only a step towards the future I long to have, my beloved,” he said with a little wink. “We’ll show them all. It all begins tonight,” he whispered. That gesture only had Dimitri blushing more, but when Khalid offered him another sip from his goblet, Dimitri accepted it. The whispers didn’t stop but Dimitri didn’t let them bother him anymore. He knew that he and Khalid would always face dissent for what they did – for what they were – together. But the future that Khalid longed for was the same one that Dimitri wanted, too. Whatever hoops they needed to jump through, they’d make it happen. Khalid was a King now. Anything they did from now on would hold the weight of that authority, and together, they’d change the world.
Tonight was only the beginning.