Work Text:
Fire raged around Dimitri as he stumbled forward. The death screams from his father and their guards, heard only moments ago, still rang in his ears. He knew he had to run. The monsters in human skin were still attacking, looking for survivors to kill.
“There’s the prince!” a voice shouted. Footsteps and rustling clothes mingled as a dark mage wearing a mask rushed the boy, hand glowing with purple smoke. Fear rooted Dimitri to the spot, causing the Miasma spell to hit him square in the chest and send him flying backward, where he hit the ground hard.
“Your Highness!” a voice yelled. Dimitri rolled his head to the side, only to see one of the younger knights throw himself in front of the mage.
“Glenn,” Dimitri muttered, recognizing the dark blue hair that was tied back, and the Crest of Fraldarius that was embroidered into his light blue cloak. Glenn’s sword etched a glittering arc through the air, and the Mage’s head rolled away as his body dropped to the ground. Dimitri winced as blood splattered his face.
“Your Highness, are you okay?” Glenn asked, turning to the young prince and kneeling next to him. Dimitri only stared up at him, his light blue eyes shell shocked, pain pulsing through his body. Glenn frowned as he studied him, before carefully lifting him up.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to—GAH!” the strength suddenly rushed out of Glenn’s body, and he collapsed forward, dropping the prince again. Dimitri rolled for a moment, before looking up. A man in a dark cloak stood over Glenn’s body, clutching a dagger covered in blood. The blue cloak the knight wore was quickly becoming red.
“GLENN!” Dimitri screamed.
“Curse… you…” Glenn gasped, before the light left his eyes. Dimitri recoiled at that, before looking up at the man in the cloak.
“Your turn, little prince,” he said, stepping over Glenn’s body, towards the young boy. Dimitri scrambled backwards, trying to put distance between them, when he found himself backed into the body of the late king. Dimitri looked back at his father’s body.
“No…” he gasped. Glenn’s killer laughed at Dimitri’s pain, before grabbing the back of his shirt, dragging him away from Lambert. Dimitri struggled against him, trying to pull away, when his crest suddenly activated, giving him the strength to wrench free. He fell to the ground next to his father again as the man cursed.
As Dimitri landed, his hand closed on the Hero Relic, Areadbhar, his father’s spear. He looked at it for a moment, eyes locking onto the Crest Stone set into the blade, before he spun around and stabbed the man.
The point of Areadbhar went right through the man’s chest, blood splattering Dimitri and the lance. Dimitri’s eyes widened as he looked at the man, who crumpled, dead. He stumbled back, pain still lancing through his chest, and dropped to his knees.
Pain, fear, grief, guilt. They swarmed the young prince as his world spun, and he collapsed next to the cooling body of his father, everything going mercifully dark.
Movement. A gentle rocking. Heavy footsteps. Cold metal warming against his cheek. Dimitri tensed as he woke up to these sensations, before finally opening his eyes. He was being carried in someone’s arms as they walked through the barren Kingdom countryside. He tipped his head back slightly, and spotted a shock of ginger hair, and stern blue eyes.
Gustave felt the boy in his arms tense, and move, and looked down. Dimitri was looking back at him through glazed over, dull eyes.
“Your Highness. You’re awake. Are you okay?” he asked. The only response was a slow blink from the boy. Gustave frowned in worry at that, wondering if he had a head injury along with the burns across his chest and arms.
Before Gustave could ask again, Dimitri turned his face into the man’s chest, ignoring the armor, and took a shaky breath. The knight’s worry for him only grew.
“Your Highness?” he asked softly, before stopped, suddenly realizing Dimitri was sobbing into his chest plate. His heart broke even more for the fourteen-year-old in his arms. He tightened his arms around the boy, attempting to comfort him, despite not knowing how to.
Dimitri knew he must have cried himself to sleep in Gustave’s arms. The next time he awoke, it was in his room. The curtains were thrown wide, allowing plenty of light in. He was stripped down to just his underclothes, bandages wrapped around his torso and arms, where the Miasma spell had hit him.
Suddenly his door opened. A woman in a white dress and apron came in, carrying a bowl and rags. She moved over to the side of his bed, having not looked up at him, yet, until she placed the bowl of water on his bedside table. She dipped a rag into the water and rung it out, before finally turning to face the boy, who watched her through dull eyes.
“Oh, Your Highness! You’re awake!” She did an awkward bow-curtsey movement. “I must alert Lord Rodrigue and your uncle. Please, excuse me!” The woman darted back out of the room. A few moments later, Lord Rodrigue and Lord Rufus came in, followed by the woman. Relief flooded Rodrigue’s face as he came over to the side of the bed the woman wasn’t on, taking Dimitri’s hand.
“Prince Dimitri, my boy. I’m happy you’re okay. Please, could you tell us what happened?” he asked. Dimitri looked at him for a moment, before looking down at his free hand; the one that had held Areadbhar when he plunged it through the man’s chest.
No sound passed his lips, however.
“Dimitri?” Lord Rufus stepped forward, studying his nephew. Dimitri looked up at him, but didn’t reply.
“What’s wrong with him? Why wont he speak?” Rufus demanded of the woman. She carefully smoothed a cool rag over the boy’s forehead, before finally looking up.
“It must be the shock of what happened. He shows no signs of a head injury, nor was his throat damaged by the fire spell that hit him in the chest,” she explained. Dimitri’s eyebrows drew together.
It wasn’t fire. It was Miasma.
He wanted to say this, but it was like he’d forgotten how to speak. Instead, he looked back at her, willing her to realize her mistake.
“I see. He did go through a lot. It’s a miracle that he’s alive at all,” Rodrigue said, giving Dimitri’s hand a comforting squeeze. Rufus nodded.
“Considering what happened to the rest of the company. Damn. All Lambert wanted was a little diplomacy, but those Duscur dogs killed almost all of them,” he growled. Dimitri looked up at him, eyes widening. Flashes of what happened, of watching his father murdered, flashed through his mind. He curled up, yanking his hand from Rodrigue’s to clutch his head.
No! It wasn’t Duscur!
“Your Highness?” Rodrigue asked, concern lacing his voice. The image of Glenn, laying on the ground and bleeding out, flashed across his mind, and he yanked away from the man, rolling onto his side, his back to him. Guilt pounded through his veins like poison.
How could he face Rodrigue, knowing the man’s eldest son died protecting him?
“I think you two should leave,” the woman said softly. “He needs to rest in order to recover, and I think this discussion isn’t helping.”
“Yes, of course,” Rodrigue said softly, looking at the young prince. “Let us know if you need anything.” He stepped out with Rufus. The nurse continued with a cool compress, trying to calm Dimitri down, but it didn’t work. Eventually, his body slipped into unconsciousness due to exhaustion.
Two weeks passed. Rodrigue stayed in the castle, watching as the Prince’s physical condition got better, but his mental condition seemed to get worse. A number of people tried talking to him, to ask what happened, but not a word passed through Dimitri’s lips. Instead, he’d stare at the person asking him questions, his eyes full of pain.
It was almost like he had something to say, but couldn’t articulate the words.
Rodrigue sighed as he sat the desk in his guest room, reading. He found he couldn’t sleep, despite the late hour. Earlier that day, he’d spoken to Felix about Glenn’s death. They younger boy screamed at him, telling him to stop romanticizing Glenn’s death, before locking himself in his room. He sighed, closing his book, and resting back, when there was a frantic knock on his door.
“Yes?” he asked, opening the door and spotting a worried guard.
“Lord Rodrigue. I apologize for interrupting you, but we need your help with the Prince,” he said, bowing.
“What is it?” Rodrigue asked, following the guard.
“We believe… he’s having a nightmare. But…” the guard hesitated, seeming not sure how to proceed.
“It makes sense he’d have nightmares,” Rodrigue said with a frown, before hesitating. There was a guard sitting outside of the prince’s room, a handprint shaped dent in his chest plate. There was a crash, and scream from Dimitri’s room, and Rodrigue rushed forward, flinging open the door.
The room was trashed. The large, oak dresser was laying on it’s side, with anything that had been on its surface scattered. The desk, likewise, was flipped, the chair in splinters across the room. Books from the bookshelf were scattered, joined by blankets and pillows that had been ripped from the bed.
And in the center of the chaos was Dimitri standing, breathing heavily. His eyes were closed, showing he was still asleep, no doubt trapped in his nightmare.
“F-father…. Glenn…” the boy sobbed. Rodrigue frowned. This was the first time he’d heard Dimitri’s voice since before the Tragedy of Duscur. It was raw and broken.
“Dimitri, snap out of it. You’re dreaming,” Rodrigue said, moving closer to the boy. Dimitri didn’t answer, still trapped in the hellish place his mind conjured. Rodrigue hesitated for a moment, before putting a calming hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. The boy spun towards him, his fist flying at Rodrigue’s face. The older man ducked under the attack, and hugged Dimitri. The boy struggled against him, but thankfully, his crest didn’t activate.
“Dimitri, please, wake up!” he called, close to the boy’s ear. “You are dreaming. It is not real!”
The boy’s struggles continued, but slowly grew weaker. Finally, he let out a shuddery gasp, and his eyes slowly opened. “
“R-Rodrigue…?” he whispered, looking up at the older man who was holding him. Rodrigue sighed softly in relief, kneeling in front of Dimitri.
“Your Highness. Are you okay?” he asked. Dimitri blinked at him, before looking around at the room.
“What happened?” His voice was still soft and raspy.
“You were having a nightmare, and destroyed your room. I believe you were fighting those in your dreams,” Rodrigue explained, standing and slowly leading the young teenager back over to his bed. Dimitri frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Did I hurt anyone?”
“No.” Rodrigue helped the young boy lay down. He waited for a minute, letting Dimitri get comfortable, before sitting in the bed next to him. “Your Highness… I know this is probably painful, but… could you tell me what happened?”
Dimitri looked up at him for a moment, before looking down, trying to remember what happened.
“The details are… hazy. We were attacked while going through Duscar…”
“Was it the people of Duscar who attacked you?”
“No… I don’t think so? I’m not sure.” Dimitri closed his eyes, trying to think back, before shuddering, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Rodrigue said soothingly, trying to comfort him.
Avenge us!
Please, help us!
Curse… you…
Dimitri gasped, his head snapping up. The cries from the battle field echoed in his mind, and when he looked around, he saw their ghosts standing around his bed. His father, the knights… Glenn…
“R-Rodrigue?” Dimitri gasped, gripping the man’s hand tighter.
“Yes, Your Highness?” Rodrigue asked, confused by the boy’s actions. Dimitri turned and looked at him, noticing he seemed deaf and blind to the ghosts that were surrounding him, and looked down.
“Nothing. I… I’m going to go back to sleep. Sorry for the trouble…”
Rodrigue smiled weakly at that, reaching over and patting his shoulder. “It’s okay, really. If you need anything, please, call on me.”
“Okay,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
Rodrigue nodded watching him for a moment, before heading back to his own room, telling the guards to get him if anything else happened that night.
Meanwhile, Dimitri tried to ignore the ghosts around him, trying to think back to that day. The men who attacked his company… the spell they used on him… it was fire, right?
He looked up at the ghost of his father, thinking about the last moments he saw him alive.
Avenge me…