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Dimitri’s frosty blue eyes trace a mountain crest that cuts through Faerghus. It’s the same path that a carriage had wobbled along to deliver Claude von Reigen years ago. The Holy Kingdom and Leicester Alliance have never been close but they aren’t enemies either. But like most neutral territories fearing war against a big threat or potentially stronger factions, they can’t deny a glittery surefire opportunity to unite and secure a strong force.
The two are soulmates. Long ago, along with the discovery of crests came soulmate marks. Images engraved onto flesh, tattooed under the knuckles. Claude and Dimitri met at the Officers Academy and found identical marks. After graduation he was hastily delivered to Faerghus, despite his protests. The castle staff is graciously pleasant hosts but it doesn’t change the fact that Claude was practically dragged away from friends and his home to be a hostage –no. A sacrificial tradeoff for peace.
Now in their early twenties the two are soon to be married. The pair has spent many days on adventures but these days everything feels stifling, stagnant. Marriage should be liberating but dark clouds hang over them both.
Snow falls softly around them. Dimitri’s gaze turns to Claude. Even though he’s wearing plenty of quality furs, Claude is shaking from cold.
“Here. This should placate your troubles,” metal boots crunch and Dimitri wades over to wrap his hands around his fiancé’s.
Blaiddyd’s frame shields Claude’s lean body from bitter winds. His handsome smile falls when he sees his lover’s mark. One that Dimitri has memorized. It’s scorched on the inside of his eyelids. If he were to go blind, he’d remember every detail.
“I’m sorry.”
A mixture of stun and amusement melts Claude’s somber thoughtfulness. “What for? You’ve been apologizing since we were teens.”
“Because I know you’re not happy here. Being betrothed is like trying to tame a lion. One can’t. You must be miserable. Life is so different here than at Leicester.”
For a guy that’s strictly dedicated to honor and nobility, Dimitri is no airhead. If you stare long enough you can see disquieting agony swirling in his compassionate eyes. Claude feels an invisible blade stab his heart at Dimitri’s grief-stricken voice.
“And for someone to be destined, to be my partner, they must be incredibly unlucky.”
Singles, hopeless romantics, and visionaries think being whisked away to a castle to marry a prince is an easy life, but it isn’t. Claude has spent countless nights awake hearing the tortured howls and screams from Dimitri. The man’s combative strength is stronger than the Goddess’ and terrifying to see first-hand. Blood is the main component to a morbid backdrop of dead bodies. The sadistic call it sport. Dimitri, his battle techniques are bone-chilling.
When he enters a fight there are no survivors. Bandits often plunder smaller villages where guards rarely patrol. Poor bastards. They engage foolhardily with someone scarier than the Devil. It always ends in slaughter. Blaiddyd gets lost in the frantic energy, his eyes so alive and searing, and he doesn’t quit until all enemies are slain. Foes are pierced by lance, Dimitri’s powerful thrusts enough to tear bone from flesh, to paint the earth with severed limbs.
It’s equally mesmerizing and horrifying to Claude. The archer is happy he isn’t the Boar King’s enemy.
On one patrol, a town was set ablaze and a large group declared war on Faerghus. That day, he realized how much he loved Claude. Foretold or not, he isn’t one to miss the significance of someone saving his life.
Being as reckless as he is, Dimitri didn’t see an axe lunging at his neck, the vicious bandit hoping to chop it clean from his body. Claude dives in and saves the day. An arrow whistles through air and sinks into the bandit’s eye. The man drops dead and Dimitri, collecting many deep wounds, finally collapses.
The archer runs over to him and holds Dimitri in his arms. Claude brushes golden hair from a face streaked with red. Mind still hazy from battle, Dimitri wonders if he’s imaging a silver light haloing his fiancé.
“You saved my life.”
“Like I’d let you die,” Claude smiled, but as Blaiddyd falls into swirling darkness he notices that that smile he loves so much is never full.
“Yeah?”
Memories pop and fizzle out of existence. Blaiddyd looks up at Claude who waltzes over to a stone wall. His roguish grin could melt frostbite. “I’ve learned something during my stay in Faerghus.”
“What?”
A gloved hand brushes the icy stone surface, removing piles of snow. Underneath, breaking past seemingly flawless cobbled brickwork are clusters of pretty flowers. “The strongest can endure and adapt to hostile environments. They’ll outlast miserable days.”
That will be tested by time won’t it? Things can only be worn-down so much until they are irreparable.
Dimitri chuckles. “An endless source of knowledge and hearty advice. I’ll keep that close to me. Shall we go in for tea?”
Claude sighed. “Yes please, it’s freezing! Are my lips turning blue?”
Darkness sweeps thoroughly over Faerghus. Tables full of mouth-watering food are lit warmly by girandoles. Snowy winds lash against glass windowpanes, bringing a comfy insulated feeling. Ingrid, Ashe, Felix, Sylvain, and Claude are attending along with some nobles and traders. But where’s Claude?
“Have you seen my book?” Ashe scratches his grey locks while shuffling between rows of tables. “I was saving it for an occasion like this. Being snowed in, it’s the perfect time to read. I put it down and lost it.”
Sylvain grinned, his eyes straying to the ladies attending the feast. “Why waste time reading about princesses stuck in castles when there are princesses wandering –ow.”
Ingrid cleared her throat as Sylvain nursed a bruising arm. Her stately stern face could scare the most hardened bandits. After glaring at her red-haired friend her gaze swerves to Ashe. “Must you read at every meeting? We have important discussions at this feast, stuff that could change the fate of the Holy Kingdom.”
Felix stuffs a fork into his mouth and snorted. “Like any of us care about these snobby self-important meetings? All these nobles want is influence and wealth. Or to pair us off.”
Ingrid winces. She hates the countless dates her and many other crest-born women are sent on.
“It wasn’t a fairytale. It’s about soulmate marks and newfound scientific theories,” Ashe is pacing in circles now. He’s not paying attention to his friends’ talking.
“Sit down will you?” Ingrid pulls Ashe by the arm to make him sit. “I swear you’d sacrifice your health just to find another book –obsessed much?”
“We’ll help you look later,” Felix said.
“You’ve been staring off into space a lot,” Sylvain said. “What’s on your mind, Dimitri?”
Ingrid stabbed some meat and dragged it to her plate. “Are you worried about the marriage ceremony? It’s next spring, right?”
Ashe put a hand on his heart. “I promise that we’ll make sure everything goes perfectly.”
“Sentimental garbage…” the swordsman muttered.
Dimitri plasters a halfhearted smile on his face. “I’m fine. Let us just enjoy the food and company. It’s not often we get to get together like this.”
Ashe nodded. “I hear whispers of war coming. That there has been activity within the Empire. We’ve been sent on many patrols, waiting and watching for an attack…”
Blue eyes sift through the assembled crowd, a river of bright colors and noise. He’s used to Claude being pressed against his side, a beacon of warmth and witty charisma. Alone, Dimitri feels cold and brittle like ice. Without Claude, all laughter and positivity saps out, is weakened by the din of life.
Blaiddyd finds Claude further back and standing by another guest. A merchant, defined by the flashy clothes they are wearing. An aristocrat from the Empire by the looks of it. Dimitri hardly notices himself leave the table, his legs moving on their own. The merchant tugs Claude to one of the tea rooms, a row of tall booths where trade negotiations are often made.
Jaw set firm and a smile more venomous than a snake’s, Dimitri enters the cramped space. His towering frame eclipses most of the light from outside. Claude stifles a smile, knowing what’s coming. Neither of the two has ever been unfaithful, so Dimitri’s rage isn’t directed at Claude. The archer quirked a brow, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. He had been asking the aristocrat about life and selling wares when the man suddenly pulled him to the tea room.
“May I join you two? Gatherings like these of formal occasions aren’t my talent, and are stifling, I need a quick retreat.”
Light green eyes so cat-like and scorching, stare right into the trader’s. “Sure. Care to fill Dimitri in on what you were talking about?” Gracefully Claude serves tea and a floral flavor circles the chamber. He subtly places a hand on Dimitri’s –a sign to not drink the tea- before passing around freshly bakes pastries.
Carter shakily takes a sip of tea. He’s lacking a soulmate mark, a rarity. “Well, my family comes from a long line of wealthy traders and smiths,” he nervously laughed. If he played his cards right he could get into the inner circles of Faerghus’ influential socialites. “I have a crest and am looking to marry. I can bring endless amounts of jewels and-”
Ceramic fragments rain down on the table and scalding hot tea follows. Crushed like bone and splattered like blood. Dimitri doesn’t blink as he stares menacingly at Carter. His smile is eerily calm as he says, “Perhaps because of my strength, I have always been rather clumsy. I always end up breaking things that are precious.”
The merchant freezes, blinks several times, and shakes fearfully. Not only does the inhuman strength scare him but the mark on Dimitri’s hand is identical to Claude’s. He’s Blaiddyd’s fiancé?!
Claude smiles. “Better run.”
“W-What?”
“Run and don’t look back. If you do, you’ll wake up in a coffin.”
With a pathetic squeal, Carter jumps up from the table and runs for his life.
Claude cups his hands around his mouth to call to a running Dimitri, “Don’t worry he’ll be collapsing any minute and hurling.”
Dimitri is on a patrol with a steed in early morning. The snow has melted but a bitter chill unrelentingly slices through armor and furs. The horse trots along peacefully. Out here, alone with nature, Dimitri can be left to his thoughts. The open sky, the unknown ahead, the anticipation of adventure-
“Sir!” A guardsman runs up breathlessly saluting with distress creasing his features. “Claude is missing, and a group of bandits have attacked a nearby town!”
“Gather Ingrid and Ashe. Have backup reinforcements stationed outside the town,” Dimitri shouted as he rode away, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Yes sir!”
An armored horse gallops bravely into battle. Everything is a blur of color and deafening sound. Viciousness and cruelty in crude form. The bandits mercilessly slay townspeople who are screaming and fleeing. Dimitri kills any foe that draws a weapon on him, shredding them apart with a lance.
In short bursts of interval, Dimitri notices some bandits impaled by arrows. No arches have arrived yet and none of the enemies wield bows. Calling for reinforcements to sweep town, the man follows the trail of arrows to the outskirts.
He makes it to a yawning chasm. Below is an old path hewn by early settlers. Once a place of riches is now conquered by sturdy pines and wolves. All the ore has been collected and refined. Now silks and other goods are more valuable in this town. Many travelers visit the local tavern and well-known inns. This place usually goes unharmed because of a haphazard mountainscape –until recently.
Blaiddyd finds Claude dressed in a dark hood and cape, a thief’s companion of stealth. The archer’s leg is wounded and he’s interlocked with a muscular bandit waving a sword. Claude’s bow is broken in half and useless. He dodges deadly attacks only to be punched in the jaw and sent spinning.
Dimitri barrels into the bandit, dismounting from his horse in one leap. He mercilessly skewers the man after breaking his arm. The blade shoots through under the collarbone and the enemy slumps over dead. Pushing the body away, Dimitri dives to save Claude who stumbles over the ledge.
Thankfully a bundle of pointy branches saves him from lethal descent. Claude is scrambling to free himself but the spines sink into his clothes, entangling him with every movement. He stares up at Dimitri who extends an arm.
“Let me go.”
“Why would you want me to? You’re hurt and if I don’t save you, you could fall to your death.”
The man then realizes Claude’s reason for not wanting to be rescued. Dimitri’s strong face crumbles. “Do you really hate it in the Holy Kingdom? Do you hate me?”
“No, quite the opposite actually. I love you, Dimitri. But I can’t stay with you.”
“Nonsense,” his voice wavers sadly. “We’re destined for each other. That means we can work out any problems we face, together.”
Claude’s smile wanes as Dimitri reaches with his other hand to tear apart the stubborn branches trapping his fiancé. “I’m sorry,” in a flash he draws the very blade Dimitri gifted him so long ago to cut the Boar King’s hand off. Dimitri shouts, recoils his severed arm, and Claude cuts himself free of the branches, falling at fast speeds.
Even with a wounded leg, Claude directs his fall skillfully as a squirrel and hugs a patch of rocks jutting out from the walls. He jumps and scales until he reaches the other side and climbs over to the top.
Blaiddyd is kneeling and cradling the severed arm as blood pools under it. The hand lay before him, feeling surreally detached in the moment. He looks up to see a frowning Claude, with his soulmate mark scratched away and covered in scars. The silver-white sky is streaked with dark serrated clouds, just like the day the archer had saved his life. The gap between them, cold and far-reaching, and depthless, mirrored the pain in Dimitri’s heart. It felt as if it had been wrenched free from his ribcage.
“Why?” A weak and fractured voice.
“Are our lives really ours if everything is destined? I’ll be an outcast wherever I go,” Claude held no resentment but clear agony shaped his face. “Is it real love if it was determined in the stars? I can’t live a life controlled by destiny or by others. You don’t deserve that either, Dimitri. Freedom above all else –that’s what I believe. In another life…I hope we meet again.”
Claude sheathes the knife and lets his mournful gaze linger on Dimitri before departing. Dimitri stares at his retreating figure in silent shock, numbly staunching the bleeding with some torn cloth. It isn’t long until some Faerghus soldiers arrive and haul him back to the castle.
He dumbly watches Dedue wrap bandages around a stub.
“Lord, are you okay?”
Dimitri emerges from the dark mist surrounding his mind. “Fine,” he muttered.
“Do you want me to gather a search party for Cla-”
“He’s dead.”
Dedue eyed him, obviously cynical, but didn’t ask anything more. He simply pours some herbal tea (leaves painstakingly tended by his own hands) and offers some reports about the bandit attack.
Drawing in a pained breath Dimitri says, “My hand. Seal it in a box.”
“Sir?”
His smile is cold and bleak. “It’ll serve as a reminder, a keepsake. And the bow. Don’t mend it. Put it with the box.” He feels hurt, betrayed, but a part of him knew that one day Claude would run. Anger dulls to agony.
Dedue nods solemnly.
Claude is a free man –and so am I. But at what cost? Now there’s a gaping hole that won’t ever heal. At least he didn’t throw away the knife he handmade as a soulmate gift. And now Dimitri is free to reign over Fareghus without worrying about Claude’s declining happiness. The archer didn’t have to put up a mask to deal with noble legislations or be aligned to one faction. Dimitri still wishes that Claude would’ve stayed but he knew that in the long run, neither of them would’ve been happy.
Over time, Dimitri became colder and stern. Losing all that regality, he slowly shaped more into his infamous nickname, and ruled over the Holy Kingdom with merciless callousness. The lashing winter winds mirrors his interior and the man turns ragged, abandoning the noble traits he once upheld as an inspiring knight. A madking, wearing a heavy crown, encased in bitterness, and slaying rats that are deemed unworthy of redemption, this is where the tale of Dimitri the Boar King ends.