Chapter Text
DIMITRI
By the goddess, what had he done?
Claude’s scream rang in his ears. His broken, lifeless body lay sprawled on the blood-soaked field before him, Areadbhar’s glowing blade impaled in his heart.
Blinded by rage, Dimitri had hurled that lance at the man who dared to get between him and his revenge – forgetting just who this man was until it was too late. A single second’s lapse in judgment that had come at far too high a cost.
Now Claude was dead. The boy he’d fallen so deeply in love with five years ago, his star – and he had killed him.
“NO!”
He knew it was too late. There was no magic in the world that could fix this. That wound was fatal; Claude would have been dead before his body hit the ground. But Dimitri could not stop himself. He ran across the field, dropping to his knees at Claude’s side.
Guilt, regret, and grief washed over him. Drowning him. He cradled his beloved’s corpse, and he wept. He begged, in vain, for Claude to open his eyes.
And when he did not respond, Dimitri screamed.
He awoke in a cold sweat. He sat bolt upright, glancing frantically around the dark room. But he saw little more than shadows all around him. Heard only the ragged gasps of his own breaths. He could see nothing, hear nothing. He had no idea what was going on. Where he was.
Where Claude was.
Someone must have found them. Dimitri’s memory of the battle was so hazy… perhaps he had collapsed, and his allies had carried him back here.
But Claude—
Surely someone had retrieved his body—
“Dimitri?!”
A flap of canvas whooshed open, and lantern light poured into the tent. Dimitri instantly snapped his attention toward the tent entrance, and the person holding the lantern.
His limbs went weak. He blinked, uncertain if his eyes were deceiving him.
Or if his beloved’s ghost had already come to exact vengeance.
Claude walked toward him, making his way past the other cots in the tent. Gone were his battle armor and silks; in fact, his half-buttoned undershirt and disheveled hair made him look like someone dragged out of bed, forced awake in the middle of the night. Worry etched his brow, the lines exaggerated by shadows. As he stopped by Dimitri’s cot, he set the lantern aside on a nearby crate.
“Dimitri,” he said again. “Are you alright? What happened?”
Dimitri made a choking noise, as if he had forgotten how to speak. Forgotten how to breathe.
He closed his eyes, and his memory – his real memory – started to come back to him. Unfortunately, it was a tangled, jumbled mess. He did remember clashing with Claude and Byleth, the latter trying to bind him in the Sword of the Creator’s grip. Dimitri had managed to break free, but then…
Another voice called from outside the tent, interrupting his thoughts.
“What’s going on?”
Byleth ran into the tent, joining Claude at Dimitri’s bedside. He had hastily thrown on his overcoat, but it was apparent that he, too, had awoken only a minute ago. Claude exchanged glances with Byleth, then looked back at Dimitri.
“You were screaming in your sleep,” Claude explained. He flashed him a wan smile that faded quickly. “Loud enough to wake the dead. Like you were being tortured or something. Was it just a nightmare, then?”
The feeble attempt at humor didn’t land. Instead, Dimitri lurched forward, seizing Claude’s arm, causing him to yelp in surprise. He put his hand over Claude’s, interlacing their fingers. Confusion flitted across Claude’s face.
“…Yes,” Dimitri said at last. “Just a nightmare…”
Soothed by the warmth of Claude’s hand, he slumped backwards in relief. However, with that relief came a slight sense of shame. He only just now realized none of it was real, when he should have known that from the moment he awoke.
And yet, for one horrifying minute, he had awoken to a reality where Claude had died by his hand. Even now, the memory – no, the nightmare – felt just as real as the man standing in front of him.
“It was a dream. You are safe.” Byleth joined in softly, as if to further reassure him.
Yet Claude’s brow remained furrowed. His shoulders were tensed. Apprehension danced in his eyes.
“I’m a light sleeper myself, but I’m not kidding when I say I think you woke at least half the army,” he said. His expression turned from concern to sorrow. “Most of it was incoherent, but the first thing I heard… was my own name. You were screaming my name, Dima.”
Claude knelt, bringing their faces level with each other.
“Whatever that nightmare was about… I’m here now, all right?”
Dimitri’s vision blurred with unshed tears. How was he supposed to tell Claude what he saw? Should he tell him at all?
He nodded wordlessly, tugging Claude’s hand, pulling him closer. After a long moment, he opened his mouth to speak, only to shut it again. The words would not come.
“Dima…” Claude said weakly.
Dimitri looked deeply into Claude’s eyes. Though dimmed somewhat with sadness, they still shone with life. He stared, taking in everything – the light dancing in those verdant eyes, the flash of Claude’s throat as he breathed, the warm touch of their hands clasped together. And he dared not look away or let go, for fear if he did, he would lose him again.
“I… I dreamed that—” he cut himself off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
I dreamed that I killed you.
“I dreamed that I lost you,” he said instead. “I… watched you die. And there was nothing I could…”
He thought he heard Claude’s breath catch. Next to Claude, however, Byleth twitched. The sudden motion drew Dimitri’s attention for half a second. Something flashed in Byleth’s normally empty mint green eyes, but in the next instant, it was gone.
“I see…” Claude said awkwardly. He paused, and his eyes seemed to dart in Byleth’s direction for a fraction of a second. Then he placed his free hand on Dimitri’s, giving him a reassuring smile. “Well, that didn’t happen. I’m right here. And I promise you, I’m not going to die anytime soon.”
Claude surely meant well by that statement, but he also did not understand. At the same time, however, Dimitri felt he could never tell him.
Could he?
Perhaps he should. What harm could come of sharing his darkest nightmares with him? If it really was merely a dream, as each of them clearly wanted to believe. But it was too vivid, had felt too real. Even now, as he thought about it again, the images replayed in his head, and he remembered – no, imagined – more.
He saw Byleth standing over him while he had cradled Claude’s body. Dimitri had begged him to do – something. He had no idea what. For even though Byleth had supposedly been blessed with the goddess’ power all those years ago, even he could not bring the dead back to life.
Then the images stopped there. Without realizing it, Dimitri found his head had tilted in Byleth’s direction, and he was now staring directly at him. Byleth stared back, expression unreadable as ever.
He felt Claude squeeze his hand.
“Dimitri? Did you hear me?”
He made a startled noise, turning his attention back to Claude.
“Y-yes, I heard you,” Dimitri spluttered. “I’m sorry, Claude…”
What good would Claude’s promise do if he was not safe from Dimitri himself? What if one day he really did lose control and end up killing the man he loved?
The silence in the tent was thick, almost stifling.
“All right…” Claude sounded unconvinced. His expression seemed distant, like he was distracted with another, more urgent concern.
Whatever it was, he did not voice it. Instead, Claude rose to his feet, Dimitri reluctantly releasing his hand to let him go. Claude lingered for a second, as if reluctant to go himself.
“Try to get some rest.”
Byleth’s words were as empty as his expression. He turned to go, and the dirt floor crunched under his feet. Claude turned sharply at the sound.
“Hold on a second, Teach.” There was a strange urgency in his voice. “Can we talk for a minute…?”
Byleth kept walking, ignoring the request. With one last glance back at Dimitri, Claude grabbed his lantern and hurried outside. The canvas door of the tent flew open then shut again, leaving Dimitri to stare at the darkness of his surroundings alone in silence.