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So I write my problems here, and you fix them for me? Yeah, right. This is just a setup for some hokey self-help nonsense, isn't it?
You walked all the way from Abyss to the cathedral to say that? At least write me a joke.
There weren’t many times when Dimitri could just be, undisturbed by the responsibilities of prince and house leader, not to mention his debt to the dead. His rare unguarded moments were all the more precious if his beloved professor was included.
“I don’t remember you being so devout back in Fhirdiad, Your Highness,” Sylvain said in that infuriatingly knowing tone he used.
Dimitri sighed. Another blissful reprieve ruined.
“You didn’t see me for many years before the academy,” he responded with what he hoped passed for disinterest.
“And in that time, you embraced the goddess? How inspiring.”
Dimitri pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache had come back full force when his friend broke his concentration. “What do you want, Sylvain?”
He knew he’d made a mistake when the redhead slid into the pew next to him, arm resting behind Dimitri so he could lean in close.
“I want the same thing you want.”
“And what, pray tell, do you think I want?”
“To worship.”
The salacious tone of his voice made it all too clear he was not talking about the goddess. Not that he needed to clarify, but he waggled his eyebrows towards the choir practice that was in progress.
“Are you unable to control your base instincts for a single day?” Dimitri hissed.
“Calm down, Your Highness. I just wanted to hear Dorothea sing. I’m not here for your precious professor.”
Dimitri sputtered out the beginning of several rebuttals, resulting in an unconvincing, “You— I— That’s not— She’s not my professor. I mean, she is my prof—"
“Don’t hurt yourself, Your Highness,” Sylvain teased. “Seriously, it’s unhealthy to keep all that sexual frustration bottled up. You need to find a way to let it out.”
“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, forget it.”
“Give me a little credit. I’m not going to advise the crown prince to go carousing with a bunch of girls. Your uncle does enough of that for the both of you. But you should at least find someone to talk to. Keeping your feelings a secret is wearing you down, I can tell.”
The change in tone knocked Dimitri off balance. It was easy to forget that deep down, Sylvain was a sincere person who cared deeply about his friends. Though he often went about it in the most irritating way possible.
Dimitri sighed. “Even if that were the case—" which it absolutely was, but he wasn’t about to admit it— “gossip spreads like wildfire here. I couldn’t tell anyone without causing a scandal.”
“What about the advice box?” Sylvain asked. “It’s anonymous, and you don’t even have to admit your crush out loud.”
“I don’t have a crush!”
“Yeah, you just happen to find yourself in the cathedral praying whenever Teach is here singing with that angelic aura.”
Dimitri couldn’t help a yearning glance in her direction. She did look like an angel. A kaleidoscope of colors from the stained glass windows cast a brilliant halo around her, transforming her hair into a radiant crown of light.
Compared to the cold stone statue of Sothis, the professor was warm and vibrant, kind and beautiful. A deity that Dimitri would gladly devote himself to.
While he stared longingly at the professor, Sylvain had snatched one of the slips of paper by the advice box and a quill.
“Here, I’ll even help you write it.” He cleared his throat and adopted an exaggerated version of Dimitri’s deeper, more formal tone. “To Whom It May Concern:" Dimitri rolled his eyes. "My heart yearns for one I cannot pursue. Our stations in life will not allow it, yet I cannot banish her from my mind. Her mesmerizing smile—" Dimitri cringed at the memory of using those exact words, what had come over him?— “has bewitched me. Her angelic voice alone calms the tempest in my heart. The way she dances with a sword in hand takes my breath away. Oh, to hold those divine hands in my own!”
Dimitri scoffed. “It’s no wonder all your love letters are torn to shreds moments after delivery.”
“You wound me!” Sylvain mimed an arrow to the heart. “Fine, what would you write? You know, if you happened to fancy an emotionally stunted professor?”
“She’s not—! Her emotions are there. You just need to understand how to recognize them.”
What would he write to the professor, in a world where their stations didn’t preclude a relationship between them? A world where he was a decent man and not a deceitful coward?
He sighed. “I wouldn’t write anything. I could never be worthy of such a person.” Despite the brutal life she’d been forced to live, her heart was as pure as the waters of a Gwenhwyvar mountain spring, while his was dripping with guilt and blood. “She deserves far better than what little I could give her.”
“Damn.” Sylvain let out a low whistle. “It’s like that, huh? I thought you were just a tad hot for teacher, not desperately in love.”
“It doesn’t matter. Like you said, it would be utterly inappropriate to pursue her.”
Choir practice was wrapping up, the professor collecting everyone’s hymnals. Normally Dimitri would help put them away and walk her to lunch, but the conversation had rendered him bitter and antisocial. His tempestuous mood swings were another of his monstrous habits that made him unworthy of the woman in question.
As they left, Sylvain ducked behind Dimitri and before the prince could react, had dropped the folded confession into the advice box slot with an impish grin.
“Sylvain!”
“Oh, relax. I’m pretty sure Hanneman just throws them out without even reading them.”
I don’t like interfering in squabbles between noble brats, but the parents complain if I don’t. It’s annoying.
I’ll handle it. Who did Claude poison this time?
Dimitri had nearly forgotten about the incident the next day as he strolled into the Blue Lions’ classroom. Sylvain had been right in one respect, at least. Getting his secret off his chest had eased some of the tension he’d been feeling lately. Hearing someone else name it out loud— desperately in love, Sylvain had said— uncoiled the knot in his stomach that was devoted to stubbornly denying his feelings, even to himself.
Now that he knew the nature of his affliction, he could begin to deal with it. He would simply train so rigorously that he had no energy left over for his unwelcome obsession. Easy.
And yet, he found himself drifting to the professor’s desk before class, like he always did. He liked to check in before lecture to see if she needed anything. It was just part of his duty as house leader, he told himself.
Today, Mercedes was chatting with the professor when he approached.
“You may be able to figure out what they’re seeking if you become close enough to spend time with them,” Mercedes was saying in her soft voice. “Oh, hello, Dimitri!”
“Sorry to interrupt—"
“That’s all right. I was just offering a little encouragement to the professor on her new responsibility!”
“Oh?” he asked with interest. “You haven’t yet found an area you don’t excel in, Professor, so I’m sure you’re up to the task. Still, I would offer my assistance as always.”
“Thank you, Dimitri,” the professor said. Was he imagining it, or did the corner of her mouth quirk up in amusement at his shameless flattery? “But I should handle this myself.”
Mercedes interjected cheerfully. “The advice box submissions are supposed to be anonymous, after all.” The professor gave her a sharp look, and she winced. “Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”
Dimitri felt the blood drain from his face and his guts turn to water. “The... advice box?”
The professor sighed, probably realizing that he would have ferreted out her new task eventually. “Yes. I agreed to take over the counseling in exchange for Professor Hanneman tutoring Annette in advanced reason.”
“Excellent!” he practically shouted, voice cracking and far too chipper to be believable. “That’s just... excellent. Please excuse me.”
The professor furrowed her brow slightly when Dimitri walked to the back of the room to sit near Sylvain rather than at his usual position right up front. But then she shrugged and began what promised to be the longest lesson of Dimitri’s academic career.
He’d broken his quill, his backup quill, and Dedue’s quill (his friend insisted he take it) before giving up on note taking altogether. It wasn’t as if he was listening, anyway.
“We have an emergency,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth to Sylvain.
“What’s up?”
“Our professor has taken over the advice box.”
Sylvain choked, making a big show of waving off the professor’s concern when her gaze darted to him.
“What are you going to do?” Sylvain asked.
“What am I going to do? You’re the one that got me into this disaster!”
“Don’t panic, Your Highness. We just have to get the note back before she finds it.”
“How will we get it back?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Your Highness, crown prince of the Holy Kingdom. Maybe ask?”
Dimitri grimaced. “I don’t like to pull rank. I’m only another student here.“
“Then I guess we’ll just let her find it.”
“... Do you think I should fetch my signet ring?”
When the bell tolled for the morning break, the two boys scurried out of the room with an urgency that bordered on rude. But when they reached the cathedral, they received news that made Dimitri’s heart plummet: the professor had already collected the notes left in the advice box.
There is a new professor whose attire is entirely unprofessional. I worry that a certain vulnerable young lady in this professor’s class might be tempted to emulate her teacher’s ill-mannered example.
I could wear the summer uniform, if you think that would make me a better role model for Flayn.
Dimitri walked to the professor’s desk like a condemned man to the gallows. She had asked him to stay after class.
He’d tried to convince himself she might want to discuss something else, but he didn’t hold out much hope.
“I need to speak to you in confidence,” she said, scanning the room once more to ensure they were alone. “It concerns a note I received in the advice box.”
This was it. This was where the ignominious life of Prince Dimitri of Faerghus came to a humiliating, anticlimactic close.
“Professor—"
“We need to plan a date.”
There was a long moment where Dimitri wondered if he actually had died. But no, he wouldn’t end up in a paradise where the professor returned his feelings; his bloodstained hands were only fit for the eternal flames.
“W-what?” he finally choked out.
“I know the notes are supposed to be anonymous, but Sylvain is in love. With all his romantic struggles, I feel I have to help.”
“Sylvain.”
“Yes, Sylvain.”
“Sylvain is in love.”
Fortunately, the professor’s own conversational habits were strange enough that she didn’t think anything of his confused, stilted responses.
“That’s right.”
“With who?”
She didn’t quite smile, but her eyes sparkled with something like excitement when she leaned in conspiratorially. “Manuela!”
“Sylvain is in love with Professor Manuela? Are you certain?”
“Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
“Isn’t that, er, a bit inappropriate?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. “A professor and student?”
“He doesn’t have any classes with her, so there’s no conflict of interest.”
“But their ages...”
The full force of the professor’s wide doe eyes bore down on him, silently pleading.
Dimitri weighed his various options. If he went along with this, he would be lying to the professor and participating in a farce that was sure to offend both Sylvain and Manuela, and possibly the institution of love itself. Or he could be an honorable man and admit his feelings.
“So, how can I help?”
She did smile then, properly, and goddess forgive him for the thrill that ran through his body at the sight. He was deceiving her, and her plan was most likely going to blow up in her face, but she was so joyful... That was enough, right?
Yes, he was just making her happy. No need to be a wet blanket and ruin her fun.
That’s what he told himself while the professor pulled him by the arm to the marketplace, her warm hand branding its shape onto him so deeply he was sure he would feel it forevermore.
“Is a teatime romantic enough for a date?” she asked.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know, Professor. I am not very experienced in these matters.”
The pathetic situation he was currently in was more than enough proof of that.
“Oh.” She deflated. “Sylvain said nobles with crests were always getting marriage proposals.”
A bitter bark of laughter escaped him. “Trust me, romance doesn’t factor into those proposals at all. They’re business contracts, nothing more.”
“Sylvain compared himself to a studhorse.”
Dimitri grimaced. “Crude as his phrasing is, that is fairly accurate, unfortunately. Though House Gautier is worse than most.” He hated the negative turn of the conversation, so he tried on an optimism he’d never actually felt. “I hope that by maintaining peace and increasing stability, Faerghus will become less dependent on relics and thus on crests. I’ve discussed this with Sylvain at length in regard to Sreng.”
“That’s very admirable, Dimitri. I’ll help you however I can.”
“I— thank you, Professor. That means more to me than words can say.”
She squeezed his bicep, and he thought his heart might actually burst.
He cleared his throat. “But I have wandered far from our goal. To answer your question, I think a teatime would make a lovely date, with some strategic additions.”
“Such as?”
“A secluded location, lots of flowers, perhaps at sunset.”
This was how he would plan a date with the woman on his arm, not for Sylvain and Manuela, but it was surprisingly enjoyable to imagine it.
They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes until the professor addressed him again. The evening sun cast a warm glow on her face. If she were anyone else, Dimitri would have thought she had a pretty blush across her cheeks.
But of course, with her, it was merely a trick of the light.
She looked pointedly to the horizon as she spoke. “So, have you... gotten marriage proposals, too?”
“Pardon?"
“Sorry,” she said hurriedly, cutting him off before he could splutter out something incriminating. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, I don’t mind. There will always be ambitious nobles who want to improve their standing by marrying into the royal family. It’s lucky Glenn was born before me, or they might have betrothed me to Ingrid.”
“Ingrid?”
He chuckled. “But as it was, we grew up practically as brother and sister. Needless to say, that marriage would be... quite awkward.”
“I see.”
He hadn’t actually answered her question, but she didn’t pry further. However, he did not want to leave the professor with the mental image of him and Ingrid, of all people, so he continued anyway.
“But none of the proposed contracts have been given any real consideration.”
“Contracts,” she repeated. “Do you get a say at all?”
“I rarely think about the future, as it is not guaranteed. There are things I must accomplish that might prevent me from—" He couldn’t help a glance to gauge her reaction. She was watching him with surprising intensity. Her eyes were almost... sad, and he hated upsetting her. A little white lie to assuage her fears was surely nothing compared to the much larger deception he was already engaged in. “Well, my father married for love— the first time, anyway. So it is possible I may enjoy the same luxury, undeserving as I am.”
She tugged his arm so that he would turn to her, and her face was full of concern. “Dimitri, is there anything—"
“Greetings, Professor! Nothing to report! Oh, and Your Highness, too!”
Despite his usual obnoxious cheer, the gatekeeper was a welcome sight. Dimitri had already come too close to revealing the truth in his heart. If he did that, this entire ruse would be for naught. So he straightened his back and focused on their current mission.
As they reached the eastern merchant, he asked, “What tea shall we buy, Professor?”
Her lips flattened to a line, annoyed at the interruption, but she ultimately decided to let the awkward subject drop. She adopted her usual thinking pose, her head tilted and propped up on her hand. “I can’t think of any teas they both enjoy. Sylvain’s favorite is bergamot, but Manuela’s is lavender.”
The depth of the professor’s knowledge of every person in the monastery never ceased to amaze him. She knew their hobbies, favorite foods and drinks, activities they enjoyed, and more.
“I believe the lady’s preference takes priority,” he said. “So lavender would be my choice.”
She scrunched up her nose ever so slightly. Her face had become so much more expressive lately, and he loved being able to read her more easily. Apparently, his answer didn’t please her.
“The lavender flavor is quite strong. Sylvain will hate it. Maybe we can find something milder that will be acceptable to both.”
Dimitri smiled at her thoughtfulness, even towards Sylvain, who caused her trouble every chance he got.
“That seems like a fine solution, Professor.” Suddenly, he saw an opportunity before him. “Perhaps we could get them your favorite tea.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I like them all.”
He’d noticed her tendency to be accommodating early in the year. For all her fearsome authority on the battlefield, she often deferred to others’ judgment outside of combat.
But how much of that was being amiable, and how much was neglecting her own desires? She had confided in him that teaching the Blue Lions was the first conscious choice she could remember making for herself. Before that, she simply followed Jeralt’s lead without question.
“You can’t like them all equally, surely,” he pressed.
“Well... Mint grows wild nearly everywhere, so Jeralt would gather it and make tea for me,” she said, face softening at the memory. “It helped settle my stomach— I don’t do well on horses.”
Dimitri soaked up the bits of information with relish and hoarded them. Jeralt making her tea, her trouble with horses, the earthy flavor of meadow-grown mint— each one another patch stitched to the mental tapestry he was weaving, revealing the complex and endearing character of his beloved professor.
“Nausea is common among new riders. Often it’s just anxiety that will go away as you gain confidence. If not, you might need to adjust your seat, or you could eat some candied ginger. I’d be happy to accompany you on a weekly ride to get you accustomed to it.”
His own presumption shocked him. He couldn’t seem to keep control of his mouth around her. There was no reason to offer such a thing. She didn’t fight mounted or show any interest in doing so. And she certainly didn’t ask for private lessons from him—
“I’d like that. Thank you, Dimitri.”
Once again, her easy acceptance brought him up short. So few people allowed him to help in any way because of his title. It was a special treat to be of use to someone. Truly, it was more a favor for him than for her.
“O-oh. Yes, well, anytime you’d like to go, just let me know.”
She stepped up to the merchant’s stall and caught his attention.
“The usual, Professor?” he asked in a jovial tone.
“Yes, and a few packets of mint.”
Dimitri was equally touched and horrified when the professor’s “usual” turned out to be every bag of chamomile the man had. At a thousand gold apiece, it was no wonder she was so keen to take extra assignments for the Blue Lions to eliminate thieves and monsters.
“Professor, I hope you’re not buying that because I said I liked it. Please know that I will happily drink whatever tea you have on hand.”
He couldn't even taste it, after all. It just had a calming aroma.
“You’re not the only one who likes it,” she said, too forcefully to be completely believable. Since when did the professor get defensive? “There’s also... Shamir. And her birthday is coming up in six months or so.”
“Don’t worry, young master,” the merchant said with a wink. “I give the professor a special discount. She has a good eye.”
Dimitri didn’t like the level of familiarity the man was showing towards his professor. He would have to ask Ashe to keep an eye on this booth during errands.
With a possessive arm around her shoulders, Dimitri led her to the greenhouse for their next task.
If there were three villages with no watering holes, and one well was dug along the border between the villages, what do you think would become of the people there?
This box is for personal advice, and I'm very busy. Seteth has a book of fables if you want to explore ethical questions.
“I like these,” the professor said, crouching near some all-too-familiar purple blooms.
Dimitri choked on his saliva. Dedue— stoic, loyal Dedue!— chose this moment to develop a sense of humor and actually had the gall to chuckle.
“Purple iris. His Highness could tell you more about that particular flower than I.”
What on earth had gotten into him? Dimitri would certainly puzzle over Dedue’s uncharacteristic teasing later, but now the professor was looking at him, waiting for an explanation.
“It is sometimes a symbol of the royal family,” he said, skirting just around the truth.
“You mean... your family?”
“Ah, yes. It’s rather old-fashioned now. I’m sure most people don’t even realize—"
“All the queens of Faerghus carry them in their wedding bouquet,” Dedue added unhelpfully. “And they adorn her room at all times.”
The professor’s eyes widened to saucers. Dimitri gaped at Dedue. Had he done something to earn his friend’s ire? Or had he been biding his time all these years, waiting for the perfect opportunity to humiliate his liege?
“Th-they also symbolize hope for the future!” Dimitri blurted out. “And... wisdom, I think. Admiration.”
Out of a huge greenhouse, the woman of his dreams happened to pick the flowers closely associated with his future queen. It didn’t mean anything, he reminded himself. They were objectively attractive, large blooms a lovely shade of purple.
They matched her eyes, and the jewel in the crown she would wear if she—
It meant nothing! Just a coincidence.
“Probably not right for our occasion,” she finally said, petting the velvety petals, looking almost regretful to leave them behind.
“Quite. Dedue, have you any suggestions, my friend?” He was almost afraid to ask, given the strange way his companion was behaving, but Dimitri knew little about plants and even less about their meanings. “Something to show admiration, but not too forward.”
After a moment’s consideration, Dedue replied, “Tulips, I should think. I will cut a few blooms for you, Your Highness.”
“They’re not for me! It’s for Sylvain. Well, Sylvain’s date. The professor and I are just... facilitators.”
Dedue raised an eyebrow. “I thought your goal was to curtail his dating misadventures, not... facilitate them.”
“Well, this is a rather, er, special case. I shall tell you about it later.”
Dedue offered the artfully arranged bouquet to Dimitri, but the prince pulled his hands back well out of range and nodded towards the professor. In his agitated state, he was sure to crush the flowers to pulp.
There’s someone I just can’t seem to beat. What’s a quick and easy way to make them give up and say uncle?
Patience and training are the only ways to improve. Just ask them to call you Uncle if means that much to you.
Dimitri pulled Sylvain aside before their last class of the afternoon.
“The situation has changed,” he whispered urgently.
“What situation?” Sylvain asked, instinctively matching Dimitri’s low tone.
“The note— the professor thinks—"
“Excuse me.”
The woman in question appeared at their side, silent as an assassin. Both boys jumped like spooked cats.
“Professor!” Dimitri squeaked in a manner most unbecoming of a prince. “W-what are you doing here?”
“In the classroom where I teach?”
“Er, I meant... Why are you here so early?”
“I needed to talk to Sylvain.” She attempted a pointed look, raising her eyebrows in a way that was probably meant to imply alone.
Sylvain chuckled nervously. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of His Highness! You’ll save him the trouble of extracting it from me by force later!”
“Well, I guess Dimitri did lend a hand, after all. I have a surprise for you,” she said, the excitement in her eyes belied by her perpetually even tone. “You have a date in the tea gardens this afternoon.”
“Aw, Teach, finally taking me up on my offer?”
Dimitri couldn’t help the irrational spike of jealousy he felt. He knew the date wasn’t with the professor, and he knew Sylvain’s flirting was an act, and yet the very suggestion drove him mad. What was wrong with him?
“Not with me,” she said. “With Professor Manuela.”
He may have played the fool, but it was rare that Sylvain was ever truly caught off guard. Even when being cursed by a woman or threatened by her father, he always had an unwavering smile on his face and a witty retort on the tip of his tongue. But the professor had managed the extraordinary feat of knocking him off balance.
His mouth worked silently for a few moments before any words were formed. “Uh, why?”
The professor winked in a manner so clumsy that even Alois would have called it unsubtle. It was adorable.
“I got an anonymous tip that you have a crush,” she said.
“On Manuela?”
“There’s no need to lie, Sylvain. You can’t help who you are...” Dimitri must have been hallucinating more than ghosts, now, because he swore her eyes flicked to him for a second. “...attracted to.”
“I’m not being coy, Professor. I really have no interest in Manuela!”
The professor’s brow furrowed, her hand once again cupping her face in contemplation.
“But... her angelic voice... divine hands, like the Divine Songstress... Her most famous opera involved dancing with a sword... If it’s not her, then who...?”
Dimitri could almost see the gears in the professor’s head shake off the rust and start to turn. She may not have the best social skills, but she was clever and adept at reading people; she’d arrive at the truth eventually.
“Who indeed?” he repeated, punctuated by a slightly hysterical laugh.
He looked at Sylvain with desperation in his eyes. A brief, telepathic communication passed between them, a silent understanding forged by years of friendship and aided by abject panic.
Please help me, Dimitri’s eyes pleaded. I’ll do anything.
Even I have limits to what my pride can take, Sylvain’s answered.
You leave me no choice. I can send you to the dungeons of Fhirdiad with one word, Dimitri’s countered with finality.
Out loud, Sylvain finally said, “Aha, what can I say, Professor? You’ve got me. I’m desperately in love with—" he gulped audibly— “Manuela.”
Thankfully, the professor wasn’t well versed in sarcasm, so she didn’t catch the bitter note in his voice.
She smiled in triumph, blissfully unaware of the looming catastrophe she was setting into motion. “Tea gardens at 7th bell. Don’t be late.”
*picture of a book with a red X scrawled over it*
*messy doodle of Lysithea in front of a chalkboard with Cyril sitting at a desk*
Everyone treats me like a child. Please do something about it.
Teaching someone else a new skill will give you an air of maturity.
“When your professor said she had a blind date for me, I was expecting someone more...” Manuela trailed off, unable to find a polite word. “Well, this is unexpected.”
“You know me, sweetheart,” Sylvain said with a wink. At least he was used to flirting with women he didn’t like. “I’m full of surprises.”
Dimitri had walked Sylvain here out of guilt, but he couldn’t bear to stay and watch. He was headed back to his room when something seized his ankle, tripping him.
A cat? But it had thumbs...
“Professor?” he asked. “What are you doing down there?”
With a shush that would have impressed the librarian, she grabbed his hand and pulled him down behind the hedge with her. Their faces were so close he could feel her breath on his cheek when she whispered back.
“Look! They’re so cute.”
He never would have guessed that the former Ashen Demon would be a romantic, but the proof was right before him. Her face lit up with an expression that mirrored the joy she’d shown when they’d saved Flayn from the Death Knight. To think that a wretch like him would be granted the privilege of witnessing such splendor not once, but twice in his miserable life.
Though he ought to feel guilty. His oldest friend was on a date with a teacher twice his age and would probably kill him later. Still, Dimitri couldn’t find it in himself to regret it when the professor smiled like that.
“You look so... happy. I love seeing you like this. You truly love helping others, don’t you?”
“I never got the chance before,” she said.
“I’m sure the many towns you saved from bandits and monsters would disagree.”
“This is different, though. Better.”
He nodded; he knew just what she meant. The goddess seemed to have made him for the express purpose of destruction. His monstrous strength prevented him from helping in more delicate situations.
The academy was the first time he could use that strength to build rather than to tear down: chopping down lumber needed to repair houses in Remire, carrying medicine and food down the winding stairs to Abyss where no wagon could reach, bringing barrels of water for Dedue to use in the greenhouse. Even cleaning the stables was a rewarding exercise, leaving him with pleasantly sore muscles and a tangible accomplishment.
No one but the professor would have allowed the crown prince of Faerghus to do such menial labor. While so many others kept him at arm’s length because of his title, she was utterly unimpressed by the trappings of royalty. To her, he really was just another student.
Her favorite student, he hoped.
Reminding himself not to get carried away again, he tried to temper her high expectations.
“Just... don’t take it personally if it doesn’t work out between them, Professor,” he said. “Sylvain is still Sylvain, after all.”
They quieted down to spy on the ersatz couple.
“You know, Manuela, you’re a good catch. It’s a shame that you’ve had no luck with men,” Sylvain said with the kind of rehearsed sincerity Dimitri had heard him use a thousand times before. “You need a guy like me: somebody who sees your beauty and appreciates how tender you are, emotionally...and how much love you have to give.”
Dimitri winced. Surely Manuela would see right through this farce and storm off.
“What a thoughtful young man you are,” she said instead. “You’re a real gentleman compared to that jerk who dumped me last week.”
“Let me guess... Some good-for-nothing who strung you along, whispered sweet nothings in your ear, then shattered your heart beyond repair? A special lady like you deserves better. Here, have some tea.”
Manuela tittered, clearly enjoying the undivided attention of a handsome young man. Next to Dimitri, the professor was practically beaming— well, it would be a subtle smile on anyone else, but on her, it was almost too radiant to look at directly.
Somehow, this absurd scheme was actually working, and his secret was safe— for now, at least. Dimitri would have to take over Sylvain’s chores for the entire month instead of the two weeks they’d settled on.
“I guess we should leave them to it,” the professor said after a few more minutes of observation.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “It has been a long day. You must be famished. May I escort you to the dining hall?”
Her eyes brightened, as they always did at the mention of food. His senses were swept away by a wave of affection, and again, he presumed to offer his arm to her before he could think better of it. But again, she took it without hesitation.
He wasn’t disappointed to leave behind the carefully planned teatime for the noisy, timeworn dining hall. Sylvain and Manuela’s relationship may not have a future, but the day’s events kindled a small ember of hope in Dimitri’s heart for his own.
There is a nobleman who has been very persistent in asking me to dinner. I thought he was insincere, but he recently cheered up a dear friend after another one of her messy breakups. Should I give him a chance after all?
Give him a chance. But only one.
Byleth drank in the fresh mountain air as she crossed the bridge to the cathedral. This was her favorite part of her free days. She was guaranteed to see Dimitri during choir practice, listening to the hymns with rapt attention. High windows cast beams of light onto him, turning his hair to spun gold, the dust motes catching the light and creating a warm glow around him.
She scolded herself. Only when Sothis teased her relentlessly did Byleth understand that her feelings toward the student were not the normal care a professor felt for their students. She should have recognized it sooner; she didn't feel a fraction of that crushing affection for anyone else.
But a life of killing had made her a master of compartmentalization. With a frustrated sigh, she shoved those feelings into a box, slammed the lid shut, and turned the key with a decisive click. The last thing she needed was to be distracted by him and lose her place in the song, like last week. She just needed to make it through a half hour of choir practice without making a fool of herself.
And after choir, she would check the advice box, a task she wasn’t sure about at first but had come to enjoy.
It was a funny thought, her giving people advice about personal problems and relationships. She hardly understood her own budding emotions. But Mercedes had been correct; as she learned more about her students and fellow faculty, finding the right words became easier every week.
Though she couldn’t help but wonder if everyone had figured out who was answering their notes. The questions they asked seemed to be personally tailored to her.
And recently, they all shared a familiar theme...
His Highness trained through dinner again today, and I suspect he has only slept a handful of hours the entire week. I have tried to reason with him, but I believe the message will be better received from you.
If you’re offering matchmaking services, you have to let me return the favor! We can literally feel the sexual tension from the next room!
*scrawled in messier handwriting* and there’s not much else for us to do, since you recruited half our class!
Dimitri has been looking awfully lonely, don’t you think? Poor thing, I bet he would love an invitation to a private teatime with his lovely professor~
*a purple iris pressed carefully between two papers*
She clutched the flower tightly against her chest with a sigh. The sender couldn’t have known about her secret fondness for these particular flowers, but it still filled her with a cozy warmth.
Well, she ought to go find Dimitri straight away, since they had a busy day ahead of them. She needed to take him to tea, make him rest, and ask if he knew which Blue Lions were so desperately in love that everyone in the monastery could see it.