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Dimitri had always felt so out of place during festivities like this.
It was somehow even worse now. At least during his youth his primary concern had been whether his smile was polite instead of strained, whether his conversation remained light and pleasant, and whether his glass was intact. These days found him retreating into the dense folds of his ostentatious cape (his tailor had outdone herself) and narrowing his eye suspiciously at especially loud laughter or obviously drunken carousing. Faerghus had had little call for revelry in the past five years; where Dimitri had stumbled across it, he had often enough regretted bringing any attention to himself.
That much had hardly changed. Deep in conversation with a member of house Burgundy who had managed to dominate Dimitri’s attention through a combination of actually interesting historical acumen and polite insistence, he did endeavor to extricate himself the usual way, but soon found his opponent in decorum was infuriatingly skilled at plausible misconception.
Accordingly, Dimitri tightened his hand and interrupted his conversational partner with a sharp crack.
“Apologies,” he said flatly, handing his splintered glass off to a fretful servant before it started dripping too noticeably; “a regrettable side effect of my crest. Impossible to control.”
“Oh indeed,” the noble said tightly, going pale under his moustache.
“Yes.” Tilting his head, Dimitri offered the man a smile that lost most of its warmth to the chill in his narrowed blue eye. “If you will excuse me.”
Leaving the stammering noble behind, Dimitri did his best not to stalk away through the rest of the revelers, but the way they parted before him and their darting, nervous glances suggested he didn’t entirely succeed at this. He only needed to breathe, and stepping out into the cool night on an otherwise unoccupied balcony immediately started to clear his head.
Peace was, in some ways, difficult to adjust to. The war had been over longer than Dedue had even fought on the front lines to begin with, but it still felt strange to be in such a crowd unarmored and unarmed, and to allow Dimitri to mingle without hovering directly over his shoulder. Most of the Lions had gone their separate ways except for special occasions such as this one, and it was good to take the time to catch up with what his allies had been up to, but Dedue still kept an eye on Dimitri even from a distance.
It was easy enough, given that Dedue still towered over most of the attendees and Dimitri still presented a large, visible target in his cape. So it was easy too to notice when Dimitri abruptly retreated. Dedue excused himself from his conversation with Mercedes and Annette, plucking two glasses of sparkling wine from a server's tray as he followed in the wake of Dimitri's retreat.
The balcony was empty, save for Dimitri. The cool, late winter air was bracing, but the warmth of the ballroom still clung to Dedue's formal clothes enough to not be bothered by the night's sting.
"Your Majesty," Dedue greeted, and left it at that. He took a small sip of one of the glasses, and after a moment's contemplation of the flavor and effects of the sip, offered the glass to Dimitri.
Dimitri heard someone else step onto the balcony but did not turn from the railing, already making up his mind that he would not bother to reply. There was a faint whispering in his left ear that he did not trust to be real, but the real voice cut above it and Dimitri turned on reflex, almost before he chose to. “Dedue,” he acknowledged, a tad sheepishly. There was no point to asking whether he’d seen; of course he had. “I’m fine, I assure you, it was only--oh beloved, must you…”
Scowling and tutting once, he nonetheless reached out, clawing his hand in the air for a brief second while he reined in his strength to accept the glass of wine. Even if it passes your lips instead of mine, the poison will still kill me, he chose not to point out. “Truly there is no cure for your mollycoddling,” he said sullenly instead, holding it out so Dedue could be the one to clink them together before tossing back a sip as gracelessly as if the glass were full of water.
Dedue only raised an eyebrow, keeping an otherwise mild expression on his face until Dimitri accepted the glass.
"One cannot be too careful." It was an acknowledgement of Dimitri's eternal complaint, but not an apology; it was a habit Dedue had no intention of breaking anytime soon, if ever. His now-free hand tucked behind his back, Dedue gently clinked his own glass against Dimitri's. He made no comment on Dimitri's technique, only sipping his own glass as placidly as if Dimitri had done the same.
"It is a lovely party," he observed. He shifted to stand closer to Dimitri at the balcony railing. Dedue turned to regard the light and sound back inside the warm ballroom. "It is almost nostalgic."
Dimitri shifted no closer, but also didn’t move away, shifting into something of a slouching perch on the railing. “...Is it?” Of course Dimitri remembered parties much like this one, scampering this way and that, underfoot and red-faced and giggling, while servants tried to catch up to the three (or sometimes four) of them--
But Dedue had not been there, of course. And his uncle’s parties had been lavish and indulgent affairs that it was not prudent for Dimitri (and especially Dedue) to attend beyond the most cursory appearance, and so…
“Oh,” Dimitri said with some surprise in his voice as a familiar trickle of piped notes made him think of towering halls and sprawling courtyards. “You mean the Ethereal Ball.”
Dedue didn't invade Dimitri's space any further, but took his perch as permission to relax a bit himself. He leaned his back against the railing and loosely crossed his arms against the chill of the night.
"Yes. Though it does feel a lifetime ago. I recall being very nervous that night; in retrospect, I wish that I had savored it a bit more." Back then, Dedue had still been so anxious of his place in the world, he had hardly been able to enjoy such things. They hadn't felt meant for him, and he'd felt he stood out like a sore thumb. Now, he knew that he stood out - but he had since learned to embrace it. To be seen at an event like this, as a guest and not simply as staff, meant something. It had meant something then, too.
That night had meant something, then, even if Dedue hadn't yet been ready to indulge in the more…romantic meaning of it.
Dimitri let out a sudden, faintly anemic laugh, the kind of noise he made these days when his emotions pleasantly surprised him. “Oh you were. As I recall we almost lost one of my cufflinks and you reacted like Seteth was about to personally evict us both from the monastery. It was…”
His heart hurt suddenly at the memory. Dimitri wished he could reach across the years and take that worried Dedue’s face in his hands, reassure him that this was all no such great suffering, and despite all the pain to come, one day he would stand at Dimitri’s elbow in Fhirdiad castle itself, unmolested by assassins or thugs.
He blinked a few times and lowered his eye. “...I’m sorry. Perhaps it’s not so fond a memory for you as it is for me.”
Dimitri's laugh, thin as it was, touched Dedue's heart with warmth and his lips with a fond smile. He had almost forgotten that detail; it was so unimportant now, after everything else that had happened not long after that night. In many ways, it had been the final night of their youths; the next day, the inevitable slide into the difficult future had begun. But they hadn't known that that night.
At the apology, Dedue blinked - then rested his free hand gently over Dimitri's, the patient smile returning to his lips.
"It is not so." He squeezed Dimitri's hand. "Such a silly thing to have worried about, in the end. What I recall best is how well you looked in your dress uniform that night, dancing at the ball."
Dedue was a respectful distance and the hand over his was hardly scandalous, but Dimitri’s pulse still quickened at those words as if Dedue had murmured them into his ear from inches away.
“I-is that so.” Absently setting his glass down on the flat center of the railing, Dimitri brushed his fingertips regretfully close to the black satin patch over his right eye. “I suppose it’s a pity I didn’t appreciate it at the time.”
Cupping his hand over Dedue’s in turn, he shifted the one underneath it to thread their fingers together and smiled. “But the real tragedy is that I never asked you to dance, then. I won’t pretend the thought never crossed my mind…”
It always gave Dedue a little thrill any time his words managed to fluster Dimitri. Since the end of the war there had been many more such opportunities and Dedue had taken advantage of them whenever he could, as if making up for the years of lost time.
"I would not have accepted then," he admitted. It wouldn't have seemed appropriate - but more than that, Dedue would have been too afraid of what people might think. What rumors it would have started, for Dimitri to share a dance with him in front of all the future leaders of Fodlan at such a delicate time.
“No, I suppose not,” Dimitri agreed with a regretful chuckle. For him, too, even the suggestion would have been humiliating at the time--he seemed to recall their professor making some joke about him dancing with Claude, along with his own uncomfortable rush of adrenaline at the thought he’d been found out. But the possibility of someone taking umbrage with Dedue in some way that Dimitri couldn’t immediately smack back down into propriety with his own ungentle hand would only have occurred to him as a passing thought.
That was all before he’d known true humiliation, of course.
Dedue squeezed Dimitri's fingers between his own. Then, tipping back the remainder of his own wine, Dedue set the glass aside on the railing as well. There was a sly glint in his eye as he extended his now-empty hand in offer.
"But tonight is a different matter."
Dimitri looked over in surprise, and his fingers quested towards Dedue’s hand even before Dimitri thought to stop them. “What do you--? You would--!”
Snatching his hand back towards his chest, Dimitri eyed the golden lights of the ballroom with the wary attitude of a guttersnipe expecting a fight over a crust. Cautiously he reached again, and his chilled fingertips brushed Dedue’s palm. “You wouldn’t…mind?”
Sometimes, it struck Dedue how much his and Dimitri's circumstances seemed to have switched in the five years they had been apart. Of course, Dimitri was still a king, and Dedue was still just a common man, but that wasn't really the core of it. In Dimitri's nervous hesitation, Dedue saw the same anxiety he would once have felt, receiving the very same offer. Dimitri back then had believed he could simply wave his hand and prevent anyone from bringing down consequences on Dedue's head for overstepping his place. Now, the nervousness in his eye and bearing made it clear he understood how untrue that was.
But Dedue no longer feared the consequences. The worst had already been done, and he had survived it. He wouldn't go out of his way to provoke the people of Faerghus, but he was long since finished with allowing the fear of their reactions to snatch what joy he could have from him. He would make them take it from him themselves, if they could.
His hand closed gently but firmly around Dimitri's.
"I am asking," he pointed out. "The music carries well enough here, I think."
Dimitri tore his gaze from the ballroom and fixed it on Dedue’s, appearing to search for something in his eyes. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because his stare softened into one of his drawn and tired, but genuine, smiles. “So it seems,” he agreed quietly, pushing away from the railing and into Dedue’s arms.
Those smiles of Dimitri's, small and faltering as they were now, were as precious to Dedue as the rarest blossom. He would do nearly anything to make Dimitri smile like that. It was convenient, then, that the most effective means were also so enjoyable in their own right.
There was some momentary confusion as Dimitri automatically shifted his hands into a position to lead, realized Dedue was shaping up to do the same, and hastily caught at Dedue’s shoulder to accommodate following instead. “--Oh. Do you--shall I--that is to say…”
Do you know how to dance? was an impossibly rude question to ask, but the subject had come up very briefly while the professor was selecting their representative for the…goddess, it had been ages ago, some manner of dance competition--and Dimitri knew for certain that Dedue had not known how then. He also couldn’t imagine when Dedue would have found time to learn Fodlani ballroom dancing while hiding from Kingdom and Imperial soldiers alike in a Duscur enclave, but it still seemed mean-spirited to point this out, and Dimitri searched fretfully for a way to gently suggest that they start slow.
Dedue’s soft chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, as warm as the pleasure Dimitri's surprise brought him. The awkward moment was unavoidable, but it was a moment he had expected. With one hand firmly set on Dimitri's waist, Dedue pushed them both off into the beginning of a competent box step.
"I have been practicing." His voice was warm with pride - and amusement - answering the question Dimitri hadn't quite voiced.
Dimitri snatched in a gasp, nearly taken off balance, but Dedue’s grip was steady and unhesitating and he knit the steps tightly around Dimitri’s scrambling, uncertain ones, as if well prepared to compensate for someone with a far shorter stride than either of theirs. And Dedue had already shown him just how tiny of a burden he found Dimitri’s weight in other contexts, but it still took a moment for Dimitri to entirely trust that Dedue would not let him fall.
“I see!” he got out when he recovered, trying to meld his stiff, perfunctory steps with Dedue’s steady and flowing ones and glancing behind him in an effort to judge how close they were to the railing. It got easier after the first few steps, but then Dimitri found himself contending with another wave of emotion that briefly choked him.
“...I should have known,” he said finally, in improving Duscur. “Every time I think I know to the very core of you, you surprise me again.”
Dimitri's amazement was worth every moment of clandestine practice. Alone, he could never have gained anything like skill in this, at least not so quickly, but Dedue hadn't had to teach himself. Sylvain's expert tutelage and Annette's mix of patient instruction and enthusiasm had, over the course of many weeks, resulted in Dedue's ability now to keep Dimitri balanced and moving in steady, careful time with the music lilting onto the balcony. Dedue wasn't quick, and he wasn't particularly graceful or prone to improvising, but he was as reliable a partner in dance as he'd been on the battlefield.
Dimitri returned his efforts to learn Dimitri's culture with his own efforts to learn Dedue's, and Dedue could hardly contain the affection that swelled up in his heart.
"That's life," Dedue said, slipping into his own language as well. "We learn. We grow...we surprise." This he leaned to murmur near Dimitri's ear, the smile on his lips audible in his voice. "Isn't it a blessing?"
Dimitri choked at that, stumbling and catching himself, but instead of replying he tightened his trembling grip on Dedue’s shoulder and hand and buried his face in the side of Dedue’s neck, trusting Dedue to guide his faltering steps.
“...Yes,” he managed finally, still in the language that they once thought dead. His voice had to creak out through a lump in his throat now. The impact of Dedue, scarred but alive, taking the time to learn to dance behind Dimitri’s back for no other reason than the joy of it, and finding the words to call the curse they’d both had to endure for so long a blessing…
Dimitri had not expected to find it in his heart to agree.
“Yes, I guess it is,” he whispered.
Dedue tutted softly. His hand on Dimitri's waist pulled him closer, until it was more of an embrace than a tool to guide him. He slowed their steps, moving into something more of a gentle, soothing sway than a true dance. They had both endured so much, survived so much, that sometimes it was difficult to comprehend that they had emerged through to the future they'd dreamed of anyway. It wasn't exactly how they'd imagined, and there was still much, much more work to do, but they had already reached a future where it was possible for Dedue to dance with Dimitri in Fhirdiad castle, without fear.
He had...planned to wait, at least until after the party. But the moment seemed right. And Dedue knew that the only moment that was ever guaranteed was 'now.'
"...Dimitri," he said, even as using that name still made him blush like a maiden, "...There's something I've been meaning to ask you."
I’m sorry, I’ve spoiled it, Dimitri couldn’t quite get out. He clung to Dedue in the meantime as they swayed, working to master himself so Dedue could get back to sweeping him off his feet. His name on Dedue’s lips, as always, put a little shudder through him, turning what tried to be a hum of inquiry into something closer to a whimper.
“Anything, anything,” he got out before he thought better of it, drawing back just enough to glean what he could from Dedue’s expression in the low light.
It was still typical enough of Dedue to hesitate to make requests even when they were small. But it occurred to Dimitri that this might actually be significant. “What is it?”
Those promises, given so freely before Dimitri even knew what Dedue meant to ask of him, struck Dedue in the chest like a burst of the most potent white magic. Always, as long as he'd known him, Dimitri had been so with him. Even when Dedue was the most maligned person in all of Fhirdiad, Dimitri had always given him anything he asked for, without hesitation. The heart that beat in Dimitri's chest was so fragile, and yet so large and generous, Dedue didn't know how he could stand it.
He wanted, more than anything, to protect that heart for the rest of his life.
Still, it was hard to find the words. To even ask this was so audacious as to beggar belief, so far beyond his place there was no possible propriety about it. Even so...he had to ask. He brought their swaying to a careful stop with his back to the door onto the balcony, the mass of his body concealing his movements from prying eyes as he released Dimitri's hand to reach into his pocket.
"...I...am prepared for whatever answer you give. I know I have no right to ask you this. But...I’ve decided that I want to live my life without regrets."
Dedue let go of Dimitri's waist as well and leaned back just enough to make room for his hands between them. Both of them enveloped a box barely bigger than a walnut. He opened it carefully so as not to lose the contents; a plain iron band, sized for Dimitri's long, narrow fingers.
"...And I would regret it if I didn't ask you this."
As Dedue maneuvered them for space, Dimitri reluctantly loosened his grip and finally let go, aiming the flinty glare over Dedue’s shoulder that would have caught an approaching soldier on the battlefield. But he didn’t know what to make of Dedue’s talk of regrets or the fumble for something in his pockets--had he found some other goal he was desperate to pursue? Was he going to ask Dimitri to release him from his position? Was this the final stage of a painfully convoluted but eminently justifiable assassination? (Dimitri would prefer the latter to the former.)
The sight of a ring completely escaped Dimitri’s power to contextualize it for a moment.
“I don’t--!”
Dimitri clapped his hand over his mouth before it could betray him again. The white of his eye was visible all the way around, and he forgot to breathe long enough for his vision to redden.
Tremblingly, as though he were capable of crushing it even from a distance, he lifted his hands to not quite encircle Dedue’s around the ring box. “D-Dedue, y-you mean to…?!” His voice had squeezed up into a boyish register, choked with emotion, and the questioning sound he made was too tortured to be words.
Dedue's cheeks felt so flushed, he half expected his face alone might be warming the whole balcony. Now that he'd actually broached the subject, he felt so nervous he could hardly bring himself to raise his eyes to Dimitri's face. He hoped he had understood this ritual correctly; it was not Duscur's way, but it was Faerghus's, and it was vital to Dedue that Dimitri understood his meaning.
It was difficult to decide what exactly Dimitri's reaction was - shock, obviously, but beyond that, Dedue couldn't say. Not just yet. He would not guess at it, not when there had hardly been a more important time to be certain of how Dimitri felt.
"It doesn't have to be...public, or legal. I don't mean to stand between you and your duties. I know...you aren't free to give your hand to whoever you like." Dedue had long understood that, and he didn't begrudge it. He took a deep breath; this was more than he tended to say at any given time, but it was important that Dimitri understood how serious he was. "But...surely no one can command you where to give your heart. So perhaps...I might ask you to give it to me. Even if no one else ever knows."
Dimitri made a grieving, acknowledging sort of noise to the concession that he was not free to choose--but he could not seem to tear his eye from the ring. How…Dedue had planned this? He’d selected it himself, an unornamented thing of simple iron that only they would know the true significance of, even if Dimitri could not afford to wear it on the proper finger and left that space for his eventual queen. Its cost wouldn’t have reached far into the Blaiddyd wealth that Dimitri always left at Dedue’s fingertips, but for all Dimitri knew Dedue had conspired to pay for it himself. All knowing Dimitri could not afford to tell him anything but no, aware that it would be their own secret folly in the face of a world that would hold them both at arm’s length from one another until they were cold in their graves.
All because Dedue still, against every unassailable foe, felt hope.
Dimitri seized that fretful face in both hands and pulled Dedue down into the kind of demanding, consuming kiss that risked surrendering both their hearts to impropriety on the spot.
When he broke away, panting, his voice was rough with tears and passion alike. “Please--can you--hh--put it on for me, I’m afraid I will ruin it,” he asked with a helpless, sobbing chuckle, offering Dedue the trembling ring finger of his left hand.
Dedue dared to glance up, just in time for Dimitri to pull him down into the kind of kiss they had only dared to share in complete private - but even with the party right behind him, Dedue could not help but to raise one hand to Dimitri's jaw, cradling and supporting his face. No one could see, anyway, and...what did it matter if they were caught? He couldn't seem to care the slightest bit. Not when this reaction told him everything he needed to know.
Or...everything he'd thought he'd needed to know. Dimitri presenting that finger was more than he had dared ever to hope for. Dedue took Dimitri's hand carefully in his own, his brow knitting with uncertainty.
"Are...you sure?"
“Yes.” Perhaps Dedue’s uncertainty should have signaled Dimitri to hesitate, but he had not. The answer came immediately, as readily as Dimitri would respond to any question that probed his loyalties or oaths.
His mind had begun working on it from the moment he understood what Dedue was asking, focusing the full breadth of his upbringing as a crown prince and short experience as king on the quandary before him. Connections were snapping together in his mind; he had the support of the church and the Archbishop. New Adrestia’s Prime Minister and the fledgling Gloucester Archdukedom were relying on his aid, and he’d been recently made aware that he had a former ally in a startlingly high position in Almyra. Faerghus’s borders now encompassed much of what had been eastern Alliance lands and almost all of formerly western Adrestia, meaning his campaign to reclaim Duscur from Kleiman had faced little more than a token opposition from the viscount (no doubt intended to wrest as much generosity from Dimitri as possible). The entire Kingdom was weary of fighting and eager to lick their wounds among the various comforts of the spoils of war.
There would be rumors. Attacks, likely. For Dimitri to take a Duscur partner at all would be following heel to toe in his father’s disastrous footsteps; for it to be Dedue would light up the entire Kingdom with talk of his weak-hearted, fetishistic obsession. Even what remained of Duscur’s people would be bitterly convinced this was just a trade of land between Kleiman and Blaiddyd.
Unless he made Duscur independent as a result.
It was not the perfect solution he’d been wracking his mind for, and it would do little to silence the voices insisting the savior king of Faerghus was bent on cutting her up and portioning her out to anyone who pleased him enough. Dimitri would not be able to convince everyone he worked with that any of this was out of love or genuine compassion, but--he realized with a flicker of giddiness that trembled through his hand in Dedue’s--he would not have to. He at last had the power to do what he could never have done five years ago, and even more significantly than that, he had the allies necessary to keep his crown on his head and his head on his neck.
There were no guarantees they would succeed. But that had always been so.
“I accept your proposal,” he said to Dedue, and the sliver of moonlight caught in his eye betrayed its wild blue determination. “I will marry you.”
If it is the last thing I do.
Dedue watched Dimitri's face, searching for any hint of hesitation - but found none. In an instant, the ocean-blue of Dimitri's tearful eye had hardened into ice, as soon as Dedue had dared to question the wisdom of so fully accepting Dedue's proposal.
The look in that eye sent a shiver thrilling up his spine.
This was always how Dimitri was, as long as Dedue had known him. He would toy endlessly with the pluses and minuses of a decision, berate himself to distraction about whether he was making the right choice - but in the critical moment, when the decision was before him, his nature was always to commit with all the stubbornness of the very earth itself. And always, when Dedue asked only for an inch and thought that an imposition, Dimitri delivered to him a mile. Dedue should have expected no less.
Part of him had. For all his rational mind had gone over every reason this wish could not be...in his heart of hearts, Dedue had known Dimitri would not deny him even this selfish request.
There was no point asking again. There were no words in any language that were adequate to contain how Dimitri's acceptance swelled in Dedue's heart, almost too great to bear. Only the first language they had ever shared would do - the language of their actions, and of their touch.
Dedue fumbled briefly with trembling hands to liberate the ring from its box, nearly dropping the box before he managed to get the ring safely into his left hand and the box safely back into his pocket. He gently took Dimitri's left hand back into his right. The ring was dwarfed by the size of his own fingers, but he carefully slid it onto Dimitri's offered finger with the same gentle dexterity Dedue used to coax a seedling from the earth, or to pull a thread carefully through a patch in a shirt. The ring slid into place as perfectly as if it had been made directly onto Dimitri's hand.
Dedue held that hand for a lingering moment in both of his own.
Then he lifted one hand back to Dimitri's cheek to tilt his face back up into a soft, equally lingering kiss.
For all his certainty, Dimitri’s hand still quivered in Dedue’s and the lashes of his eye fluttered against his faint intake of breath. But then the ring was on his hand and he stared at it with spread fingers, knowing it was transformed forever, permanently changed; this promise was already as much a part of him as the crest in his blood and the scar on his back.
Dedue claimed him again in a kiss that Dimitri sighed up into, sliding his newly beringed hand up the nape of Dedue’s neck and into silver hair. “I will cherish you all my days,” he breathed between them, intoxicated by a moment that already felt more sacred and binding to him than anything that would happen at the altar.
But that was not the only moment left to consider. When he could bear to draw back from Dedue, his heart still pounding with love and overwhelm and the beginning of a sweet ache that made him glad for the relative looseness of his trousers, Dimitri was thinking of their next steps. “I must write the Archbishop--no, I must pay a visit to the monastery itself, what remains of its library will be crucial to establishing a new precedent--and we must disseminate this cautiously, if it runs ahead of our negotiations with Duscur I shudder to think--but accounting for that possibility--”
Dedue bent his head and stole the rest of Dimitri's words from his lips. When he drew back, it was with a fond smile on his own, and starlight misting in his damp eyelashes.
"That can wait." It was so like Dimitri to immediately mentally run off into the implications and the planning, but none of that could be done right now. In the morning, they could worry about all the next steps. Dedue returned his right hand to Dimitri's upper back, reclaiming his right hand in Dedue's left.
"For tonight...let us finish our dance."
Dimitri made a startled noise against Dedue’s lips, but didn’t pull away until Dedue did. His smile in turn was watery, but he straightened his back in Dedue’s arms and sucked in his breath with a shiver in his lungs.
“...Of course. I am ever with you, beloved.”
As before, he let Dedue guide him back into forward movement, becoming the swirl of sparkling blue and silver that chased Dedue’s teal and pale Duscur red. The pipes and strings from the ballroom behind them followed them out into the night, but no living soul disturbed them as they spun under the distant light of the waning moon.