Chapter Text
Each step he took filled his legs with white hot agony, but he pressed on, knowing his destination wasn’t too far now. It was already dark outside, he couldn’t walk without feeling his boots sink a full inch into the mud, which only added to the fatigue in his legs. He was cold, starving, he could barely see more than a few feet ahead of himself. A part of him just wanted to lay down and sleep.
But he couldn’t do that. Not now.
Dimitri pressed on, tightening his grasp on the chord of the burlap sack hanging on his back. He’d only packed the bare necessities after leaving the scene of his last battle. But what heavy necessities they were…
Behind him, he heard the voice of his traveling companion.
“I always knew you were stubborn. But even for you, this is ridiculous.”
He glared over his shoulder, his gaze meeting that of Edelgard. She was giving him that partial smirk that never failed to unnerve him in all the years he’d known her. He looked the other way and kept walking, no longer having the wit to ask her to save the sass for someone who still cared.
Clearly she didn’t get the hint. Or, knowing her, maybe she did and she decided to ignore it, for merely a minute later, she was speaking again.
“Won't you stop and rest a while? It is still quite a long road to Fhirdiad.”
“If you want to stop here, be my guest.” The would-be king finally scoffed. “I never asked you to follow me.”
He took another three steps. The ground was still humid but a little firmer.
“No horse. No weapon. No food. You do realize there will be no triumphant return if you die on the way, right?”
Dimitri didn’t respond. He was already plagued with a searing headache, and he knew debating with that loathsome woman would only serve to make it worse.
He pressed on, at the same sluggish yet determined pace. At least, he no longer felt the pain in his joints, though he was oh so tired. His eyelid fluttered and closed several times, as his body kept moving forward, carried by muscle memory.
“It was reckless to storm out on your own. And you know that.”
He could no longer feel the rain trickling. The path appeared to light up as a crescent moon appeared from behind the clouds. Dimitri tightened his hold over the burlap sack and finally stopped, taking a gander at his surroundings.
“You don’t even know if you are going the right way, do you?”
He spat under his breath and turned toward Edelgard again. The Emperor, from the top of her shorter stature, was staring him in the eye, which the would-be-king preferred not grace with his anger.
“I am getting home no matter what.” He responded, simple as that. “They will see that I triumphed.”
And on those words, an audible rumble escaped his midsection, to which Edelgard only reacted with one of her usual exasperated sighs.
“There won’t be much for your people to celebrate if their king is all bones and no flesh, now. You would be lucky if they even recognize you in your current state. If you even make it this far, that is. I am starting to worry you won't.”
He turned away, deciding to try and again ignore her. Nothing she could say now would change his mind.
“You know, when we were children, I believed I was a lot more bold than you were.” Edelgard continued, still following him. “But I have to admit you have outdone me in that regard. Though, is this really something to be proud of in adulthood?”
No reaction on his part. He did not even bother asking himself whether she meant to express fondness for the child he once was, or spite for the monster he became. Her opinion of him was irrelevant. He just needed to press on, he wouldn’t even need to do anything else to prove her wrong.
She would not deter him from his path. Neither would that traitorous wench Cornelia, nor Claude, nor the Church, and not even the Professor.
Nothing could change his mind. Nothing short of the Goddess herself would be able to stop him, and even if she tried he would still dare challenge her judgment.
Ah, but perhaps that last stray thought was one blasphemy too many, for his streak of bad luck continued. When Dimitri finally managed to drag himself out of the forest, he found he gravely overshot his path to the bridge of Myrddin, and was now faced with a sharp incline, with the merciless rapids of the Airmid River underneath. From as far as he could see, in the dark with his single eye, the currents were violent enough that the heavy rain he still felt on his back made no visible ripples in the water.
Dimitri’s arms dropped to his sides, but just before the burlap sack could fall into the mud he was standing on, he pulled it back and cradled it to his chest.
Damn it. That had been too close.
Uh. That was funny.
He didn’t realize how much that thing started to stink until now.
He stayed still, staring down at the bag, his grasp firm, before he finally looked around for any sign of the bridge or of a more well-traveled path. But in the deep night, with his own diminished sight, through the rain and the light mist rising from the rapids, finding his way would be a fool’s errand.
He sighed, before retreating back to the woods. Edelgard said something then.
“Take me for a fool, why don’t you…” Dimitri growled in response.
“You are a fool. You are just proving my point.”
He really was starving now. He’d found solace from the rain under some rocks, held up by the titanic roots of an old tree, and he hadn’t even settled down for more than a minute that he suddenly wished really hard that he could continue with his march, for now the agony in his bones was spreading to his limbs. All at once he was feeling the full weight of his armor, of the water in his hair and his cape, soaked in the leather of his boots. But the heaviest of his burdens for sure was that of what he had to to. Of what he’d already done.
He sucked air through his teeth, closing his single eye. For the first time in a while, he found himself craving the most basic of commodities. Even a rudimentary encampment and a small bonfire with a barely filling meal on the night ahead of a battle would be akin to the most extravagant of indulgences now. If only he knew, the day before the battle on Gronder Field, how much he would miss the merry conversations his retainers- no, his friends shared. Maybe he would have bothered actually joining them, had he known it would be their last evening together.
Tonight it was just him and her. And not even their familial bond and shared history could make him eager to suffer her company. So when she spoke he chose not to listen.
All the would-be-king could hold for warmth and comfort was that burlap sack. He realized as he stared down at it that his gauntlets were stained with a liquid oozing through the fabric.
He listened to the rain falling over the little rock alcove, finding it less disagreeable company than anybody’s voice or the rumbling of his empty stomach.
At that moment, his hope began to wane.
“I am not going back.” He whispered to Edelgard.
She didn’t respond.
“… will end here.”
When he opened his single eye again, Dimitri was laying down on hard ground. The marble was cold against his cheek, but his face and his entire body felt very hot. It took him a while to realize the thick substance he was laying in, assaulting his every senses, was a mix of his own blood and that of the guards that fell by his spear before the rest of the troops overpowered him.
He was back in the castle in Enbarr, and he could hear voices. He squinted his eye, the patterns of the paved stones slowly coming into focus. Looking further he noticed some movement. There were a few people down the stairs to the throne. And next, he noticed shadows on the wall. One standing. One kneeling.
“Even now, across this land… People are killing each other.”
It was her.
She was suffering with each breath she drew, even the words struggled to get out.
She was dying, and he was being denied the satisfaction of being the cause of her demise.
He tried to pull himself back together, but his aching body refused to obey. He could only flare his nostrils and close his fist. No matter how badly he wished he could get up there, ask the Professor to step aside, and take her life himself. He didn’t care if he needed to abandon what little pride he had left and crawl up the stairs like an animal, it had to be him, he couldn’t let anyone else do it. It was his mission, his purpose…!
And now, of all times, his body was failing him?
What a sick joke.
“I wanted… to walk with y-”
It was all over before he could even find it in himself to scream at their former teacher to stop. The flame of the torch on the wall was snuffed out when the standing silhouette lowered its sword, concealing the shadows from his sight.
There was a disgusting, squelching noise, and then the sound of a blade being withdrawn, of blood being spilled, and of a heavy mass falling motionless.
Under the banner of the Crest of Flames, Claude and the Professor had slain the Flame Emperor, bringing an end to the war as they promised they would.
After a long silence, during which he remained motionless, unable to process what he witnessed in this half-conscious state, there were some discussions. Dimitri heard the familiar voices of people he hadn’t seen since his stay at the academy a lifetime ago, among which was one of his former Blue Lion classmates, who back then chose to leave their house to follow their talented new Professor.
He didn’t blame her then, and even allowed her to switch classes with his blessings. He could only understand because he too had once oh so wished the Professor could have been by his side during the months before the war. And that searing envy he felt back then was coming back with a vengeance now that this merry band had accomplished his life goal right under his nose.
Claude’s voice raised above the rest. He called for his friends, including the Professor, to leave the castle for now. To tend to the wounded and enter parley with the vanquished imperial army. And with this, to prepare the future of Fódlan.
The Alliance’s troops and their surrendering enemies slowly withdrew one after the other, stepping around the bodies and bloodstains littering the floor. In the light of the now wide open doors of the throne room, Dimitri saw a pair of legs linger directly in front of him. From behind the shroud of his own blood-soaked hair, he thought he could recognize a familiar face.
“Mercedes, are you coming?” A man’s voice called.
He saw those same legs turn away from him.
“Yes. Pardon me.”
And with this, she departed with the rest.
An instant later, the light faded as the doors were sealed shut once more, and Dimitri was left lying in the dark, all alone.
Dimitri couldn’t tell for how long he drifted in and out of consciousness after this. He just remained painfully aware of every bruise and puncture in his skin each time he came to his senses. From the orange hue of the light filtering through the stained glass above what was left of the throne, he could tell he had stayed there for at least over an hour.
To his surprise, he felt like he recovered enough strength to pull himself back to his legs. More astonishing still, it appeared the battalion of the Crest of Flame had not yet returned to the scene of their final battle to tend to the dead.
Slowly he began stumbling back to the center of the room, dragging his feet as he tried to ignore the sting of the open wound in his abdomen.
For a second, he considered limping all the way to the door, pushing it and calling for medical assistance. Maybe someone could take care of him. Maybe he could meet Claude and the Professor once more. Maybe they would welcome him like an old friend. Maybe they could forgive his aggression during the three-way offensive on the plain of Gronder, and allow him to play a part in the rebuilding of Fódlan.
Maybe. But no. That was a beautiful dream. One beyond his reach.
He dismissed the idea as fast as it had materialized in his mind and he turned toward the stairs. How foolish of him to think he could return to the light. There was no way he could come crawling at the feet of the real victors after everything that happened. His comrades, even Dedue, all died because of his own weakness. There was nothing left for him now. Save for one thing.
He needed to see her corpse. To make sure she was dead and would never come back. To know those he loved were avenged, and that their suffering would end. Their cries and his nightmares would stop.
Finally he reached the top of the stairs and here she was.
Edelgard was lying on her flank, the handle of her axe still resting in her open palm. Her eyes were closed, and a dash of blood was drying at the corner of her parted lips, joining an enormous crimson splatter that seeped from a wide gash in her throat; right where the Professor struck her.
The wound was impressive, but the cut was neat, precise, quick. Even when avenging him, Jeralt's progeny showed merciful efficiency.
Dimitri knew exactly what he expected to find climbing those stairs and yet he surprised himself when instead of finding comfort, he began to shake. He was used to seeing lifeless bodies by now, including those of his loved ones. He had been surrounded by death his entire life, and even spent the last five years raining his bloody justice upon whoever got in his way.
And yet, something about the sight of this one dead body was sending shivers down his spine he could not comprehend.
Was it elation? Disappointment? Could it even be terror? Grief?
He dropped to one knee at her side, and reached for her shoulder with a trembling hand. Edelgard’s body wobbled in an unnatural manner when he grazed it with the tip of his fingers. He wondered why it was that this unease in his chest was spreading to his stomach. Why was her death not bringing him the relief he expected? Was it really because he wanted to be the one doing it himself?
He could still hear his father’s voice, and then he began to understand. He was ashamed because he failed. Because he was too weak. Because by letting someone else carry out his mission, by letting her leave this mortal coil without making amends, he let her take her victory to the grave.
After everything she did. After all the suffering she and the people who aided her caused. After everything he himself went through. She was given a quick, near-painless demise, nowhere near the endless torment she should truly have deserved. His hold against her tightened, and he pushed her body away in disgust, a roar escaping the deepest reaches of his throat.
This is when he heard a clinking noise.
Dimitri was panting. He looked down, and finally he could see Edelgard’s other arm, the one that was hidden under her cape. She died holding onto the hilt of another blade, concealed behind her back.
He crawled a bit closer, laying one palm on the marble floor, somehow feeling the stickiness of the blood painting it through his gauntlets. With his other hand, he tried wedging the other blade out of her grasp, and of course, Edelgard made this difficult, even in death. Her body was already stiff as stone, and he wasn’t sure if it was the iron of her gauntlet or the bones of her fingers that snapped when he finally pried her fist open.
Finally Dimitri could take the second blade and behold it properly, and what he saw both astonished and didn’t astonish him.
That was weird. He could feel himself smiling now.
He’d recognized the hilt. Now he was recognizing the item. That was his dagger. Her dagger. The dagger he offered to her when they were children. His farewell gift to her all those years ago.
He looked back at the deceased emperor, first at her broken empty hand, and then at her face, the face of a child sleeping so serenely. All this time, Edelgard held his dagger concealed under her cape. She even reached for it in her final moments, as she was kneeling in front of the Professor, beckoning them to take her life and put an end to the war she herself orchestrated.
“What were you thinking?” Dimitri breathed out. And hearing his own voice, he realized he was chuckling.
Not just chuckling, laughing even.
This. This was one last show of spite, targeted toward him.
Had she initially planned to strike the Professor unaware to regain the upper hand?
Did she falter at the last minute and decide against it?
Did she resign herself to being cut down by someone she knew? Did she hope they would make her end swift, after the touch of the hilt gave her a stark reminder of what Dimitri had in store for her? That he would have broken her limb by limb and never let the light leave her eyes before she begged for it?
Or… did she reach for this because it reminded her of trite comforts in her final moments?
All the while he continued to ponder on her intentions, he kept laughing. Joyfully. Gutturally.
Laughing so much he couldn’t tell where the tears coming out of his single eye came from.
Laughing as his own shaking hand grasped the hilt of the dagger as tightly as his dear sister’s corpse did.
Laughing as he swung the blade into her cadaver over and over and over and over again.
Dimitri woke up with a start in the alcove under that old tree. He forgot where he was when he fell asleep, it was dark all around, and all his single eye managed to perceive was a reflection of moonlight against the wet mud and his own boots.
He was feeling numb, and it took him some time to start hearing, feeling and smelling his surroundings again.
No voices. For a brief blissful instant, he heard the nature around him and nothing else. The rain stopped but the water was still trickling down the branches of the trees that surrounded him, creating a soft harmony that rang over the distant rumbling of the river.
His arms and legs were sore, his back ached. The fur of his cape was so gorged with rainwater it felt as burdensome as his armor. As soon as he could feel the blood circulating in his fingers again, he tightened his hold over the one thing he felt was soft in his touch. The burlap sack.
Mud, grass, some floral scents. By all means, this glade was the kind of place you only found in tapestries, and it looked, felt and smelled the part. But when he drew air through his nose, Dimitri found it hard not to grimace, as he was now also perceiving a scent most foul, and yet so familiar. The scent of rot. The scent of metal. The scent of his own purpose. The scent of…
He stared down at what he held on his lap. It could only come from there.
His hold tightened over the bag once more. He felt its content through its fibers and his own gauntlets. Both objects he knew it contained were still in there, one thing long, one thing round, both things heavy.
But the stench…
Dimitri’s lips quivered as he brought the tip of his index finger to his teeth, just so he could remove his glove. Once his bare hand was freed, he brought it to the opening of the bag and began feeling its inside.
First his hand closed on the hilt of the dagger. Of course, he’d felt its weight all this time. He’d felt it shift around as he was clinging to the package before he drifted back to his nightmares.
But then there was the other…
He grazed it with the back of his hands at first. Of course it was still there. Why wouldn't it be?
He turned his wrist and then passed his fingers on a part of its surface that was smooth. It was cold. Colder than the steel of the blade. And also oddly mushy, compared to how it was when he left Enbarr.
When he withdrew his hand, silvery fibers were sticking to it. In the faint light he could see that the thick fluid was now encrusted under his nails and within the creases of his skin, staining his hand in the color of rust, like it was staining the bottom of the bag.
Dimitri finally peered inside. He needed to do this for himself. To make sure the two objects were still intact.
His stomach turned at a reflection of moonlight that made it look like the content stared back.
It was staring back.
It was making him sick.
“So. What’s your plan now?”
But he wouldn’t let himself be deterred. Not now. Not by her.
“Shut up.” He growled back.
“What will you do now? Is that truly what you wanted, for yourself, for your friends? For your kingdom?”
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
He rose so suddenly the burlap sack tumbled off of his lap and splashed into the mud with a disgusting, squelching, familiar noise.
She did not respond.
Light was slowly returning to the world. A new dawn was coming onto Fódlan. And the boar prince now saw clear as day his precious package, the one thing he had left, defiled by the elements. Lying at his feet.
The beige bag with content so foul the stains at the bottom turned browner than the mud soiling it. From the semi-unfastened opening in the fabric, she was staring at him, and that shine of moonlight remained in her gaze.
She no longer raised her voice. She couldn’t. She didn’t need to.
But his father’s voice, his wish for revenge, that macabre reconstruction of a memory he wasn’t anymore sure was his own, he could still hear it as clearly as he always did in his nightmares.
Everything else was gone.
When the sight of her eye became too much for his own to bear, he collapsed with his back against the roots that sheltered him from the rain.
El.
Felix. Ingrid. Sylvain. Dedue.
El.
His kingdom.
El.
El was gone.
Everything was gone.
Everything except the voice of his father.
That agony burning his lungs, boiling his innards, seared a trail onto his cheek.
As he turned toward the horizon, the light of daybreak couldn’t reach him.
Only emptiness.
Only emptiness, away from a world that was moving on without him.
He picked up her head and cradled it close.