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“I don’t think this will do you any good but…” Líf’s voice trailed off. “At least have a look, burn it into your mind.”
Dimitri was quiet. Awed, perhaps. Obedient enough to his elders as it gave him some kind of tether to reality.
Líf was only of this world. He couldn’t know for sure, if what the Heroes learned and experienced here in Askr stayed with them when their duties were fulfilled and they were consequently relinquished back unto their home world.
It was possible that this mirror view into the future wouldn’t do this poor, little Academy child any good, but if it did… That would make Líf happy.
He considered himself and Dimitri kindred spirits.
There was so much light ahead of them, so many good-hearted people behind them, and yet, there was darkness, too. Despair. Rage. It was a tight rope to walk. The duty and the responsibility which weighed on them as the crown princes of their respective regions. They needed to model perfection, yet humans were anything but.
Especially those whom they elevated to the mighty heights of hero.
In the long stay of this Askr not his own as it was the one whom he had been summoned to, Líf had seen the various faces of Dimitri come and go – a young chap who was cheerful and spry in his academy’s uniform, the merry man who brought presents and mirth in the chill of winter, and a hunter on the beach, practicing to kill even though the summer shone smiled upon him so joyfully. These were all Dimitri in his prime, equivalent to Líf’s own time as Alfonse, a Spring Prince and an older brother who donned the regalia of love for the Day of Devotion.
But Líf had seen past this youth and into the dreary moors of the future, where rot and decay festered underneath rubble and debris.
He had met and even worked alongside the feral boar known as Future Dimitri, or more accurately, Fallen Dimitri.
A prince who had become consumed by rage, by vengeance, the ghosts that haunted him. A dead man walking with no regard for his body and soul, for he considered himself little more than a corpse reanimated.
But he wasn’t.
Líf would know. He was a corpse reanimated, and in his opinion, Dimitri should cherish what did remain of his body. Intact. Scarred and meaty as it was. Imperfect.
All things that Líf now missed, years on from having his own human body. The things that he could see Dimitri take for granted. The sensation of fresh, clean hair and the mere act of breathing, well earned after a set of training and practice.
Perhaps it was over reach, perhaps it was what they both needed, but Líf stepped in. He decided that Dimitri needed a tether to this mortal coil lest the ghosts that howl in his ears blew him away, off course of his fullest potential as a prince and a vessel for the living, not just the dead.
He took Dimitri aside one afternoon in the courtyard and decided he would put the fear of godlessness in Dimitri.
Dimitri made foolish, scuffed remarks here and there as Líf took them into the shade and away from prying eyes. They stepped up against the castle's stonework, obscured by the limbs of a spindly tree overburdened by green foliage.
Against the wall, cornered, Dimitri looked up at Líf with determined, unfettered eyes. Líf was all but daunted by that look, with just a hunch, Líf was certain that Dimitri saw the Alfonse that remained within, somewhere, even in places of his own body and soul that Líf dared not to tread for his grief would consume him if duelled too long on them.
“How can I help?” Dimitri asked, relented to the fact that Líf was calling the shots now that they were in such close proximity.
Chest to chest, armour to armour.
“I want to teach you a lesson.” Líf growled. “One I learned the hard way. Now am doing the kindness of teaching you the easy way.”
Dimitri's eyes subtly slid to the side so he could look at somewhere just behind Líf. There was no one there. Líf would know as he had secured the perimeter before bailing Dimitri up like this but who knows what Dimitri saw. Or thought he saw.
Líf briefly worried that perhaps he could see the Sharena that Líf, himself, imagined from time to time. A flower that had not bloomed, an everlasting smile, the blood running down her cheeks from an eye impaled. The ghost of Sharena whom he could never make amends towards from the doomed timeline that he hailed from.
Dimitri looked at him again. All this in the instant of a second. His face hardened.
“It would be unbecoming of a young prince such as I,” he began diplomatically, “if I did not heed the warnings and advice of my elders.”
What a brat, but on the surface, this was the speech of a well meaning student. Very well. Líf stood back after he imparted his wisdom unto Dimitri.
He grabbed Dimitri’s hand and forced it to his lower abdomen. Beneath the peaks of his jet black armour and into the luminescent teal of where his entrails had once been the living tissue and organs of his human body. Dimitri exclaimed, made a face. Líf only yanked him harder to acquaint him with the unnatural viscera of how the dead really felt from beyond the grave.
“Look well. Feel it.” Líf told him. “Internalise what you see and touch.”
Dimitri gulped.
Líf closed his eyes, as if to meditate on the thrum of Dimitri's blood that coursed through the veins in his wrist. Dimitri was reviled as he was made to grope Líf. He was cold to the touch and yet, that coldness turned to the first lukewarm sensation that Líf had felt in over a decade.
“Do not allow yourself to rot and decay as I have.” Líf told him. “Live and live well.”
“I’ll do my best.” Dimitri said.
He continued to touch and grope Líf . He couldn’t help but be fascinated by the gelatin quality of Líf’s body. Where he had rotted away had been replaced by the most peculiar substance: the ectoplasm of his soul. It was soft and squishy, and yet, there was a revolting touch to it.
Dimitri emboldened. He probed further, deeper, all of his own initiative. Líf stood and bared it, as Dimitri drove his hand in deeper until the whole of his fist was swallowed by the supernatural substance.
Líf shuddered as Dimitri stroked him, his fingertips trailed against the ectoplasm. It was intimate. It was horrifying. It was the closest that Dimitri would ever be to Líf's heart and he would not take that lying down.
Thus, Líf forced himself to suppress all further reaction to Dimitri’s touch.
It was the first time in many years that he had been treated with kindness, with curiosity. He had been grappled and fought with by many in the battlefield and the arena, in the land of the dead and beyond but this was the first time in a long time that Líf had not steeled his resolve unto Hel’s misery.
Yet Dimitri’s hand, warm to the touch though he likely did not realise it, was gentle with him. He was a man who snapped training spears like twigs and could mangle a sewing needle just by touching it, but unto Líf, he had nothing but courtesy.
Líf chewed his bottom lip. He watched carefully as he tried to read Dimitri’s mind for what thoughts he might be having. He was such a guarded youth, swathed in facade. He knew what roles he had to play, and bless him, he played them well.
He slowly let go of Dimitri. Dimitri politely rescinded his hand. He massaged his wrist from where Líf had grappled him. He looked Líf up and down, as though placing himself in Líf's boots. Líf opened his eyes. He looked downwards at Dimitri and their sharp gaze met somewhere in the middle.
“Was this helpful?” Líf asked. “Did you learn something?”
“I hope so.” Dimitri replied.
Truly, that was all that Líf could hope for.
The world was not set in stone, nor its future. There were many realities within these realms and he hoped that more would be good for his young beau than not.
But the worlds were vast and numerous. Near infinite. It was entirely possible that none of his words of warning nor the intimacy of the actions would even begin to penetrate the unfathomable quantity of destinies that this particular Dimitri might embark on but.
If even just one was saved.
That would make Líf quietly happy.
Though he had little hope for that outcome. He remained stalwart.
He let Dimitri go. He had better things to do, surely, than spend time with a corpse. Even so, Líf felt a bittersweet surge from within as he watched Dimitri escape him and step by the shadows cast by this corner of the castle and into the light.
All Líf could do was stand there. He was better suited to the darkness these days. Anything too bright, too lovely, seemed ill fit for him given how much death that he had caused and yet…
Just like the farmer who had to wait the seasons and months for a crop to yield, there did come a day where Líf would learn his efforts to instill the principles of life in Dimitri would bear fruit.
Another day, another year, and a Hero with the Legendary was summoned from a new ordeal. A new Dimitri, far gone into the future of Fódlan, beyond that of houses and hopes, a totally new dawn on the snowy mountains and azure skies of Faerghus, would arrive in Askr.
Líf tentatively kept his distance.
He always did.
As time went on, Líf understood that he wasn’t the strongest unit in the barracks. He didn’t have to be nor did he want to be. He was sent out less and less, on missions or the like, kept around like a trophy: a shadow of the actual Prince Alfonse.
Líf was fine with it. Even as he kept his practice and training up, dissatisfaction lingered. He was difficult to please given that the sword that he swung had struck in failure. He didn’t feel great as he lived another day in the wake of victories that he felt unearned. Haunted by the only spectres of what could have been if only he had been stronger earlier.
Still, he considered it wise to keep an eye on the ongoings of the castle, the arrivals and the departures. Still, this one was a little bit of a shock to him. The magnificence that this former boar carried: a chiselled face with a perfectly curated beard, greater heights achieved yet, a glorious coat. He could hardly believe it as he avoided getting close.
He didn’t think he had the right to be at the side of a “new” Dimitri who was all grown up and had attained light that Líf could never fathom, either for himself or this kindred spirit, and yet, something stirred within and he let his guard down. He let this older Dimitri approach.
Once more, they stood in the unchanging courtyard of the Askr castle, in the shade of a tree with thin limbs and green foliage, but this time, Dimitri placed his hand on Líf’s shoulder of his own volition. Líf did not flinch as the gesture had comfort in it, his large hand over his shoulder pad and Líf had to wonder. Had Dimitri always towered above him like so? Líf looked upwards, out of the corner of his eye, and for a spectre of the dark, he could hardly withstand the sunshine that this man exuded.
“Thank you for the lesson you taught me that afternoon in Askr, I promise, its message reached further than you might despair.” Dimitri told him.
Líf refused to react. He kept his jaw steady, his eyes ahead and yet. There was only sweet relief in his head to hear that he had a difference. That was more than enough for him to be content.