Chapter Text
“A vengeful spirit whose brutality knows no bounds?”
The man, no— the prince , who had aided in her escape, urged the stolen steed deeper into the maw of the shivering woods.
“Or a liberator of the oppressed?“
Byleth flexed and squeezed her fingers from behind, and paled at the realization that she had indeed been cut by a still-poisoned blade.
The tip of her frozen nose untucked itself as she drew her bleary eyes up towards her rescuer. She could not cast blame upon him. He couldn't have known she had slathered her dagger with that toxin the day she was taken, and without his quick thinking in those dreaded chambers, surely, they would have been doomed.
“Suspiciously, soon after the capture of Garreg Mach, the rightful heir of Faerghus was convicted of murdering the Lord Regent, his own uncle, and was executed without evidence, or a proper trial.“
The prince's one-eyed gaze was set on the muddy path forward.
“As long as they did not bear the insignia of the Imperial army, they were spared.“
If she had to wager a guess, Chesamae was held to the same standards.
Byleth did not doubt for a second the stories Crys had offered in his final moments, the question was, how? How did her memories tangle up so badly that history didn't even line up? Her head had slowly begun to clear, resting back carefully into the prince's cloak, aware that the arm holding the reins still had an arrowhead lodged in the muscle, weeping hot blood as his good arm held her close. The wound had to be painful, but it was in those powerful arms, where she felt safest.
The paradox that was her prince made little sense, because in her final moments, as the vesper hour neared the horizon, she distinctly remembered the man who rushed to her side and held her as she bled out, was the king of Faerghus.
Faintly, she recalled learning that the regal young man took the crown early. He had long, golden blond hair tied back in a ponytail, unruly bangs, valiant silver and breezy blue armor, and two stunning frost-flecked eyes.
Underlined by a dark sunken bag, the good eye of her heavily wounded prince flicked towards her momentarily. Satisfied that she was still conscious, he turned back to the road with a stern frown and grunted, adjusting his hold.
It was the same eye.
The same hair.
The same carved jawline and the same legendary strength that even her father had mentioned was something to behold on the battlefield.
How did she not put the two together?
Perhaps as she lay dying, bleeding out with steel in both her hand and gut, her thoughts were a million miles away from the watery details of a pretty stranger.
No less beautiful than the man she remembered, her prince's hair had lost some of its luster. His skin was pallid and sickly from his days without sleep, or food, or water. He wore the face of a vagrant man, shunned and shooed from society because of his haggard appearance and incoherent ramblings. It was clear he had given up on being accepted by humanity, as he fought with every fiber of his being to save it.
People feared him for how he looked, how he whispered to shadows, but he was no different than her. They feared her too, with her large expressionless eyes, and stilled features because she was wholly unfamiliar with the customs that came with socialization, friendship, and childhood wonder. It didn't make her any less human than anyone else. They were not demons, they were misunderstood.
It didn't matter to her who he once was, her favorite student or the king. To her, he was her valiant prince. She didn't fear him, and he didn't fear her.
Welling up inside, was a strange, cloud-like warmth she couldn't help but take comfort in when she thought of him, when she looked at him, spoke to him, rode in silence into the beyond with him.
He glanced at her again, still serious, stiff, and furrowed, but the accompanying feeling in her heart was one she yearned to repeat again.
“Hey,” she croaked, resorting to his favorite nickname. Whether he was a prince or not, she had no idea how to address him, “we should really treat our wounds. My head is beginning to clear now, but—”
“Are you insane?“ he scolded. “We have hardly put distance between us and them . Your tactical mind should know better. Your head is not clear. That much is apparent.“
“This horse is fast but the tracks it leaves behind are just a trail for them to follow. We need to ditch the horse if we want to truly throw them off our scent.“
He slowed the obedient steed to a trot, then a walk, then a smooth halt —just like a prince who grew up in a castle, surrounded by the finest tutors and gallant paladins, would have the skill to do. “You're right. As I surveyed the area I noticed a drop off up ahead.“ With a cultivated touch, he maneuvered her off the saddle and then followed suit, giving the inky black horse a grateful stroke on the snout. “There are falls that lead to the eastern river, the trail flows directly to Hresvelg.“ As he spoke, he eased himself up against a tree, dabbing the tip of his finger into the dripping crater in his shoulder, hissing at the onset of pain. The adrenaline in him was wearing off, all the while a poison took root in her veins.
“I can walk on my own, so you won't need to carry me,” she assured with thinly veiled apprehension. “Let's make for the falls and seek to limit any tracks we leave behind.“
He curtly nodded, taking her again by the underarm —as a gentleman would. Her fantasy of being a maiden rescued by a handsome prince, was growing more and more real by the second, and this time, she couldn't blame the drug.
Their stolen horse took off, leaving a false path for the Agarthans to follow, but when they reached the falls, the cliffs were much too steep for them to safely scale in their bone-weary condition.
The prince met her puzzled eye with his own apologetic one.
“I am sorry,” he said with a tenderness she had never heard before. “I'm going to need you to trust me again.“
The steep cliffs and the tumbling waters below made her stomach drop. She realized as his boots dug into the soil, he was asking her to jump.
“That— That’s preposterous. What if there are rocks below?“ she asked with an inflection of anxiousness, wishing her arms were freed so she could curl into her furs for comfort.
“There aren't, I scoured the falls already during my search. I'll hold on to you. We let the current take us down the river, and we'll be in the clear,” he stated with an unease that undermined his confidence. “By the time those rats safely reach the bottom by footfall, we'll be long gone. It wouldn't be worth it to them to continue a fruitless hunt.“
“They'd be smarter to regroup and double their efforts,” she agreed. “Are you certain we'll even make it?“
“I'm positive. I've been swimming in full armor since I was a boy.“ And she believed him, but it did not ease her nerves.
“Nngh—” Her body stiffened, fear flickered in her eyes. Byleth considered herself a good swimmer, but she was still chained, and not too keen on heights, especially learning she had already taken a lethal fall. “Arrow wounds are serious, you need medical attention. If you break my chains, maybe I could try to—“
“We don't have the luxury of time to come up with a better plan!“ The prince clasped his hands on her shoulders, eye trained on hers, harboring both sympathy and sincerity while speaking in his softened tone, “I’m sorry. I know you must be terrified to go over the edge. But this time… I—” He swallowed a gulp of air to gain composure. “I promise, you won't be alone.“
Back cradled into the warm line of his body, he walked them backwards until his boot met the edge. Her pulse noticeably quickened, but she had faith in him, if she truly was going to die again, here and now, at least she'd be held one last time by her precious partner in life and death.
Byleth tilted her gaze up to face him as he gave her body a small, but reassuring squeeze.
“Count to three, and hold your breath.”
The falls pounded against the turbulent waters. She knew her prince was indescribably strong, enough to swim both of them up to safety, but as she had noted, he was wounded, in full leather armor, a thick fur cloak, weighed down by her, and her Sword.
Their heavy armor flooded instantly, their furs absorbed moisture like a sponge, increasing in weight the moment they submerged. His weak arm was losing its grip, readjusting itself again for the nth time since their bodies collided with their watery perdition. With every passing moment, each strain sapped the oxygen from their lungs. For every impressive stride he made, if they weren’t pummeled back down by the deafening waterfall above them, then they were sucked in further and further by the current beneath them.
Byleth felt him loosen his good arm, frantically stripping away her fur and cuirass, not even bothering with the buckles or straps, ripping them right off of her to sink into the depths. His own armor and cloak tore off his body with an inaudible, but gruff pry, drifting away with the undertow. With the weight lessened, he was able to reasonably kick them close to the surface, but by then—
The prince cupped her cheek with a hand for her to face him. Bubbles slipped from his nose, the last of his air floating to the surface. He had a look she had seen once before on someone else, a soft, pleading eye with a deep crease just at the bridge, and a saddened, downturn of the lips that said with no words, “I'm so sorry.“
His eye fluttered, struggling to keep open and stay present. He wrapped both arms around her, an embrace that felt long overdue, but it was not a final hug he was after. His large hands fumbled frantically towards her wrists, and in a last ditch effort, he snapped the binding iron links to her chains to set her free.
3…
Byleth felt herself floating through a sea of clouds, weightless in a space only that of the divine had mastery over. She gathered a fistful of his tunic and paddled her feet towards the surface.
2…
The prince had lost consciousness, and may have inhaled a lung full of water. He, too, weighed nothing, but as she kicked her way towards the top, a new fear settled in.
1…
Byleth and her prince breached the surface. She felt herself gasping for air her lungs did not yet need until time ticked again, her body acting on survival alone.
0…
Time resumed.
The prince's full weight kicked in as she hoisted him above the churning water. Her limbs were screaming, the poison felt as if it was solidifying in her veins, making it difficult to stay afloat, let alone keep someone else from drowning.
Through the meanders of the waterway, her boot found something slick, but solid, as she made for the shallows of the riverbed. Straining, she heaved her unconscious prince onto the pebbled bank for immediate assessment.
He had yet to turn blue, but the sapped color of his graying lips were nothing to take lightly.
Byleth's hands were shaking as she slid his wet locks from his face. Her hands pumped at his chest after finding a pulse, and without hesitation, she pressed her lips into his cold, clammy ones.
It wasn't a kiss. It was frantic, and distressing to feel his limp mouth lack any and all reaction as she breathed her life into him.
The average person could hold their breath for around thirty seconds, up to two minutes if they were very well trained. For Byleth, she had counted well over a minute. Had she been exerting the same amount of effort, expending energy and oxygen at the rate the prince was, she would have drowned much sooner than he.
Her compressions repeated, water began to expel from his lungs. His limbs twitched at random intervals while her nerves caught fire in her desperation to save the man who had saved her so many times before. She would not witness the death of another kind stranger today. Her heart could not handle one death, but to lose her precious prince— would be unbearable. She already felt her heart rend itself in two knowing that he had sustained this much damage to his body on her behalf.
One more deep exhale went into him.
Water violently came up as the prince sucked in a hoarse gasp of air.
Waterlogged, his eye blinked open as he coughed, swatting a hand to his chest. To her relief, she pulled back and felt her eyes sting again, but this time, relieved little rivulets slid down her cheeks.
“Hey,” she greeted weakly, puffy eyes crinkling.
The prince struggled to rest on his forearms, gathering his breath despite his other injuries. He watched her with an expression she could not place, but before he could gain the composure to say anything, she tapped her fingers against the trail of blood down her neck.
Oh.
Fully expended, she collapsed.
“Get up, Byleth!“ He clasped the sides of her arms to shake her. His gentle touch belied his harsh, raspy tone. “What is wrong with you?“
The grumpy prince growled in frustration when she could not form an answer.
Byleth felt weak, gray blotting the edges of her vision, not even her eyes obeyed properly. A crimson river gushed out of her wound, and her body refused to move.
A deliberate fist rose to his chin in thought.
“I see…” With the bulk of their armor stripped away, his eye roved over her stiffening limbs. “You should have told me your blade had been coated with that vile toxin,” he said, attention fixed on her neck as he crouched down to her level.
A wide grin dripping with manic distress cut across his face, shadowing his gaze.
“Very clever, Edelgard… That toxin adheres to the wound, I've not seen it yet used, only heard whispers of its slow acting, but deadly nature. Your crest keeps flaring in an attempt to heal you,” he continued with a stilted laugh, “and it has failed to seal the skin shut every time. Do you know what that means?“
Every attempt to heal her minor wound since the escape had the flesh molding together, only to dissolve instantly, allowing the cut to ooze freely. Just like Crys described. She struggled to wiggle a finger, her toes. Nothing would move. There was a terrible feeling of helplessness, and it was up to the drowned prince to fix it.
“I tried…” His tone thinned, speaking to those unseen cretins. “I tried to stay away. I tried to force her out of my head but there is something— something enigmatic that cannot be seen that leaves only flames in its wake. I have been left with no choice but to submit to the pull.“ Baring his teeth he snarled back in her direction. “The toxin cannot be removed with cleansing waters alone. You know what I have to do now,” he breathed, sucking in through his teeth with an intensity that made her dizzyingly warm despite the growing paralysis creeping through her.
Has he always sounded so… husky?
Dripping wet, his arms caged around her on all fours, hovering just inches away from her face. Thin, damp black fabric molded to his sculpted chest, his pale blond strands clung to his skin. “I hope that you know, you owe me for this.“ The leather of his gloves creaked, then relaxed, raking through the hair on the back of her head as he began to lean in.
Upon realization of what was actually happening, her breath quickened, not out of fear. But of anticipation. Fear had melted away, as he, her sun, closed in. This close to him, she wanted to squirm. The peaks of her chilled nipples poked out from the fabric of her top. They had hardly gone unnoticed — at least had the decency not to stare.
Carefully, she calmed enough to allow him to guide her movement, baring her neck for him.
The prince was gentle, like powdered snow, wet, and satisfying upon her clammy skin. The heat from his tongue overtaking the water's chill nearly made her whimper as it dragged across the slit on her throat. Certainly there must have been a more practical way to clean the toxin off, but her body was very keen on continuing with this method. The prince's breath shuddered while hers caught midway through a weak, embarrassing moan.
He paused momentarily with a curious hum and a glossed look. “The toxin numbs my tongue. It is no wonder you cannot move. You owe me extra, for my diligence.“ The full span of his lips and tongue pressed back into her sensitive skin. The feeling bordered pleasure over pain as he lapped and sucked between what she imagined were shameless wet kisses.
“That's twice now I've come to your aid. You may have pulled me from the brink of death back there… Ha! But I can hardly call that a favor.“ Another hot kiss met the column of her throat. Now he was just indulging her. Or himself?
“They told me not to find you. To let you rot with that reaper and be his problem.”
His grip tightened on her, pulling her closer to him. A hair away from pressing together and laying atop her.
“I couldn't accept that.“
Another kiss below her chin.
“You promised me you would never leave me.“
A strangled noise attempted to come out in protest. He firmly gripped her hair before she could try.
“I don't care what I said before! What matters is what I'm telling you now.“ He darted a fierce look into her eye. “Blink for me twice so that I may know for sure that you can acknowledge me.“
It was a struggle, but she managed.
“You're so cold when wet,” he cooed, and trailed the rim of his jaw against the side of her cheek. The prince shifted them, and for reasons she did not know but did not care, his hands pulled her up, held her flush against his body in his dripping wet embrace. “It was I who cleansed the dungeons of that filth to see you to safety. It was I who dropped everything to turn tail and find you. It was I who broke you free of those shackles. And here you are, helpless once again. Tch. I expected better from Byleth Eisner, daughter of the famed Blade Breaker.“ Face-to-face, he ran a finger down her sodden cheeks, stopping just below her lip. “As payment for my services, you will give me your undying loyalty. Blink twice for me if you understand!“
A flicker of mischief glinted in his wild eye, and she gave two blinks. He breathed a hot sigh of relief in her ear and straightened himself, keeping her seated but pulling away.
Clearing his throat, he drew out his most cultivated, decisive tone, and stated, “As prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and heir to the throne, I, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, hereby knight you, Byleth Eisner, the Goddess as my witness, into my service.”
Dimitri .
Pretty…
She blinked twice.
Hypnotized by her pale, exposed neck, he spoke again, lower this time. “You will do as I command. You can never leave me, and should you even so much as attempt to betray me, I will hunt you down and shackle you to me eternally. Even after the flesh falls from your bones.“
Dimitri dove right back in, breathing in the earthy scent of her long unwashed hair, fulfilling a minor portion of the want her body shamelessly required. His tongue laid flat and lapped a long stripe across the length of her wound. The motion mimicked a far more intimate one —she could never admit it sent a quiver to her womanhood. His bottom lip dragged across the frayed flesh gently enough to have her silently begging for more. Being shackled to him didn't sound half bad.
“Try now,” he ordered brusquely.
Blankly staring in a state of shock, paralysis, and bliss, she recognized a few moments later that he was referring to her crest.
With eyes pinched shut, the fiery arc flared. The raw flesh melded together, and stayed together.
“Magnificent,” he mumbled, using his tongue to lap up the ruby red excess that had trailed down her neck to her collar, growling in frustration when his mouth met fabric, grazing it with his teeth.
“Hey bud,” a man's burly voice called from nearby. “You wanna explain what you're doing over there with that woman?“
Dimitri shot up abruptly, his hold on her only tightened, pulling her back into a sitting position where he could protectively embrace her as he snarled like a wolf staking claim on its fresh kill.
“What's it to you?“
The new man, broad, dark black hair, abs stacked and taut enough to rival Dimitri's, threw his axe over his shoulder.
“Hey man, it's not my place to judge, but the lady doesn't exactly look like she's able to give consent to…” he gave a cursory wave of the hand, “…whatever the hell this is?“
Lips pulled into a discontented line, his fingers dug into her skin, well enough to bruise. A hiss slipped through her teeth, but Dimitri was far too preoccupied defending his newest knight to hear her. The dark expression he wore looked like he was ready to maul the other man should he take a single step closer.
“My business does not concern you. Begone, Balthus!“
Balthus? Another enemy of theirs?
This Balthus guy stalked forward, challenging the prince.
“Ah, so you have heard of the King of Grappling, eh? Well champ , you should know I'm a respectable guy, especially with the ladies, and I'm not gonna let you take advantage of— Holy shit!“ His axe crudely dropped from his hands to the ground with a thunk. “—Dimitri? Professor?“
“I am not taking advantage of her!“ Dimitri, Prince of Neck Tonguing, retorted, cheeks scarlet.
Who was this stranger? Did she teach him combat too?
Balthus, Respecter of Women, inched forward in a state of awe. “My guy, —ahem, Your Highness , I don't care about that anymore. What matters is that both of you are alive! Ha, well ain't it my lucky day!“
Carefully, Dimitri rose to his full height, taking her paralyzed body with him like she were a porcelain mannequin. Balthus patted him with a heavy hand on his soggy shoulder and nearly hugged him had Dimitri not harshly flinched away.
“You shouldn't touch me. I do not seek the embrace of a friend.“ Ironic, seeing as he was embracing her.
“Man, what the hell happened? I barely recognized you! Your muscles haven't missed a day of training, and you grew a whole head taller but, no offense buddy, you also kinda look like shit. I guess, I mean I can't judge, I've been a wanted man, too.“
She couldn't speak for Balthus, but Dimitri was wanted for a crime he likely didn't commit.
“I'm innocent.“
“Yeah, I figured. I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you weren't though. Anyone who fucks with my friends and family, is dead to me. You're both looking like you've seen better days, is everything—?”
“Commander,” came a bell-like voice from a butterscotch haired woman, holding an air of confidence undermined by her young age. “We need to go. Our hunch was correct, this was the spot, but they're on the lookout, our surprise attack is moot. May I advise we retreat while we can and regroup to fight another day? Oh— My apologies, Commander. Are these escapees?“
“Don't worry about them, I'll take care of it, Mira. Gather the others and regroup at the convoy.“ The woman, Mira, nodded curly at his order and left.
“What is this?“ Dimitri asked.
“I can explain on the way back to the safe house,” Balthus replied.
“Ha! As if I am to trust you?“
“Look pal, a lot has clearly changed over the years. We made our alliances, and while I can't speak for everyone, a good amount of these people took up the fight for her.” He inclined his head towards them. “And even more so, for you.“
“I don't want anyone to fight for me. I'm fine on my own.“
“I believe you.“ Balthus shrugged. “But is she?“
Dimitri grimaced, taking a cursory glance at Byleth in his arms, in no shape to run, with no armor, poison flooding her veins, and in no position to make a rash decision.
With the strength she still possessed, she blinked at him hard.
He let out a defeated sigh and asked, “Are you still a healer?“