Chapter Text
Rosy lips pulled taut, stained with a splotchy rim of blood, guilt shadowed the prince's icy expression fixated on the column of Byleth's throat. Mild as her wound was, the noxious poison had already nestled into her veins, rendering her nearly frozen, and uncomfortably rigid in his arms. Her eyes could survey her surroundings, and she could sorta blink, but there was nothing she could do to melt his concern away, or tell him, she didn't blame him.
Dark bags hung like grey, sunken drapes, the tremors in his hands a reflection of his threadbare state, emaciated, and weak; denied the moment he desperately needed to lay his weary head down.
He had accepted his grim fate so readily, and as she frantically pulled him from the rivers' murky edge, breathing her unbeating vitality back into him, she was hit with the weight of reality.
'The man', was not just any vagabond on a quest driven by vengeance. The pallid, unconscious lips she'd pressed hers upon, belonged to the shining crown prince of Faerghus, robbed of a happy life at the merciless hands of the Empire, thrown to the wolves to be eaten like rotten scraps, preyed upon by the distorted apparitions in his mind. Death was his only real escape from those horrors, and she was taking that from him, too.
…She never meant to be his burden.
“I got this.” Balthus cracked his knuckles, breaking her dark line of thought.
The King of Grappling had indeed been another one of her students, and an experienced War Monk, able to cleanse the majority of the poison left in her system until it was no longer deemed fatal.
“Alright, did what I could,” he began again as the healing glow from his hands dimmed. “Eh, you should probably check in with the medic at our safehouse though. You can hitch a ride with me back to Fletcher's Hollow.“ He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder towards his convening convoy. “It’s better than hanging out here.”
Never once allowing her to leave his hold, Dimitri (goddess was she grateful to finally learn his name), cautiously eyed him, but given how he could hardly keep himself upright, let alone take care of her, he followed disdainfully in lockstep.
“Alright everyone, let's get going!“ brightly came Mira to the rest of the group.
It was unlike Dimitri to trust, especially around so many people, and after everything that happened, she was rightfully wary as well. Balthus may have been a former student, but she didn't exactly know the man, and while his assistance was welcomed, and his offer generous, the only trust that remained in her feeble gut was for her prince. So, if even the ever-tentative Dimitri felt safe enough to accept his help, then she would as well. It wasn't like she had much of a choice…
Made as comfortable as he could muster, adjusting her limbs like a still doll, the prince of Faerghus laid her on his lap to rest in Balthus's carriage. It was a tight fit, knees nearly bumping their chin —and the two were still soaked to the bone from their dunk in the river, but it accommodated the three of them well enough.
Under Dimitri's plea, Balthus agreed to conceal their identities from the rest of the convoy. No titles, no formalities. They were little more than specters in the morning mist. The world wasn't ready to know who he was or what he had become, and he made clear he did not want anyone rallying behind him, dying in his name.
Between the clack of hooves and creak of wooden wheels, she felt the hesitant press of Dimitri's gloved fingertips to her pulse, as if her steady breath wasn't enough to convince him she was still present. He swiped a damp tendril of hair from her eyes, clutching her tighter at the slight bump in the rugged trail, as if she were something fragile he was too afraid would break.
The lively grin cut across the war monk's face had diminished, settling into a concerned line as he took in the state of them; for whom he hadn't seen since the days of the 'dead man'.
“So… asleep for five years, huh? Talk about bed head,“ Balthus started, breaking the stiffening silence. He tipped his head towards her relic, then to Dimitri. “Never thought I'd see that again, does this mean you uh… found her at the bottom…?“
Without changing his focus from the healing slit across her throat, Dimitri answered darkly, “No. She stumbled upon my corpse in the Goddess Tower.“
“Yeah? Sounds romantic,” Balthus teased in a poor attempt to lighten the mood, earning him a murderous look instead. He chuckled nervously. “Well… the good thing is, you're both alive.“
“Am I?“ he replied, cynically. “A walking husk has more to offer you. And as for her,” he thumbed over her arm, harboring his next words carefully, “it's hard to explain.“
“The lady cut her way out of the sky, and survived a fall from a cliff. Whatever it is, I'm sure I can handle it.“ Balthus rubbed his head.
“She didn't—” he stopped himself, and hummed low. “I'm still trying to understand it myself. She has no memory of the academy. I don't believe that time ever existed for her.“
“Huh…” The war monk's face fell into befuddlement.
Dimitri brandished a sour expression that made clear he did not want to continue the conversation, but after a moment's pause, she could see that he knew it was pointless to avoid it.
Balthus looked as if he was about to prod for more, before Dimitri stated instead, “We're strangers to her.“ He cast his eye away, adding with a tinge of scorn, “Everyone is. Except the Death Knight, apparently.“
A pit of guilt opened in her chest.
“That's… quite a doozy,” Balthus replied, kicking his feet back. “Uh, you sure she's not like that Kronya bitch?“
Byleth assumed 'that Kronya bitch', was an Agarthan face stealer.
“I'm sure. I too, worried the same.“ Dimitri's blond brow furrowed, then softened. “In all important aspects, she is Byleth Eisner, daughter of Jeralt, the Bladebreaker.“ Balthus bowed his head in respect, confirming yet again the cold weight of her father's death. “I half-heartedly believed she had amnesia, but I've slowly come to accept that this is not our professor. She's someone else entirely.“
Byleth couldn't widen her eyes, and yet she felt as if they'd slam open, her pulse skyrocketing. What the hell was he saying?
“So, she has no memory of the academy, because this isn't the same Byleth we knew back then?”
With a stiff grunt, Dimitri affirmed. “This Byleth claims she was killed by the sword on the battlefield in Arundel, during the war.“
“And our Byleth died during the first assault on Garreg Mach.“
“She also claims, at the time of her death, that I had taken up the throne as king years prior, and that her father was still alive.“
Balthus rubbed his arm, softly mouthing, “Oof…”
He straightened in his seat, stating resolutely, “I believe Byleth, the professor, and this Byleth, are two different people from two different worlds —if such a thing exists.“
Byleth's breath hitched. That explained the perplexity she'd seen in him whenever he looked at her. So, she hadn't lost her memory after all…? She was not the person he'd known before, and similarly, the man who held her as she died wasn't just an anomalous king, but the Dimitri of another world. On Sothis' name she had never considered such a possibility, and yet considering her power to survive a blade to the gut and jump through time, it seemed far from impossible.
The prince of this world continued, “It sounds mad, but I believe somehow, through divine intervention, both Byleth's were resurrected, but their spirits were placed in the wrong body.“
“Even the divine can make mistakes, I guess?“ Balthus hummed in question. “Which means Byleth, the professor, is probably with her also-alive father in another world. Her world.“ He pointed his chin towards her and shrugged, unphased. “Makes sense to me.“
With a downward tip of his head, Dimitri gave her a pained frown. The deep emotion coalesced at the edges of his lips, in the sallow of his cheeks, penned into his bones, and she could read its every word, like melancholic poetry. After maintaining a detached, stoic front for so long, her prince's voice had become small. “I take solace in the hope she is with family again…”
Clinging to those words, both Balthus, and Dimitri, said little else more on the matter. The carriage grew solemn. The breath of wind nature's wistful dirge.
Byleth didn't know what to make of any of the information. The two men, who were ultimately strangers to her, were speculating the finer nuances of her life through a foreign lens as if she wasn't sitting right there, and she was too weak to say anything about it.
Professor Byleth was not her, just her superior copy.
And Dimitri… prince Dimitri, spoke as if the friend, mentor, lover, professor, whatever the fuck Byleth Eisner was to him, was someone he sorely missed, all while herself, splayed helplessly across his lap, was a bitter reminder of whom he had lost, and to his behest, just another specter haunting him.
Silent, face twisted in its usual petulant scowl, Dimitri remained distant for the remainder of the ride, blankly staring out the small window towards the murky horizon.
Behind his tired eye, was a reflective tempest of thought too complex to put into words.
She knew he didn't want to be in his position, riding in a carriage away from his destined mission, and it was her fault, made apparent by his rigid sighs and his brusque thumb stroking over her cheek when he was in his head too deep to keep his discontent contained.
Over the course of what felt like an hour, Balthus had forgone starting casual conversation with Dimitri, leaving him to himself, bringing her up to speed instead, his account reconfirming the information the Death Knight had offered before. After rescuing the three lords, Professor Byleth chose to lead Dimitri's house at the academy, and quickly became the favored teacher for all the students. Even Edelgard, who wished to coax her into joining her side.
It explained why the Death Knight was so keen on keeping her alive.
At the time, 'the dead man' had proposed the idea for a class reunion on the day of the Millennium Festival —which happened to be the day 'inferior Ashen Demon Byleth' woke up in a strange new world, to a strange new face she had been serendipitously drawn to.
Balthus had noted that the rest of the class had remembered their promise, himself included. The two of them were presumed dead, as was another student Dimitri flinched hard at the mention of, so the somber festivities carried on in their memory. (Little did the others know, the duo were at Garreg Mach as well, busy piling up the corpses of thieves, fulfilling the call for blood and vengeance.)
Dimitri uncomfortably shuffled in his seat, and Byleth had to wonder if he knew all along that his friends were waiting to reunite just a step away. It wouldn't surprise her if his urgency to leave and find Pallardó's caravan was a convenient escape from the unwanted reunion. Guessing from Balthus's reaction towards finding him, the others would have been equally, if not more disturbed by his change from the 'dead man', to whom he had become.
A small part of her greedily hoped Dimitri found some relief in that he no longer had to worry about what Professor Byleth would think by traveling with the Ashen Demon, who had no frame of reference for who he was before, simply accepting him as he was now. Her comfort. Her prince.
According to Balthus, the suspicious charges set against Dimitri, among other strange ongoings in the Kingdom, led Alliance leader Claude towards the creation of an underground network of renegades, who were to monitor and disrupt Empire (and masked mage) activity, delegating leadership to four different branches across Adrestia.
Balthus, and his friends who called themselves the Ashen Wolves (also former students), ran their respective branches from the underbelly, recruiting defective Adrestrians and rebels alike to carry out missions to further dismantle the Empire from the shadows.
Making his base in the town of Fletcher's Hollow, at an inconspicuous and unsuspecting luxury inn, funded by an anonymous, trustworthy benefactor who only few knew the identity to, their operatives took out small encampments, rescued captives, and relayed information through the spy network, all while on the frontlines, the Alliance worked alongside the anti-Dukedom Faerghan houses, led by Fraldarius and Gautier, and the Knights of Seiros.
“I think she's heard enough,” Dimitri snapped, voice tinged with a weak rasp from having been drowned mere hours before.
Balthus shrugged, throwing his hands behind his head to relax.
One strong arm looped just above her waist to keep her secure on his lap, then, Dimitri rested his head against the back of his seat, shuting his lone eye; too fatigued to continue to will himself alert. After everything he had gone through to get to this point, it was a miracle he was even present at all.
Sequestered in the southernmost region of Hevring, Fletcher's Hollow was as unassuming as any other. The town experienced temperate winters and a perpetual layer of broken fog, most prevalent upon daybreak and during the vesper hours; due to its close proximity to the sea.
Somewhere along the way, Byleth must have knocked out cold, finding herself lying in a curtained off infirmary when her eyes lazily eased open. Her neck had been properly cleaned and patched, though the rest of her remained undisturbed.
As a test, she summoned the thought to wiggle a finger. Said finger remained petrified like stone.
Coming to, she laid there, absently staring at the wooden beams above, when a dark shroud caught her eye and crowded close to her bedside, its thumb restlessly grazing her forearm.
“Did you really think,” the prince-shaped silhouette started with a threatening level of callousness in his tone, “you had my permission to go off and be captured? To go off and nearly die?“
Byleth's breath hitched, but she could not respond.
“Now that I know who you are,” he muttered darkly, “and who you are not, what I've failed to wrap my head around, is why…? Why would you go to him ?“
Surely, he meant the Death Knight.
“Or did you assume you could hide the truth from me? When I put aside the mission, scouring Chesamae to find you, I learned from the old tavernkeep that you willingly took the Death Knight's hand and sauntered off towards the back rooms with him like dear old friends. “ His frigid tone lacked any trace of forgiveness. Her breath could only shutter.
Byleth knew how bad that must have looked, but in her current state, she could not explain that the truth was simply a matter of her own, stupid naivety. Professor Byleth surely would not have made that same mistake.
“You've been deprived of proper socialization, and isolated all of your life, so any morsel of comfort that falls into your lap, you latch on to like a weed ,” he sneered poisonously on inflection, and whipped his head away. “I know this, because I too was the same once. A lifetime ago. But— that is no more.“ His jaw tensed. “Why do you think I tried so hard to push you away? It was because I knew you'd be a thorn. Always trying to be kind, and understanding , dissuading me from continuing my bloody path. I did not understand, back then, who exactly you were, but I knew that I needed to rip you out before you took root.” Fingers steepled, he settled back, eye glazed with an eerie calm. “Alas, it seems that was not entirely the case. You have no desire to reign in my savagery. You kill those rats without a trace of hesitation, whereas the professor had moved beyond that.“
Byleth wanted to cry out. She never knew how much a simple comparison could sting, twisting ugly in her chest.
“I had many reasons to tear you out and cast you aside… but like a weed, I too, returned.“ He chuckled softly to himself, a wildness in his eye. “It seems no matter what I try, our vines continue to tangle together. The Goddess has finally shown her hand, and since I know it is the only way to ensure I take that woman's head, I have no other choice but to comply.“ He trained his cold gaze toward her. “Set aside your pledged allegiance, it matters not. You are bound to me, Byleth, you. We are symbiotic, and for as long as I exist, you are not allowed to be embraced by the necrotic touch of death. No, I will see to it that you remain very much alive.“
His glove trailed through a stray lock of her hair, continuing down her arm until it interlocked with her unmoving fingers.
Uncharacteristically soft, he squeezed her hand, muttering as if his words were meant for only himself to hear, “If you are to be a thorn, then I shall deem you my rose, forever dug into my palm. And when demise finally licks at my withered heels, I know I will meet you again —in the Eternal Flame.“
Rising to his full height, Dimitri threw the curtain aside, forgoing a proper goodbye as he curtly addressed the night nurse, “Find me when she is ready to be discharged, and ensure there are no other visitors.“
Byleth clamped her eyes shut, easier this time.
Since she found him, she had an otherworldly inkling their destinies would be intertwined. In a selfish, guilty part of her core, she didn't mind being tethered by fate until the bitter end, or beyond.
A barely-there curve tilted her lips upwards.
My rose.
Dimitri was angry with her, angrier with himself. Jeritza… Why him? Why did she know him? Did she mean to replace him with another when he tossed her out? Sending her to Claude was already one bitter pill to swallow, but Jertiza… Did he swindle her into believing he was a man when beneath the mask he was a monster? At least Dimitri could say he wasn't—
He was. He was just as monstrous. If not in the same way, he made up for it in other ways.
Regardless, he could not allow her to fall into the hands of the Empire, and that strange divine flame that stoked his desire to return her to his side reinforced the motive tenfold. Now that they were being hunted, he knew if he left her to her own devices, that force would drive him towards her again, and again, and again.
For the life of him, he could not confirm if it was really the Goddess beckoning him to assist her vessel, or in an attempt to further spiral him into the grasp of insanity, his waking dreams were just getting worse.
The dead demanded he let her go. Then, the dead reared their sick heads back and mocked him for it. There was no right answer. They would never find his actions satisfactory, he knew that. He would forever remain a disappointment to them.
With that conclusion met, if he could do no right, then just this once, whether or not it was the bidding of the Goddess, he would do as his beastly hindbrain wanted, keeping the Ashen Demon for himself.
When they arrived at Fletcher's Hollow, Balthus swiftly led them to the infirmary and took leave to his quarters. He had much to attend to, and now he had the added difficulty of planning the recovery of their armor, stolen away by the current before the masked mages got to their effects first. He may have lost the element of surprise, but he could watch with wicked glee while the newfound knowledge of their existence became a slowly creeping sense of dread for those wretches.
Now that he assuredly had Byleth at his side for his murderous campaign, they needed only to recover what vitality they could before making their march to Enbarr and ending it all; before any other life was unjustly stolen.
“Er— Sir Alfred?“ came a meek, tinny voice from the lead cleric making his way to the foyer.
“What is it?“
Alfred wasn't his first choice for an alias while incognito, but it was the first that came to mind.
“It's your hired hand,” he answered, eying Dimitri's hunched stature curiously, as if underestimating his 'hired hand's' abilities to protect a beast such as him, and not the other way around. He couldn’t exactly tout her as his royal knight. “She's regained full mobility, and is ready for you.“
Instantly, he perked from his spot in his secluded corner. “She can walk, and speak?“
“Yes. Please, come with me,” he said, rightfully intimidated, addressing someone as destitute looking as him, and led him through the maze of the lavish hotel interior. “The poison has fully left her system. Nasty stuff. You might feel a slight numbing sensation for a bit in your mouth, but had you not acted when you did, she would have been a lost cause.“ Dimitri's lip twitched, shoving down the shame of the liberties he should not have allowed himself to take with that 'act'. “The good news is she'll be fine, but—”
“But what? Spit it out.“
The medic hid behind his clipboard as they stood outside the curtain. “Yes, o-of course!” He cleared his throat. “She's still in a state of shock. After everything that happened, I'm actually impressed by her ability to bounce back this much so soon. Give her a warm bath, a bit of food, a cozy blanket, and a few days of limited activity, and soon she'll be right as rain.“
They did not have the luxury of a few days. She was notably stoic. She would just have to learn to manage.
Like he had.
“Is that all?“
“Um… Truthfully, what she needs most is some tenderness and care. A gentle hand would go a long way. She needs someone who will be patient with her, and allow her to express herself freely. She's not the first escapee we’ve seen. The horrors down there… it changes a person.“
Dimitri snorted, pulling away the curtain where she sat. Byleth vacantly stared at her boots, showing no sign of recognition. A pang hit his chest.
“Can we leave?“
“Er— yes, but I must add, you should also see to your woun—.“
“Good,” he interrupted, holding out his arm to guide her. Unblinking, she clasped to it, like he was someone she trusted implicitly. Dimitri flinched at her touch, warm with life, even through the fibers of his clothes. “Let's go.“
Thrust into the throes of war at a young age, Mira, Balthus's annoyingly cheerful apprentice, informed him prior that all the operatives in their branch 'lived' in the hotel. They'd 'check out' when they were deployed on missions, and 'check in' as return guests when they were completed —if they made it back alive.
As settled upon their arrival, Mira booked them a room under their aliases, but would pay back their debt by accompanying them on a few of those missions. The arrangement would ultimately put another unwanted delay on his own mission, but after mulling it over, he accepted that disrupting Edelgard's dogs and piling up Imperial corpses would just have to do. Their heads would have to come off eventually.
The space was cozy, a bit more upscale than he expected and… had only one bed.
They'd need to make proper sleeping arrangements later.
The door closed behind them, Byleth still had not released her hold on him, and up close, she looked in no better state of cleanliness than he did. The gristle had come off in the river, but they still reeked of iron and fish. Rancid.
A crusted stream of blood stained her collar, and though Mira had left them spare changes of clothes, they'd both need a proper bath first. With ease, Dimitri pried her arms off of him, though she did not make a move to fight it.
Their minimalistic, two-toned bathroom, woodlined, equipped with a barrel tub for soaking, stones for steaming, and a sizable standing interior for washing, held a tranquil touch of luxury Dimitri had not seen since his days as an adolescent. Seated next to the faucet was the wash bucket and stool, which he pulled out and pointed a firm finger towards.
“Get in.“
The once menacing, blank gaze of the Ashen Demon, had been replaced by a hollow expanse of desolation behind her large, mossy green eyes. During their quiet nights, spent in the wilderness, when the glow of the flame reflected into them, they were almost hypnotic. Iridescent.
To his annoyance, she stood still as a statue, focused on nothing. The sough of wind behind closed mauve curtains was almost mistaken for an apathetic sigh.
“You're unsightly.“ A vein ticked when she did not respond. “Was it not you who told me I'd die of infection if I refused treatment?“ he scolded, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I had accepted my death in that goddess forsaken tower, and you made me continue to writhe, landing us here.“
She let out a soft, mellow breath. A brief moment of relief hit his chest at her acknowledgement, which then pulled taut in discontent.
“I did as your goddess asked, and when I saved you, you pledged yourself to me as my knight. You do as I say, now get in the bathroom Byleth, and clean yourself!“
At that, her glassy eyes flicked up at him. His breath caught, and she blinked, scanning him in recognition.
A knock on the door broke her wavering focus.
“I heard yelling, is everything okay?“ Mira again, butting in where her nose did not belong. “I'm coming in real quick to drop off some meal vouchers.“
Dimitri grumbled, looking the other way in a huff as she entered.
“This does not concern you. She's being stubborn and won't take a bath. We both reek of river water and filth.“
“Oh, do you need my help?“ she replied.
“No,” came Byleth, before Dimitri could utter the words himself.
That was the first word she had said since she pulled him half-drowned by the river. Her voice was… grounding.
“Sorry I couldn’t book you separate rooms. If you’d like to bunk with me, you’re more than welcome to.”
Byleth craned her neck, glancing at Mira, then him, then Mira again. “It’s fine. We've been sleeping together for a month now,” she said flatly.
“O-oh?”
Dimitri's cheeks burned crimson as he flashed her a pleading look. “That's not what she meant.”
Byleth slanted her head, slightly knitting her brows in objection. “Yes it is, and I don’t want it to change. It's been nothing but pleasant.”
Impossibly he flared up even hotter, hiding his face behind his arms in shame and vexation. Suddenly, he wished Byleth had stayed quiet at least a little bit longer. “Sleeping in the same vicinity and sleeping together have two very different meanings,” he clarified. “She meant the former.”
Mira opened her mouth to speak, but the words appeared to die in her throat. Instead, she gave a perplexed “huh”, and shrugged. “Alright, well… don't be a stranger. You're both welcomed guests here. There's a tavern across the way where you can get some grub, and if you know how to gamble, Balthus can show you how to make a few bullions— if he doesn't make you lose it first.“ She smiled. “I'll be heading out now. You can use the room however you see fit. Oh! Talk to Balthus come morning, yeah?“
“Understood.“
“Cheers then!“
The door closed. Dimitri made sure to lock it behind her. Good riddance.
When he turned back, Byleth had begun to remove her boots.
For the first time, he truly took her in. Underneath all the bulk of her usual lightly armored attire, she looked so… small.
Covered head to toe in muck, her hair had curled in a way that made tiny ringlets beneath the wiry frizz. At the academy —not that he meant to feel it, her hair had been surprisingly soft, slipping through his fingers like silk. During the recent weeks they had traveled together, when his nightly watch began so she could slumber, he had shamefully sated his curiosity, and did as she did to him, running his fingers through her hair. It wasn't the same silkiness as the Professor's, with little knots that took a tug or two to untangle with his rarely bare knuckles, but it was equally soothing.
Dimitri took a whiff of himself —having forgone giving a damn about what he smelled like on the run, and winced. Had he always smelled like such shit? And she clung to him anyway, without complaint? He felt the burn of mild embarrassment creep up his cheeks.
Hmph. At least the inn had soap, too.
It had been too many years since he used such a product, there were far more pressing matters than the luxury of fancy scents, but since the opportunity presented itself, he would not waste it —even if it was a waste anyway, being used on a rabid boar.
The squeak of the spigot turned on and off, then on, then off, in rapid succession. What the hell was she doing? Sitting there like a fool, unsure of how to use a damn bath—?
Right. The professor didn't know how to use a proper bath either, having lived on the road, and rarely, the cheapest inns merc money could afford. He remembered, their kind wasn't always allowed in nicer hostels. Lower end ones used a communal wash basin and a bucket. No soap.
“What are you doing in there? Why aren't you bathing yet?” he reluctantly asked, softening the edges of his jagged tone, looming just at the outset of the sliding door; enough to keep her dignity private.
“It's cold,“ she mumbled back with a noticeable flatness.
He leaned his tired back into the doorframe. “You have to let it run for a few minutes, or fill a pail and heat it with hot coals, or a flame. And you have to be sure to turn the spigot in the proper direction or it won't—”
“Can you show me?“ she asked, like a fledgling learning the world for the first time.
In a way, she was.
Exhaling a long sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Somehow, to his great irritation, he knew it would happen one way or another, and he possessed neither the care nor the mental fortitude to fight it.
“Are you decent?“
She shuffled for a moment.
“Mhm.“
“Alright, I-I'm coming in.“
Dimitri didn't realize when he slid the door open and stepped inside, that 'decent' meant her arm covered the pink of her nipples and literally nothing else, stifling a strangled noise from his throat.
So the carpet did match the drapes—
He trained his eye away quickly.
Fuck. He did not mean to have looked.
The stray tufts were such a vibrant contrast to the muted hues of the natural cypress and cedar walls surrounding them. Even seated, legs crossed, the bright green was hard to ignore. It wasn't his fault she didn't cover it—
—And just like that, years of pent up longing pumped into his bothersome groin. He shifted his legs uncomfortably.
Awaiting his assistance, he noted the soft purple of her ‘tattoo’ peeking out beneath the curvature of her breasts, giving him yet another uneasy feeling. Byleth's cheeks were flushed and red against the paste of her pallid skin —as red as the grisly marks on her wrists, where her chains had bound her for days in those infernal dungeons until he nearly drowned her, and forcibly had to rip them off. He was wrong to think of her in such an uncouth manner, nude or otherwise. For reasons entirely incomprehensible, she was putting far too much trust in a beast.
“I'm not trying to be a creep, but if I assist you, I-I'm going to have to come closer, and I might— accidentally, o-of course…” he trailed off, unsure of what he was trying to say or why he felt it was okay to even entertain the thought.
“There's another stool. We can bathe together. It will save water,” she offered without a hint of reservation.
Dimitri's jaw slackened. He did not possess the capacity to card through the pros and cons or rights and wrongs of her suggestion when he had not slept or eaten in days, barely standing upright in a body that hardly functioned as it was.
Byleth was a grown adult, if she needed him for something so basic as a bath then what use to him was she when it came to taking his step-sister’s head?
The dead found her laughable. Useless.
“I won't look,” she added, shyly.
His member, stuffed between the junction of his thighs, was making another argument entirely.
“It would be unbecoming of me to—”
“Please. I don't want to be alone.”
Empathy, stemming from a damned heart that felt too much, rushed through him automatically. Despite his feeble attempt to stuff it down, her voice, small and weak, was just like when the professor had lost her father. The idea of being left alone in a big world full of people who wanted you dead, was terrifying. And he knew exactly how it felt. Dimitri didn't have the luxury of a hot bath, a bed, a roof over his head, or company he could feel safe with. He had been left alone for years, injured and abused, fending for himself in the harsh elements. Without his crest, education, physical training, and the Professor's wisdom, he would have shriveled up and wasted away in the cold, derelict Fhirdiad slums many many moons ago.
Dimitri removed his gloves, his garments, his small clothes, the dirtied cloth of his bandages, and his patch, relieving a bit of tension that ached from the strain of the band. He couldn't remember the last time he removed it, and it terrified him that he had allowed himself to let his carefully stacked walls be lowered by the sight of her pout. The dead were just as disappointed in him as he was himself.
As promised, Byleth averted her gaze, relaxing her shoulders as he crowded up behind her, seated on his own wooden stool —questioning his choice at once.
The angle was… dangerously intimate. Towering above her, even seated, he could surely see the full expanse of her breasts and the pert little peaks that followed —the same peaks he had brushed against selfishly as he 'cleaned' the wound on her neck with his wanting tongue.
This was going to be a challenge on multiple fronts.
Leaning forward, careful to keep his distance far enough from touching her backside, he turned the brassy faucet clockwise to warm the running water.
“It takes a few minutes,” he chastely informed, turning beet red simply at the sight of her bare back. “Usually, you'd run the water before settling in, to give the room time to steam, like a sauna.“
She nodded in mild understanding, eyeing the soap and washcloth.
“I've never been in a sauna.”
Fair enough.
He thrust the cloth in her hands, careful not to lose himself in the tranquility of the warming space.
“Put the soap on the towel, and scrub.“
“Aren't towels for drying off?“
“That's a different type of towel.“
“There's more than one towel?“
“Yes,” he brusquely stated. “This is for washing, the other is for drying. Now wet it, put the soap on, rub it in, and scrub.“
“I thought you were going to show me?“
The sheer ineptitude nearly distracted him from the fact that they were alone, naked in the bath together.
“I am not here to baby you.“
She craned her neck, keeping her eyeline politely set towards the ground —or his thigh, which had already lightly grazed hers.
“But what about this bucket thing within this other bucket?“
“That little one is not a bucket, it's a cup for rins— dammit! Just let me do it!“
The icier part of his sullen exterior should have solidified, but in the throes of the losing bath battle, he began to feel himself soften as he succumbed to her ridiculous demands —too frustrated to watch her continue to struggle to do the most basic of deeds, of course. Some fights were not worth winning.
Byleth didn't seem to have a reaction to his touch, and although he'd normally reject such a feeling, violently, at times, his hand upon her to keep steady, the subtle, barely-there brushes of his leg, his chest, against her, felt almost natural. Almost welcome. It unnerved him, leaving him with an overall vexing feeling he could not quite name.
“Am I rubbing too hard?“ he grumbled out, swiping the towel awkwardly over her shoulder blades.
“Harder, please…?“
Goddess help him.
He silently prayed for forgiveness for the myriad of lewd thoughts running rampant in his skull. She was messing with his head. There was no way she could be that clueless. And yet… she probably was.
After every cruel thing he had said and done, as a stranger to her, no less, it was exceedingly farfetched to entertain the idea that she was thinking the same. It would be borderline dangerous if she was.
Repeatedly, he begged himself to accept that the fortifications he’d built were still for the best.
As he swapped towels to scrub himself, wincing at his wounds, Byleth relaxed further, rinsing off the frothy peaks with 'the bucket thing' to reveal the glistening skin beneath. Unsure where to keep his hands, now that he no longer had an excuse to put them on her —as if his pathetic excuse wasn't wretched enough, he hovered them by her sides. To make matters worse, his tired, addled mind couldn’t help but rubber band between sliding them down to her mound to please her, as she deserved, or grasping her waist, pulling her into the wet line of his body, pressing his lips into her nape, to then cup the swells of her breasts and whisper how he'd take her virtue then and there.
The more obvious answer, however, was getting up, and leaving.
“I'm finished here, you get the point. Scrub the rest of yourself. I will not do that for you. And I will not do this again.“ He could see her shoulders slump. All the more reason for him to get out, rinsing himself off hastily. “Soak in the bathtub if you wish. The water turns on the same.“
Dimitri rose, careful to keep his eye from wandering to forbidden spaces. As soon as the bathroom door slid closed, leaving her to herself, he sucked in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. He was absolutely certain his filthy hindbrain would not relinquish those cloying images any time soon. If ever.
It was difficult to believe, in another life, had things gone different, he could have her— no, the professor, as his own. As his queen.
Guilt, interspersed with confusion and shame trailed down his throat, heavy and suffocating, having felt the way he did about the same woman, a different woman , just behind the bathroom door.