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Loud cheers filled the cafeteria hall in the night following the annual mock battle of the Eagle and Lion. The Golden Deer has triumphed this year, snapping the Black Eagle house’s 4 year streak.
As a result, the disheartened Edelgard was nowhere to be found, while the Black Eagles proper were in the sidelines as the Golden Deer were centerstage. Claude celebrated with the new professor, Byleth was his name. A smile across both their faces at their triumph, which was a surprise to no one, especially in hindsight. The ashen demon on the field armed with that goddess-damned sword along with fielding each of his students with superior battalions. His excellence assured that victory was theirs before the week of the battle even came.
Fear the Deer as the saying goes. Perhaps it was that mental image that helped them as well.
And now the deer grazed, or rather feasted, upon the fruits of their labor. Claude howled as he was surrounded with people hoisting him up in the air. Lysithea gorged herself on sweets, while Raphael voraciously consumed… basically everything. Ignatz was busy on a quick sketch of the entire affair, wishing to immortalize it forever while Lorenz was actually off talking with Ferdinand. Perhaps he was gloating, or perhaps he was consoling a fellow man of noble stock. Marianne just sat there quietly, Hilda beside her talking with some boys thinking they could shoot their shot. Leonie was to no one’s surprise with professor Byleth’s father, Jeralt the Blade Breaker.
The Black Eagles meanwhile had their notable names few in number. Ferdinand had taken his talk with Lorenz to the fishing pond while Bernadetta and Hubert were missing entirely. The former because that’s what she tends to do and the latter because he could not compel himself to be any more than 3 meters away from Edelgard. Caspar had been escorted outside after getting into a brawl with some cocky golden deer members while Dorothea was off talking to the victorious professor Byleth, who was in the sidelines just happy that Claude was feeling more at home in the monastery.
This meant the only Black Eagles on the house’s main table were Linhardt and Petra. Linhardt was asleep, exhausted after the battle and the ride. He’d have gone back to his dorm, but he just fell asleep in the cafeteria instead, his head using his arms as a pillow as he laid forward on the table. Petra was sitting opposite of him, thinking about her home and reflecting about her defeat.
Festive songs mixed with the elated cheers as the mouthwatering aroma of food filled the air. The students from the Leicester alliance enjoyed their win as the other houses wallowed in the side. One of them of course being none other than the Blue Lions house.
While Edelgard was off elsewhere, probably wondering how to improve herself as a commander, Dimitri was at the table with his housemates. He had his fingers interlocked and his elbows on the table. Eyes closed he was deep in thought at what went wrong. The Golden Deer were swift like the wind, nay, they were lightning quick in their assault. They managed to hold the advantage with their sheer aggression. Claude soared through the heavens atop his wyvern, sniping so many down with his bow. He was like the eye of the goddess up above, sitting atop the blue moon hurling javelins to smite the mortal sinners.
He wonders what he could have done differently. They shouldn’t have scattered so quickly. It was a clear sign of poor leadership on his part. He can hear the voices right now reiterating each of his mistakes like a flock of parrots.
Should have paid more attention to Mercedes, you were down a healer so quickly.
Left Dedue exposed to Lysithea’s magical assault, then you were down a defender, not to mention his most trusted shield. Ashe should have been with him, he would have closed the distance far better and kept her at bay.
Felix should’ve been on a tighter leash. Lone wolves tend to turn into stray dogs faster than they’d like to admit. Annette would have filled that spot perfectly.
Should have kept Sylvain and Ingrid closer to each other. While they often bickered, they worked far better together than apart.
So many things run through Dimitri’s mind about just what he could have done differently. No matter how hard he strategized, he just wasn’t up to par with Edelgard’s genius, Claude’s cunning, and Byleth’s raw experience. It did not help that the so-called Ashen Wolves became part of the Golden Deer as well, granting them even more notable names to be wary of. All he had was the strength of his arm, not even the strength of character, of which the voices in his mind and Felix most especially would attest to. The prince eventually opened his eyes, being greeted once more by the sight of his fellow lions.
Felix was brooding, undoubtedly replaying the battle in his mind. Annette, Mercedes, Ash, and Dedue were all glad the battle was done. Although Dedue was sad he wasn’t able to stay by his lord’s side the entire battle, forced to separate as Dimitri rode off. Ingrid had come back from the counters with another meal on her tray all the while Sylvain was walking towards their table with bottles dangling by their necks between his fingers.
Sylvain places the bottles down, the sound of the glass touching the wooden table causes the entire table to look at him. Without missing a beat, Sylvain hands one on over to Dimitri. “Here”
Dimitri’s eyes widened at the offered drink. He knew what that was. “No, Sylvain” he said sternly, but the redhead remained persistent. “Oh come on, your highness. It’ll help take the load off. The Deer’s just a real beast this year, we’ll get them back in the tourneys.”
“No thanks,” said Dimitri. Faerghus was always a bit more lax when it came to the ways of drinking. Even as the church instructed its values among the people, the right age to drink was never one that caught on. Perhaps it was a holdover from ancient times when Faerghians pillaged other Faerghians and celebrated their victories with drink, and since the life expectancy was lower so too was what was deemed a man. After all, one old enough to spill blood was one old enough to down elixirs, that’s how the old warriors put it. Dimitri however never really subscribed to alcohol at all.
He recalls a time when he took a sip when his father wasn’t looking. He recalled its abhorrent bitterness.
Bitterness….
Dimitri slid his tongue between his teeth, sliding it left to right while his mouth remained closed. He cannot taste anything anymore. Neither the sweetness of pastries nor the overpowering disgust of Flayn’s cooking had any effect on him. Save perhaps some sensations spices tended to give, but only someone spice-happy like Flayn could lay something resembling a dent on the dreadful armor that barricaded his taste buds. Dimitri looked at the bottles of wine which were now placed on the table. Well, where the bottles used to be rather. Once six now only one remained. Felix took one all for himself, while Mercedes was intent on not letting Annette have any. Dedue took one bottle and swished it around, observing it, likely thinking of his old home and the brews that it had. Ashe would interrupt the Duscurite to ask for a glass. Sylvain on the other hand had since waltzed off with a bottle in each hand, walking drunkenly despite being sober, a disarming stride as he went on the prowl for more ladies. Ingrid would leave her seat to follow him like an angry shadow.
How did Sylvain even get these bottles past the guards? He likely charmed a female guard to do it. He wouldn’t put it past him. Goddess, it probably wasn’t even the first time he’d done it. Regardless, Dimitri holds the bottle in his hand. A single twitch and this bottle will explode into shards. He gazes at his reflection on the green casing, all the while the voices kept chattering and chattering and chattering about everything. A deafening storm of hate that refused to die down.
Considering the cacophony of the cafeteria crowd was unable to drown them out, perhaps strong drink was the only way. It couldn’t hurt to try. Dimitri tries to pop the cork open, only to accidentally snap off a piece of the bottle’s neck instead. Earning a giggle from his lions, he smiles shyly back at them before pouring himself a glass. He drinks… and that’s it. That old horrid taste was nowhere, same as everything else. But he couldn’t help but keep going. Who knows, maybe he will end up feeling something if he keeps going. It sure beats brooding all night.
He fills and then downs another cup, completely blind to the ramifications as he sees Sylvain in the distance toss a sulking Petra a bottle.
Dimitri’s eyes opened groggily as he was met with the sight of a hard wood ceiling above him, and the sensation of a sweat-soaked mattress and a weight on top of him. He coughs, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head buzzes, like a grape caught between a thumb and a finger. The headache rumbled his brain so much he couldn’t ever hear the voices.
Normally the instant he wakes up they flash into action, as if they had just been laying there, waiting. Perhaps the liquor did work, or maybe it was something else. He takes a deep breath through his nostrils as he tries to remember what happened last night.
He remembers nothing.
He fought, he lost, he ate in the after-battle feast, Sylvain brought wine, and then that was that. He emptied the bottle while unable to taste anything. Or feel anything for that matter. He heard about how some alcohol likes to burn, but perhaps that has to do with the taste as well. He does not know. Then nothing. Perhaps all those feelings did finally hit him, and when they did they hit him all at once. The last thing he remembers was Dedue asking him if he could leave with Ashe to go somewhere. He didn’t remember where and if he recalled correctly he did not care either. Dedue having a life outside of him was a good thing. And that was early on in the night, it only went deeper from there.
One thing was for certain however, this was not his dorm. It had a distinct smell to it, and the layout was different as well, with tapestries hung on the walls that he did not recognize and some training swords that were well kept instead of broken and ready for discardment. His stack of books he was told to read to prepare him for his fast-approaching ascension to the throne were absent and replaced with a humble bow here and some fallen over blank parchment papers there.
It was only then did Dimitri realize the weight on him. He saw long purplish hair draped across his chest, and tan arms wrapped around him. A feminine hand softly clutching his left shoulder, while her left arm simply wrapped itself around his right arm. He could feel her naked body pressed against his own, and the realization of his, their , nudity causes a heated feeling to run across his entire body. The sensation dares return to his loins just as much as it manifests as an apple-redness on the prince’s pale face.
He could hear her soft breathing, and the warmth of her flesh along the several scars across his body. He could somewhat see some of her own, and it made him wonder how many of hers had come to kiss his. That just made him even redder.
Dimitri rose up, causing the woman atop him to slide off to the side. His heart raced as the dried sweat of sex was replaced by the fresh sweat of nervousness, he could see the ramifications flash before his eyes as he desperately tries to remember what happened, fighting past the aches in vain, for he knew nothing other than how much it put the Blaiddyd name in jeopardy. Sylvain always did say of how sex reduces stress, though so far all it did for it was magnify it a thousandfold.
Dimitri coughs as he lowered his legs onto the ground. Now sitting on the bedside, he took heavy breaths as he gazed upon the clothes on the floor. His nostrils buzzed with a soreness as if they were ready to bleed, a feeling of several spider bites running across his bones as he could easily see his uniform, and someone else’s. Overcoats and undershirts, undergarments especially. Dimitri clutches his face with his ungloved hands as his headache erupted into a storm of pain addling his skull.
Still naked, he decided to look at the woman he spent the night with. On the bright side, it wasn’t Edelgard, so he’s at least managed to avoid the more….. Apocalyptic outcomes. No, the girl he spent the night with and effectively lost his virginity too was in fact a girl he barely remembers. Petra was her name, mayhaps. He was aware of her existence, yes, he knew she was from the black eagles, but he could scarcely recall anything else.
She had smooth brown skin and dark purple hair, and a notable smudge of what he assumes is paint under her right eye. Despite her slumbering state she beheld a level of exotic charm that compelled him. Or maybe that was just the alcohol still kicking within him.
“Could’ve sworn she had a braid” Dimitri whispered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was already much that he had sex before marriage, but he even had it with a girl who wasn’t from the continent! Getting out was going to be a rough one, and hiding it was likely just as difficult. He could already imagine what Sylvain was going to say if he ever found out. Honestly he’d rather think about that than what literally anyone else would say, especially those back in the kingdom, or the voices for that matter.
The lack of the voices’ presence was his only reprieve from this moment.
Dimitri gazed down upon the girl’s uniform which, well, wasn’t uniform anymore considering it was torn into pieces. He grits his teeth at the sight of it. Even though the voices were silent he could still somehow hear them call him an animal.
Then, the blonde prince heard shifting. Movements of the blankets soaked with sweat and sex, he turned around to see that the lady he’d spent the night with was awakening. Her brown eyes slowly opened, well, that was assuming they were brown. They looked practically purple to him under the low lighting. She shifted some more, her loose plum hair getting on her face, prompting her to blow it away.
Her eyes looked from him, to the ceiling, then the other side of the room, and then back to him. Dimitri could see her freeze upon the return to him, she would slowly rise from the bed, though it appeared she could not. She put one elbow on the bed as she used her other hand to pull her hair back, allowing him to get a complete look at her face.
Dimitri and Petra stared at each other for a good couple seconds, the former allowing the latter to just… take it all in. His cobalt eyes met her… something eyes. “ What color are her eyes? ” Dimitri asked himself, he found himself so enraptured by them despite how much it made this entire situation all the more awkward. Were they some light shade of brown or were they actually purple? They were this exotic hue he both had yet also had not yet seen before. So familiar yet so alien.
“I am… we have.. We have mated.”
The words were simple, and she said it with quite the accent. It almost reminded him of Dedue, back when he was trying to teach him more about how to speak the common tongue. He gave her a simple nod, followed by a “we have.”
Silence followed the two for the next couple seconds. Both entirely unsure where to even begin with this situation. It seemed entirely unlikely, if anything. A situation that could not even exist as a stray idea, let alone a genuine concept. A northern prince from a lineage well known for its strict marital traditions, hailing from a frigid kingdom where men marched through seas of snow, and the southern princess who was not even from the same continent, but an island that satellites the dragon-shaped landmass, hailing from a tropical country where man roamed through an endless stretch of sand.
Had they even talked with each other before this moment? When one is mentioned in any sort of conversation, is the other one ever mentioned in the same one, even if said discussion lasted hours? Neither could recall any. No tag-alongs on weekend missions or even happenstance seminar meetings. Nothing. The last they’d ever spoken to each other before the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was likely just them telling each other “good game” back in the mock battle at the start of the academic year.
They say the Officer’s Academy only ever truly existed for elites and opportunists to rub elbows, and it never felt truer than this moment. Although in their case they did a lot more than just rub elbows.
“I… I am sorry,” said Dimitri. He didn’t really know how to approach the situation. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest but at the same time also feel as if it had stopped completely. “This entire… thing between us, the night we shared, it is unbecoming of me.”
“Unbecoming…” Petra mused. That was a new word. Though her curiosity did not last for long as the reality of the situation still reigned dominant. She moved a bit closer to the man she shared the night with. “I do not remember last night. Only bitterness.”
“Of defeat or of the liquor?”
“Yes,” she smiled, affirming both. A fun little means of response she picked up from observing Caspar. Petra assessed Dimitri’s face, which was milk pale, with vibrant blue eyes that held no life in them. How such a deep cobalt blue could be so dead, she did not know. His hair reminded her a bit of the yellowy grasslands further north of the woodlands and jungles. She’d try to describe his scent next, but any possible scent either of them had had been completely overpowered and replaced by the smell of sex, and by all the stars in the sky did they reek of it. It was erotically disgusting, if anything. As if this room did not have two royals among them, or even two human beings, just animals away from their habitats and placed in the same menagerie. “I am Petra,” she said. “You are… of the blue house. Edelgard’s rival.”
Dimitri couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the comment. “Edelgard’s rival. I.. I suppose that’s true in a way,” said the blond, “though I think her focus is now entirely on Claude.” He turned his back on her completely, though she would move even further forward and put a hand on his shoulder. He then flinches upon feeling the fingers of her other hand run across his back.
“You are like a striped leopard,” said Petra. Though mostly unseen by the rest of the world, Dimitri’s body was filled with scars. It was natural considering his… little growing career. Being a prince made him a big target, and being a crest bearer even more so. Dimitri turned to look at her after she ran one of her fingers along one of the longer ones going almost completely vertically along his back. “Sorry,’ she said. “I… have some of my own as well.”
Petra sat up, her knees on the bed, though they were weak and aching, as was her sex, which touched the soaked mattress. Dimitri however looked away, he’d tried his best since the realization to not look at anything other than her face, though the girl placed her warm hand on his cheek, and despite his immense strength she faced no struggle in making him face her.
Dimitri blushed, already feeling a hardness in his trousers, that animalistic aspect of himself that took over him last night already gnawing to be set free once more. He gazed upon her dark nipples, and her beautiful slender body, her supple breasts and… scars. She had some of her own, clearly from battle as well. While most of his were from arrows, hers were more from slashes. He saw one in particular just above her hip, running horizontally through her two-thirds of her midsection. He grimaced at the idea of how bad the wound could be.
“Your scars were pressed against mine. Your wounds are mine for that night.”
“We were drunk.”
“Even if the elixirs drove us, we hunted for each other. You cannot be afraid of me.”
Dimitri raised a brow. Petra shook her head, “you.. Do not afraid of me.”
“Do not need?”
“Do not need,” she nodded. “You do not need to be afraid of me.”
“It is not you I am afraid of,” Dimitri turned away, or at least tried to. Petra’s hand was still on his face. Her grasp was soft and unforceful, he held in place the same way a horse was leashed to an untied chair. “I am… I am just concerned about the ramifications of all this. Sexual congress with anyone I am unwedded with is… I do not wish to think of it right now but it is all that is filling my mind as I sit here before you.”
“Ramifications. Sexual congress. You are a wordy one,” Petra said, moving his head around a bit, assessing more of his features. His eyes did not look any more alive despite the fear that dripped from his voice. “Breakfast is best, then. Have breakfast with me.”
“I think it best we part ways, my appetite’s been killed by the acquisition of carnal knowledge.”
“Ever the more words. Eat with me.”
Actually bringing Petra to the cafeteria was more difficult than expected. First she needed a new pair of clothes, considering she tore her old one apart. That also meant he needed to help her attain a new uniform at the tailory, but it was a small price to pay for his feral nature’s inconsiderate lust. But then there was a whole other problem.
Petra couldn’t actually walk. She could barely stand, her legs sore and aching from their shared moonlight. She held onto him, using him as a crutch as he guided her from her dorm to the cafeteria after she’d toweled off and dressed up. The stairs especially proved a challenge.
“My legs fail to ascend the steps” Petra said meekly. She wasn’t exactly used to having to rely on someone like this. Something as simple as walking up the stairs proved difficult due to her late night thrashing. Dimitri blushed as he lifted her in his arms like a bride, and carried her up. He could at least take solace in that the sun was not yet up, and that it was also a rest day, meaning no one had any incentives of waking up early and seeing them like this, instead choosing to sleep in.
Then of course there was the fact that the cafeteria was closed, and with it likely the kitchen as well, meaning they probably had to go into the monastery’s marketplace instead for anything. So down they went.
This of course meant going down the stairs into the market. Petra thought at first that she could do it, but she could not. In fact, each step she took seemed to worsen it. Dimitri bit his lip as he watched her struggle. Once again he was thankful to the goddess that the voices were slumbering rather than mouthing his ear off about how much of a savage freak he was. Allowing himself to be entrapped by the alcoholic vice, taking this lady for the night in his own selfish lust, desecrating her honor in tandem with jeopardizing the future of the Blaiddyd bloodline. His uncle Rufus was one thing, but he had a crest, and with it, the power.
He did wish a day when the crests did not hold the value that they did, and with it put an end to the ruinations it brought. But such a day would come through a slow but consistent march of progress. One day. Until then, he was here.
The market was already alive before sunrise. Countless people, be it within or without the monastery, were out in search of fresh foods. Some of the sellers were young, even students of the monastery’s more elementary institutions, likely selling what they could so they could have an allowance for the day before school began. These lucky few would find themselves before quite the sight as the northern prince carried the southern princess in his arms, carrying her down the steps into the market.
They turned away, pretending to not see anything as he put her back down on the ground afterwards. “They look away,” Petra noted.
“We’re royals, or at least I am. To these people, to see me with you is… scandalous” said Dimitri. “I know full well Syvlain’s going to have a field day with this, if the rumors go around, which it tends to do with utmost efficacy.”
“Your language holds much deep”
“Depth,” Dimitri corrected her. “There is a small stew here, somewhere. We can at least eat there.”
“Stew? Is that not a meal?”
“It is. Stew is also a word used to name a place that serves it,” Dimitri explained. “A perpetual stew, in this case.”
The Garreg Mach market was mostly stalls, though there were some buildings here and there as well, one of which was an establishment where people from all walks of life would come to dine on a stew that is constantly being cooked and refilled. Battalion members, passing mercenaries, regular folk, and even students of the academy came here every now and again. Dimitri recalled it mostly from being invited by the monastery orphans one day. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he couldn’t actually taste any of it. Feel a bit of the spice’s heat, perhaps, but nothing more than that.
Dimitri entered the stewing place, which was thankfully empty at this hour. The kind woman who manned the stew couldn’t help but raise a brow at the two, though she couldn’t complain when he asked for two whole bowls. There was some meat in this stew, likely leftovers passed down from the feast.
Dimitri and Petra took a scoop of the foodstuff, dining in silence as the sound of clucking hens passed on by, followed by some barking dogs and men discussing the affairs for the day in sleepy voices.
“So… Petra.”
Petra looked at him, “you remembered my name.”
“It's hard to forget. You’re one of the more notable Black Eagles. Felix talks about you every now and again, as do Dedue and Claude, among others.”
She nodded, “I know you because you are a house leader.”
“Fair,” said Dimitri, taking a bite out of whatever vegetable chunk he scooped up was. “I thought that, considering what’s transpired. Would you perhaps indulge me in your background?”
“Background?” Petra looked behind her, greeted solely by a wall. Dimitri shook his head, how foolish of him. Petra was still learning the language. “Apologies, Petra. I was asking if perhaps you could tell me more about yourself?”
“Oh. Yes,” Petra nodded. “I am Petra. I am from Brigid. I am the granddaughter of its king, and heir to its throne. Our kingdom is one that is… thrown by the sway of the empire. A remora to a shark, if you will.”
“Remora?”
“It is a small fish that accompanies the shark, it feeds what remains of what it tears off its prey.”
“I see,” Dimitri’s fingers clicked on the table, “would your father not be the heir?”
“He is…” Petra looked away, “dead.”
“Sorry,” said Dimitri, for a moment thinking of Duscur, “I should have intuited it as a touchy subject. Do you… what is Brigid like?”
“Brigid is home,” Petra smiled. “It is warm, much warmer than here in Fodlan. The trees and the many fruits, the grasslands and its rivers, and the beaches. It is so much brighter here than there, not even the coast of the empire compares. It is beautiful.”
Dimitri looked to see Petra’s finger circling along the table as she described her home. “Homesick, aren’t you?”
“I am. If that means I wish of home.”
“It does. I do too, in a way. It’s warmer here than back in Faerghus.”
Petra raised a brow, “the freezing north. Is it true that there is snow even in the summer?”
“Further up, yes. Our southern portions are less snowy, enough to grow different crops, we rely on it to transfer further north.”
“What is it like? The cold north?”
“It’s cold,” Dimitri mused. “A sea of white beneath your feet and an endless blanket of blue above your head, with raining specks of more white dropping from above. “There’s horses and dogs everywhere, dragging sleds and carts and whatnot to other places. In winter it is incredibly dark a lot of the time, and in the warmer seasons where there is no snow there is instead rain, and with it, mud.”
“That does not sound like a place I could survive,” Petra giggled.
“I wouldn’t be able to survive your home either, the heat would kill me” Dimitri chortled, “The others can tan fine enough, but I roast terribly.”
“Perhaps I can bring you there some time,” said Petra. “The shade is many, so you can hide from the sun, and the waterfalls are never far away, if the salt of the sea is not to your liking.”
“That would be nice, Petra. I suppose I can offer you the same. There are plenty of pelts to keep you warm there, and a Faerghian never hesitates to share some flame to keep warm. We’re all we have.”
“We are all we have,” she parroted. She thought about her home, and the boot of the empire. She looked back into his eyes, which despite the liveliness of his face remained so absent of vitality. In their bluish reflection she saw herself. “That is a nice saying. My people can say the same.”
“Perhaps we have more in common than first thought.”
“Worlds apart and yet the same,” said Petra, leaning on his shoulder. “I am done with eating. As are you. Perhaps we could try to remake one of my uniforms?”
“Oh, of course” said Dimitri, blushing and looking away as she did so. Fortunately he did not crush the spoon in his hands, or just outright shatter the table in front of him.
After leaving the stew, the two headed off to the tailory. First light had cracked, calling forth the dawn that would soon be morning. If the goddess were on his side just this once, no one would spot them. As they walked, Petra was still clinging to his arm to help with her walking. Though she would soon wrap the arm around her shoulders as she pushed herself closer to him.
“Do you think we can explore a bit of the north together today? I believe that there are also no classes tomorrow.”
“What? Our professors and houses would-” Dimitri’s eyes met hers. He still couldn’t tell what color they were, but he did see his reflection in them, even if by just a small bit. “Yes. But only if you promise to chaperone me on an excursion to Brigid later on.”
Petra giggled as she shook her head with a smile, “northern prince and his big words, trying to court the southern princess he bedded.”
“Wh-what!? Petra I…” Dimitri blushed. Now, now he was speechless.