I entrust the young prince, and the future of Faerghus to you.

The clash at Gronder Field feels like an uphill battle. Soon the ground lays waste to students she once knew. There's no use turning the hands of time. Things won't go back to normal, if it ever was. Victory in war has always been paid with lives and spilt blood.

All I ask is that you continue to rein in Dimitri's manic desire for revenge.

The battle is punctuated with a death of their own. Rodrigue is killed shielding Dimitri, bound to the same fate as Glenn. He's now fulfilled his promise to the late King. Byleth bites her lip as he whispers his dying words – apologies to Felix, urging Dimitri to live for himself. He briefly glances in her direction and she nods, acknowledging what he asked of her.

Afterwards, Dimitri stays on his knees. His eye is closed. His hair falls and covers his face. She hopes he sees now that revenge comes a cost. Byleth knows it will be the same with Edelgard. She will haunt him just the same.

I'm glad you were the one to lead the Blue Lion house, Professor.

Rodrigue has passed her the torch to guide the prince in his stead. She won't fail him.

The journey back to Garreg Mach is quiet.

Felix insists he needs nothing. He refuses apologies or condolences from soldiers. He won't be coddled or treated differently by his teammates. Dimitri is just the same, except he won't say anything at all. How unfortunate, because if not for Dimitri's temperament or Felix's stubbornness, Byleth thinks their shared grief could help each other the most.

Felix hides behind a façade of exhaustion. His family has served the Blaiddyd bloodline for generations, but it has left him without a brother and father. He might care and believe Dimitri will have a change of heart, but Byleth still wishes with fervent desperation his hope doesn't wane.

Perhaps Dimitri feels the same. The somber look he shoots his stubborn friend on a lucid day is more than telling. As if he wouldn't blame him for abandoning him or his noble station at all, even if they'd been best friends at one time.

It's raining. He can hear the pitter-patter of drops against the window pane. The clouds filter away the sun, making the room dim and dank, but it's almost calming. He's used to this kind of darkness. When Dimitri opens his eyes, he registers he's lying on one of the infirmary beds. When he turns to the window to glance at the rain, he startles.

There's a woman standing there, her vacant gaze locked to the view of the monastery.

Silver white hair. Gowned in red. She wears horns for a crown.

He hates the sight of her. Grunting, he reaches for his lance, which stands against the wall at his bedside. He winces when he moves, but he grits his teeth and bears it.

"Don't move. You'll reopen your wounds."

She sounds the same. The tone of her voice strict and commanding. Edelgard was never gentle with him, even when they were children. Even at the academy, where she scoffed at his concerns. The sound of her voice grates his ears now.

He ignores her and sits up anyway, ignoring the blood rushing from his head, leaving him with a throbbing headache. He questions what she's doing here. She's supposed to be in Enbarr, devising tactics and scheming to get Fódlan under her control. He's supposed to meet her there.

"Hmm. You're not even real," he says gruffly.

"How cruel," she says, feigning an affronted look.

He despises how she tries to manipulate him even now. "Leave me."

"I'm afraid I have no choice in the matter." Edelgard turns to him with a sigh, heavy cape swishing behind her. Her arms are crossed around her middle. The heels of her boots thump against the hardwood floors as she draws closer. She has the gall to take the stool at his bedside. He attempts to erase her from his mind, but it's to no avail.

"Oh, my dear brother…" she starts, eyes glazing and inspecting him whole. She sees him now – his body covered with scars, fingers bent and broken, eye gauged and rendered useless from battle. She settles on his face where darkness colours the skin under his eyes. He can't stop her, even though he wants nothing more than to wipe the pity off her face.

"Edelgard. Leave me. Now," he repeats, a looming threat in his voice this time round.

"I've told you already," she says coolly, unfazed by his crazed disposition. "It is you who lacks the will to leave me. Even after all this time, you still cannot let me go."

Let her go? He knows no reason why she would be here except…No. Has she become one of his ghosts? Is she…dead? Was he the one who…?

She reads his mind and clears her throat, forcing him to look. When he turns, she opens her arms and lets him see for himself. His nose crinkles and lips curl in disgust.

A bloody wound is carved below her chest, splitting her skin apart. The soaked patch of blood in her stomach grows, seeping down to her legs and knees. Even now her wound still oozes and festers. Life withers out of her as they speak. He looks to her face in search for answers.

"Did I-" He hesitates and gags a little, not knowing why he falters when this is what he wanted. "Tell me. Did I do that to you?"

Edelgard doesn't let up, even for a moment. She pulls down the neckline of her dress, revealing the jagged and uneven slits at her throat. Angry red lines and unclean, serrated edges. How hasty he must have been when he severed her head from her body. Even after all this, he finds no arrogance or haughtiness in her face. Instead, her features are scrunched in pain, like these wounds still hurt even after she's passed.

He retches. The sight finally does him in and he looks away. So it's true. She haunts him too.

"I…I don't understand…" He buries his face in his hands and sighs in defeat. Why does he sting with regret after wanting her death for so long? Why does she haunt him? "El, I…I'm…" He thinks back on their childhood days when he encouraged her to live for herself. "I-I'm so sorry," is the first thing that comes to his mind, absurd as it is.

"You apologize for murder?" She raises him a brow, rightfully so. He must sound foolish. His apology irks her, because she stiffens in her seat and expression hardens. "You are deluded. How much did my life matter then?"

Dimitri is unable to look her in the eye, even as she rains down on him.

He hears her sigh in exasperation. She continues without mercy. "Was it worth it? To hear the scream tearing from my lips? To see blood gushing from my chest?"

He doesn't miss the cruelty in her words. He thinks he deserves it. Instead he looks down at his hands, thinking of the destruction and death they've caused. The throbbing in his head pounds harder the more she scorns him.

"How naïve of you to believe the voices would stop. To think that my death would be your salvation. Everything you have done has become in vain! Pitiful you are," she spits harsh and unapologetic. "Am I not here by your own hands? Your own undoing? Tell me, Dimitri. Have I not become someone else you failed to save?"

He makes a frustrated noise as he cradles his head. "Stop or I will silence you myself!"

She laughs. "Ha! Silence me? So long as you tread in darkness, you will never be rid of me. I swear it."

He refuses to look, but she must be leaning closer now. Her sharp words are so clear and certain, echoing loud in his ears.

"You are a failure, dear brother. How could someone as weak and pathetic as yourself ever hope to become King? I would never bow to you. You can hardly control your own nature, or save your own kin…"

Her voice hitches at the last part. He remember now she was once precious to him. He used to cherish their childhood. They shared a mother. He once gifted her something so important.

He listens to her footsteps as they fade into the background. She's leaving, he realizes. After a while, he cautiously peers upwards, finding relief when she's gone. He still wishes this would stop.

Soon there's light humming on his other side. Fatigued, he looks to his right. A young girl sits, carefully examining a weapon in her hands. He was foolish to think she would leave him so easily. This one is different though. There's innocence in her eyes. Purple ribbons in her hair. Seeing the brown colour of her hair reminds him she harboured her own darkness.

She notices him staring. "Oh, you're awake now." This time, her voice doesn't bother him at all. He watches as a young Edelgard hops off the stool and stands at the edge of his bedside. She holds the weapon out to him, perhaps to give it back. "I've been meaning to ask. Why did you give this to me? I don't know how to use it."

He groans lightly. As much as a part of him wants to take the dagger, carve out her heart and sever her head with it, he cannot do it. She is a mere child. She has committed no bloodshed. All his memories of this girl are fond and cherished. Instead, he tries to soften the hard edges on his face.

"You…you're supposed to use it to carve your future," he explains wearily. The concept seems jaded now, maybe even backfired on him, but it meant the world when he gave it to her.

She purses her lips. "My future? How?"

He shakes his head. "It's symbolic. More of a gesture…I gave it to you so you could decide your own path. Don't let others decide for you. You have to do it yourself."

"Oh…" There's a light in her eyes now, one that he never saw at the academy. She looks at the weapon with new understanding, admiring it now. "…I can do anything I want?"

He gulps. It breaks his heart, because even after all the death and destruction committed by her misguided hands, he still feels the same. She deserves that very right. "Yes. Anything."

She beams and he misses her. He remembers the time they spent as children, misses the stories they shared of their mother. He wants her to stay, before she disappears and withers with time. Before darkness gets a hold of her. And for a second, he thinks killing her so brutally was a mistake. His most grievous error. Maybe he could still save her. He could offer out his hand, just as the Professor has always-

"Dimitri!"

With a choked-off cry, Dimitri shoots up from the bed, eye flashing wide open. He darts around the room looking for her and finds no blood or lilac eyes. Instead he's met with the gazes of Ashe and Mercedes at either side, Dedue standing behind the latter. They peer down at him with concern and caution. Ashe removes his hands from his shoulders and Dimitri looks to him in desperation.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"El. Where is she?" It comes out before he registers none of them know her by that name. Besides the Professor, no one even knows of their past relations.

"Do you mean…Edelgard?" Mercedes's soft voice pipes up. He pauses, and she takes his silence as affirmation. "Well, she must be in Enbarr, right?" She looks to Dedue behind her, who nods.

He breathes a heavy sigh of relief. She's alive then. Dimitri finally glances around the room and at himself. His arms are wrapped in bandages and he winces at a pain at his ribs. He doesn't remember how he got here, much less what day it is.

"Umm…" Ashe hesitates and it stings, because he knows he's been prone to lashing out. "You started thrashing in your sleep. We worried you might hurt yourself. That's why we woke you."

Mercedes hums in agreement. "That's right. You gave us quite a scare. You must have been having a terrible dream."

Dimitri nods slowly. He remembers her bloody form with absolute clarity. "Ah, yes. It was a terrible dream."

He's met with strange gazes. They seem…surprised. The past months have been rather hazy – he can hardly recall the long stretches he spent in the cathedral. Perhaps it's rather abnormal not to find him grumbling and snarling at his peers.

"Your Highness. How do you feel?" Dedue asks.

He clears his throat, dry and coarse all of a sudden. "Better," he gets out before deciding to say it again, more for his sake. "…I feel better."

Mercedes puts a hand to her heart. Ashe smiles wide, fear no longer in his eyes. Dedue nods at him. He shifts his gaze to the window where a simple white curtain blows with the wind. Edelgard still walks this world, roaming in a darkness of her own. He clenches his hands at the thought of it and then pushes it to the back of his mind. For now, he focuses on his peers, to whom he owes his life.

"I…Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. For taking care of me. I understand I have not made things easy," he starts, sounding much like the Dimitri they knew then. Their house leader and friend. "I cannot promise I will never slip back to my darker ways, but…"

Mercedes shakes her head. "Oh, Dimitri. It's okay."

He doesn't need to say anything else, just looks at them with gratitude. He swears to return the favour one day.

"I'll go inform our Professor he's woken up," Ashe pipes up, already turning his heel for the door.

Ah, the Professor...Dimitri attempts to turn and swing his legs over the edge, but he stops to hold onto his side, still sore and bruised.

"Please do not overexert yourself, your Highness. Perhaps you should take this time to rest," Dedue says, ever the voice of reason. Dimitri doesn't argue. He knows he cannot win this battle and eases himself back to bed.

"Of course."

His darkness still shows from time to time, but it's better. Years of harbouring hatred and anger does not leave him so easily, much less overnight. Mercedes and Annette tell her there are days when he seems to hold no darkness at all as he engages in conversation not of war or destruction. But then there are days he wakes up angry. Even if he quiets the voices in his head they still whisper.

Byleth peruses the thought as she ushers the horses into the stable, keeping them away from the rain and pending storm. She rushes a little because she needs to seek shelter herself. Her cloak has become soaked and heavy. It sticks to her back rather uncomfortably. Her boots have gathered water in their soles. She could catch a cold.

She pauses briefly at the sound of footsteps drawing closer. She doesn't look. She knows the rhythm of Dimitri's step, knows the heavy metal thuds that make up his gait. She's become too familiar with his behaviours these past few months. She catches the frown on his face as she locks the bolts to the stable.

He's withdrawn today, if the brooding look on his face tells her anything.

In this relentless rain, she listens as talks solemnly of the dead. One of his ghosts must have urged him to continue down his path of revenge. He tells her he cannot stop and he must have his vengeance. It's been nine years in the making. Everything he's done up until now will help him secure his goal, and she shouldn't try to convince him otherwise. There's pain in his confession, because it makes her feel used, ashamed even. Regardless, she tells him what he needs to hear.

He's wrong. He ought to forgive himself. Live for what he believes.

Somehow, and perhaps because he's always known, her words find their mark. Finally, he considers the possibility of living – not for retribution's sake, but for his own wonder if he's even deserving of such a precious gift.

Byleth's answer is the same as it's always been.

She offers her hand out to him.

He didn't take it the first time.

This time, he does. It's not without fear or hesitation, but that's okay.

She knows now his distaste for fragile things was his fear of himself. It was never a lack of understanding of his own strength, but rather what he was capable of doing when his mind spiralled out of his control. She knows he resents himself for becoming that person. And yet, she sees how delicately he folds her hands in his, and knows he's not that person anymore.

She looks at their hands, hers wrapped in his larger ones. She lets go, but only to unlatch his metal gauntlet and tuck it under her arm. Gently, she examines the criss-cross marks along his arm and his long calloused fingers. He doesn't resist as her fingers scour his skin, tracing old scars and wounds.

She holds their hands together again, teaching him to intertwining them.

His gaze is trained on her fingers. He watches as raindrops run along them.

"Your hand is so warm…"

She doesn't say anything, just squeezes his hand gently.

When he looks up, he finds a new expression. A smile that reaches even her eyes, captures her joy, and bares her soul. He's drawn to it, mesmerized by it. He thinks it holds enough light for the whole world.

A calm settles inside and he memorizes her face, just as he did when he was a student. Gently, he squeezes her hand back, just as she hoped when his darkness breaks free.

Dimitri shows up the next meeting and for the first time, he seems nervous. When he asks a moment of their time, he wishes to give his sincerest apologies. He knows words are insufficient, but it's all he can offer. Instead, he promises to do the right thing moving forward.

Finally, he turns from Edelgard. He agrees to take back Fhirdiad. If he's uncomfortable with the idea, it doesn't show, even though she knows he has his reservations. The last time he'd been at the Kingdom capital was a difficult time.

When the meeting is over, he apologizes again to Felix, who hardly accepts it. In turn, he tells him to stop grovelling and then calls him a boar, albeit Byleth thinks it's on friendlier terms. Even now, Dimitri doesn't correct him. Perhaps the familiarity is more comforting than it seems.

Later, when victory rings in the streets of Fhirdiad, they hold a feast to mark the celebration. She lets them have it. They deserve the small luxury. She doesn't heart to tell anyone she's out of her comfort zone when they shove a wine glass in her hands or invite her for conversation. She only slips out when she sees the moon and stars have become visible in the sky.

The balcony is empty, but she shivers and wraps her cloak tighter to fend off the chill. It's cold enough her breath condenses when she blows heat into her hands. She hardly took up mercenary contracts here for this reason. She doesn't like to admit she struggles with the cooler temperatures. It's most noticeable during battle where suddenly, she's low on stamina and gasping for air crumbs. Her students seemed rather comfortable though.

She feels a sudden weight on her shoulders.

Warmth.

Around her, she finds the black and white furry tendrils of his cloak draped across her shoulders. Grateful, she pulls it securely around her and breathes in his scent. Dimitri moves to her side where she murmurs him a soft thanks. He stands there with only his armour, gaze trained to the night sky.

They stay like that for a moment. Staring the stars. Bathed in moonlight.

"I came here to thank you," he says, breaking silence.

She keeps her absent stare on a particularly bright star. "Hmm. You're welcome."

He snorts and laughs a little, distracting her. When she turns to him, he waves her concern away. "It's nothing. It's just…I wanted to explain."

Her expression crinkles apologetically. "Oh. I'm sorry."

Dimitri chuckles at the nostalgia. Even after all this hardship, his Professor is very much the same. She has strength in all the ways that matter, but struggles sometimes with human conversation. He finds it rather endearing, even as she considers it her weakness.

"I want…no, I need you to understand how grateful I am," he starts finally. She listens on with silence and peers up at him thoughtfully. "You saved me from myself, pulled me from my darkness. I see now how misguided and destructive I was, even to the point of hurting you. Truly, I do not understand how you kept faith in me."

She nods and takes in every word, wondering how long he's been working up to say these things.

He clears his throat. "I hope you will accept my apologies. I am terribly sorry for the pain I caused. To be honest, I feel very undeserving of you."

She shakes her head. There's kindness in her eyes when she tells him not to dwell on such things. He doesn't argue, having accepted internally that his Professor always has the answers. Instead, he searches her face with a heavy-set gaze. She can be troubling to read at times, and she hasn't said a word since he started.

"How are you feeling?" he decides to ask.

A small smile tugs at her lips and her eyes are bright. "Happy." She tips her head to him. "And you?"

He chuckles, thinking he could ramble on and on about how he feels in this moment. "I feel grateful, relieved, glad, satisfied even…and happy as well. Is that too much?"

She shakes her head and remembers his beating heart. "Not at all."

A chilly breeze brushes past them, and she wraps his cloak even tighter. He has seen her struggling to adjust to the cooler temperatures, but the sight of her cocooned in his oversized cloak is charming. He hopes it doesn't deter her from staying.

Impulsively, he slips an arm around her and pulls her closer to his side. His heart thunders painfully against his chest, but Byleth doesn't pull away. She ducks her head and molds herself to him instead, and he finally sees how much she's shivering. Just for this moment, he allows himself to nuzzle against her hair, determined to share his warmth just as she's done for him.

When they pull away, he settles for her hand and intertwines their fingers.

"Thank you," he says again. "For saving me, day after day." He looks up at the stars again, a calm resolve fixed on his features. "Once the war is over, I hope you will allow me to do the same for you."

She squeezes his hand and follows his gaze to the moonlit sky. "Okay."

In this quiet night, where the moon is bright and the stars are gleaming, she imagines this is what the world must be like when the war is said and done. A steady breeze caressing her face. Listening to the quiet hums of nature. Watching the moon illuminate the sky. She can look up to the stars and remember the nights she spent in quiet prayer. Prayers for peace. For safety. For him to embrace light.

Tonight, she thanks her lucky stars her wish came true.

Thank you for reading! Dimitri's brokenness is so significant and essential to the Blue Lion arc that I desperately wanted to explore it. I want to thank all the lovely readers who left their thoughts and taken interest. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. – Mint