Chapter Text
Imperial Year 1180. Lone Moon. (3/31/1180.)
Edelgard had declared war on the rest of Fódlan and disappeared. Then, a month later, both Lady Rhea and the professor were gone without a trace.
When Dimitri returned to the Monastery with blood drying on his body, the realization of everything began to sink in. Around him, people were already starting to mourn their losses and were making plans to go home.
He stared at his hands, motionless. There was so much blood on them, and yet none of it belonged to Edelgard. Edelgard, the woman who killed his family. Edelgard, the one whose existence allowed Byleth to die. Edelgard, the one who he would have the pleasure of stabbing over, and over, and over, until he was finally satisfied.
He continued staring, lost in his gruesome thoughts until someone put their hand on his shoulder. Dimitri whirled around with a snarl, shoving the hand away. He looked to see that it’s Claude, gazing at him with an unreadable expression.
“It’s…time for everyone to go to bed,” Claude said, almost successfully hiding his hesitancy. “It’ll be a big day, tomorrow, to say the least. Lots of people are gonna wanna leave this hellhole after the fiasco that happened today.” He tried to make his voice as lighthearted as possible, only to be met with a glare. “Uh, right…well, good night, Dimitri.”
Wordlessly, Dimitri turned around and strode toward his dorm room, hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.
Claude wanted to chase after him, but—even Claude could recognize that Dimitri was, at this point, too far gone.
Felix met eyes with him in the hallway. It was an unavoidable confrontation, Dimitri supposed, since Felix’s room was right next to his.
“Let me guess,” Dimitri laughed bitterly. “Here to rub in the fact that you were right, and that I really am just a ‘murderous boar?’ Here to chastise me, and tell me that it’s futile to try and take that…that snake’s head?”
But to his surprise, Felix said nothing. No derogatory comments, no mocking mannerisms. Just a sharp gaze that seemed to see right through Dimitri.
The prince almost wanted Felix to say something. To say something cruel enough that would give Dimitri a reason to lash out, shout, and perhaps satiate his inescapable bloodlust.
That thought startled Dimitri. Sure, Felix had made…scathing remarks to him constantly after the Tragedy of Duscur, but Felix was still his childhood friend. He’d never purposefully attack him.
Dimitri staggered backward, pressing himself against the wall of the corridor, suddenly feeling somewhat sick in his stomach. He laughed some more to himself, one hand fisting his hair.
What is wrong with me? He asked himself, but could come up with no answer.
Felix, troubled by Dimitri’s behavior, scoffed at him and strode toward Sylvain’s room. “I have nothing to say to you. From now on, you need to realize what you’re doing to yourself before you can even think of being saved.” Felix knocked on Sylvain’s door and slipped inside moments later, sparing Dimitri just a single glance.
Dimitri found it amusing that Felix seemed to think that his words would have an impact on him. Oh, he knew what he was doing to himself. He was getting revenge. And, no matter how many scars he may earn from it, he would kill Edelgard no matter what. No matter the cost.
Even if he had to give up all his humanity.
Upon entering his room, Dimitri’s gaze fell on the vase on his desk. It was filled with several flowers. Next to the vase, a couple of used whetstones. Next to the doorway, a pair of riding boots. In the corner, leaning against the wall, a ceremonial sword.
All gifts Byleth had given him. Shakily, Dimitri stepped toward his desk and pulled out one of the flowers from the vase.
In Faerghus, it wasn’t necessarily seen—by the general public—as ‘weak’ to cry. And Dimitri could, sheepishly, admit that he used to cry a lot. Such as whenever Edelgard stepped too harshly on his feet during their dance lessons, or when he’d drop his training lance on his foot. (A lot of feet-related injuries, he noted).
And, of course, Dimitri had cried on the day the Tragedy of Duscur took place. He sobbed during the funeral for his family. He would cry and clutch his head as he heard his deceased family whisper fierce, unrelenting taunts in his head.
But while he turned that provocation and torment into a thirsty desire for revenge, the crying had eventually stopped. He didn’t have the time to waste crying, after all. He needed to continue getting stronger if he was to take his family’s murderers’ head.
So Dimitri assumed that all his tears had left him years ago. It was foolish of him to think that. He held the flower up to the light.
He was ready to give up everything, but…maybe just this once, the goddess would grant him one final act of humanity. Dimitri sunk to his knees, and—for the first time in years—cried.
Around him, he heard his loved ones begin to whisper.
Imperial Year 1181. Blue Sea Moon. (7/12/1180.)
Dimitri returned to his own home soon after everything went wrong, as did all of the other students at Garreg Mach.
It wasn’t that Dimitri necessarily wanted to go, but he didn’t want to stay in that wretched place, either. (He left all of the once-treasured gifts from Byleth there. He desperately hoped that the faster he forced the professor away from his mind, there’d be no chance of her haunting him).
Over the past five months, Faerghus’ heir watched the slow but inevitable destruction of the Kingdom. His chest, at first, burned with shame and guilt. The remorse didn’t last long. He ended up shoving those needless feelings away with ease.
The people of Faerghus could wait. When he finally, finally, finally, had Edelgard’s head, then his family would finally be pleased. They’d sing songs of praise and thanks to him—and no longer would they hiss out bitter insults or look at him with disappointment. The people of Faerghus could wait until after Dimitri had fulfilled his family’s dying regrets. Until he was thoroughly done with his training and fully prepared to kill Edelgard, Faerghus could wait.
Everything he did was for revenge. He was born a human and a prince, and would die a beast.
And that was okay with him. So he let Faerghus fall around him.
Imperial Year 1181. Guardian Moon. (1/20/1181.)
Cornelia did not sit well with Dimitri. He put up with her when he was younger, because his stepmother trusted Cornelia a lot.
But things change and people change—and while Cornelia didn’t explicitly say it, Dimitri could tell she was siding with the Imperial forces.
That alone made Dimitri angry. She looked at him with this infuriating knowing, taunting look in her eyes. Like she knew the fate of his near future and he did not. Her lips would constantly curl up in a sickening smile whenever he entered the room and Dimitri didn’t like it. At all.
Dimitri strode into the library, not surprised to see Cornelia there. That gut-churning smirk was on her face. There was a book in her hands, but Dimitri wasn’t interested enough to see what she was reading.
“Good evening,” Dimitri managed to grit out.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said sweetly, and Dimitri had the urge to smash a book into her skull. Everything about her was so fake that it made feel Dimitri sick.
That was all there was to the interaction for a while. Dimitri searched for the book he was seeking—A Hoshidan’s Guide to Revenge by an author named Takumi—and Cornelia read her book in silence.
He should have known that the silence wouldn’t last forever. Apparently, trying your best to ignore the presence of the people you despise doesn’t always work.
“You know, this book has a character named Rufus. So it made me think, I haven’t seen Lord Rufus in a while, Dimitri. I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me find him?” Cornelia asked, not looking up from her novel.
Find him yourself, you witch, Dimitri thought to himself bitterly. His eyes landed on the publication he was looking for and pulled it out of the shelf.
Turning around, Dimitri gave Cornelia a harsh glare. “I guess so. But afterward, I’m going to train. Bother me then, and I’ll slit your throat.” He walked past her table, praying he’d be able to leave before she could get a word in.
“My, my…when did you get so violent, Dimitri?” Cornelia inquired, the corners of her lips turned upward. “You’re even carrying a guidebook focused on revenge. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.”
Dimitri scoffed, but refused to turn around again. He paused at the doorway, fingers resting on the wall as he held the book under his armpit. “I think you of all people would at least have an idea, Cornelia.”
He continued onward, dropping the book off in his room, a scowl on his face the entire time.
“Now then, to find Rufus.” The young prince didn’t know why Cornelia needed to know where Rufus was. After all, it’s not like Rufus would just up and leave. He was the current Regent of Faerghus, until Dimitri’s coronation. (The date was still being worked out, much to Dimitri’s chagrin. Cornelia kept stalling it, and that was bad for Dimitri, because the sooner he was King, the sooner he could kill Edelgard.)
He first checked the grand hall of the castle; then Rufus’ bedroom; the dining hall; the armory; the garden; and so on. (Going down the list later in his head, Dimitri figured he should have seen it coming.)
Dimitri nodded to the guards who were protecting the dungeon. It was a last resort, but it was still worth checking. Besides, there was truly no where else for Dimitri check. If Rufus wasn’t there, he wasn’t there. He could report back to Cornelia and then get to his training.
The dungeon was a long hallway on the first floor of the castle. About seventy small cells were in there—and, in the rare occurrences that the dungeon was filled, Dimitri knew they’d throw their prisoners into the basement. But at the moment, as far as the prince was aware, there was no one in there at the moment. The last person got executed several days ago.
He paid no mind to the prisoners and walked down the hallway, his face stoic and arms crossed against his chest. He took several more steps, until Dimitri felt his blood turn cold.
There, at the end of the hall, Rufus was slumped against the wall with four stab wounds in his chest. Next to his body laid a blood-covered lance. It was fresh blood, Dimitri could tell—the murder couldn’t have happened more than ten minutes ago.
Footsteps resonated throughout the room behind him, and Dimitri whirled around with wide eyes to see Cornelia. Her hands were behind her back. “Cornelia,” Dimitri said weakly. “Rufus, he’s…dead.”
“Oh, I know,” Cornelia said, walking even closer to Dimitri until she was just a few feet away. Dimitri cursed, knowing he was cornered—he didn’t want to bump into Rufus’ dead body, and that witch was blocking the exit.
The woman reached two hands out, and Dimitri paled upon seeing the blood on her hands. She quickly wiped as much of it as she could on Dimitri’s armor, taking advantage of his shock, before whirling around and shouting at the top of her lungs. “Guards! Guards! Regent Rufus, he’s been murdered!”
When Dimitri saw the guards burst in at the other end of the hall, that’s when he finally understood what was happening. He hissed, running forward and gripping Cornelia by the collar. “You snake!” he snarled, raising a fist to punch her skull in.
Cornelia did nothing but laugh. “Oh, Dimitri,” she whispered, “this could’ve been avoided if only you had just died along with your family all those years ago.”
The guards grabbed Dimitri, and at that moment, Dimitri wondered if that was the end. If his life of revenge was being thrown away before he could even get it.
He was to be executed in two days.
***
Imperial Year 1181. Guardian Moon. (1/22/1181.) Early morning.
Two days. Dimitri had been a prisoner of his own kingdom for two days.
He wasn’t sure what time it was. There were no windows, his only feasible way of guessing the time was when the birds began loudly chirping outside.
He hadn’t eaten or drank ever since his imprisonment, he just remained there and punched the wall with a manic smile on his face.
Was this how he was going to die? A punch. Alone, with bloody knuckles, and no chance of fulfilling his family’s wishes? Another punch. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, heir to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, was going to die because of a lie? A third punch.
“How pathetic.” His father’s body began to form in front of him.
Dimitri laughed aloud, just once. “I know, Father, I know.” A fourth punch.
“This isn’t what you promised us. You are going to take that woman’s head. Why haven’t you done it yet? There were so many possible chances, and yet…”
“Shut up!” Dimitri growled, punching the wall for a fifth time. “I just need more time, Father, but I will have that woman’s head, I swear it. I’ll hang it on the gates of Enbarr, and then you may finally rest easy. So, please…” He begged, resting his forehead on the reddened wall. “Give me more time.”
“You’re a disappointment.” Is all his father said before fading away again. Dimitri clutched his head and shook it back and forth, not caring if the blood on his fingers got in his hair.
Minutes passed in silence. From the outside, Dimitri knew it must look like a contemptible sight. Faerghus’ would-be heir, cradling himself and muttering to himself like a madman, with bloody hands like a beast.
And then there was a punching sound from the outside—punches that weren’t Dimitri’s. A crack in the stone wall, and then more and more, until the wall crumbled with a loud crash.
There, in the midst of the dark night, was Dedue. His retainer hurriedly took off his steel gauntlets, and pulled Dimitri out of the cell’s bed (if it could classify as a bed).
“D-Dedue,” Dimitri stammered dumbly, unsure of what else to say. Was he being rescued? Was he being granted a second chance to get his revenge by the goddess?
Dedue shook his head, and pointed behind Dimitri. “My apologies for taking so long, Your Highness. But I am afraid there’s no time. You must run, if you want your dream of revenge to come to fruition. I will stay behind and fend as many guards as I can off—there is no way they did not hear the wall crumble.”
He was speechless, but he knew Dedue was right. Should he want to live, though he didn’t deserve it, he had to leave right away. “Thank you, Dedue. Words alone cannot express my grat—”
“I apologize for interrupting, Your Highness, but. Give me your gratitude only when you have found your happiness, by killing her.” Dedue’s face then softened. “Goodbye. I hope that you win…Dimitri.”
Willing his tears away, Dimitri bowed to his friend. Then he turned and ran away, never once looking back.
He was officially a dead man.