The celebrations kick off not long after night completely falls across Fhirdiad, the darkness lit up by torches and bonfires. The city is more alive than ever, people dancing and singing and playing instruments in the streets, heartily laughing and drinking to their heart's content. Even within the castle's walls, a party has begun, the ballroom briefly taken over by the army. Tables and chairs have been set up to put food and drink on, and some of the soldiers have bought out a few instruments and begun playing. The sound of a lute, fiddle, and flute are immediately recognisable, and although the music is a little disjointed, it reminds her of festivals and of home— it reminds her of what the Harpstring Moon is really meant to be.

People have begun to dance to the music, others are still enjoying the food and drink. In particular, she can see Ingrid eagerly shovelling some meat into her mouth, with Ashe helping pile some more food onto her plate as well as having a drink at the ready just in case; and she can see Dedue and Mercedes quietly speaking to each other next to a dish she doesn't quite recognise— perhaps a Duscan dish. Dancing across the ballroom, to her surprise, are Felix and Annette. The man is scowling deeper than she's ever seen him, but she swears there's a hint of warm pink dusting across his cheeks. Annette's smile alone lights up the room.

Lilia lingers around the edges, more than happy to simply watch and take everything in. There is a warm glow that fills the atmosphere, a gentle happiness that soothes and lulls her, a near-forgotten emotion. Peace. It makes her long for the future, for a peace in Fodlan that lingers just out of their grasp. Surely, now that they have Fhirdiad and the Kingdom back, they can rejoin the Alliance and march to Enbarr; and officially end this.

"Lilia." She turns her head upward.

Sylvain comes to stand beside her, holding two chalices in both of his hands. With ease, he offers her one of them. With a quiet thanks on her lips, she takes the cup into her own hands, staring into the liquid swirling within. The colour is warm, like molten gold, and the scent is sweet, peppered with spices. She gives it another little sniff, looking up at him for a few moments.

"It's mead," He states, taking a drink from his own chalice. "It's made from honey. Give it a try."

She purses her lips for a moment, before finally taking a sip. She's immediately surprised by the fact that it actually tastes like honey, sweet and slightly floral, with a hint of maybe... cinnamon? Whatever it is, it reminds her of sunshine. "It's good!"

"Right?" He laughs, though she can't help but feel like the look in his eyes is calculating; like he looks when he's considering a strategy before a battle. "A perfect fit for a sweet girl like yourself."

Her lips curl around the chalice. "You're only saying that because Dorothea won't dance with you."

He grimaces, muttering something under his breath that she can't quite catch, but it makes her giggle nonetheless. Over the course of the journey to Fhirdiad, she's never seen anyone else put down Sylvain as much as Ingrid does like Dorothea does. The songstress practically has it down to an art-form, and it had been easy to see her wryly chuckling and turning him down across the ballroom from the place Lilia had been standing.

"Ingrid is really rubbing off on you..." His free hand rubs the back of his neck, nervous. "Anyway— I just figured I'd ask you something I've been meaning to ask for a while, now that we've retaken Fhirdiad..."

"Yes?"

"Why did you decide to help His Highness?"

Her heart stutters, breath catching in her throat. For a moment, her gaze searches the ballroom for the prince, seeing his blond hair glowing faintly in the warm firelight and his lips form a small smile as he speaks to Gilbert. She stares at him, and remembers the man she'd met nearly a year ago. A man drenched in the smell of blood and earth, who snarled like an injured and cornered wolf when she offered her hand.

"I..." She begins, quiet. "I looked at him, and knew that... that if someone didn't help him, he'd die."

Indeed, if she looks at him now, the very thought of that fate makes a chill run down her spine. Makes her feel like she's going to be ill. She knows now that the reason she feels that way is due to feelings she perhaps shouldn't have for him— but at the time... she didn't want him to die because it would've weighed heavy on her conscious. She'd never encountered anyone from her dreams before. The idea of looking away from someone who's fate she could change and just letting them suffer... it wasn't something she could do.

A weak laugh leaves her lips. "Perhaps it was a little selfish... I just... didn't want to fall asleep knowing... I could've helped him and I didn't."

Sylvain hums, his lips pursed around his chalice, and just as she'd thought— he'd looking at her with those cool and calculating eyes. She feels like a dying animal being circled by carrion birds just waiting for her to die so they can eat. Her skin prickles under his gaze, and in an attempt to take her mind off of the silence, she decides to down the rest of her drink. It burns a little at the back of her throat, and her nose crunches up. Perhaps that wasn't very smart of her. She's never had anything like mead, or even alcohol in general, before.

"Easy there, you'll make yourself sick drinking like that!" He finally says, clearly shocked. "Goddess... You really don't hide any of your emotions, do you?"

"Wha—?"

"Don't worry about it." Sylvain places a hand on her head, ruffling up her hair again.

She frowns a little. Sometimes, she can't help but think that Sylvain hides the way he thinks with sweet words and bright smiles, concealing it by shining a light over his true thoughts. He's so hard to read, like everything is concealed in a thick fog. Yet right now, she gets the feeling like he's being honest with her— so she doesn't push it or ask anything else.

While she works her fingers through her hair to flatten it back down, the redheaded man pinches her chalice and places it on a nearby table, using his now free hand to push the small of her back towards the ballroom floor. A cheeky grin curls onto his face, and he gives her a wink.

"Go ask His Highness to dance with you. He's way better at it than you might think."

She tries to argue, but admittedly... She wants to dance with him. The sweet melody of the fiddle fills her head, the notes like delicate twinkling stars. The lute and flute have been abandoned in the piece, leaving the violin to pull and tug at heartstrings. It's a different type of music than she's used to, the slow and romantic lull a sharp contrast to the vibrant folk song she's spent her life listening to.

Despite the warmth of alcohol spreading throughout her and the nerves set alight, she slowly nods her head and begins to cross the ballroom, heading towards the prince.

"D-Dimitri!"

He turns to look at her, and her cheeks flush deep pink at the sight of his gaze softening upon seeing her, the way his lips pull upwards just a little. Her heart stutters rapidly in her chest, and she tries to swallow down the anxieties swirling deep in her stomach.

"Lilia," He greets, gentle. Briefly, he looks to her arms and legs. "How are your wounds?"

Her fingers brush against her arms, bandaged beneath her blouse. "Ah, um... T-They're better! Mercie did really well..."

"I'm glad."

There's a brief silence, much more comfortable than the one she'd been in with Sylvain only moments earlier. Shyly, nervously, her fingers begin to play with the ends of her hair, trying to find the right words to say. They avoid her like the plague, making any cohesive thought die before it comes out of her mouth.

"Um... would you— would you like to," A pause. "... Go get some air? With me?"

Dimitri chuckles, and nods. "I'd like that."

After quickly informing Gilbert that he'll be back soon, the prince leads her out of the ballroom through one of the large glass-paned doors framing the room's sides, where they step out onto a balcony. The air is chilly, as it always it during Faerghan springs, and the sound of music and laughter (both from the ballroom and from the city streets) is muted by distance. In the sky above, stars spatter a dark sky, her gaze caught on a particular constellation— 'The King's Right Hand'. Not that far from it is the glowing moon, crescent-shaped, still casting enough light down on them.

He takes a long breath of the air, closing in on the balcony's edge and leaning his arms against it, gazing down on the streets below. She follows him, watching the shapes of people walking and dancing by, the flickering of fires setting an orange filter over Fhirdiad. With so many people on the streets, she can't help but quietly whisper:

"It really is beautiful," He turns to look at her, but doesn't say anything. "We talked about that once, remember? I was just thinking... you were right. It is beautiful."

He nods. "I remember..." There's a pause, and then he says, "I am truly sorry for the way I acted when we first met."

"Oh, Dimitri... you don't need to apologise again."

"No, I do... You were a normal girl, and coming with me thrust you into the very deepest pits of the war when you hadn't even had battle experience," He turns away from her. "I was cold to you as well..."

Lilia pouts, and reaches up to his face, turning it so he looks back at her. "You may have been... callous, but not once did I feel like I was in danger around you! You were... kind in your own way."

She thinks of him covering her up with his cloak during the dead of the cold winter, him being willing to clean up because she asked him to, how he would listen to some of her ideas. How he was okay with protecting her, how he told her she didn't have to kill if she couldn't or didn't want to. He'd certainly not been a particularly good person, but he'd at the very least treated her with respect and kindness. Far more importantly...

"You've chosen to atone for that time. So it's okay, Dimitri. I... We all forgive you."

His hand places over hers, and he quietly nods. In the moonlight, his hair is shining like cold, his lashes brushing against the palm of her hand. In that moment, she is overwhelmed with an urge to stand on the very tips of her toes and just— but she doesn't. His warmth radiating off his skin heats her up all the way to her chest, still pounding wildly in her ears, yet deafened to the sound of his breath. They're so close.

"Would you... like to dance?" Dimitri whispers.

Her fingers trace down his face, resting on his chest. "I... I'd love to."

Carefully, like she is a delicate piece of china, he presses one hand to her waist, the other taking her hand. He waits for a beat in the music, then slowly leads her in the sort of dance she'd imagined nobles doing in her fanciful childhood dreams, but had never imagined herself actually doing. Panic sets in when she accidentally steps on his foot, and she looks from the ground back up to him, her brows pinched in apology.

"S-Sorry! I-I've never—"

"It's alright," Though it's hard to tell in the light, she swears his cheeks are a little pink. "You can... stand on my feet, if you like. To help you get a feel of the steps."

"Ah, um... okay..."

Carefully, she tries to put as little weight as possible on his toes, though at the very least he's still wearing his armour. That lessens the guilt of stepping on his feet a little. Not much, but a little. But with her on top of his boots, they're even closer than they'd been before, chest to chest, the slow sway of the dance to a distant tune like a heartbeat. She wonders what this type of dance is called— perhaps she'd be able to ask Annette to help her learn it once the war is done. Her eyes flutter shut as they simply spin and sway, the steps subtle and gentle, the closeness something she's secretly longed for.

"You know... Edelgard taught me how to dance," Dimitri admits. "When we were children."

"The Emperor did?"

She finds that hard to believe, yet he nods. "Not many people know this, but she and I... are step-siblings." Her disbelief must show on her face, because he lets out a weak laugh. "She's the only family I have left... I wish we could end this war without spilling her blood, but knowing her... I doubt there will be a path that leads to our coexistence."

Lilia will always hate the Emperor and what she's done, yet... she understands. To lose what's left of your family... that would be horrific. The only comparison she can even think of is how she'd felt seeing the village that raised her burn, just like her birth village had. And even if she hates the woman for sending her home into war and strife, for creating the chain of events that had led to so much destruction and death... she doesn't think she could wish for the woman to die. Not unless it was the final option.

"I don't want to end this war through annihilation. I want to end it through acceptance. I'm sure Claude feels the same way. Yet I believe that Edelgard cannot live in a world where the Church of Seiros still exists..." He lets out a sigh.

Her fingers linger on his chest. "I cannot claim to know any different... To me, she has always been the harbinger of destruction..."

She thinks of that brief flash of some sort of emotion she'd seen on the woman's face before the battle at Gronder began, the flickers of regret, like a mask sliding off and promptly being put back on. Perhaps, for her own reasons, the Emperor believes she is doing the right thing. But Lilia cannot condone how she's gone about attempting to create the world she wants to see. She cannot condone all the suffering.

"Yet, if there were some way for us to exist together... for her to explain why she caused such pain..." She presses her head against his chest, ear listening for the slow beat of his heart. "I would take it. I would listen to her."

"I appreciate that someone else thinks the same way..."

The dance continues, and her feet eventually migrate off of his, following the steps on her own.

The music grows cheerful once more, and they stop dancing once the song no longer fits to the slow dance they'd been twirling across the balcony. The moon has moved across the sky with the hours, yet the party within the castle shows no sign of stopping. Her hand has yet to leave his own, his gauntlet cold against her bare hand, a contrast against the warmth within her. The liquid courage of the mead Sylvain had given her has long worn off, yet she doesn't find it in herself to part from him— the courage had already been given to her, she just needs to pretend like she still has it.

"I have something to ask of you," Dimitri speaks up after a long period of calm and gentle silence. "Will you... come with me to the graveyard?"

She looks up to him, and he continues. "I have always been terribly afraid of going near there... but I cannot stay away forever. Still... I would appreciate the company."

"Of course I will."

Carefully, still holding her hand, he leads her down a staircase off the side of the balcony, into a garden that is in desperate need for care. On a spring night like this, she can see the closed buds of plenty of beautiful flowers, the deep luscious red of roses, delicate pale pinks of peonies, the climbing vines of forget-me-nots... Then they walk past a small grotto, full of the most stunning flowers she's ever seen in her life— all of them blooming in the middle of the night. Their fragrance is strong, sweet and floral, perfumed, their petals pure white and glowing.

They enrapture her with their beauty, and Dimitri takes notice. He gestures vaguely at them, murmuring, "The Empire calls them moonflowers. Here and in the Alliance, they're known as Maiden's Tears."

Maiden's Tears... after the Maiden of Wind from the legends, no doubt. Though the story varies from place to place, the version in written books ends sorrowfully— no doubt the reason why these flowers are named such. She'd always wondered the truth of the tale. Who was the Maiden really? Alas... the truth is likely lost to time.

"May I take a few? For your loved ones?"

"Ah... of course," He smiles. "Thank you for the gesture."

Gently, she plucks a few flowers from different bushes, not wanting to take too many from a single place and ruin the uniformity of the garden's beauty. The flowers are even sweeter smelling in her hands, soft and gentle, similar to magnolias and sweet-peas yet wholly unique. She loves the way they smell. Once she has what she feels like is enough— around five or six, hopefully enough to be a good offering for those who've passed on— they leave the grotto and continue on their path.

The air is still cold, and she cannot help but feel like it gets colder as they approach the cemetery. Like the spirits permeate the land, coating the grass with frost and making the wind sting a little chillier. Every headstone is coated in crawling vines and moss, the signs of wear and tear over the five years they've spent without anyone to care for them. Some of them are clearly much older than the rest, a particularly large tomb near the front catches her eye thanks to the marble carving of a lion. There are so many things that draw her interest about the castle, so many pockets of history that call out to be explored. She hopes to one day be able to learn more.

He stops in front of some tombstones, elaborate carving revealing their names and dates of births and deaths. Her heart seizes up at one of them: Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd. She may not know all of the workings of her home kingdom, but she's studied and learned enough over the past year to recognise that name on instinct. In her village, he had always been simply referred to as 'His Majesty', the full name only ever coming out on rare occasions to announce certain things— like the events in Duscur. Right now, she is standing before the tomb of the former king of the Holy Kingdom, and more importantly, Dimitri's father.

Carefully, she hands Dimitri one of the flowers, and he kneels to place it before the stone. While down there, he brushes away as much moss and overgrowth as he can, his gaze unreadable in the darkness as he engages in silent conversation. She wonders, is this the first time he's stood before this gravesite and let himself remember these people are long dead, unable to control him from their place with the Goddess? Is this the first time he's spoken to the dead since he swore on his father's lance to atone for his sins? Is this the first time his conversations with them have not been about vengeance and coating the earth in blood?

He stands back up, glimpsing at her for just a few moments before speaking aloud. "Father... I would like to introduce you to someone... dear to me. Without her, I would still be trapped in the darkness, and I would've certainly died a fruitless death on the battlefield. Surely, I would have... challenged an enemy I could not defeat alone, and needlessly sacrifice the lives of my friends and myself."

She thinks of Gronder, of the dream she'd had just after the war had started. If she had never joined Dimitri... would everyone she knew and cared for now have also died on that field? Run through by spears and swords, pierced by arrows? It is thoughts like those that confirm to her that the path she'd chosen wasn't wrong. How could it be, when it gave her people she would do anything in the world to protect?

"I will not waver from my rightful place again," He places his hand just over his heart. "I have been bought back into the light."

She smiles, soft and gentle. "Dimitri?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure your family would like to know... if you're happy," He looks to her for a moment, lips parting a little as he seems to be surprised by her words. She ducks her head, flushing, and continues, "I-I just figured... that they'd be glad to know... how you're feeling."

His brow furrows, deep in thought. "That...is a hard question to answer. Especially in front of them... I still do not believe I deserve happiness. These hands of mine have taken so many lives... Nobles and commoners. Adults and children. Perhaps a day will come when I have finally atoned for my sins...but such a day is not possible until after the war is over..."

"You don't have to answer, then," She turns back to the graves. "But... I think that you deserve it. After everything... I think you've earned it."

Dimitri inhales, and just nods.

this took me a while bc it turns out i can only write under the cover of moonlight
sdvasjfajfv very stupid, i know! and last night i intended to finish this but like... i fell asleep at fkn 6pm
so stupid! i am a FOOL! a clown! a buffoon!

guest: im so glad you liked it ; w ; i struggle with battle scenes but i had a lot of fun writing vs cornelia!
i simply had to include hapi! it wouldve been sacrilege to have her in the story and not!
that chapter rlly felt like a turning point for the cast to me so im so glad you enjoyed that last scene :pleading_face:

ANYWAY! im sorry for the long waits! i hope u enjoyed! thanks for reading!