雪月花の時 最も君を憶
At the time of snow, moon and flowers
I think of you
The autumn sun warms the cool air, sweet with flowers. In a tiny idyllic village like this, nobody would ever think that war was raging all around. Five years ago, the newly crowned Emperor of the Adrestian Empire waged war on the Church of Seiros— and everyone had to either willingly submit, or be conquered. A place like this, a tiny village on the outskirts of Blaiddyd territory, has no choice but to bend the knee.
"Lilia!"
A young woman turns around to look, her name being called. She's delicate-looking, yet pretty; long lashes framing eyes and hair the colour of mint leaves. Dressed in simple peasant wear, the most notable things she wears are her pair of stays (embroidered with tiny pink flowers), and her fur-lined cloak— an essential when living in Faerghus, though she keeps her's on her at all times for sentimental reasons. She smiles softly, and kneels a little to speak face-to-face with the one who called her name; one of the village children. When the Empire came through, they demanded that the churches be torched, and all worship of the Goddess cease. Priests and priestesses were killed either for worship or for fighting for their country's, and their religion's, freedom. Combined with the Monastery being taken over, and children who lived in church-run orphanages had little hope left. Of course, so long as you don't get caught by Imperial soldiers, you're free to worship and continue helping the children out— but these days it's impossible to tell who's a loyalist to the Crown and who supports the Empire.
It's been nearly five years of war, after all.
"What's wrong, Aislinn?" Lilia asks, instinctually giving the girl a glimpse over.
"Graham's hurt himself!" The little girl, Aislinn, tugs on her hand. Graham is one of the village boys, youngest son of the butcher. With most of the village's men (and teenaged boys, though the thought is painful) off at war, either conscripted into the Dukedom's forces or in the east with the loyalists, the young boys have made an attempt to step into their fathers' shoes: hunting and fishing and fighting. Luckily most of the women in town are more than capable of teaching them those skills, but boys will be boys, and unfortunately they get themselves into more trouble than not. "It was bleeding pretty bad!"
The blonde woman pulls herself up, leaving her basket of freshly collected herbs behind, and lets herself be dragged along. "I'm coming, don't worry."
The little girl takes her from the outskirts of the forest through towards the village, through farmlands of wheat. Most of it will be given to the Imperial soldiers, to feed their army. What's left will be stockpiled for the harsh winter to come. It's something to be worried about— they don't have enough people harvesting, and they haven't been having a particularly good harvest this year. With all of that, she can understand why the kids have been trying to step up to do their part, even though they should be enjoying their childhoods.
Aislinn doesn't lead her into the village itself, but just around the outskirts, to an area where the children often hang about, playing games. There, a group of children are crowded in a circle around a young boy, dark-haired and clutching at his side. The group splits to let her through, and Lilia bends down to take a closer look. The fabric of his shirt has been sliced right through, the skin below puckered and bleeding profusely. She sighs a little, and gives him a look— a little chastising. "How did you do this?"
Graham looks away, and she follows his gaze: to a sword, far too heavy for a small boy like himself. She's no doubt he'd been swinging it around, trying to practice using it, and had nicked himself. She shakes her head, and gently ruffles up his hair, and raises her hands. Light begins to form, soft and warm, forming a magic circle. It's radiant, a comforting shine that slowly begins to seal over the wound.
"Goodness," She sighs. "You shouldn't be messing with weapons. I'm not always going to be here to patch you up, Graham."
The boy huffs. "Yeah, but who else is gonna protect everyone if I don't learn how to use it?"
Her expression nearly falls. He fully expects the adults to not return— and she can hardly blame him for that. The war has been bloody and brutal thus far, and shows no signs of stopping any time soon. She doesn't even know how much longer the eastern front of loyalists will hold out, considering the main wheat supply comes from the Tailtean Plains, in Blaiddyd territory. Perhaps they've secretly been getting aide from the Alliance. She doubts it, though. Rumours have been that the Alliance leader has been very carefully navigating politics to avoid conflict.
She bites her lip, searching for the right response.
"Trust the grownups around you."
He frowns, and she quirks her brow up. He stares for a moment, trying to stand his ground, before finally looking away and nodding. "I... I won't do it again."
"Be safe, okay? I know your mother and father would be horribly upset if something bad happened to you."
Lilia returns to her home, on the forest's edge. Though the village children like her, she's barely tolerated by the adults. She supposes it has something to do with the fact she's an outsider— left at the local church as a toddler by a group of mercenaries after she survived the destruction of her village by Demonic Beasts. She supposes that, when combined with her strange hair colour, she's seen as a curse. She understands, it's easy to fear the unknown. She fears it too.
Her fingers trace over a small locked chest. Within, she keeps a small journal, filled to the brim with strange dreams she's had over the years. It's strange— for as long as she can remember, she's had dreams of war, of blood and sorrow. Of people sobbing, of flames swallowing the world whole, of madness. When the war started she began to fervently write down any more dreams she had, fearing that they'd keep coming true. She'd predicted the coup in Fhirdiad, and suffered over the fact she couldn't do anything about it. It's... terrifying— knowing something will happen and not being able to do anything about it.
She sighs.
The moon crests the horizon, eerily bright and full behind the tall pines of the nearby forest. Crows caw, their black feathers scattering as they break the skyline. She looks out the window, and wonders what has disturbed them. Perhaps the Imperial soldiers, patrolling through the woods in search of insurgents. Or bandits, who've wreaked havoc as the continent has grown unstable. She watches for what feels like hours, but may have only been a few moments; eyes enraptured by a shadow lurking beyond the distance. It looms, seemingly furred, broad and massive. Lilia briefly wonders if it's a bear, but it then stumbles— movements too human to be a beast. Immediately she moves, exiting her home and racing towards the tree-line. If someone is injured, she just can't leave them out in the woods to die, no matter which side they're on. It wouldn't rest easy on her conscience, to know that someone died and she could've helped them.
Jet black steel, white furs, bright blue. A man that smells strongly of iron. Perhaps if his hair was washed, she might've thought it akin to strands of gold. Right now, it looked limp and dead, trampled straw. The man— the beast— heaves, breath coming out in short huffs, his large hand clutching around the handle of a lance; the steel head glinting cooly in the moonlight, stained with blood. His singular eye is sharp, the colour of frozen waters, narrowing as he whips his head around to look directly at her. In that moment, she feels a little like a rabbit in front of a mighty bear. Her breath catches in her throat, and she briefly fears that she's reached her end: caught by the jaws of Death itself. Within a split second, she catches a glimpse of black and red coming from behind him, Imperial armour, and she shouts out—
"Watch out!"
Instinct moves her, she gets closer and raises her hands, letting holy magic smite him down. She exhales in relief as the enemy soldier crumples, her hands trying to not shake. She's seen death before, tried to heal soldiers on the brink only for them to join the Goddess, but causing it with her own hands is... different. If not for the adrenaline, and the strong eye on her, she might've let herself focus on it. But the man's groan brings her back to reality, and she joins him at his side.
"You're hurt!"
He makes a sound that reminds her of a growl, and she bites back a flinch. "Leave me be."
"No," Though he scares her, the man is clad in rich royal blues, a colour passed down in legends. Worn by Loog, the King of Lions, the colour is the very symbol of Faerghan independence, associated with the royal family and it's knights. She know, just by looking at him, that he must be a loyalist. Surely. "You'll die if you don't let me treat it. If not from blood-loss, then surely from infection."
The man furrows his brows, clutches at his side where she can see that the Imperial soldier's blade has gotten to a weak-point in his armour. Lilia looks up to him, green eyes pleading. "Please? Or, at the very least, come back with me? You'll get a hot meal, and I'll tend to your wounds. And then..."
She trails off. She doesn't know what he'd do next. He's in Dukedom territory, probably being hunted. She looks at him, filthy and wounded, and feels a need to help. She's not sure why a loyalist is in Dukedom territory on his own, but if she can treat his wounds and help him out, maybe she can help him return to his allies— and maybe they can fight back against the Empire. Free them from this oppression. Let those children worry about little things, like scraped knees or picking cloudberries, not who will fight to protect their village if the grown-ups don't return.
"Well, we'll get there when we get there!"
She smiles, tries to soothe the man, though it doesn't seem to affect him at all. So, she just gently gestures with her hand for him to follow, and constantly looks back to make sure he is. When he stumbles, she reaches out to help, but he moves out of the way. Lilia tries to keep cheerful. Everyone is on edge these days— she understands the mistrust.
She manages to get him to enter her tiny home, fighting back a giggle when he bends to enter the door. He still looms like a wraith, but he seems to have become a little more willing on their walk— where she talked and talked his ear off, desperate to fill the air with something. Somehow, she gets the feeling like her constant chatting was what made him more... calm, if she can call it that, though it's hard to tell. He's so very solemn, quiet and brooding, though she occasionally sees his eye dart around (looking for enemies, maybe? She doesn't know).
"Um," Lilia gestures around her room, searching for somewhere for him to sit. She... doesn't have guests over very often. "You can sit down wherever you like, and remove your armour. I'll tend to your wounds then."
She makes her way over to her shelves, searching for salves and herbal remedies— collected from the forest, mainly. Some of her more powerful stuff was purchased from merchants, back when it was safe for them to come passing through, but these days she's had to save those up in case something bad happens. Collecting a few items, she turns her head back around to watch him pause in the middle of pulling off his furred cape, murmuring something under his breath. She watches out of the corner of her eye, listening in, the silence of Faerghan night helping her hear him a little better, though his voice is such a low growl that she's only able to pick up words and phrases. Whispers of promises to the dead, she thinks. She's heard the same sort of thing in prayer, when the villagers can do it under the watchful eye of the Empire, but... It feels a little.. off, coming from this man. She wonders why.
"...You shouldn't let strangers into your home." He finally murmurs, and she giggles, coming towards him with medicine in hand.
"Well then. I'm Lilia!" She smiles. "And you are?"
"...Nobody anymore."
She frowns. "You know, a name is important. It's a gift from the people who cared for you. So if you won't tell me your's, I'll just give you one!"
He seems to scowl, and she takes the opportunity to reach out and smear salve on a scratch on his cheek. His hand snaps out and grabs her wrist, and she immediately squeaks, his grip powerful— more so than... well, anyone she's ever met before. It's almost awe-inspiring, if not a little scary. Upon realising what he's done, he pulls away, and begins to peel the layers of his armour off.
"Dimitri."
Lilia coats a rag in ointment, and smiles softly. "A pleasure to meet you."
She ends up insisting he stay the night, and feeds him potato soup. She apologises for the taste, knowing that it's bland. A lot of vegetables and spices are getting harder and harder to get a hold of, and potatoes are the easiest to grow in Faerghan soil, other than wheat. He seems to begrudgingly agree, though she gets the feeling it's because he's utterly exhausted and has had the first proper meal in Goddess knows how long. Lilia reaches out to his cape, covered in filth and blood, and picks it up.
"I can wash this, if you'd like," She runs her hands over the blue fabric and furs, what she's sure would've been the most expensive item she's ever laid her hands on if it weren't crusted in death. "It'd be a lot more comfortable once winter comes around."
Dimitri takes his cloak back, working on putting his armour back on. "It's fine."
"Well, the offer is always open."
He sits himself down near the door, using a rag to clean blood off of his lance's blade, his gaze distant. She decides to leave him alone, though her home is too small for them to truly be separate from each other. She thinks it might be for the better— quietly, she wants to make sure he's okay. Not just because he was injured, but because he's probably been through a lot. Everyone in Faerghus these days has been through lots, but she knows soldiers like this man have been through the most. Fighting for everyone's freedom, so they're capable of living as they've always lived (and maybe even better) without the looming terror of the Adrestian Empire.
Lilia looks to him for a moment, before moving towards a small cupboard, bringing out a simple quilted blanket and placing it before him. She chooses to not say a word— perhaps he would be more comfortable if she's quiet and leaves him with his thoughts— but she simply can't leave him to sit, or sleep, on the floor without something to keep him warm. Though, his cloak does seem rather comfortable...
Hours pass, and she can't sleep. He doesn't seem to be capable of it either; eyes lowered to the ground below yet wide-awake, clearly listening out for danger. She watches him quietly from her bed, observing his every little twitch. Her lips purse, and her fingers dig into the fabric of her bedding. Something is telling her to say something, something deep within her. Perhaps it's something from long ago, that she's forgotten. Or maybe it's something she once saw in a dream. Whatever it is, it eggs her on, whispers to her that tonight the goddess has set her fate in motion.
"Where are you headed?" She asks, quiet. "Back to your allies?"
He laughs coldly. "I have no allies. I'm headed to take the emperor's head."
She hums in response. It is... a dark answer, yet one that is understandable. She's heard many of the people in town say similar things, that if the emperor was dead, then their husbands and wives, sons and daughters could come back home. After all, it is the emperor's will, her regime and ideals, that have caused this senseless war. She's seen little of the world outside the forest and village, but has seen the distance from here to the Adrestian capital on maps. It is a long distance for one man to travel all alone, especially considering how wounded he was when she found him.
"It's a long way from Enbarr. You'll die if you go alone."
Dimitri scoffs. "Then so be it."
"I think I'll come with you," He looks at her in disbelief, and she smiles. "I want this war to end. And if you want to take the emperor's head so badly, you'll need help."
"...Do what you wish."
Lilia grins at him, and throws her head back onto her pillow, blankets pulled up to her shoulders. She's almost positive now that she's seen him in her dreams before— she remembers golden hair and black and blue armour, pierced by spears and arrows and swords. She may not know Dimitri well, or at all really, but she doesn't think he deserves a death like that.
Nobody does.
hi! hello! i'm very shy about posting this because its so fkn self-indulgent sbfsjdfhs
so if you read it, thanks! but im mostly posting it so i can save it dfsdkj since i dont save my stuff on files
first chapters are so hard to write... i struggled with properly obtaining dimitri's voice,
especially feral boy dimitri cbgfsbjdgkjds
hopefully as i continue writing this i'll get a better hold of his voice!
i wont spoil too many of my ideas for this, but just know im going to be working for like,
a fix-it fic, canon-divergence type deal. it's top secret sdfbshjdf
i know this chapter is probably a bit boring, but i'm just trying to set the scene and the characters!
if anyone reads this, i hope u enjoy it ; w ;
