Byleth had always imagined that the inside of castles and manor estates would be disproportionately decadent and comfortable when compared to the furnishings of her upbringing. The castle at Fhirdiad had reinforced this childhood fantasy with its carpeted floors, brightly lit rooms and the stone of the walls softened by dressings and art work. Upon entering the palace in the capital, one could forget the harsh, unforgiving lands surrounding it and rest in what luxury Faerghus could afford.
Castle Gautier, in stark contrast, was fort-like inside and outside. Standing like a monolith, audacious and imposing against the horizon atop the hill surrounded by a village, it mocked any who would seek to conquer it. This was to be expected of a structure intended to protect an open border and the tight confines of the courtyard must have been intended to limit the number of soldiers and horses that could enter at once. Byleth had noted this, appreciating the clever use of architecture for a strategic advantage.
Passing through towering reinforced doors, the party from Fhirdiad found themselves in a barren receiving room. The sound of their clicking bootheels on the stone floor echoed distinctly against the bare walls of the chamber and bounced hollowly up the walls of the tower like room to disappear into the shadows above that hid the ceiling. Meager light shone from the torches mounted in sconces here and there and even the additional light provided by servants holding lanterns. The dismal room was scarcely welcoming and, had there been anything worth viewing adorning the walls, she would have had to squint to see them clearly.
From the entrance chamber, corridors branched off in cardinal directions, bleak and dimly lit within. Each corridor was narrow allowing for only two men abreast to pass through at a time. Had the castle been designed this way after an invasion or in preparation for it? An enemy would easily become disoriented in a place like this. Despite the chill in her bones and a pervading sense of disease, she found herself nodding in admiration of the castle's design.
"Thank you for your hospitality," Dimitri was saying as those in the room straightened from their bows.
"It is my honor," replied Gautier through a thick beard and mustache. She did not think he sounded honored but, perhaps she offered him a small smile in response.
A swift flicker of movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned just in time to see Felix stop at his father's shoulder. He leaned forward to speak briskly but too softly to overhear and was stalking away from his father to join Sylvain down the corridor before anyone else could notice.
There was no time for her gaze to trail after the pair. Rodrigue swept toward them with a smile that seemed to lessen the severity of the room around them. Despite the closeness of their bond, Rodrigue was the personification of chivalry as he bowed to them both before taking Dimitri's forearm to embrace him.
"Your Majesty, I am happy to see you." His greeting was followed by the hearty clap of hands against backs.
Byleth couldn't help smiling as she observed the two of them together. Even under these circumstances, the genuine affection between the two of them warmed her but, as she watched, she noted Rodrigue who normally spoke so clearly, leaned close to Dimitri's ear. His mouth was obscured by his flowing dark hair and she could not discern what was said.
Margrave Gautier remained near, watching the two men with disinterest. Upon making unexpected eye contact with her, Byleth struggled to find something to say to this hedgehog of a man. "Such an interesting ritual to enter the castle," she said, assuming that a man who clung to customer and ritual would brighten at a chance to discuss it.
Bushy eyebrows rose as though she had insulted him and his response was far cry from bright. "It was a necessity long ago when traitors and spies would attempt to infiltrate the castle. One must be named and their identity vouched for." Shrewd dark eyes studied her face with startling intensity. "One is less likely to be a conspirator with invaders if one must swear to your guests' identity. Wouldn't you agree, your majesty?"
She nodded.
"All noble children in Faerghus are taught this history," he added pointedly.
Her blood had begun to simmer at his emphasis on the words noble and Faerghus. The margrave no doubt interpreted the flush of her cheeks as embarrassment and she was near correcting him when Rodrigue released Dimitri and turned the warmth of his attention to her. He embraced her tightly as though she were his kin. "My queen, you look well. I am happy to see you, although I wish the circumstances were different." He released her and she returned his smile. In truth, she was happy to see him.
"Rodrigue, you old sentimental. We have serious matters to discuss with his majesty."
Looking around, Byleth was surprised to see that Gautier, his son and Felix were looking back at them from further down the corridor. Unperturbed, Rodrigue chuckled and nodded. "You're right, Philipe." With a sweeping gesture he stepped aside so that she and Dimitri could follow.
The tunnel was tight though no one around her seemed to feel as claustrophobic as she. Despite the lack of decor, the castle was pristine. Much like the stones in the courtyard, the floor, walls and ceiling shone in the scant firelight. She imagined the discipline the servants must exhibit to keep unadorned stone looking like this.
Soon enough, they emerged from the passage into the dining room where dual fireplaces crackled away, providing light and warmth to the cavernous room. Arranged to accommodate a battalion with long tables spanning its length, she was reminded of a mess hall rather than a formal dining hall.
The very first hint of dressing provided ample insight into what was valued here on the borderland. This space seemed to be a shrine to battle and manhood with mounted weapons and trophies from hunts displayed prominently on the walls.
At the far end of the room, raised on a platform, was another shorter table dressed simply, favoring function over decorative frivolities. Servants in livery of understated grey and dark red lined the back wall like soldiers at attention and she realized as they neared the dias that they were to wait on them. Everything about this place smacked rigidity and, while she was not unaccustomed to strict living, it was unexpected. It was difficult to fathom how someone like Sylvain had grown up here though.
Dimitri escorted Byleth to the far side of the table and took her hand to help her into her seat. As he pushed her chair in for her, he leaned forward as though he intended to kiss her cheek. Instead, she felt the rough hair on his chin and the rush of his breath as he said quickly and quietly, "Do not speak of falling in."
Straightening with no further word or glance, Dimitri took his seat at the center of the table. Rodrigue and Gautier took their seats of honor to his left and right with their sons beside them. Byleth did not typically feel out of place among men but sitting at the end of the table, apart from Dimitri, she felt obtrusive.
Perhaps he was sensing how she must feel, Sylvain leaned forward to make eye contact with her and offer an encouraging smile. Felix looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but at this table. The two of them remained much like the images in her memory and she felt a knot of anxiety loosen in her stomach at the thought.
Food and drink were brought to the table but no one ate much. A few attempts at casual conversation refused to take flight leaving the table shrouded in silence. The sound of idle scraping of utensils on plates dominated the space in the absence of any other sound. Finally, when it could be delayed no longer, Rodrigue broached the topic on everyone's mind.
"What did your majesties find when you surveyed the scene?"
"My son took you to the site. He was instructed to bring you here," interjected Gautier, his mood remaining curdled. Sylvain ignored him pointedly and drank deeply from his cup. "I trust that he put the safety of your majesties first and did not lead you too close?"
"Of course," replied Dimitri reassured him graciously. "I am glad that he took us to see it. I might not have believed it, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Even from a distance it is," he paused to find the word and ultimately could not. "Indescribable."
"Yes," agreed Rodrigue. "We came here after our watch notified us. It doesn't seem to be spreading, thank the goddess."
"But it might," Gautier said pointedly, gesturing with a thick finger. "Seems to be nothing within our power that could stop it if it did."
"We have to remain calm," soothed Dimitri. "Our uncertainty should not fuel fear or lead us to rash decisions. For now, have you both removed your people from the area?"
Gautier snorted loudly and turned his attention to his plate. Sylvain could hardly disguise the roll of his eyes.
"That was to be part of our discussion with you." Rodrigue was the picture of composure as he continued. "You, yourself, called it indescribable. How are we to explain the reason for a sudden evacuation without causing panic?"
"Couldn't we just say that the Srengans are mounting an invasion? That's not outside the realm of possibility," Sylvain suggested.
"But why would our soldiers evacuate as well? That makes no sense," retorted Felix.
"Even so, I cannot condone whipping the townsfolk up into a panicked frenzy even if it would yield the desired results," mused Dimitri, his chin in his hand. "People in the throes of fear are only thinking of survival. Their behavior can be unpredictable. There has to be another way."
Gautier's short, wry laugh drew every eye at the table. It seemed he had nothing more to say as he remained fixed on the food on his plate, sawing away at a piece of meat with his knife.
"So, what do you suggest, your majesty? That we stroll into each town and village, tell them that something has happened but we don't know what and it might or might not spread to devour their land and homes. We don't know how to stop it but for safety's sake we should all evacuate but don't panic." Felix looked around the table incredulously. "I cannot be the only one who thinks that sounds insane."
"It is obvious that we need a unified plan." conceded Dimitri. "If we are confident in our message we may be able to avoid undo panic until we know more about the effects of this thing."
Dimitri gave a start as though he had just remembered something. "What of the soldiers who were recovered from the abyss?" he asked, looking between the two older lords. " We were told that they are being treated here. Has there been any improvement in their condition?"
Again, Gautier gave a dry, sardonic laugh in response. Dimitri paused, examining him before glancing about the table. Everyone, save Byleth, was suddenly intensely interested in their plates of food. She watched as he subtly set his face and then turned in his chair to face Gautier more fully.
"If you have something you wish to say, Margrave, please speak freely." She could hear his carefully placed smile in his voice.
Gautier gruffly cleared his throat, his deep set eyes darting up to the king's face to glare openly from beneath bushy red eyebrows. "I do, in fact, have something I want to say."
Rodrigue pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes muttering, "Here we go."
"Do you not think it odd, your majesty, that this all happened so soon on the heels of your little treaty?"
Byleth's lips parted in shock. Had she heard him correctly? Certainly his impudent tone was unmistakable. Protective instincts surged and fueled the anger bubbling in her chest as her gaze bored into the back of the margrave's head. She was never one for outbursts and thank the goddess, for in the seconds it took to escalate, Byleth remembered that Dimitri was a king. A crown-prince no longer, he did not need her to defend him. And yet, looking at the other faces around the table, no one appeared to be unsettled or even surprised by this. All that she found were long-suffering sighs and long drinks from goblets.
Perhaps even more puzzling was the disarming consideration on Dimitri's face. If she had looked faster, she might have seen the corner of his mouth jerk and a narrowing of his eyes before schooling his face to stillness.
"I do not." His voice did not share the placidity of his demeanor. It was low, heavily weighted with an intention she couldn't identify. "It is clear that you do. Please, Margrave, tell me why that is."
It was then that she noted his eyes and she sucked her breath sharply through her teeth. His heavy lidded eyes were fixed on the older man with scrutinous intensity. A shiver rippled up her spine as she recalled being the object of his probing, unyielding gaze. She knew too well how his eyes, like ice, mercilessly shattered pretense to lay bare one's secrets.
Gautier bucked under the pressure and intensity of his attention. He brashly shifted in his chair to face the king directly and while Dimitri's voice had softened, the margrave barreled on, giving in to his passionate speculations.
"You truly don't think it strange that a mere day after squandering the riches, which we claimed by divine right, that our land has begun to disappear into thin air?" The color of the margrave's face soon matched the red of his hair as he bit each word. "Your treaty with those heathens, those blood-thirsty murderers, spits in the face of the goddess and her providence then you sit before me surprised at her wrath!" In his fervor, his fist hit the table like a boulder. The sound echoed in the empty hall.
She could feel her pulse racing as rage filled her. She clutched at the napkin in her lap, twisting until her knuckles were white. Again, she swept her attention about the table and again she found each face unaffected. Rodrigue continued to massage the bridge of his nose, sighing occasionally with all the forbearance of a saint. Both Sylvain and Felix were preoccupied shuffling food about their plates.
Shock gave way to disbelief as she returned to Dimitri. His love of Duscar and its people had always been an exploitable vulnerability and provocation would send him into a rage. But where she expected to see narrowed eyes and a thin grasp on control, he remained composed in the face of the thundering man seated beside him. He was eerily still, she wondered if he was breathing.
As the echoing bang from the margrave's fist dissipated into the air, she watched the face of her lover, no husband, and gazed in wonder at his mastery of himself. She felt suddenly small and meek as she beheld him, both were feelings accustomed to her. At last, he spoke.
"The people of Duscar are neither of the fowl things you have named them," he began, somehow quelling the anger she'd seen in him before at the utterance of these derogatory names. He patiently continued as though he were dictating, somehow avoiding condescension as he drove his point home. "What we pillaged from the people of Duscar was no gift of the goddess and my father would never have sanctioned it. I cannot return the lives that were taken but I will continue my father's work and mend the damage my predecessor did."
Gautier laughed loudly, unashamed or unable to control his furious disdain. Hazel eyes blazed and the mustache at his lip quivered. "Your father! Now there was a King of Lions. Rodrigue, your father and I carved out the land we're on now from Sreng with our own blood and sweat. By the grace of the goddess we conquered what was ours. You are provoking her into reclaiming what she's given by failing to recognize her providence. Mend the damage," he repeated and then spat on the floor. "You dishonor Lambert's memory."
She felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and everyone at the table was holding their breath as they looked on in horror. To invoke Dimitri's father was unthinkable and unforgivable. She could feel bile rising in her throat and then Rodrigue's chair scraped as he began to stand and Sylvain had placed his cup on the table with a bang.
"Philipe. That is uncalled for... "
"Your majesty what he means to say…"
Dimitri's raised hand and a soft shake of his head saw Rodrigue return to his seat and Sylvain sink against the back of his chair. A charged silence still filled the room. He should have hurled the dining table aside and taken the man's thick neck in his hand to break it with an effortless squeeze. She herself would have cut Gautier to ribbons with the Sword of the Creator had he spoken of her father that way.
Gautier's barrel-like chest rose and fell as his heated breath puffed in and out. It was the only sound in the room. Dimitri closed his eyes looking for all the world like he was resting, his face easy but unreadable for a moment that lasted an eternity. When he chose to speak, his rich voice seemed to vibrate along the tension in the chamber. "Tell me, Philipe. What would you have me do?"
She watched, transfixed as he dipped his chin to level cruel, icy eyes on the face of the margrave. Like daggers they pinned the older man, paralyzing him with a threat unspoken but clear as day. The danger in his gaze unsettlingly contradicted the subtle smile on his mouth and she trembled. His unadulterated strength was dangerous alone but coupled with the power of his station he was magnificent. Terrible. Unstoppable.
Gautier hesitated as though trying to determine what, specifically, Dimitri was asking. Was he asking what he should do about the threat of the void or the appalling liberties he had taken in the heat of his anger?
"I think it should be obvious," he stammered but Dimitri's soft-spoken dominance silenced him.
"I want to hear you say it."
He took a long drink from his goblet then cleared his throat thoroughly before choosing his next words carefully. His throat must have grown exceedingly dry. Sylvain was looking nervously between his father's face and Dimitri.
"We should appease the goddess by burning the treaty. Burn it, your Majesty. Confess what you have done to the Central Church and, by the goddess's grace, maybe she will spare us." He ducked his head, giving the slightest of bows with his eyes downcast.
Byleth released the breath she'd been holding. The humility that had suddenly manifested in the boisterous margrave dispelled the danger permeating the room. He had changed in an instance from demanding to entreating and suddenly she understood. Like all of them, the margrave was afraid. He was struggling to make sense of something that, by all accounts, was senseless. This man clung to the only thing that made sense to him, turning a coincidence into correlation.
The room grew quiet again and all eyes were on the king. Dimitri, ignoring everyone else, remained focused on the old, frightened man seated next to him. He looked long and hard at Gautier's lowered head.
"Thank you, Margrave Gautier. I will take your thoughts under consideration."
Everyone at the table, except Dimitri, seemed to sigh with relief. Sylvain, who was never one to mask his feelings, exhaled loudly and slumped back in his seat. Felix licked his lips and shook his head. Gautier returned to his wine.
Byleth could not tear her eyes from him and realized suddenly that her mouth was agape. Shutting her jaw with a snap she hoped that no one had noticed. The golden-haired king she watched deftly wield his power with nothing but his words could simply not be the same Dimitri from before, barely able to contain his sanity before the battle at Garreg Mach. An ache began to form in her stomach, spreading wide as though she'd been slashed at the waist. When she pressed her hand against the pain that felt visceral enough to be real.
He would have been well within his right to kill the margrave for speaking this way. She was certain many rulers in Fodlan would have done just that. But with just a look and a word, he commanded respect and reverence from men the age of his father. Her breath shook as she tore her eyes away from him searching for anything to occupy her attention elsewhere.
Could she have truly changed so much that a noble, a king to boot, would have wooed her and wed her? The uncertainty reared up, nearly crippling in its intensity. What could she possibly have to offer him now that he no longer needed her guidance?
She listened as Dimitri addressed the table. "Now, have there been any improvements in the soldiers recovered from the edge?"
"We have not received an update since midday, your majesty," said Rodrigue who had concealed whatever relief he felt when the danger had passed. "The last we were updated saw no improvement."
After a moment, when he did not continue, Dimitri pressed on. "Felix reported that they are incoherent. Is this still the case?"
"Yes," replied Rodrigue haltingly. "They are saying a variety of things that don't seem to string together."
"Blasphemy," muttered Gautier. Both Rodrigue and Felix looked at him from the corner of their eyes. While he did not seem to notice, Byleth made note as she continued to observe.
"Out of an abundance of caution, the individuals have been moved from the barracks and are being monitored by members of the local clergy." He was speaking cautiously, choosing his words carefully.
Byleth opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Sylvain who was taken by a sudden fit of coughing. Gautier looked up with raised eyebrows.
"What's wrong with you, my boy?"
"Just something stuck in my throat," Sylvain said, thumping his fist on his chest. With one last cough, he locked eyes with her and raised a cryptic eyebrow. She pursed her lips irritably.
"When can we see them?" Dimitri continued as though nothing had happened.
"I would not recommend an audience," came an oily voice from the dark corridor beside the dais. As though apparating from the shadows, a tall, thin man draped in dark clerical robes stepped into the firelight.
Stopping before the dais, he removed skeletal hands from the folds in his robes to bow his balding head first to Dimitri and then to her. The smile she offered him upon rising felt more like a wince on her face.
"We do not yet know the true nature of this phenomenon nor its impact on the human psyche. Until I know more, I cannot allow you to risk infection or bodily harm, your majesties."
Dimitri did not return his smile. "Infection? What makes you think this is a disease?"
"There is no evidence to suggest otherwise, my King. We are merely proceeding with caution and continuing our observation."
Dimitri considered this man for a moment with an unreadable expression. At last, Sylvain stood, pushing his chair loudly in his haste to rise. "This is Father Hobbs, your Majesty. He is the clergy representative from the central church." Then, as a hasty afterthought he added, "He's been the spiritual leader here since I was a kid."
This additional context did not lighten the way Dimitri continued to evaluate the man. "Be that as it may, Father, I will see them before I depart."
Sweat had begun to form and glisten on the man's high forehead. "But your majesty…"
"You must have come to provide us with an update on their condition, were you not?" interjected Rodrigue, noting the darkening expression at Dimitri's brow.
The clergy man shifted uneasily under Dimitri's gaze and Byleth once again felt the pull of his authority as assuredly as the pull of gravity. The tightness in her stomach twisted sharply as she noticed his set jaw and the slight narrowing of his eyes, denoting his displeasure as clearly as if he were shouting.
"You heard the king, Hobbs, deliver your report man," said Gautier impatiently gesturing for him to proceed.
"Of course Margrave Gautier," Father Hobbs said, ducking his head swiftly. "The patients have been moved and are resting as comfortably as possible. We will continue to care for and monitor them through the night."
"They are able to sleep?" asked Rodrigue.
"They are resting," replied Hobbs, not quite answering the question.
"I am glad to hear this," said Dimitri, drawing the nervous father's attention snapping back to him. "When can we see them?"
"Your majesty, I cannot…"
"Enough," Dimitri interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a sword. "These people have been injured in the service of Faerghus. I am their King and I will see them before I depart."
"As you wish, your majesty," Hobbs acquiesced with a bow. "But I cannot allow you to interrupt their rest at the present. Perhaps in the morning?"
"Of course," said Dimitri, finally beginning to sound like himself again. "Thank you for the care you are extending to these soldiers."
"It is my pleasure and duty as mandated by Saint Seiros and the divine goddess."
The sound of a scraping chair drew their attention from the weaselly man as Rodrigue stood, placing his napkin on the table. "I'll wager your majesty and the queen must be exhausted. It's my understanding that lodgings have been prepared, is that so Philipe?"
The margrave nodded and grunted his answer having returned to monosyllabic sounds in favor of words.
"Very good," continued Rodrigue. "I will accompany you. It will do my spirit good to learn how the son of my dearest friend has been."
Dimitri also rose, followed quickly by everyone else at the table. His easy smile had returned to his face at the lord's request. "It would cheer me as well to talk with you, Rodrigue."
"Felix," his father called. "Will you be joining us?"
"I think not," he replied, stretching his arms over his head. "I have some training yet to do and I have need of a partner." Sharp golden eyes flitted to Byleth and he smirked. "It's probably uncouth to challenge the queen to a match. Sylvain, you'll do."
Sylvain rolled his neck, looking put out by the request but before he could protest, his friend and challenger had left the table and was halfway down the dining hall. "Hey!" he shouted. "Wait up!"
Byleth watched them go, glad to find that some things may never change. It was a comfort to hear the pair of them squabbling on the way out the door as she had many times in her year at the academy.
"I have work I must see to," Gautier was saying as her attention drifted back. "I will trust that your accommodations are suitable, your majesty." The margrave was near to disappearing into the shadows of yet another dark corridor with Father Hobbs a shadow at his side.
The three of them watched as he left. Dimitri seemed on the verge of saying something when Rodrigue, flashing his dashing smile once again asked, "Shall we?"
Lacking a proper footman, Gilbert joined them with saddlebags in toe as they were led up several flights of stairs and another maze of passages by a servant in dark livery. He lit the way with a large iron framed lantern in hand and a swift step. Like the corridor they traversed on the way to diner, only two could stand comfortably abreast and with Gilbert, who was already a broad man, shouldering additional bags, Byleth found herself walking alone behind Rodrigue and Dimitri who chatted casually along the way.
She was humming with questions and tried her best to refrain from conjecture but the absence of answers served to fuel her disquiet. What had drawn her into the void and allowed her to escape unscathed when others had not? Or perhaps she was infected and the effects of her encounter were latent, waiting to present themselves. And then there was the matter of Dimitri and their union.
Believing that her memory would return was beginning to seem foolish if not naive. Try as she might to reconcile herself to what she had apparently become over five years, she could not make sense of their marriage. Not for lack of wanting, never that. But how in Seiros' name had the king, the last in his line, justified a marriage with the daughter of a knight and mercenary? Fairy stories of princes and peasants were just that, tales to delight to children but she could find no other narrative to explain her current station. Sighing, she tore her eyes away from his face to trail her gaze along the cracks between stones in the walls of the corridor as they continued on.
Presently, they arrived at the room, if one could call it simply a room. The difference from the stark halls outside to this lavish space was night and day. Byleth paused, lingering in the doorway to stare in stunned silence at the sand-colored stone room.
It was just as large as the chamber she'd set ablaze in Fhirdiad with dark, wooden furniture that gleamed in the firelight from frequent polishing. The golden gilding accentuating the furniture glittered in the fire and candle light, dazzling her in its unexpected radiance. Layered carpets of gold, green and orange covered the floor entirely and the bed was piled high with opulent pillows, blankets and furs though with the heat of the fire she doubted they would be necessary. Everything in the room was lavish and expensive looking. Byleth pressed her hands to her sides for fear of touching anything.
The men proceeded as though this magnificent room was hardly worthy of note. Dimitri unfasted his fur-lined cloak and handed it to Gilbert who then positioned himself to begin removing the king's armor. Rodrigue dismissed Gautier's man, asking that he tell the Margrave that the lodgings were acceptable.
A small sound from the servant shook her out of her gawking and she realized that she was still standing in the open doorway. She smiled apologetically to the youngman who in turn blushed and lowered his eyes before leaving hastily once she had moved.
Rodrigue asked how the journey to and from Duscar had been with particular concerns about the weather and the door clicked shut behind her. Gilbert was just lifting the pauldrons off up and over Dimitri's head when, with a rush of breath, Dimitri softly exclaimed "Finally!"
There was no time for the older man to protest as Dimitri ducked awkwardly under the armor and struggled to wrench the remaining buckle under his arm free. It popped loose with a tug and in a few long strides he closed the distance between them.
She had been examining a delicate porcelain vase and turned at the commotion just in time to see him rushing toward her. His expression, darkened from the firelight behind him, was lost to her but as he scooped her face into his hands his intentions became clear. His lips crashed against hers with bruising force and his fingers dug into her cheeks as though he thought she would evaporate. Panting softly, he tore himself away, just long enough to scrub the hair on her face aside and sweep his eyes over her face.
"I was so afraid," he whispered hoarsely and she knew he was speaking to himself. Confusion struck her and she too searched his face. He looked for all the world like the Dimitri she remembered who needed her just as desperately as she needed him. He looked nothing like the king sitting tall and proud in the dining chamber.
Her eyes softened but before she could speak he drew her forward roughly grinding his lips against hers in a deep, demanding kiss that shook her to the core. His grip on her face was so firm, she had no choice but to yield. She threw her arms around him, rising on her toes to meet him. Their fierce, wrenching, clawing kiss continued until a soft apologetic voice interrupted.
"I am sorry, your majesties but I must speak with you now that we are in private."
Dimitri released her face leaving small, red marks blazing on her pale cheeks where his fingers had been. A sigh shook him as he parted from her lips and he pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he worked to regain his composure. She gazed up at him through the veil of her lashes, her own breath coming in hot bursts and her pulse hammering in her ears.
He sucked his upper lip between his teeth irritably and she pursed hers in turn. Their eyes met as they tasted the other on their lips and he slowly straightened to shift his attention to Rodrigue. "Of course," he said. His tone had very little room for warmth. "What is it?"
Rodrigue's thin smile was regretful and Gilbert's face was set so firmly that it might have been carved from wood. "Your majesty," the old knight said evenly, no doubt trying to cover his embarrassment at their display. "Your armor."
Dimitri sighed again as he stepped from her side. "Please, Rodrigue, what do you have to tell us?" he prompted as Gilbert resumed the methodical removal of his armor.
"First," began the slender lord turning to Byleth. "I have barely been able to contain my concern for your majesty. Felix relayed to me as quickly as possible what happened at the edge. Are you unharmed?"
Struck by the genuine concern in his voice and eyes, Byleth nodded. "I am unharmed," she assured him and relief rushed across his face.
"Why did you tell us to keep this a secret?" Dimitri asked from his position in front of the hearth. With a metallic click, Gilbert had parted the silver and blue breastplate and was carefully placing the two pieces on a sturdy table beside the pauldrons, vambraces and gauntlets. The cotton shirt beneath it, damp with sweat despite its breathability, clung to his chest and sides. In the firelight it looked as though he were wearing no shirt at all.
She blinked rapidly, banishing the image of her hands raking across his stomach and his flesh quivering with shaking breath at her touch. Had he always been such a distraction to her? Instead, she focused on Rodrigue.
"Philipe was always the over cautious type. You have to understand that the Gautier family has guarded our northern border since before Faerghus was its own country," he explained for her benefit. "But as he has aged, his cautious nature fringes upon paranoia."
She frowned and Dimitri put voice to her thoughts, lending them an incredulous tone. "What were you afraid of? That Gautier would throw her in the dungeon?"
He had meant this in jest but the flat, unwavering gaze from Rodrigue smothered his laughter. "My goddess, Rodrigue. She is the queen consort of Faerghus. You cannot be serious."
"I wish that I was not."
"Does that mean that…"
"Yes. The soldiers that were brought here from the edge were first taken to the barracks where we believed they would be most comfortable. But it soon became clear that whatever had happened to them was not fleeting. Father Hobbs felt that they would be a risk to others if they were not secluded."
The magnitude of what the lord was saying weighed heavy, pressing in around her. "Rodrigue, where are they being held?" she asked, still disbelieving what was slowly becoming evident.
"They are in the dungeon below the castle, sequestered individually in jail cells should they become agitated. I've been assured they are comfortable and that the quiet darkness seems to sooth them." He added that last part at the look of disgust that had begun to curl her lips.
"Are they violent?" she asked.
"They are not aggressive, at least, not physically but... " he paused as though deciding what to say. She wondered what he decided to omit when he spoke again. "When questioned about their experience they became agitated, reportedly. And the sunlight seemed to make their confusion worse."
"Agitated how?" she pressed, not satisfied with his answer.
"I do not know first-hand, your majesty. We have not been allowed to see them. The Father believes we are too important to be potentially exposed should the madness be catching. We are reliant on what he reports to us."
"This is abhorrent," Dimitri's voice seemed to rumble pulling Rodrigue about to face him. " If Gautier and Hobbs had truly believed this was the best course of action, they would not have hidden it from me."
"Please, calm yourself, your majesty," soothed Rodrigue. He alone seemed immune to Dimitri's ill temper. "We do not know why they were affected this way. Others have looked into the void, just as they, but are not babbling enigmatic. The queen herself fell into the pit but is not raving or adverse to light. Until we know more, I implore you to consider all angles."
At a snort from her, he turned, his eyes entreating patience. "Philipe is not an evil man. He is doing what he believes to be right to preserve the safety of his people."
"Just because he believes it, doesn't mean it is."
Lowering his eyes, he sighed. He knew that she was right and could plead his case no further.
"I heard Philipe say the word blasphemy at dinner. What did he mean by that?" Whether he meant to or not, Dimitri had diffused an argument with a new question she'd all but forgotten.
Rodrigue's mouth tightened, looking suddenly old and grim. "Father Hobbs reports that they are speaking in religious riddles. I don't know if this is true or if it is incited through the rhetoric used by Hobbs and the nuns overseeing their care. One of the soldiers insists that he is the goddess and attests that he did not create this world. Another states that there is no goddess here, that our existence is accidental and not divinely crafted. They all state that the darkness is the source of creation."
"Blasphemy indeed," breathed Gilbert who was, himself a devout follower of the church. He lowered himself into one of the chairs surrounding the table holding Dimitri's armor.
"Sylvain assures me that these soldiers are dedicated members of the church so it seems unlikely that they would say these things of their volition. It is also second-hand information. I have no doubt that Hobbs is trying to piece together an explanation for something that cannot be explained." He spread his hands, shaking his head as though he too had no firm grasp on the situation.
She felt sick to her stomach but kept her feet planted, knowing that if she moved she might faint. This was all happening too fast. Just as she had come to grips with one thing, another came barreling down on top of her. She could not tell, glancing from face to face, if everyone else felt as overwhelmed as she but the silence that blanketed the room felt strained.
"Your majesties, if I might offer my insight." Byleth jumped as Gilbert spoke and looked to find him gazing intently into the fire that continued to crackle away.
Dimitri who still remained standing with his back to the fire with his chin resting in his hand granted him the floor with a slight nod. Which he took by rising to stand stiffly, tucking his arms formally behind his back.
"While I do not agree with the margrave's conclusion regarding the abyss, I suspect that it may have some connection to the church. The darkness is too absolute to be natural," he paused to wet his lips anxiously as he recalled the abyss. "And after Duke Fraldarius's report, my suspicions seem all the more likely."
"You speak as though you have a course of action in mind." Dimitri gestured for him to continue.
"The millennium festival marks one thousand years since the founding of the Church of Seiros. It is not the festival itself that brings me to question but rather, a rite that has been performed annually since the church's founding. Surely it is significant that such a sacrament might have been enacted one thousand times. This is all conjecture, your majesties. Even when I served at the monastery as a knight, I was not privy to the religious rites and ceremonies that took place there."
Dimitri chuckled mirthlessly. "My beloved. Did we not agree to hold a reunion during the millennium festival?" She looked at him, questioning why he would think of that now with a raised eyebrow.
"Even if I am mistaken, the archbishop should be made aware of what is happening," Gilbert concluded.
"You are right, Gilbert," said Dimitri after a moment's contemplation. Then, as though deciding for himself, he released his chin and straightened. "Make arrangements for tomorrow. We will make use of Gautier's warpers to reach Fhirdiad and then depart from there as soon as possible."
"Yes, your Majesty," he said with a stiff, formal bow.
"I can't say I am surprised that Felix did not mention a reunion to me," Rodrigue mused as Gilbert passed him on the way to the door. "Ah well. I will prepare him to depart with you tomorrow and I am sure that Philipe will wish to send Sylvain to represent his interests."
Dimitri bade them farewell and Byleth, having regained a fraction of her composure, saw them to the door. She felt his eyes on her before she shut the door silently. Her lips still tingled from the way he had kissed her a few moments ago. She felt light headed again at the recollection. Turning slowly, she shifted back to lean on the sturdy wooden door.
A quiet had settled into the space, peaceless and compact as she waited for him to speak. Perhaps he was waiting on her to do the same. She had seen him wear two different identities this night and witnessed him switch between the two with hardly a breath between. She wondered as she studied his lithe silhouette which was waiting for her now that they were alone.