The first time that Byleth hears him, she is unabashedly glad.
It is just a startled gasp, the harsh breathing of a man woken suddenly from his dreams, but Byleth has been with a ragtag mercenary company for long enough to recognize the sounds of a man trying to quiet himself after a nightmare. No matter how far-gone Dimitri is lost to his madness, no matter how much he resembles an animal, he is still a man, and a man she knows well, at that.
He should have nightmares, she thinks viciously. He should be haunted by the deeds he's done in broad daylight. Deeds other men would not have dared to do in the dead of night.
For that sole hour, she hopes he is haunted for the rest of his days.
The second time, it keeps her awake.
Long after the guttural shout has died away, Byleth lies awake in her bed. It sounded so tortured. Was the Tempest King capable of feeling true remorse? Did he wake in the night because of what he had done? Or was it simply fear? That basic, senseless fear that steals over one in the dark.
Once upon a time, many years ago, she can still remember that she had been afraid of the dark when she was little. Her father travelled around and would often leave her to the care of farming families along the road, accounting it as part of the payment for whatever service he has been hired for. None of the caretakers ever bothered to waste a candle on her, arguing that she was too old for such nonsense. She should not have been afraid of the dark at her age.
Byleth lies there, in her cloister at the monastery, with the candle burning, and wonders if it is truly the darkness that the Tempest King fears.
The third time it makes her choke on her own breath.
Those quiet, agonized sounds coming from Dimitri's cage. She cannot bear it any longer. The dry, choking half-gasps, half-sobs, the Tempest King is making discomfort her profoundly. It speaks for a humanity that she does not believe either of them really have in their hearts.
She should not feel this way. She does not want to feel this way. The fact that she does only makes her guilt weight heavier on her.
Yet, there is nothing that can be done to assuage neither his or her pain, so she lies there, hiding her eyes, hating Dimitri, and hating herself for her own tears.
The fourth time, she pretends does not hear him, burying her face in the blanket as well as she can.
It does nothing to shut out the sound.
The fifth time, she goes to him.
Dimitri is hunched over in his cell, head bowed almost to his knees. Byleth stares at him.
"Do you regret any of it?" She asks, the words breaking the silence between them.
Dimitri raises his head. "What have I to regret?"
His face is shadowed by the too-large bangs and the sickly glow of the fire that she carries.
"Everything." Byleth hisses. "Everything you have done. Rebellion, dark magic, kidnapping. Killing your sister."
"It was all done for love." Dimitri hisses back. "Every last thing I have done, I have done for love of my family, love of my friends, love of my country. You think me deranged, but I have never thought so clearly before."
For a moment he strains against his chains and the professor takes half a step back. Then, the former prince slumps and leans back against the pole, looking up at her.
"One would think you of all people could be able to understand that." He muttered.
The woman sighs. "If I believed you..."
"And why should you not believe me?" Dimitri persists.
"Why should I?" Byleth snaps back.
Her hands have formed fists. She wants to strike him so very badly, her hands ache.
"You knew Edelgard better than anyone and you know what she was capable of. Your grief blinds you to what is obvious." Dimitri says, righteous. "Besides, I have no reason to lie to you."
The things that Edelgard was capable of. Indeed, she was a promising young woman, if she is to use her professorial parlance. She had a dynamic set of skills that were unmatched amongst her peers at the Academy, perhaps even amongst the knights and professors.
Dimitri has always been convinced that this talent was both work and service to a nefarious force, in regards to Lady Patricia's involvement at the Tragedy of Duscur, but nothing has ever been proven and his claims were dismissed. He never accepted that, and took matters upon himself.
The woman kneels beside him. "What do you dream of?"
His chapped lips tighten. "What does that matter?"
"It matters to me." She tells him in turn, eyes icy.
Dimitri looks at her for such a long time that her face grows warm and she wants to look away, but even a crest stone heart like hers have their pride and she will not let herself.
"Kiss me and I shall tell you." He offers, his gaze lingering upon her lips.
He thinks that she will refuse, that she will slap him for the uncouthness, or leave in a fury. Byleth could very well do any of those.
Instead, she leans forward, pressing her lips to the Tempest King's. His lips part willingly under her own. His tongue caresses hers, drawing her deeper and deeper until abruptly she is drowning in his kiss. It ignites inside her, something fierce and hungry and she pulls back, panting.
"Tell me." The green-haired woman says, her voice as even as ever.
"I dream of things in the past." Dimitri says, not quite looking at her. "Not regrets precisely. Simply things I would have done differently, perhaps, but I still would have done them."
He faces her squarely then. "Do you understand?"
"Tell me, then." Byleth demands. "One thing you would do differently."
She knows he shall not talk about the Blue Lions, or his uncle. Nevertheless, she does not expect the words that actually come from him.
"If I had been only a little quicker in the dorm room, no one would have seen me. Perhaps then, you would call me Dimitri now, instead of Tempest King." He smiles at her. "But I would still kill her. So, you see, it is not the act that is different, it is how one goes about to do it."
Byleth does not want to hear any more of his drivel. She gets to her feet stiffly.
"Well-met, Professor." He states his good-byes with an easy smile on his rugged face, one she does not ever remember seeing before.
"If things were different, you might have called me wife, instead of professor, but things are what they are and we cannot change them." She says, and then turns to leave.
"And even if we could change them, we would never do it." Dimitri argues. "Would we, Byleth?"
Her name on his lips sounds wrongfully right and the pain pierces her heart. "No, we wouldn't… Dimitri."
She leaves him there alone with the night.