Author's Note: Back when I was active on tumblr, I remember seeing a couple of posts tossing around ideas about Dimitri winning (or otherwise surviving) Chapter 17 of Crimson Flower, with the caveat that Dedue still went Demonic Beast. However, the idea never seemed to be used for all of the interesting drama potential it has. And, hey, I'm all up for some interesting drama and altering Crimson Flower, so I figured: why not take a stab at this myself? The result is this fic.

Chapter One: Victories and Changes

Dimitri stared wide-eyed at the end of his spear, breathing heavily, body sore and mind reeling.

Edelgard was hanging limp off Areadbhar, eyes glassy and mouth hanging open slightly. She was either dead or close to it. For a moment, he couldn't move, but then Dimitri messily yanked his Relic back. Then, Edelgard crumpled into a heap on the pedestal's floor, unmoving and not breathing.

He'd won. (He'd killed his step-sister.) The Kingdom had defeated the Empire. (What happened now?) The fight was over. (But a few last sounds of combat rang in the distance, as if not everyone had realized this yet.)

Dimitri stepped backwards, still staring at Edelgard's body. His eyes whipped upwards when he heard footsteps—one of the former Black Eagles, Ferdinand if he remembered correctly. The man stared in disbelief at Edelgard, silent for a few seconds, and then he slowly met Dimitri's eyes.

"You—"

"Please," Dimitri croaked, "tell them to retreat. We—we're—we don't have to—"

We don't have to fight anymore. I don't want to kill anyone else. The words wouldn't form properly, but Ferdinand understood. He nodded, thin-lipped, and re-mounted his horse and fled. Dimitri watched him round up the few remaining Adrestian soldiers. Finally, he could see their forces retreating through the dark haze created by the still-falling rain.

Dimitri shuddered and stepped around Edelgard's body. They would have to bury everyone at some point, but he needed to survey the Tailtean Plains first. See who survived, and figure out what to do from there.

Sylvain was dead—Sylvain. Dimitri knew he'd fallen early in the fight. He'd joined Ingrid, Felix, and Rodrigue. Now all of them were gone; Dimitri shuddered again and took a deep breath. He'd have to return his body to the Gautiers, who had now lost both their sons. (He doubted they missed Miklan too much, but this was…)

Byleth and Rhea had killed each other. Their bodies were lying in a tangled pile not far from Sylvain. Dimitri wasn't sure what the Church of Seiros would do now, or whether they'd want his aid. The Kingdom and Church had always been on good terms, but it was his fault in a way that the Archbishop was dead. Dimitri had agreed to let her join the fight, after all.

More bodies littered the ground, Kingdom and Empire soldiers both. So many of his own people had died, but some had survived; they looked uncertainly at him as he wandered through the battlefield. Finally, he could see Mercedes, kneeling over the corpse of a blond man in black armor. Jeritza, or Emile as he'd heard her say a few times. She finished her prayer shakily, looking up with her face stained with both tears and rain.

"Dimitri, I…"

She'd killed her own brother. It was a feeling Dimitri understood all too well, and the gravity of what he'd just done hit him all over again. He couldn't say that, though; nobody else knew Dimitri and Edelgard were step-siblings. Edelgard herself probably hadn't known, either.

Instead, he offered Mercedes her hand, and she hesitantly took it and stood up. She glanced down at Jeritza's body again, closing her eyes and swallowing. After shaking her head, she managed to speak, though her voice was even softer than usual.

"What…what are we going to do?"

"We'll go to Fhirdiad," he replied, his voice sounding far-away and alien even to himself. "And then we'll figure out what to do from there."

There would have to be peace negotiations, and talks of what to do with the Empire (and the Alliance, for that matter). And that was just the beginning; Dimitri knew there would be more work afterwards. But, first, there was one more thing he needed to do.

Dimitri turned towards the middle of the plains. The majority of the soldiers who had taken Crest Stones had been killed—all but one. Dedue's giant new form was easily visible even through the weather, and Dimitri straightened himself up as he headed towards him.

(Because Dedue still was himself, he had to be, and Dimitri refused to refer to him any other way.)

Dedue was hunched over, blood splattering the stone mask covering most of his face. Bits of black hair and fabric were stuck between the tooth-like gaps across its middle, and there were the messy remnants of a body on the ground in front of him. The biggest recognizable pieces were a foot and half an arm, and Dimitri could hear Mercedes gasping and struggling not to vomit behind him.

Dimitri covered his mouth and took another deep breath. Once he'd managed to recompose himself, he looked back up at Dedue. Finally, it seemed to register that he had company; Dedue glanced over at Dimitri and Mercedes, posture wary, and a low growl echoed from behind the mask.

"Dedue," Dimitri said, trying to keep his voice steady and hoping he sounded authoritative. "We're going back to Fhirdiad, and you are coming with us. Do you understand me, Dedue?"

There was a long pause, and the silence stretched out uncomfortably. Dimitri was unsure whether it meant Dedue couldn't hear him or if he just didn't care. Then, abruptly, Dedue leaned down and grabbed the ragged black-robed arm in a giant clawed hand.

"Dedue, no."

Without thinking, Dimitri used Areadbhar to knock aside the limb, feeling somewhat ridiculous as it hit the muddy ground with a splash. Dedue growled again, swinging his arm and narrowly missing Dimitri's head. Mercedes screamed. Dimitri automatically grabbed Dedue's massive hand as it swung towards him again; it felt nauseatingly like old, decaying leather stretched directly on top of rotten muscle and sinew.

His feet dug into the mud, and Dimitri sank a few inches into the ground as he skidded backwards. He was still gripping Dedue's hand, pushing back hard enough that it came to a halt after a few seconds of effort. Dimitri grit his teeth, staring up at Dedue defiantly and hoping that he was meeting his eyes (wherever they were now).

"Dedue, you're coming with me, and you will do as I say. Do you understand?"

Dimitri had kept his voice even at first, but he was unable to stop it from quivering towards the end. He couldn't let Dedue go; what would happen to him? If someone else found him, they would surely kill him, provided Dedue didn't kill them first. And if Dimitri lost track of him, he might never find him again. And he wouldn't be able to handle that, not now, not after everything else.

Finally, Dedue lowered his arm, and he grunted in a way that almost sounded like an agreement (or at least Dimitri thought it was). His posture relaxed, and Dimitri exhaled slowly. He wasn't sure what this meant, or what would happen next, or what he could even do, but it was something, and he would take it.

Dimitri turned back towards Mercedes. She had a death grip on his arm, her eyes were wide, and her face was pale. Awkwardly, he put a hand on her shoulder, and her fingers loosened up as she took a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry," he said. Then, he added a hesitant, "What will you do now?"

"I…" Mercedes paused, biting her lip. "I suppose I'll have to write to my mother, and…tell her what happened. My adoptive father will probably want me to come home, but for now…" She took another deep breath. "I think I'd like to see if I can help."

For the first time in what felt like an age, Dimitri managed to smile.

"Thank you. That would make me happy, if you could."

Then, he glanced around once more. All of the surviving Faerghus soldiers had gathered around him by now, many nursing injured limbs and gashed torsos. A few of them looked at Dedue in horror, but they kept their focus on Dimitri surprisingly well.

"We're going home," Dimitri said, hoping his voice carried better than he thought it did. "We've won. I will return to the capital, and you may go back to your families. The war is over. …Thank you."

They nodded, muttering out replies of their own. Most of the troops he'd brought with him that day lived in Fhirdiad; they would all be heading in the same direction. Slowly, they began to gather as many bodies as they could onto horses and pegasi. Then, together, they began the trek back.

As Dedue's thudding footsteps echoed beside them, Dimitri couldn't help thinking what an odd group they made—but it was joined by the overwhelming relief that, at least for now, Dedue was aware enough to listen to him.