Part 1 — Red Wolf Moon

Marianne's unprompted Blizzard spell landed the Prince of Faerghus in the infirmary for a week. There he suffered the long, shivering nights and earth quaking sneezes of a particularly nasty cold. The ailment drew great ridicule from his childhood friends, who were quick to remind him of his seemingly spotless record of health back home in the coldest part of Fódlan.

Yet that ridicule meant he had plenty of visitors.

None visited Dimitri quite as often as Marianne, however. Professor Manuela came to refer to her similarly timed attendance each morning as "the daily atonement" given how much time she spent apologizing at his bedside while preparing a cup of chamomile tea — which she had learned was his favorite from Byleth.

All throughout his recovery, the Blue Lions continued their diligent tutelage and training, especially as the grumblings of upset in Remire Village began to come louder and more frequently.

The sun had long-since crested over the horizon on the frigid second Sunday of the Red Wolf Moon. It was considerably late in the day compared to when Dimitri was usually up and out training with battered dummies, but a miracle he was up at all given his bouts of long, heavy bed rest in the infirmary.

Professor Manuela told the boy that the near-comatose state he so easily fell into was a sign he needed more sleep in his day-to-day life, which Dimitri acknowledged with a passable facsimile of understanding and willingness to change.

She didn't need to know about his unending sleepless nights staring out at phantom blood-fueled blazes over the distant mountains. Not now, anyway.

Instead Dimitri offered the former opera singer his gratitude for looking after him before stepping out into the second-story hallway above the Reception Hall, which was lined with the offices of various faculty members. He appeared to be back at peak capacity in his full armored garb, if not for his unusually disheveled blond hair from so much time lying down.

Anyone nearby would also hear Dimitri's occasional snotty sniffling, evidence of his still blocked-up airways. The Prince did not seem to pay it much mind — as though he were used to muffled senses.

When he turns toward the Audience Chamber where Archbishop Rhea often lingered, Dimitri finds a familiar hill of grassy-green hair steadily approaching from the chamber's open double doors. As soon as the man that head of hair belonged to blocked the slender hallway, there was no way for Dimitri to escape.

"Mister Blaiddyd," Seteth says with a tone of finality befitting his determined gaze and serious posture, arms folded behind his back. "Good to see you back amongst the living."

"Sometimes I wonder, but I appreciate the warm welcome Seteth." Dimitri offers a gentle smirk as his demeanor ribs the man for his formality. "Honestly though, are we not yet on a first-name basis with one another?"

Seteth closes his eyes and turns his head down slightly.

"We are, but not when there is serious business to discuss."

Dimitri sniffles, and then his smile fades.

"I see," he remarks before clearing his throat. "What do we have to discuss then?"

"It would be easier to just show you to him, I'm afraid."

The Archbishop's right hand turns and slowly walks back whence he came.

Dimitri stands and watches Seteth's back for a moment, blinking as he tries to work things out on his own.

"Him?"

Whatever he imagines brings an uncomfortable wince as he stumbles when starting to follow along.

"Don't tell me…"

The Prince's suspicions are confirmed when he and Seteth enter the small office off on the left side of the Audience Chamber to find Sylvain waiting comfortably; his feet kicked up on the paper-strewn desk as he leans the chair back onto its hind legs.

As soon as he was no longer alone, the redhead drops a feather pen he had been examining as though it were a knife and flashes a sharp-toothed grin. Seteth grimaces as the pen falls to the floor.

"Hey Dimitri!" He remarks jovially while letting the chair settle normally so he can plant his feet on the ground. "Don't tell me you're in trouble too."

Dimitri attempts to take a deep breath through his nose and shakes his head.

It sounds pretty rough, honestly.

"What did you do, Sylvain?" The Prince asks without a shred of sympathy.

"What?!" Sylvain laughs like Dimitri just told the funniest joke he's ever heard, and plays it up further by leaning forward with his arms hooked around his stomach. "Me? Come on, you know me! I haven't done anything wrong."

"Mister Gautier," Seteth interrupts with a sharp, parental tone that immediately makes the boy duck his head. "Was caught with a young woman from the neighboring town. In the sauna that as he should know is strictly off-limits to students."

It was obvious right away that Dimitri still did not have the energy to deal with something like this. He turns a glare to Sylvain once Seteth says his piece.

"Yeah fine, it's off-limits." Sylvain shrugs and looks away, arms crossed defensively. "But it's not like we were doing anything! Just making out. Like a little."

"He was missing his shirt when Shamir found them," the administrator continues.

"Sylvain!" Dimitri says with more venom, causing his housemate to wince.

"She just wanted to see what I had! Come on Dimitri, you know all this battle training does wonders for our abdominals."

The blond Prince looks displeased by Sylvain's attempt to play on his good side.

As Sylvain slowly gets up out of the chair under Dimitri and Seteth's gazes, he looks down at his feet with an uncharacteristically meek scoff. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Look, that's as far as it was going to go. I swear." Sylvain looks up at Dimitri with a more pleading, apologetic look. "Wasn't even planning on asking her to take off anything in return. It was very gentlemanly."

Dimitri sighs out the half-assed breath he was able to take through his stuffed nose and looks at Seteth.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he says. "I'll take Sylvain out of your hair and talk to him myself."

"Please see that this does not happen again."

Dimitri nods to the man, and then looks toward Sylvain until he does the same.

Afterward the Blue Lions' students file out of the room, Sylvain trailing a few steps behind Dimitri with his tail between his legs. Seteth turns in place to watch until they're gone before picking up the discarded feather pen and placing it in its inkwell.

While he's there, he picks up a loose piece of paper adorned with unusual script:

"I'm on it," "Take this," and other quotes were scribbled all over the page in various sizes and orientations. It looked like Sylvain was testing out quips for battle.

Seteth sighs. There was a hint of jealousy at the boy's optimism in the face of a subject like war — even if there was no real war on the schedule.

"Lovely."

The boys make their way downstairs and out onto the bridge that connected Garreg Mach proper to its grand Cathedral. What was typically a bustling pathway full of holy practitioners running to and from the spiritual home of the Saints was barren in the dead of winter, which made it a perfect place to have a private discussion.

Sylvain picked up on this as soon as the Prince led him onto the suspended walkway and puts on his best smile for the occasion.

"Hey, thanks for bailing me out Dimitri."

He rests a hand on Dimitri's shoulder while walking up beside him.

Dimitri closes his eyes at the contact, but does not pull away from it. He continues walking at the same brisk pace, boots stomping hard on the stone floor.

Sensing he wasn't going to get a response, Sylvain leans in slightly and lowers his voice to a hushed whisper.

"We uhh… We don't have to tell Ingrid about this, do we?" He asks with a nervous chuckle. "She'd feed me to the foliage in chunks, knowing her."

"Perhaps she ought to!"

Dimitri suddenly stops and turns to face his red-haired companion, swatting the hand on his shoulder away. Sylvain looks surprised at the fiery reaction, especially given how obvious it was that Dimitri had to fight through a hoarse voice to get it.

He takes a few steps back, but Dimitri stomps ahead to jab a finger against his retreating sternum.

"I've put up with your nonsense for a long time Sylvain, because somehow I imagined one of us would get through to you and you would have grown up by now. But clearly that was a fool's errand!"

With a huff, Dimitri turns to face the chasm around them with crossed arms.

"You're going to be the Margrave of House Gautier one day, Sylvain. My Margrave." An intense puff of steam puffs out of his nose. "Do you not understand how the reputation you're garnering is going to affect the both of us once we are in power?"

Sylvain looks down and kicks his foot as if shuffling dust. At first he seems remorseful, scratching at his right temple to cover part of his face with his hand.

But the longer the silence lingers, the more Sylvain steels himself.

When Dimitri finally turns to look at his classmate again, he'd find the redhead squinting and involuntarily shaking his white-knuckled fists.

"Dimitri…" He begins somewhat breathlessly.

Then he clears his throat and puffs out his chest slightly.

"You know damn well, better than anyone else, that I understand the burden I've taken on thanks to this…" He holds out his right arm and points toward the inside of his wrist with the other hand. "This blood curse."

Dimitri's intense, admonishing gaze softens slightly.

"I knew about it when Glenn died to protect your father. I knew about it when we had to slaughter my deformed, malefic brother." Sylvain steps forward, practically spitting on Dimitri as he crescendos into yelling. "All because he wasn't lucky enough to be born with magic running through his veins and was abandoned!"

There's another pause, as Sylvain stays up in Dimitri's face panting hot, angry steam against his skin. Dimitri begins looking away; the power dynamic reversed.

"I know you know that," the Prince mutters.

Sylvain lets out one brief, calloused scoff before finally leaning back and throwing his arms up behind his head.

"Oh, and this 'grow up' schtick? That's real rich coming from someone who's two years younger than me."

Dimitri is less impressed by this argument, but doesn't get a word in edgewise.

"Yeah I know. You're His Highness, the future King of Faerghus." Sylvain mimics a lady curtsying in a poufy dress. "What the Prince wants, the Prince gets."

The redhead straightens out and crosses his right leg behind his left, tapping on the ground with the toes of his boot as his hands grip the cloth on his sides.

"But let's be honest with ourselves here, Dimitri. It's not going to be that much longer until we're ruling our homeland together, sending hordes of innocents out to their deaths protecting some ephemeral border while we lavish ourselves in piles of ivory and gold because we were born lucky enough to 'deserve' it."

He began to snarl while talking, but composes himself soon after to stand at an idle position.

"Until then, we aren't the Prince and the Margrave. We're students, and we should be out having the time of our lives on our own terms."

Suddenly, Sylvain's hostile energy bubbles into a cheeky smirk.

"That means you too. You've got the biggest burden to carry of us all, but that's all the more reason you should be using that youth to the fullest while you've got it." He reaches out and rests both hands on Dimitri's shoulders, this time with more affection.

"And I've been watching you… You're either suppressing that shit like your life depends on it, or you're as blind to your feelings as they come."

Dimitri wrinkles his brow.

"Come again?"

Sylvain scoffs as he lets go of his friend so he can turn around and ruffle up his red hair with a groan.

"Don't be an idiot, Dimitri. I've seen the way you and Marianne chat during lunch hours; the way you pass glances at each other during class; the way you always elected to help her with things even before we were classmates…"

The Prince continues to stare, head tilted and arms crossed.

"Marianne and I?" He questions with naïve innocence. "What are you getting at?"

Sylvain vents out another aggressive cry before whirling around to face Dimitri and throwing his hands toward the floor, desperation shining in his golden-brown eyes.

"You don't think it's just the slightest bit weird that Marianne is the only student in this entire school who has transferred to our class, despite the fact that the Professor is an enigmatically charming Casanova who's friends with everyone?" Sylvain leans in, fingers curled like claws toward the sky. "You don't think there's a second factor involved? A factor with pretty blue eyes that gives up his peach sorbet on a whim?"

Dimitri's eyes dart across Sylvain's face repeatedly, trying to suss out whether the crazed look meant he was more dangerous than usual. Eventually he leans into it.

"Actually I heard there are a few others interested in transferring," he says. "Supposedly Bernadetta is—"

"That's not the point!" Sylvain interjects with a rowdy stomp.

Dimitri holds his hands up defensively, eyes widened.

After a moment of staring at this with a heavy pant, Sylvain runs both hands through his hair with a dejected sigh.

"Figures you wouldn't get it," he mumbles under his breath.

The redhead takes a long, deep breath through his nose while straightening out his posture, which he ends with a brief and aggressive grunt.

"Look. At some point you are going to figure this all out for yourself," he begins with a serious, brotherly tone. "At which point you're probably going to need help figuring out how to talk to girls."

He flashes a sharp, giggly grin.

"Luckily I'm an expert in the subject, so promise you'll keep me in mind when you get there." Sylvain reaches out and pats Dimitri's right arm. "You and me are like family, yeah? Gotta stick together, help each other out."

Dimitri sniffles (due to his lingering cold, of course) and finally breaks a smile in the face of Sylvain's overwhelming grin.

He covers Sylvain's hand with his own.

"Of course. I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Sylvain."

"Great!"

The redhead stretches his arms up and lets out an overemphasized yawn.

"I need some grub after getting that out of my system." He turns and walks away, raising his right hand over his shoulder as a shorthand wave. "Catch you later, Dimitri."

"Enjoy," he responds with a casual laugh before starting to head in the opposite direction of the Cathedral.

However Dimitri only gets about halfway, and then freezes dead in his tracks. It takes a second for his brain to wire everything together before the Prince turns around and starts running back toward Garreg Mach proper with a snarl.

"Sylvain! Don't think you can get out of breaking Monastery rules that easily!"