Part 1 — Ethereal Moon
Despite strange occurrences popping up all across Fódlan throughout the Ethereal Moon, Garreg Mach inevitably settled into a cheerful holiday mood.
The primary instigator of this was the White Heron Cup: A yearly event in which one student from each of the three houses dons a traditional dancer's garb to compete for bragging rights and specialized training in an old form of dance-fighting by Archbishop Rhea. Some scholars complained about the negligence of turning national traditions into a competitive commodity, but students of the Officers Academy overwhelmingly appreciated the chance to have fun while learning their peoples' history.
Except for the Prince of Faerghus. He did not enjoy Byleth's sudden interest in prolonging a joke about making him this year's competitive dancer.
Luckily it was just a joke, as in the end Flayn nabbed a win for the Blue Lions. She narrowly beat out the long-developed skills of Dorothea and the sheer charisma of Hilda thanks to extra training with her surprisingly adept professor.
Just over a week later, students were ready to gather for the Garreg Mach Ball.
The Monastery's Reception Hall was done up to the nines.
All of the communal oak tables and benches that typically lined the immense space, making it a popular place to study, had been cleared out. Now there were significantly less places to sit, with most of them relegated to ghostly-draped circular tables dotted near the doorways at either short wall of the rectangular room.
A fair amount of people gathered around the table closest to the doorway leading toward the bridge connecting to the Cathedral, hoping to steal access to silver platters of towering meats and sweets from the monopolizing Golden Deer. Raphael and Lysithea were more a force to be reckoned with in the culinary battlefield than in actual combat — and that was saying something. It did not take long for the offerings to be vacuumed up.
There was not a huge demand for the food, however.
Most of the attention in the room was drawn to the wide-open area in the center. Crowds lined the longer walls to create an echo chamber of idle chatter around a number of waltzing couples. Only a few individuals were notably checked out despite their physical presence at the event. Namely Bernadetta, who was cowering in a chair by the exit out to the classroom courtyard and doing her best not to kick a sleeping Linhardt curled under the tablecloth.
Bright candles spaced around the room and on chandeliers hanging from the ceiling created an all-encompassing bath of orange light for students to dance under; which also radiated out of various windows built high into the walls.
The vast majority of couples swaying around the open dance floor were faceless drones with storied pasts we may never know. But most, if not all of them, were very interested in nabbing a dance with the future rulers of the Adrestian Empire and Kingdom of Faerghus.
Some simply wished to be in the presence of greatness, while others hoped to take the opportunity to put their hats in the ring for a state or romantic position in their lives.
Dimitri and Edelgard were happy to oblige each and every one to a dance, even if neither were particularly interested in discussing matters of the future.
Yet neither wound up taking the opportunity to catch the other for a private moment, despite ample opportunities presented. The two future rulers repeatedly wound up dancing back-to-back, with Dimitri finding Edelgard's long white hair brushed against the side of his armor each time. But still, they did not dance.
Claude, the only house leader more interested in casual sideline conversation than dancing, noted his friends' lack of initiative with a deeply eye-rolling sense of judgment.
He would find a distraction from that potential gossip starter in the form of saving Byleth from the particularly aggressive, drunken advances of Manuela. With naught but a wink and a tug on the silent instructor's shoulder, the two were caught up waltzing.
As the night progresses, Dimitri found himself having the most fun dancing with Ingrid. Their friendship went as far back as anyone's within the Blue Lions house, which made him more comfortable leaning into the fact that he was a dreadful dancer on those two left feet. Ingrid was happy to take the lead, her father having flooded her childhood with dance lessons despite her insistence on more combat-oriented training.
All the better to find a suitor to save the financially struggling House Galatea.
While they pass around the corner of the dance floor closest to the near-depleted table of food, Ingrid suddenly smiles at something behind Dimitri's back.
He looks immediately suspicious.
"What is it?" He asks, rather bluntly.
Ingrid simply shakes out her long, blonde hair and sighs.
"I think you might have a better offer here, Dimitri."
The two sway in place and wait for the music to hit an appropriate beat, at which point Ingrid spins Dimitri around before turning to find a new partner amongst the couples whom had all split apart.
Dimitri is left standing awkwardly and mildly confused until he sees a familiar head of blue hair emerge from the crowd.
At which point he smiles, bending his left arm up and holding his right arm out for the girl to mimic. Marianne does so, but looks down at her feet's position relative to his the entire time. The rest of the couples around the room had all begun dancing again well before the two got situated, but they eventually set off as well.
"Sorry," Marianne mumbles at her feet, giving Dimitri a long look at her roots as he adjusts his arm around her side until they both seemed more comfortable. "I'm not a particularly good dancer…"
The Prince laughs and shakes his head.
"That's quite alright, Marianne. I might have fleet footwork when I'm wielding a lance, but I wouldn't be surprised if your feet wind up a little sore after this."
That comment makes Marianne giggle a little, and then encourages her enough to look up and meet Dimitri's gaze.
"You seemed to be doing alright with Ingrid just now."
He shrugs and looks off to the side, making sure nobody was in the path of their outstretched arms before leading Marianne in a quick turn.
The maneuver is mostly successful. It doesn't take the Prince long to readjust after fumbling his footing.
"She mostly took the lead on that I'm afraid," he says with a little reserved awkwardness to his voice and an intense focus on checking his feet relative to hers. "You should have seen that girl Monica when I tripped her earlier. I still fear I'll find a dagger in my chest by the end of the night."
Marianne smiles.
"Good thing Ingrid knew what to do then."
"Yes. Count Galatea is quite insistent on her dancing into some noble's heart."
Hearing that, Marianne's happy look falters.
"Really?" She asks quietly before clearing her throat and speaking up. "My adoptive father is too. He taught me how to dance, but it never really stuck…"
"I don't know about that," Dimitri retorts once he's able to focus less on his feet and more on Marianne again. "You seem to be holding your own quite well."
The blue-haired girl shrugs, tightening the grip of her fingers on Dimitri's cape.
"Perhaps I picked up more than I thought. Guess I just never found the idea of being so close to someone very appealing."
She swallows a lump of nerves, voice falling a few octaves. "Until tonight…"
Dimitri is clearly surprised by the remark, evidenced by his raised eyebrows. But soon the two settle into the thought silently, focusing on just dancing together. As the music takes over, the two look like seasoned veterans despite their previous assertions to the contrary. Marianne even leans her head close to Dimitri's shoulder, just barely threatening to rest her cheek against it.
But the future king calls them both out of the trance by clearing his throat.
"Marianne."
"Yes, Dimitri?"
As she leans her head back to look up at him, his gaze turns slightly more serious.
"Last night, myself and the rest of the original Blue Lions class had a conversation with the Professor," he says. "There's a plan in place for us to gather five years from now, right here at Garreg Mach, on the night of the millennium festival."
Marianne tilts her head curiously, only to find her eyes widening as he continues.
"You're welcome to come out as well, if you would like."
"Oh…" Her voice trails off at first, and then starts to sound muffled as she bites her lower lip. "I don't know. I wouldn't want to impose on you and the others."
It seems Dimitri anticipated that apprehension given his quick chuckle.
"You would not be imposing," he assures her. "You're as much a Blue Lion as the rest of us, even coming from the Alliance."
"It's only been a few months. How much of an impact could I have made?"
"Certainly more than, say, Bernadetta or Caspar. I'm still convinced he only crossed over because we get more intense missions from the Archbishop." He twirls them around again. "You should hear Dedue rave about how nice it is to study with you."
This time Marianne is the one who almost trips, but obviously on account of what he said more than the movement he took her through.
"He said that?" She stutters. "But it's always awkward. We never say anything."
"That's precisely why he likes it," Dimitri assures with another smile as he hoists up her side more. "Dedue appreciates silence. Says he learns most of what he needs to about a person in the intimate moments between words."
"I see…"
She starts to turn her gaze toward the floor again, but Dimitri brings her attention back up with another hoist.
"We like having you around Marianne," he says with a certain genuine softness. "At least, I know I do."
Marianne stares stunned, lips slowly flapping open and shut as she tries to figure out how to respond. Dimitri just continues to look upon her, waiting to see where her response would go.
Nothing is said. Instead, the gravity of the moment between them grows more intense. It seems as if they were in a bubble far away from anyone else, gently swaying.
Without any distractions clouding her mind, Marianne boldly begins to lean in.
Dimitri follows suit. Soon they could feel each other's warm, panting breath.
Then the bubble bursts.
A quick tap on the shoulder brings Dimitri back to attention, leaning away from Marianne again so he can look back over his shoulder. Their dancing stops, and Marianne casts her gaze away with a furious blush.
Lorenz stood behind the Prince of Faerghus, impatiently tapping his foot as he glares down the other boy from under his sharp, V-cut purple bangs.
"You might be royalty, but that doesn't give you the right to hog the lovely noble girls all night."
Dimitri's eyes shakily glance all across Lorenz's figure, taking in everything from his silly haircut to the bright red rose on his lapel — somehow looking fresher than the bouquets adorning various tables around the room.
He looks back at Marianne right after and finds her buried back into herself, unwilling to return his gaze.
With a deep breath, Dimitri lets go of Marianne and steps away.
There's a brief moment where the fingers of her outstretched hand try to latch back around his, only to retreat into a fist as she moves her arms to her lap.
"You're right. I shouldn't have taken up so much of your time," the Prince remarks toward Marianne with a small, hard tone.
"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some air."
He quickly turns on his heels and starts making his way toward the classroom courtyard. The blue-haired girl watches Dimitri scamper away, losing any desire she had to run after him as various waltzing couples obscure his retreat into the crowd.
Lorenz steps in front of her, in a pose to start a new dance, and she sighs.
They pull close and latch together, Lorenz's grin vastly juxtaposing Marianne's downtrodden look at their shoes.
"I'm sure you'll find I'm a far superior dancer to that boorish Prince, Marianne."
All she offers is a weak affirmative.
Even though Lorenz continues to talk her ear off, Marianne only hears her own voice berating her for not following Dimitri — whose entire night would take a different direction as he finds Byleth talking to himself outside.