The skies were vast, calming, the white clouds lazily advancing past the endless blue canvas above them. Flowers bloomed at every corner of the massive grasslands of Fódlan's Throat, an image definitely worthy of being immortalized through the hands of a capable artist. . .

The cool winds, no longer prickling, brushed passed him, the air blowing the fringes away from his face.

It was peaceful, comforting. . . Strange.

How long has it been? It was spring already?

"Dimitri!" called Hilda. She laughed, her voice drifting melodiously in the wind, a sound he felt he wouldn't grow tiresome of. "What are you standing there for? Let's go!"

He followed after her, allowing her to take the lead. It felt surreal, being surrounded by numerous flower beds that somehow seemed endless as they sat down. Overall it felt strange; had he not noticed how beautiful they really were before? His musings were cut short by Hilda's voice, filling the voids of silence by telling him that while they should choose the most beautiful ones, it was also important not to take too much.

"I mean, we wouldn't want these beautiful seas of flowers to have bald spots! Now that would be a crime."

Her words were familiar, something he was certain she had already told him in one of their visits before, yet he still found himself chuckling the same, making a promise that he wouldn't carelessly pluck too much.

Soon enough, he found himself eagerly searching for the most radiant flowers alongside her, matching the energy that emanated from Hilda. Perhaps, her enthusiasm was simply that contagious? Or perhaps it was also him greatly looking forward to seeing her brighter smiles for accomplishing what they needed to do for that day. . .

At the back of his head, he wished times like these would never end. . .

In no time, her basket was filled with the most elegant flowers that glowed beautifully under the sunlight. Beside him, Hilda allowed herself to fall on the heaps of grass, taking the stems of the gathered flowers from her basket and hugging them around her arms as she smelled them.

"Sometimes, don't you just wish times like these would never end?"

Her words clicked familiarly in his head, realizing it mirrored his thoughts moments ago. It would've made him smile, made his feelings elated, and yet the moment Hilda shut her eyes, he felt the blood drain harshly from his body.

He knew she had only meant to relax like she used to, but the sight of her on the ground, with flowers splayed across her chest, eyes peacefully shut made an image of his dead mother flash before his eyes. Along with the rest of his loved ones and the others he failed to save.

"Dimitri?"

Her voice successfully snapped him from his thoughts.

Thankfully, Hilda sat up, erasing every notion of what he feared. As the wind blew towards him, the images of the dead dispersed, leaving only Hilda with a worried look on her face amidst the vast field of flowers.

"What's wrong?"

He simply shook his head, taking her hands—warm, as he had hoped—and helped her stand on her feet.

"Nothing. I think it is time for us to leave."

She made no objections, thankfully no longer clarifying. She showed a gentle smile instead, temporarily erasing all his worries.

They walked through the forest, hand-in-hand. He couldn't recall why they hadn't brought her horse along that day, but it wasn't something he thought about for long, because all that mattered was that she was beside him, chatting happily, laughing, breathing.

"Oh, looks like we're here," Hilda said, pointing at the familiar road leading back to their cabin. He wondered why the travel seemed too short, or perhaps it was just him not noticing how much steps they've had with how much he appreciated their time together?

He wasn't able to ponder in it for long because of the sight that welcomed them.

For the second time that day, blood drained from his face, as if he had been submerged in the depths of a lake in winter's time.

A commotion was forming outside the cabin, crowds of knights occupying the roads. Banners of both the Kingdom and House Goneril stood on opposing sides. A distinct cry was heard from one side, and he soon found the neighbors being held back by the Kingdom knights. His mind commanded him to run, tell them to cease the madness, yet his feet felt as if it were stubbornly glued to the ground, his mouth likewise unable to make a sound.

"Where is our King?"

"Reveal His Majesty!"

The Kingdom knights continued chanting their demands. Everything was happening too fast, too overwhelming. He wanted to run, but he wanted to stop them the same. Yet he was unable to do anything, feeling as if his flesh was being tugged away from his bones.

End. He wanted all of it to end.

Until Hilda broke the spell, squeezing his hand as if reminding him that she was still there.

"Quick, Dimitri. Make a run for it."

Before he could question the implication that statement made, Hilda was harshly pulled away from him, a pained cry coming out from her mouth. The basket of flowers fell on the ground, spilling its contents. Colors drained from the petals, wilting.

Suddenly he regained a semblance of control over his body as he turned his head, seeing Hilda being restrained by Kingdom knights. Rage filled his core, only to be replaced with an entirely different feeling as he saw Rodrigue emerging from the crowds of Knights surrounding them.

"Your Highness. . ." Rodrigue's voice was somber, eyes unreadable. Behind him, the last remaining surviving councilmen gazed intently at him. "No, Your Majesty."

He avoided Rodrigue's eyes, instead searching for Hilda, only for him to see her knocked out at the hands of the Knights restraining her. Images of her dead body splayed in his mind; beside her, the kind neighbors whose intentions were far from ill, all of them undeserving of such fate brought by him. He cursed at himself for letting them be involved in his mess—

He jolted awake.

He breathed heavily, catching his breath. The room was dark, only illuminated by the faint moonlight from the windows. The cold air enveloped his skin, reminding him that it was still winter—he couldn't get anymore thankful for knowing about that fact.

"Dimitri?"

Hilda's voice was groggy from sleep. He turned his head to her side, witnessing the subtle twinkling of the gems of her dress as she moved slightly.

"What's wrong?"

Her words were painfully familiar, yet he allowed relief to surge into him instead, separating the nightmare from his reality. He told her that no, nothing was wrong, as he gently pulled her closer without thinking twice, thankful she was just safe, warm, alive. It took him a long second to realize how shameless, how dauntless his action was, and he was prepared to release his arms at the hint of slightest hesitation from her.

His distress was immediately alleviated when she scooted even closer instead, no longer making any other sound, likely falling back to slumber. He lulled himself back to sleep by focusing on the rhythm of Hilda's breathing.

The following night, the thought of offering to accompany her in her room lingered in his head, yet he couldn't bring himself to say it unlike the previous day. He wanted to convince himself that it was really all for her best intentions, to keep her comfortable in the coldest winters, and not because it gave him a peace of mind knowing she was safe beside him. . . Thinking about it, it still meant he was thinking of her, wasn't it? And yet, why did it feel he was allowing his self-indulgences to take over?

Hilda sat across from him at the common area, doing the final touches of the last batch of accessories to be delivered the next day. He wasn't certain if she was simply tired from working, yet he noticed how she seemed to be taking a long time in finishing her pendant, oddly more meticulous even. From time-to-time, he even felt her eyes sneaking glances at him. . .

The observation made him consider another possibility: was it presumptuous of him to think that it wasn't actually fatigue—rather, was she perhaps waiting for him to bring up the topic of keeping her company in her bed? Given the way her mind works, it followed that he should bring the topic to light, but what if he was actually wrong? What if perhaps she was just too kind to decline his offer on her birthday, and that she was actually starting to think he was a skirt-chasing creep who was looking for a chance to take advantage of her as she slept?

He no longer was able to ponder on it for long, because she sat up almost immediately, the chair scraping against the wooden flooring as she pushed it carelessly behind her. Her action screamed impatience, yet her face showed none of it, beaming with a smile that he discovered barely reached her ears.

"Well! That's tiring!" she exclaimed, holding up the necklace before carefully placing it in its storage box. "Sure is nice to go to sleep now."

It was his chance, he knew, so he shook his uncertainties away and just pushed through, not noticing that Hilda was actually still in the middle of saying something.

"Would you like me to accompany you once more—"

"Care to join me again—"

They both paused, each of their words sinking in immediately. He didn't notice the way her cheeks flushed because he was too absorbed with his own embarrassment.

Hilda was the first to recover, giving off an awkward-sounding laugh. "Well, if you don't mind, then—"

"I don't," he answered too quickly that he wanted to hit himself in the face for doing so. He desperately hoped it did not give her any weird thoughts. "W-what I mean to say is that if you are fine with it, then I have no problem. If it certainly adds to your comfort—"

"Let's forget about me for a second, okay?" she interrupted, her words completely rendering him silent. When he turned all his attention on her, she looked away meekly. "I mean, I'm asking about you. Would you be comfortable with it?"

It didn't take much time for him to respond. "Very much," he admitted, feeling rather flustered with his confession.

"For real?"

"Yes. It gives me a sense of. . .relief. And comfort," he added, settling for those reasons. He noticed she was still avoiding eye contact. "Why do you ask?"

She began twirling her finger around her hair. "I was thinking you might have offered it yesterday just because it was my birthday. . . I don't want to force you into something that only I find comfort in."

"Well, to be really honest, I have only discovered how nice it actually feels to be beside someone in winter's time. So I do not mind—no, I would appreciate it. Truly."

It took a while for Hilda to respond that the long seconds made him wonder if he said anything wrong. Thankfully, she finally looked back, the corners of her lips rising up.

"Well, then that settles it!" The return of her usual perkiness effectively eased his prior thoughts. "Let's be bed buddies!" A pause. "Or, uh, bed companions, whatever you call it!"

Her proposition gave him several feelings that he couldn't name immediately, though he did recognize that his cheeks were warm, and a rather odd, mushy sensation was present in his stomach. Briefly, he wondered, if Hilda was feeling anything similar. . .

"Until winter ends," she added, clarifying her statement. With her words, he was convinced she only proposed it for both of their comforts and nothing more.

"Of course," he affirmed, nodding. "Until winter ends."

Days after, they went to the usual spot at the marketplace where Hilda shared Seteth's fables with young audiences. It had become a regular thing, once every moon, and even if Hilda didn't have any new books to share, the children didn't seem to mind. Their faces beamed with energy as she and Dimitri approached, and despite the freezing temperature, they seemed to have patiently waited for their arrival. Hilda was happy she did not disappoint them.

As they gathered around her, she commenced her story-telling—the fable of the industrious squirrel and the lazy fox. It had been her first collaboration with Seteth, so it was a story she held close to her heart, even if the fox was an obvious jab at her character.

"Thank you, Lady!" came their enthusiastic voices after she concluded the story, followed by several comments how they all wanted to be like squirrels for foxes that required help.

"You know, Hilda," Dimitri said, who approached her as the crowds of children dispersed, "You remind me of the squirrel."

She gave him the most incredulous look she could muster. "Huh?! Are you sure you aren't mixing up the characters up?"

He looked at her in genuine confusion, which cemented the fact that he made the comment with no intentions to tease. Still, she went along her initial lines of thought.

"Dimitri, just because a squirrel is small and cute—"

"No! It's definitely not because its stature ." He paused, eyes twinkling as he seemed to have realized something. "But now that you also made that connection, it makes the comparison even more perfect—"

He stopped, likely upon witnessing how she began puffing her cheeks, unamused. He attempted to stifle his laughter.

"I mean, please allow me to clarify. In my months of staying with you, I could say with confidence that you are one of the most hardworking people I have met."

It had been her turn to laugh. "You probably haven't met a lot of people."

"I am serious, though. I feel like the fox who is only ever alive in this winter because of the acorns you give me."

She placed her hand under her chin. "Thinking about it, it makes sense that you think that. You didn't know me at all back in the academy days." Because certainly most people—Holst, Seteth, Cyril, just to name a few—they would all disagree with him.

"Academy days, hmm? That had been years ago, right? Meaning it has all been in the past. Perhaps you may have been the fox before, but what I see in the present is the squirrel that you had turned into." She looked up to see that he seemed to be contemplating. "Although, thinking about it, you seem to make yourself appear like a fox, but in reality, you're a squirrel on the inside."

"Aww, Dimitri." She was certain she could have been reduced to a warm pile of goo if it were possible. The compliments were too much! "You really know what to say to make me feel better."

"I have stated honest observations, though, as I am not a fan of speaking out superficial words of flattery. I do not say something if I do not mean it."

Hilda was very much aware of that. She knew she could tell him that; it was one of the traits she liked most about him, after all. . .

Yet she found herself restraining her own words from coming out.

The feelings of warmth were replaced with uncertainties, creeping slowly in her skin.

The sound of children's laughter interrupted her line of thought, and instead of pondering over the aching feelings in her chest, she focused on something else entirely.

"Oh! Before it's too late, I have a request. Mind accompanying me in following back where these children live?"

He looked at her, surprised. She didn't need to ask why he reacted that way. In the duration of his stay, she made it known how she abhorred anything involving dirty work and whatnot, and wherever the kids stayed at was likely one of the squalid parts of the town. He agreed, walking beside her, and then asked what prompted her to do so.

"I noticed some of the usual kids weren't present. Just wanted to know how they are."

"Hmm, so you've noticed." He gave her an amused look. "It seems you really pay attention to your students. You are certainly preparing yourself for your role in your future academy."

She blushed, lightly hitting his arm. "Oh, shush! It's normal to be concerned, right?"

Little by little, the sights of the clean and well-organized stalls were replaced by ramshackled sheds inhabited by the homeless. Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the musty, unpleasant smell in the air. It was a part of the town that she hadn't really visited before, or rather, avoided as much as she could, and while she wasn't a stranger to seeing wrecked villages torn apart by war, it felt different, heavy, to witness such states in times of peace.

"You know, this takes me back, when I had been on the run."

There was a blank look on Dimitri's face. She also noticed how dejected he sounded.

"After I escaped my execution, I managed to find even a hint of solace living among the marginalized, before Kingdom loyalists aided me. Life certainly isn't easy for them."

Something in her gut twisted. It wasn't that she was ignorant that such places existed—she knew different social classes existed, and as a noble, Hilda never really had to experience being hungry from having no food, nor being cold from having no clothes or shelter. She had the luxury to be lazy, to be the way that she was because she was fortunate enough to be born of high social status.

"I wish. . .there is something I can do for them," he remarked.

She wanted to tell him that he could do something about it. But who was she to tell him that? It shouldn't at all come from someone like her who was too blind to realize that she was in the same status to help those in need.

Her insides ached even more, when she realized she wasn't even being blind.

It wasn't about blindness; she chose not to give any care at all. She remembered feeling annoyed whenever Lorenz blathered about their duties as nobles to help the poor, but whatever irritation she must've had at his righteousness were replaced by guilt. At the very least, Lorenz was willing to help out, even if it was for the sake of his family name or whatever. She, on the other hand, just didn't.

It was then when it dawned on her the huge gap that existed between her and Dimitri—kind, selfless Dimitri. He certainly didn't deserve someone like her. Self-centered. Lazy. Selfish. How could she even think that he would like someone of her character?

A shrill scream pulled her out of her thoughts, and they turned their attention to the commotion forming before them.

"T-they're here again!" came the panicked cries of one of the children, who ran to her side and clutched the edges of her skirt. Hilda knelt to offer comfort, placing her hand over the child's cowering shoulder.

"Who?" she asked, eyes vigilant in scanning for anyone with hostile intentions. At the same time, she wondered what had happened to the guards watching over the town.

A horde of malicious laughter was heard coming from men no more than ten, ransacking each shed with no care. Dimitri strode in front of her, hands clutching into fists after he secured his cloak over his head.

"Thieves, are they?" Dimitri hissed, and the dangerously low tone of his voice instantly worried her.

Before Dimitri could even move from his spot, another hooded figure emerged from the crowds, confronting the group.

"But Mister, your wounds—!"

Hilda recognized the child trying the pull the hooded man away as one of those missing in her monthly story time sessions by the streets. The man didn't budge, instead insisting that the child should get away and call the guards. In no time, an all-out brawl ensued between the man and the group of thieves. He had been holding out at first, she noticed, so she assumed whoever it was was likely a veteran in fighting. However, apart from the wounds that he had, he was greatly outnumbered, and with the best intentions of the children in mind, she and Dimitri joined the fray. Hilda channeled all the negativity she felt onto her fists which sent the thieves coming after her flying to the ground. The town guards arrived eventually, and arrested the thieves that had been beaten to a pulp.

"Our apologies for involving you, Lady Goneril," one of the guards said, which she brushed off as she turned to the children who witnessed everything. Doing a little headcount in her mind she realized all of them were there, and those who had been absent was most likely watching over that hooded man they just helped. . .

Speaking of that man. . .

Her eyes searched for him, discovering that he could barely stand on his feet, almost collapsing to the ground had it not been for Dimitri who caught his fall. In the process, the hood that shrouded him in mystery fell down, revealing a middle-aged man with long orange hair with an unkempt beard—Hilda felt she knew him from somewhere.

"Your. . .Highness," she heard the man say, a pained smile washing his features as he looked up to Dimitri. "I. . .knew you were. . ."

The moment he lost consciousness was the same moment she connected the dots—his hair was close to the shade of orange of Annette's hair. . .

Gilbert. A Knight of the Kingdom.

Warning bells clicked on her head, and she immediately instructed Dimitri to head back to the cabin. He was incredibly stubborn at first, but after telling him it was likely best to have her deal with Gilbert first, he reluctantly gave in. She then commanded the guards to call for a medic and bring the wounded Gilbert to the Goneril Estate.

Her nerves prickled with anxiety, hoping for the best, as she accompanied them all the way to the estate. Holst welcomed her with worry, and she briefly filled him in with details while carefully leaving out information about Dimitri. Soon enough, she was informed that Gilbert had regained consciousness, and she requested to speak alone with him.

"Why are you all the way over here," she questioned cautiously, afraid of the answers she might hear, "In the lands of the Leicester Alliance?"

He ignored her question. "Where is Dimitri?"

"Dimitri?" she repeated with feigned surprise, pretending not to know what he was talking about.

"There were two of you who assisted me in the scuffle. I admit at first, I thought you two were simply well-meaning passersby. However, that one brief moment when I fell, I swear I saw his face—"

"Perhaps you saw him wrong," she interrupted, "That tall guy? He's one of my guards."

In her many years of practice she managed to say the lie flawlessly that a part of her felt bad seeing Gilbert resign in defeat.

"The moment I learned he had gone missing again, I searched all over Fódlan. I ended up here because I considered the possibility of him searching for you."

Her heart skipped, yet she tried to keep a straight face.

"Why do you think he'd search for me?"

"In Gronder Field," he began, his eyelids fluttering downwards in fatigue, "I saw you carrying the body of His Highness all the way back to your camp. I have watched over him since the day he was born, so I am rather familiar with how his mind works. Ever since the Tragedy of Duscur, he had never really given value for his own life. As someone who saved him, I considered he would have approached you to seek for answers."

She tried to conceal her discomfort with how on-point his deductions were. Thankfully, Gilbert had his eyes shut, so he would not have noticed any changes in her expression if there even were.

"I only saw His Highness once in Fhirdiad when Rodrigue brought him back. If I had known that he had actually been awake for quite some time, I would have returned to the capital and guarded him personally."

"Would that have helped?" she snapped. She was surprised at the sharpness of her own tone. Gilbert opened his eyes, looking at her perplexed.

"What do you mean?"

She huffed a breath, trying to regain her composure. "I mean, what if there's a reason why he escaped in the first place? You would really just force him back like shoving some bird in a cage?"

"Well, no. I would likely have provided him counsel, though." Creases formed in between his eyebrows. "First and foremost, my duty is to protect the royal family. I already failed once. . .and I do not think I could ever forgive myself once I learn that something happened to him the moment he left the walls of the palace. . ."

"What if. . .all he wanted was just a break from all of these?"

"I would likely listen to his reasons first, but of course I will try to persuade him to his birthright."

"What if he doesn't want the throne in the end, after all?"

He breathed heavily. "Then I would have supported it. What matters most to me is that he is alive. Because if he was, it meant there still is hope."

Silence filled the room when Hilda no longer responded. She then stood, telling him a convoy could be arranged for his return to Faerghus. He neither accepted nor denied the offer; instead, the moment she turned her back, he thanked her.

"What are you thanking me for?"

"I'm not certain myself," he admitted, "Irrational as it may be, our conversation has oddly put me at ease."

"Hmm, sure."

"Please tell Dimitri to take care too."

His words struck her. She turned to him questioningly, and she learned he was staring back right at her. Calming her nerves the same, she wondered what he meant by it. Was he testing her?

"If you happen to see him," he added, before he sunk back to the bed.

When she returned to the cabin, she told Dimitri every detail in their conversation. He was mostly quiet as she did, and her worries increased further the more silent he had become in the following days. . .

Dimitri gazed back at his reflection.

The fringes of his hair had grown long, covering his eyes like curtains. His free hand briefly brushed over the scar over his right eye, usually hidden by the eyepatch which had been discarded on the side of the sink in front of him.

He clutched the handle of the blade on his other hand, bringing it close to his face.

"Dimitri!?"

Hilda's panicked cry completely startled him that he was only thankful that his first reflex was to push the knife away instead of bringing it closer.

"What are you doing?!"

She looked visibly anxious. Once he dropped the knife, she immediately sauntered inside the bathroom, taking his arms and inspecting them.

"W-wait!" he remarked, trying to appease her, "It's not what you think—"

She heaved a heavy sigh after flipping his arms and hands over.

"W-what are you thinking?" she asked, shutting her eyes. A smile, seemingly sad and relieved at the same time, appeared on her face.

"F-forgive me. I was simply thinking of cutting my hair. . ."

She shook her head as a low chuckle escaped her lips.

"Why didn't you just say so? Come here, let me help you."

She guided him to their dining area where she instructed him to take a seat. He complied, watching as she took a pair of scissors from her kit. She made a remark about him seemingly forgetting that much safer tools were available for him to do the deed.

"I simply did not wish to trouble you—"

"—by possibly breaking another pair of scissors? Well, let me tell you that seeing you holding that knife earlier certainly didn't make me feel any less troubled!"

"My apologies."

"Just don't do it again!"

He nodded.

After seeing his response, she patted his shoulder as she stood behind him.

"Well then, how would you like it cut, Your Highness?"

His brows furrowed. It wasn't the first time she referred to him with the title, though circumstances before didn't allow him to fully address his discomfort with being called as such.

"Please don't call me that," he said, turning his gaze downwards.

"Just teasing," she mentioned with a giggle. He felt her holding the ends of his hair, and in no time, sounds of the snipping of scissors were heard, with bits of his hair falling down his shoulders. "I'm a bit serious though. Any look you're going for? Want me to cut your hair like your cute boyish style back in the academy?"

"Well, that cut had been the decision of the palace hairdresser, so I didn't really have any say for it." He felt his cheeks flushing. "But you don't have to emulate that. Just a nice trim would be sufficient."

"Mmhm, I don't really think that sort of look suits you now, anyway."

She quietly groomed his hair for the next few moments, until she gestured for him to move aside so that he was facing her. She tilted his chin upwards, noticing how she momentarily studied his face, including his right eye. . . It made him extremely conscious, especially with how close she stood, so by reflex he shut his eyes, his pulse racing. Eventually he felt her working on the fringes on his head too.

"Though, I do wonder, that title. . . Would there come a time when you'll accept being called that again?"

Her words had been casual, though they were articulated in such a careful pace that he was certain she was hesitant to talk about it. The shift in topic surprised him a bit, if only because he actually intended to bring it up again to her.

"About that. . ."

"Hmm?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"I'm listening."

With all the recent events, nightmares and reflections. . .

"Is it possible for you to accompany me to Garreg Mach?"

. . . Dimitri had decided it was time to stop running away.