The archery stall sat at the other edge of the marketplace, according to Ingrid. Dimitri and his friends followed her lead, listening to the babble of people all around him. Once more, peoples' heads began to turn as he passed, a hush rushing through the crowds like an arrow whistling through the air.

"I always forget you're semi-famous," Ingrid's voice was smiling as she led the group through sets of stalls. They passed a whole roasted hog, a shield-painting service, and a stall selling all kinds of beautiful flowers before the archery competition became visible in the distance.

Just as Ingrid made to dart around a group of young children, however, a flash of pink caught the corner of Dimitri's eye. It was familiar somehow - made adrenaline spike in his blood by some primal instinct as he grabbed Ingrid's arm.

"What?" she turned to him as Felix bumped into the back of the King, hissing profanities under his breath. She followed Dimitri's gaze, to where he was staring at a young woman garbed in a beautiful dress of deep black velvet. Gazing down at the wares of a jewellery stall, she was facing away from Dimitri, but he did not need to see her features to know who it was. That hair of fallen sakura would be recognisable from a mile away. The King felt his feet taking him to her before he could stop himself, his friends joining him.

"Hilda?" Ingrid's voice was quiet as she reached out a hand to touch the woman's shoulder, but the youngest member of House Goneril turned before she could make contact.

Her face was different, somehow. Admittedly, Dimitri hadn't seen much of her since their days in the Officer's Academy. The King knew that she had been spared in the battle at Derdriu, and had since made conscious efforts to make amends with Goneril and the rest of the Alliance, but the smile that Hilda gave upon seeing him seemed almost as if it did not meet her eyes. While once she'd been chipper - devious - she now simply smiled.

"Ohh, Hilda!" Sylvain gave a frightfully uneasy laugh, and began to muss up the back of his hair as he did when he was nervous. "It's… nice to see you again!"

Hilda beheld him, rosy eyes knowing. "Yeah," she said. "You too, I guess!"

"What're you doing here?" Ingrid asked light-heartedly. "I know you've been busy since you founded that artisan's academy."

"Oh, you know, I was in the area," said Hilda, and she turned back around to view some of the bracelets upon the stall. Dimitri and his friends stood quietly, unsure of if they'd been dismissed. Felix had just yanked at Sylvain's arm and begun to walk away, when Hilda spoke again. "Are we enjoying the festivities?"

The group looked around at each other with unease. "Why, yes," said Ingrid. "Of course. It's… wonderful."

Hilda nodded slightly. "Feels a bit bittersweet, doesn't it?" She turned back around to them in a flurry of skirts. "It's just, like… Why do we celebrate this? We know what the war cost. I almost died, but I held my own. Not everybody was so lucky."

The way Hilda's eyes locked with Dimitri's as she spoke made his blood run cold. He felt his eyebrows crease, becoming almost frightened at the intensity of her words. She'd said them so innocently - almost as though she hadn't been thinking about them - but they hit the King in the gut with the power they held. She was right. Not everybody was so lucky.

Dimitri's mind began to whirr; Hilda knew. She must have. She must have known the fate that had met the Adrestian Emperor that one fateful day - known of the King's butchery and his despicable actions that had ended the war.

"I tried to reason with her…" His voice was so feeble, no more than a rattle in his throat.

Hilda raised an eyebrow at him. "What? Anyway, I'm sorry to be a downer. It's a really lovely festival, Your Highness," she looked out at the celebrations around her. "I kind of just expected to spend the anniversary alone. Thought everyone would be mourning, instead. But, everyone has different ways of coping, I guess!"

The way she could still speak so cheerily despite the content of her words astounded the King. She'd seen death and destruction - she'd wanted to mourn the anniversary alone - but instead, she was here.

"What brought you here?" he asked.

She cocked her head in thought. "I didn't want to miss it. Wanted to see how the monastery was doing, do some shopping…"

"It's not like you to go out of your way for anything," said Felix. Evidently, he'd heard of the woman's laziness in her academy days.

"Ha! And it's not like you to care about anybody else's business," she replied with equal snark.

Felix simply narrowed his eyes in response.

"Either way, Hilda, it is… wonderful to see you," Dimitri told her honestly. Seeing her was warming, in a way; Dimitri hadn't expected to see anybody who'd been from the Alliance here, for fear that they weren't pleased with his victory. While on the one hand, it was good to know he wasn't so hated, on the other, Hilda's visit had jarred him. For some reason, despite his contented surprise, her presence had sent a wave of unease through him - had set his every nerve to twitching. It served as a reminder of just how much this war had affected Fódlan - of how many people had been rattled and whose lives had been thrown upside down. People who Dimitri expected to turn their backs on him after the war were still around - still existed - and still mourned the events he'd brought to a close one year ago.

"Yeah, it's nice to be back," she said, placing down a bracelet and thanking the woman behind the stall. She then spotted something behind Dimitri, and crossed through the Lions to poke her nose at the arrangement of flowers they'd previously walked past. "Don't think I'll be staying long, though," Hilda continued speaking as she sensed herself being joined. "This place kinda gives me the creeps, somehow."

"Oh?" Sylvain's interest was piqued. "Why's that?"

Hilda shrugged, perusing the flower selection. "Lot of memories."

"I understand that," Ingrid's face looked concerned. "It is a bit strange. Being somewhere you once knew so well, only for it to be completely changed."

"Oh, you mean like that?" The other woman sounded dismissive. "No, this feeling is different."

"In what way…?" asked Dimitri, feeling as though he could sense what she was talking about; like Garreg Mach was full of the ghosts of the Black Eagles, whether in the form of memories or spirits.

Hilda turned back towards them, having completed her purchase. "Anyway," she said, ignoring the King's question. "I'm gonna head off. Got places to be tomorrow, you know? Always so busy." She held a bunch of flowers in her hands: curved petals of a deep, rich purple, with small white heads in the centre.

"Of course," Ingrid said. "It was wonderful catching up with you."

"Oh, yeah, and you too! Make sure you... keep on doing whatever it is knights do! You are a knight, right?"

Ingrid looked a little put out. "Yep... I'm a knight."

"That's good to hear. Enjoy the rest of the festival!"

And just like that, the woman was walking away, pink ponytails twirling behind her.

"Why was she buying a bunch of flowers?" Felix sounded judgmental as always.

"Those were statice," Sylvain corrected him.

Ingrid narrowed her eyes. "Why do you know what kind of flowers they were?"

But Dimitri's breath had caught in his throat.

Statice...

He'd heard that word before. Once, in a conversation so long ago it felt like another lifetime.

"Because they're Marianne's favourite flowers."

Each face turned to look at Dimitri. He was met with confusion from Felix, fear from Sylvain, but Ingrid's fell to one of complete mortification.

Marianne.

Marianne von Edmund - the most gentle soul Dimitri had ever known. So quiet - so understated. The King's mind shot back in time; a memory so distant and far away it felt as though he were living it through someone else's eyes, looking down upon his skulking, brooding form pacing back and forth.

Back in his tent on the edge of a battlefield, in the midst of his darkest moments during the war, mere minutes after a victory in combat. He'd heard voices just outside his tent - semi-familiar ones, of soldiers in his battalion.

"Hey, did anyone see Marianne in that battle? I expected her to be with the Alliance forces."

"Oh, you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Well, it's just a rumour, but…"

The words that had followed next had widened Dimitri's eyes even in spite of his mental state. At that time of his life, he'd hardly cared who he killed - who was dead. But Marianne von Edmund was so sweet and gentle that even the mere memory of her had managed to pull Dimitri from his darkness, if only for a split second.

Yes, he remembered. He looked into the faces of Ingrid and Felix and Sylvain - and they remembered too. Rumour had it that Marianne was no longer part of this plane; rumour had it that she'd taken her own life after the devastation had become too much.

Hilda, her favourite person, had been buying statice, her favourite flower.

The soft, light voice of the delicate mage filled Dimitri's ears, from their conversation eternities ago. "It symbolises fond memories, but also sympathy… I feel I can relate to it."

Flowers were a common offering upon the grave of a loved one.

Dimitri felt himself falling again. His heart sunk from whence it had once floated in his chest, the feeling of a dull, black ache beginning to swirl once again in his lungs, ensnaring his core and tightening until it was suffocating.

Hilda had had to leave early to visit Marianne's place of rest. She'd come back to Garreg Mach, but had been unable to stay, haunted by the memories of her dearest. She'd silently bought flowers, spoken not a single word of her heartache, and had left.

No. Dimitri couldn't let himself fall. He couldn't return to those depths - no. He had to climb out, he had to be free, he couldn't lose himself - not after all he'd worked for-

All at once, he was asphyxiating. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he was physically unable to fill his lungs with the air he so desperately needed. His vision became darker, the bloody vignette returning, rendering him in purblind hysteria.

"Your Highness? Dimitri?" Voices sounded faint around him as he looked at his hands - trapped within their gloves - until eventually he heard nothing but a ring. A high-pitched drone cut everything else out, and beneath it, the clanging of steel on steel, sword upon shield, screams and calls and begs for mercy. Marianne's face darted in and out of existence behind his eyelids - pained and sad and tired. War had been too much for her. Dimitri's actions, and his incompetence, had aided in driving her from this world.

The King was blind, and deaf, and could feel nothing except for the searing pain in his lungs and blood pumping hard through his body.

He didn't know where he was, but had to get out. The ghosts were back. He had to run.