What If... Dedue Molinaro were a Duscur lord and Byleth were his maid?
Dedue Molinaro, Minister of Duscur Foreign Affairs, is normally a man of strict duty and stricter countenance. He completes this paper work on time. He never leaves a case incomplete before the given deadline. If Her Majesty the Queen even hints that she believes that Faerghus is overstepping its bounds into their territory, he writes letters of peace and warning within the hour, within the week, within the month, like clockwork.
His meetings with the King of Faerghus in order to further improve their relations go so smoothly that in the street, rumors fly that the serious demeanor he always carries within himself is just a façade, begetting a darker personality that uses blackmail and other underhanded methods, but he ignores such things.
As long as his duties are fulfilled and another peaceful morning rises over the Duscur peninsula, he can rest easily. Especially when his evenings are always quietly cared for in the hands of a certain servant with dark hair and dark eyes like the night sky.
If his fellow ministers ever saw him in his home, they would be surprised to know that in one way, the rumors are correct-he hides a secret, a great one... but perhaps not one that any would expect.
His mind lights on the adjectives people have used to describe him. Focused, for one. One-tracked minded, for another-and yet, as she wipes ginger tea from the table, Minister Molinaro cannot help but be... distracted. He is always distracted when she is near. Glancing at her over the thin slip of his glasses again as he does every evening, Dedue eyes her carefully over the top of his documents.
He looks away, stares at the document, reads the fourth paragraph for the fifth time.
Yes... is there anyone in the world who would believe that he is childish enough to knock over a perfectly good cup of tea, just to stare at his own servant? Most certainly not.
But here he is.
"Thank you, Byleth." She looks up at the sound of her name, nodding briskly. What he wouldn't given to know what thoughts lie behind those dark eyes. She turns to go when he clears his throat. "Please, sit."
"My lord?" She turns, pausing by the door. He says nothing in reply at first, largely because he is shocked that he said anything at all.
"I wish to speak with you." His heart stirs in his chest. Speak with her on what? He races to think of a subject as she slowly steps backs towards him, some hesitation in her footsteps. Once she sits down, Dedue stares at her openly, his eyes lighting on her features. Now, looking at her directly without pretense, he is filled with a quiet sense of appreciation. His constant travels from Duscur to Faerghus and beyond have long since made him immune to the foreign-ness of her features: the large eyes and small, round face without the sharp, heavy Duscur cheekbones that mark his people... the paleness of her skin contrasted with the darkness of her hair when so many of Duscur that he knew had just the opposite palette, the smallness of her stature paired with her immense strength...
He finds them all things he has seen before, and yet... he cannot look away.
It is then that Dedue realizes that he has been staring at her in silence. He clears his throat, pressing his hands together in a traditional gesture of Duscur gratitude, palm to palm and directly in front of his face. "I wanted to... thank you." Her eyes widen as he lowers his hands. Thank? "The steward informed me that you cared for the flowers in my absence. Most do not wish the enter the greenhouse when the weather is humid as it is now, so I appreciate your labors. Those flowers were a favorite of my sister." A lord thanking a servant for mere duty is... strange, but as he says the words, he finds that they are true. Still... A part of him wonders. Why is he saying all of these things now? He shifts in his seat with discomfort, but her expression does not change aside from a slight tilt of her head.
"Were?"
"Yes. She is passed now."
"I see." Byleth inclines her head, her eyebrows slightly closer together. "I am glad to care for them. I didn't know the reasoning why, but... in truth... I knew they were important to you. You spend many hours there, after all."
"Ah." They sit in silence once more. Why is it so hard to carry a conversation with her? Is it because he has an ulterior motive through which she can clearly see? Byleth stands suddenly. He looks at her in alarm, but she makes no move to depart. "Shall I pour you more tea, my lord?"
"Please." Perhaps the spice burning through his chest will calm his nerves. "In any case, perhaps... perhaps you could assist me with the greenhouse further? Even when I am not away." Byleth's hands pause over the tea cup before she takes hold of it. Tilting it into his cup, he watches the elegance in her slender fingers and cannot help but imagine them wrapped around a sword instead. But then, her father was a mercenary beforr his untimely death, or so she said. It occurs to him, somehow for the first time, that it would make sense that she is well-versed in the ways of the blade. Something about the steadiness in her hands...
Ah, but he is staring again. Dedue accepts the cup, grimly. He has not smiled this entire time, a habit for which he is prone, and one that the King of Faerghus often teases him for. Despite the fact that their nations sometimes did not agree, he could say without a doubt that his Majesty is his friend... and he can similarly imagine him pounding him on the back with those too strong hands of his and telling him to relax.
Impossible, of course, especially considering that he is certain King Dimitri has just as little experience as he.
"My lord, may I ask you a question?" Her voice surprises him, but Dedue gestures for her to speak, then folds his hands together. "Am I to believe that you are so clumsy that you spill tea every time I attend to you?" His eyes widen in alarm at her directness, even as she eyes him with a dark, piercing stare.
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Finally, he pulls his tea cup closer, wafting the steam towards himself to take a mild whiff. She asks a question so bold when he is barely able to organize his own thoughts on the matter, forcing him to confront what this suspicious desire to see her and bask in her presence means to him.
Dedue murmurs quietly. "Am I so obvious?" She surprises him again, an expression of worry slipping through her eyes as her lips tilt downward.
"Obvious? I only wish to know your intentions." Hesitating, Byleth takes her seat. "I am... grateful of your employ. Since my father's death in your territory, I did not expect for you to take me in..." She trails off, a vulnerable expression he would never have believed her capable of crossing her face. Quickly, though, it shifts into something sharper as she looks directly at him. There is no anger in her face-only flat determination, as if he could not convince her of anything in this world if she did not already wish it. "My lord. I have heard stories of benevolent lords who bed maids who have nothing and no one else. But I... I think of you as an upstanding man, one dedicated to your nation. Please... please tell me that I am right."
He stares at Byleth steadily, only barely able to cover his surprise. Something about her expression tells him that she knows that he has been inquiring of her personal affairs as of late. He'd been certain to make it sound like just idle curiosities, sure that she would hear of it eventually, but he never expected that it would cause her to fear that he would try to bed her against her will, then use his power and prestige to protect himself from consequence. The thought both chills and disgusts him. He is not so naïve as to think that there are not those who would, but he is not at all one of them. "You are right," he replies gently.
"Then what are your intentions towards me? And my future?" Dedue opens his mouth, then closes it. Surely she could not be asking out of interest? He wishes it were so, and in that moment, Dedue has his answer.
Why he peers over his documents and seeks her face amongst the crowd when his staff gathers to welcome him back to the Manor.
Why he thinks of which flowers would best suit her hair when he cultivates new seedlings brought from the other ends of Fódlan.
Why he wonders each day if she already has plans of marriage to another, and if not, if he should make an inquiry himself...
Dedue sighs, removing his glasses as he folds them away. Clearing his throat, he looks at her. Perhaps it is time to discard pretense. "Byleth. I am Minister of the Foreign Affairs of Duscur. The people of this nation... and ensuring they are cared for well the moment they step foot off of our soil... It is the more important goal in I know, something I would lay my life down to guarantee. You understand that, yes?" Byleth nods once in reply. "Then please know that as a member of this household, you too are a woman of Duscur. I would never put you in danger." He takes a draft of his tea. "If you wish to know my thoughts toward you..." Dedue trails off. "I wish to have tea made by your hands each day. As master of this manor, I readily accept that it is all I am due." His words carry a sense of finality, but in truth, he is dissatisfied with them. They are only true in part, and while surely she can guess at their meaning, they feel incomplete somehow.
She muses over his words. How unfair, he thinks, that she so readily knows his thoughts and yet he still finds hers a mystery.
"I see." He meets Byleth's gaze, resting his teacup back into its saucer. He is certain that he isn't imagining it, but her eyes seem... warmer. "Then... I will always have the tea prepared in the manner you prefer when you come home."
Inwardly, he knows that the line has now been drawn, and he has no right to wish for more but...
But nothing. He tells himself that he will no longer allow gazes of undue length to trail towards her. If Byleth feels safe around him, then it would be improper to-his thoughts stop abruptly at the touch her hand lightly on top of the hands that grasp the teacup. "And if you wish my company, like this, then..." She trails off and removes her hand.
His eyelids flutter with uncertainty. Stern? Reserved? Controlled? Dedue scarcely knows who he is anymore. "Then?"
"I will provide it as well, granted that we take time to know each other?"
A chance to know what lie behind that cool gaze that usually stares right through him, now is tender with emotions he can barely recognize? He can only manage a single phrase. It is surprisingly light, despite the swirling dizziness in his mind.
"I would like that." He pauses to make a soft, serious addition. "Very much."
Byleth's smile is private. The first he has ever seen from her, he wonders how he ever thought he would be able to stop himself from looking at her as she passes him by. She stands to clear the tea tray away, and it takes all he is to place the cup onto it and uncurl his frozen fingers.
"Then... I will serve you at break fast time." Byleth nods, then places her hands together in a polite Duscur gesture, her dark hair wafting in her face as she tilts her head down slightly. It takes all he can not to brush it out of her face, and his thought, the earnest, simple desire in it, the escalation of going from just wanting to look at her to wanting to touch her in whatever manner she allowed... they all surprise him.
Dedue thinks of her hand lightly resting on his, his eyes trailing behind to watch her go.
Breakfast time could not come more quickly if he begged the sun itself.
Surely I'm not the only one who immediately thought this with the new DLC of maid/butler outfits.
Surely.