Title: when we were young
Prompt: For risquetendencies, Dorothea marrying someone else (maybe Hanneman bc the fact that they have a paired ending with kids blew my mind) because it was the best option at the time. She and Linhardt were mutually pining while at the academy but he lazed around too much then instead of shooting his shot and missed the chance to say anything. Years later, they cross paths again and old feelings are rekindled.
Characters/Pairings: |
A/N: I absolutely love the idea of a reunion like this! Immediately it ate my brain and I had to write it. I was tempted to have her married to Manuela/Ferdinand, I think that would be a fun ot3, but I wanted this to be a more tempered piece and Hanneman fits a lot better than "whirlwind romance of 3 divas". I also find Hanneman's ending with her funny, I wonder how many years it took before she said "Yep, those are my kids and my husband."
Summary: It had been a decade since Linhardt had last thought about Dorothea. Even longer since he'd last seen her. Yet here she was, sitting across from him. It was like nothing had changed.
Only, there are some regrets that can't be taken back.
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Dorothea.
A woman Linhardt hadn't thought about in over a decade. A woman he hadn't seen in even longer. Yet, despite the time that had passed, he knew the woman standing in front of him was her all the same. Her face had matured over the years, soft cheeks giving way to more defined cheekbones. Where before her hair had been loose and free, her wavy locks were pinned up, giving her an elegant look. And her clothing…
True to her wishes, she had clearly moved up in the world, swathed in silks and satin as she was.
Her green eyes widened as she caught sight of him. Despite her surprise, she recovered faster than he did, her ruby red lips curving into a provocative smile. "Linhardt. It's been a while."
Even now, her voice had a musical lilt. Tongue-tied, all Linhardt could reply with was, "Yes, it has."
-x-
The Crimson Flower was a small but fancy coffee shop. Despite his passing knowledge, he could tell with a single glance that the red velvet seats and the intricately carved wooden paneling were of the highest quality. The last time he had entered such a refined establishment, he had still numbered amongst Fódlan's nobility.
Now, as a mere researcher, it cost more than a year's salary for a single meal here.
A problem Dorothea didn't have, with the familiarity she perused the menu. A red fingernail traced the fine stock paper listing a variety of deserts. Her lips pursed as she tapped one before sighing and setting down the menu. At his curious glance, she smiled wryly and explained, "Tragically, now that I have a show in production, I have to maintain my figure."
Even in his relative hermitage, Linhardt had heard passing tales of her performances. "Your fans wouldn't mind."
"That's sweet." Dorothea bit her cheek before signalling a waiter and ordering the smallest slice of cheesecake. "I suppose it can't hurt to have just one. It is a special occasion."
Special. Throughout their school days or the war, they hadn't been the most intimate. Just two acquaintances who'd bump into each other every now and then in the quiet corners of their school. His most vivid memory was of her sitting beside him in an alcove, her crossed ankles grazing his, her chin propped on her hand as she idly looked out the window.
Of her green eyes filled with silent mirth whenever she noticed his stare, her lips mouthing, "Like what you see?"
And now here she was, sitting across from him, more than a table between them.
"You look good," Linhardt finally said after their coffees arrived. He hadn't been keen on the drink until Hubert had all but foisted it on him. Now he could hardly handle a day without one.
Dorothea chuckled. "You? Giving Pleasantries? Since when did you care for social norms?"
His fingers curled around his hot mug. "I've had to adapt. It's hard to get research grants otherwise."
"Hmm, so I've heard." Dorothea stirred her coffee twice. "I suppose time really does change everything. Even you." She tapped her spoon on the rim as she studied him. "I wish I could say the same, but you look terrible. Have you been sleeping?"
He resisted the urge to turn to the window. Without looking, he knew what he'd see: dark bags under his eyes, pale skin, messy strands of hair escaping his ribbon. It had been a while since he'd last groomed. Suddenly, he wished he had. "Exhausted," he explained. "The problem with research, I suppose."
Dorothea frowned. "Ah, yes. Research. My bane."
Linhardt paused. She'd never seemed to hate her studies in the past.
"What are you researching?" Dorothea asked before taking a sip of her coffee.
"Crests." Was there an easy way to tell her? He usually talked to fellow academics; it had been a while since he had to translate to the layman. "To be precise, the variations of Crest strengths, especially on those that have diverged from other Crests over the centuries." Cutting himself off before he could ramble, Linhardt looked away. "It's hard to explain simply."
Despite his fears, Dorothea didn't look confused in the least. Her fingers rapped the table as she considered his words. "Is it just about the skills connected to the Crests or also about power levels?"
"The former." Linhardt blinked, surprised. "I wouldn't have pegged this as an interest of yours."
"I know enough," Dorothea said with a delicate shrug. "A passing knowledge, though far more than I desire."
There was a story there that she wasn't telling. Linhardt sipped his sugary-sweet coffee. "You're in a lot of shows now."
"Dozens each year," Dorothea confirmed with a confident smirk. There was that fire in her eyes, the one he'd seen whenever she'd marched past any of her detractors, the one that he couldn't help but follow even if he was across the room. "I doubt you can pass a corner without a poster—though, then again," she tapped her eyes. "you're not going out, are you?"
He couldn't deny that. "Research takes up too much time."
"Research and napping, right?" Dorothea asked with a wink. She giggled when he reluctantly nodded. "Still lost in your own world. I'm glad that much hasn't changed."
The fondness in her voice almost took his breath away. It was strange. They hadn't met in years and yet, it was all too easy to talk to her, to slip into old patterns. He'd asked her to dinner once, but they'd never gone—he'd kept putting it off. The war, the rebuilding, the research; there was always something else to do.
Would it be too late to do so now?
"Dorothea—" Sunlight through the window hit her and something glinted around her neck. It was a golden chain looped through a small, simple golden band.
Noticing his stare, Dorothea glanced down and softly gasped. "Oops." Sheepishly, she pulled out the chain, her hand curling delicately around the ring at the end. Her expression softened. "My little secret. I can't let my adoring audience know about this just yet."
"You got married," Linhardt replied automatically, putting two and two together.
She gently dropped the ring under her dress's collar. "Yes."
This time, his breath did get knocked out of him.
"I didn't think I would, after…everything. Especially when Ingrid…" Dorothea's eyes darkened as her voice trembled. Even after all these years, their former friends' deaths still hit hard. "When they all died. It was hard to want that anymore. Though I…" She peeked up, her eyes meeting his, her gaze lingering as she continued, "I did have second thoughts. I waited…though I'm not sure for what."
He could hear the unsaid words, the pointed barbs that led back to that delayed dinner, to that chance that he'd never taken.
To that chance he could now never take.
She broke eye contact first. "Anyways, I thought I'd just throw myself into work. Become the second Manuela, so to speak. It was hard at first, but I started to get bigger and bigger roles in the local opera troupes." Dorothea sipped her coffee. "I didn't have too many fans at first, but…well, I had one consistent one. Hanneman made sure to come to every single opening. Sometimes with Manuela, sometimes alone…"
Her gaze grew tender. "He'd promised I'd always know kindness, and despite my doubts, he proved it."
Linhardt stared down at his coffee, at the murky darkness. He'd heard about her shows, from Hubert, from Bernetta, from Hanneman himself, the times they'd collaborated on Crestology. Once, just once, he'd bought a ticket, but he'd never been able to bring himself to go.
"One time, he'd missed the show. It felt so wrong—even after the curtains fell, I didn't feel right until he came running as everyone was leaving, flowers in his hand." Dorothea giggled, shaking her head. "The silly man apologized. He was so flustered—it was adorable."
Now she looked up, locking eyes with him once more. "I remembered what you said. I'm not the kind of girl to wait—I do what I want, with my head held up high. So I asked him out."
"Oh."
"And then I had to ask him out a few more times because he thought I was just teasing." Dorothea clicked her tongue. "As though I would take courtship lightly. He ruined all of my plans of nobility and marry rich." Her hand rested on her chest, tapping the hidden ring. "But I can't say I regret any of it."
He couldn't say the same. Linhardt curled his fingers. "Are you happy?"
"Very much so. It isn't the whirlwind romance I'd imagined as a girl, or the quiet practicality I'd accepted as a teen but…" Dorothea smiled softly. "Love is a more complicated thing than that. It's not the life I pictured but I wouldn't have it any other way."
She sets down her spoon. Just when had she finished her meal? His own coffee had grown cold.
"No, I suppose that is a lie." Dorothea reached forward, her warm hand covering his. Despite the passing years, remembrances of the war didn't fade easily and he could feel her scars and callouses. She squeezed his hand, lingering for a moment before pulling away. "I do have one regret."
Linhardt turned his hand and squeezed back before she could escape. "Me too."
She closed her eyes. Her smile turned bittersweet as she stood up, her hand slipping out of his grasp. "It was good seeing you, Linhardt."
He could only watch as she left, as her figure appeared outside the window and she stepped into a waiting carriage. The seat across from him was empty, only a lipstick stained cup and some cheesecake crumbs proving that Dorothea had been there, had been so close and yet so far at the same time.
The coffee was cold. Linhardt picked it up anyways, turning slightly to stare out the window. Across the street, a giant poster for Dorothea's latest opera was plastered on a wall, her enigmatic smile dominating the paper.
He took a sip but all the sugar in the world couldn't stop the bitterness filling him now.
Let's have a proper dinner, she'd asked him once. Not in the dining hall, but out. The two of us.
He should have taken her then.