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nicolewrites · 4 years

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We Stand, Fate-Tested - IV

I'm still stupid stressed over school and procrastinating so I'm not sure when I'll get part 5 out, but here's part 4 for the meantime.

Rating: T+ Genre: Mystery, Friendship, Romance Characters: [Byleth/My Unit, Dimitri B.], [Byleth/My Unit, Claude R.] Words: 5,458

There's something odd about the 8th of the Ethereal Moon. / Marriage is work too.

AO3 | FFN

IV - Of Memories I’ve Lost

Garreg Mach University - 8 Ethereal Moon, 732 AU

Byleth was glad when Red Wolf Moon was over. She had been drowning in her own work as well as the marking for the class she was TAing. Because Seteth was teaching three different classes on top of his own research, he had delegated the marking of the term papers for the class to Byleth.

It really shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but Byleth had struggled to get them done on time thanks to her progressing research and managing the applications and interviews for the expedition. The start date for the project was rapidly approaching and, as of the previous week, they had finally managed to choose the undergrads would be a part of the team and had been rapidly working with them to try to get their skills up to snuff before they were handling real artifacts.

Even so, the marking was finally done and the essays sat in three towering stacks on her desk, just begging for a breeze to sweep by and knock them all over. Byleth was currently planning the first of several workshops that would teach practical skills to the undergrads. She kept glancing at the door of her office, waiting for the first students to come by to pick up their essays and she nearly spelt Lysithea’s name wrong on a sheet before she managed to shake away her distraction.

She looked down at the sheet in front of her and the list of eight names that she and Seteth had painstakingly chosen. There were the natural fits in Lysithea and Linhardt from Byleth’s tutorial as well as Ingrid, who had had an exceptionally well-written application. From Seteth’s tutorial there were also Annette Dominic and Ignatz Victor. The last three students were Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard. Byleth had a sneaking suspicion that their applications had been all written together and that they had all been Claude’s idea.

Nonetheless, they had their team of eight: Lysithea, Linhardt, Ingrid, Annette, Ignatz, Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard. Their applications had all been excellent and Byleth had been pleased with the level of enthusiasm exhibited by a group of undergraduate students, especially since technically none of them were actually Archaeology majors.

Someone knocked on the door and Byleth looked up, placing her pen down. Annette stood in the doorway, smiling shyly, as another girl stood just behind her. Byleth beckoned Annette in and the redhead came in, biting her lip and looking a bit skittish.

“Here for your essay?” Byleth asked.

Annette nodded. “I know your office hours haven’t technically started, but I wanted to beat the rush.”

Byleth waved her off. “No worries at all.” She flipped through the first few essays in her first stack until she found Annette’s essay and she pulled it out. She handed it over and Annette peeked at the grade before beaming and making her way out of the room.

After that, there was a steady stream of students that came by her office to pick up their term papers as well as to ask questions about the discussions planned for tutorial in the coming weeks. Byleth had handed back nearly all of the essays when her office hours officially ended and she started putting the rest of them away in the filing cabinet she kept for assignments and paperwork for the class.

“I hope we’re not too late, Teach,” a familiar voice called out just as she was closing the cabinet drawer.

Byleth looked over her shoulder and saw Claude standing in front of her desk, flanked by Lorenz and Hilda, the two friends who were in Byleth’s tutorial with him. She shook her head and pulled the drawer back open, fishing out the trio’s essays.

“I wanted to come right at the start at the hour, but these idiots said we should come at the end,” Lorenz said as Byleth retrieved the papers. It wasn’t surprising to her.

Hilda snorted a laugh. “We would have been late getting here if it wasn’t for me, so I’d watch your tone, Lorenz,” she snipped in reply.

Byleth handed Lorenz and Hilda their essays and was about to hand Claude’s back when he cleared his throat.

“I actually had a question about the essay, Teach,” he said before he’d even taken the paper out of her hand.

Byleth blinked in surprise and her grip lingered on Claude’s assignment for just long enough that it was awkward before he swept it out of her grip and sat in the chair on the other side of her desk.

“I’ll catch up with you guys back at the house,” Claude said to Hilda and Lorenz. His friends just shrugged and made their way out of the room, bickering about punctuality as they went.

Byleth watched them leave before she turned her gaze back to Claude and raised an eyebrow. “Did you really have a question about the essay?”

Claude grinned. “Just wanted to know what you thought of my topic.” He tapped the circled 88 on the front of the page and winked at her. “Apparently I picked a good one.”

Byleth shook her head. After three months she was getting to know Claude’s antics well enough. He was criminally light-hearted, but wicked smart. He liked to tease and poke fun, but he was serious about his work when it came down to it. Since the first time they’d spoken at Anna’s about Byleth’s research Claude had made it a habit to try and stop in on her office hours as often as possible so that they could talk about whatever research Byleth was currently doing.

It was a slightly weird relationship given that Byleth was the TA, but the semester was almost over and she somehow knew that just because she wasn’t seeing him in tutorial once a week, it didn’t mean he was going to stop coming around. And she didn’t really want him to stop. It was nice to talk about her passion to someone who was just as interested as she was.

“What do you want, Claude?” she prompted again.

He smirked. “Come on, Teach, tell me what’s new this week,” he urged.

Byleth rolled her eyes, but she turned her laptop towards him so that he could see what she was working on. “I’ve been doing stuff for Seteth all week so I haven’t really had any big breakthroughs since we last spoke.”

Claude scanned the screen of her computer curiously. “Do we have a start date yet?”

“Guardian Moon 17,” Byleth said. “You can pass that along to the others if you’d like. I’ll be sending out the email this weekend. We have our first training session next Wednesday night for everyone.”

“Wednesday?” Claude repeated, looking a bit perplexed.

“Problem?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe. I have archery on Wednesdays, and so does Ignatz, but if this is later in the evening we should be fine.”

Byleth leaned forward a bit and gave Claude her own sly grin. “Maybe I’ll just bring everyone to watch so we can put the pressure on you.”

He shrugged. “If you want to see me shoot flawlessly, be my guest.”

Byleth rolled her eyes and turned her computer back to face her. She tapped out a few more notes on the page before glancing back at Claude. “Did you actually need something?” she asked curiously.

“I came here to give you something,” he admitted.

Byleth was surprised, but Claude reached into his bag and pulled out a folded brochure. He unfolded it so she could see the front and passed it to her. It was in a mix of Almyran and Fódlani, but Byleth recognized the logo on the front of it.

She ran a fingernail over the looping script and glanced at Claude, furrowing her brow. “The Royal Almyran Gallery? This is in Almyra, you know,” Byleth murmured. “They’re not exactly jumping at the idea of a Fódlani researcher entering their royal galleries.”

“You’re hitting all the same deadends as everyone else who has ever studied the Guardian of Order,” Claude pointed out. “There’s no way that you’re going to make progress unless you try to tackle something that other people haven’t attempted to dig into.”

“Like the underside of Garreg Mach in the old monastery ruins, not in a foreign national gallery,” Byleth said. She placed the brochure down and shook her head. “I can’t exactly just get up and go to Almyra right now anyways.”

“What about over the winter break?” Claude asked. “The galleries aren’t busy during the holidays. Almyrans usually spend the holidays completely absorbed in family and celebration.”

Byleth spun the paper underneath her fingers. She had to admit, the idea was intriguing. Almyra had done a much better job of preserving artifacts from the Unification Era since they hadn’t suffered the Scorch of Garreg Mach or the riots in Fhirdiad that had followed it. Even so, the National Board of History in Fódlan had seen the Almyran collection and deemed it unimportant to Fódlan’s own history. She wasn’t sure exactly what the Royal Gallery could offer her, but she also didn’t know what it might have that could be useful for her work, even if it was all just speculation.

“You will consider it, won’t you?” Claude asked. “I’ll be in Almyra over the winter break if you did want to check it out.”

Byleth finally relented, picking up the brochure and sliding it into one of the drawers on her desk. “I’ll consider it,” she agreed.

Claude grinned. “Excellent. Now, tell me about that crazy dream you had last night.”

Byleth’s eyebrows shot up. She had said nothing of her weird dream to Claude. She had very briefly discussed it with Seteth in private a few hours ago, but she had said nothing to her student about it. She hadn’t the faintest idea about how he knew she had even had a weird dream.

“I had to see Dr. Cichol about a history assignment and I just happened to overhear part of your conversation,” Claude confessed when she had been stunned into silence. “I only know that there was a dream and that apparently it was weird.”

Byleth frowned. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. That was a private conversation, Claude.”

He shrugged, looking only mildly apologetic. “You don’t want to get my opinion on it at all?”

Byleth leaned away from him, pursing her lips. “And why would I want your opinion?”

Claude tilted his head and looked at her. “I don’t know. For the same reason you haven’t kicked my ass for asking you a million questions about your thesis and for being probably the worst student in your tutorial section?”

“The worst student?”

“Well, most people aren’t on a first-name basis outside of tutorial with a TA, are they?”

“That’s just because I can’t get rid of you,” she teased.

He smiled at her again and the glint in his green eyes made her chest hurt suddenly. The satisfied look on his face combined with the mischievous gleam was pulling at something in her memory and she couldn’t help but remember the weird dream from the previous night. She dropped her gaze to the desk and took a deep breath.

“You’re sure that we’d never met before this year, right? We’d never had a class together or chatted at a party?” Byleth asked. The teasing humour had disappeared from her voice and Claude seemed to pick up on it.

His brow furrowed and he dropped his amused pretenses. “No, I’m pretty sure I would have remembered that,” he said.

Byleth bit her lip and nodded. “Have you ever felt like everything you ever did was leading you in circles?”

Claude looked genuinely interested now, his playfulness suppressed by his curiosity. “At times, maybe,” he said. “Something about this is familiar to you?”

Byleth opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a notebook. She flipped through it to the page where she had made the sketch that morning, after her dream. She turned the page to face Claude and let him pick it up to study it closer.

“It’s a throne,” he noted. “It looks like it’s Old Civilization.”

“It’s pre-Unification,” Byleth agreed. “That symbol,” she pointed to the roughly sketched swirl on the back of it, “makes me think it would be religious. Seteth says he doesn’t recognize it and I haven’t found any record of it in the old monastery’s records.”

“Maybe it’s in the capital somewhere?” Claude asked. “Dimitri and Edelgard have spent a lot more time in Fhirdiad than I have, so I can’t be certain.”

“It’s not in Fhirdiad,” Byleth said. “I don’t know why I know that, but I know it’s not there. I dreamt of a large, empty stone chamber for three days in a row and then last night I dreamt of the same chamber, but this throne was there.” She paused, recalling the longing that had coursed through her when she had seen it for the first time in her dream. “I wanted to sit on it,” she murmured.

Claude looked puzzled and he slid the notebook back to her. “Honestly, while I’m not one to subscribe to all the spirit stuff, it seems to me like you have real memories of it that have been surfacing slowly.”

Byleth closed the book and slid it back into the drawer. She brushed her thumb over the handle on the drawer and frowned. “That’s honestly what I’ve been kind of afraid of,” she admitted.

- ~ -

It was late in the evening by the time Byleth had finally finished up everything she had wanted to do on campus. The sun had set almost two hours ago and the dim, artificial yellow lighting across campus provided only enough illumination to make every student or staff that passed by her a looming shadow.

She pulled her coat tighter around her stomach and burrowed her nose into the scarf she was wearing. Byleth had just left the part of campus where the Archaeology and History departments had their offices and she was headed through the main part of the campus when she spotted a lone figure standing on the quad in front of one of the dean’s offices.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she slowly approached the figure, squinting through the gloom to see if she recognized them. To her surprise, as the figure tilted their head up, illuminating their features, Byleth recognized Dimitri as he stared solemnly at the building. Almost immediately she stopped walking, pausing around 30 feet away from him. She wanted to approach him and check in on him, but at the same time, the moment felt strangely private and she wanted to respect that.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to make a decision, as Dimitri turned and spotted her himself. His shoulders straightened and he tucked his hands into his pockets. He strode towards her and Byleth noted the polite smile that he was wearing. It looked forced, but practiced at the same time and Byleth felt her heart clench. It was a smile achingly similar to the one she had worn after her father had died.

“Hello Byleth,” Dimitri greeted politely once he had gotten close enough.

“Hello Dimitri,” she replied cordially. “What are you doing here so late?”

He laughed lightly. “Well, we are getting into the end of term and I’ve got a few last assignments to turn in by the end of this week. I had been working in the library, but they’re closed now, so I’m headed home.”

He was lying. She wasn’t sure exactly how she knew, but maybe it was simply the fact that she knew Dimitri was a business student and the business library was at the south end of campus, not near the centre where they currently stood in the cold night air.

Byleth frowned. “Is everything alright, Dimitri?” she pressed carefully.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, smiling ruefully, but much more genuinely. “You are very perceptive,” he admitted. “Everything is alright though,” he assured. “I’ve just been feeling a bit off today. It’s like there’s something about this date, in particular, that is an itch I can’t scratch. I’d been trying to follow that feeling and I ended up here.”

Byleth glanced at the offices around the quad. This building was one of the oldest on campus and was part of the restored old monastery. Above each of the three main offices was a beautiful stone carving. From left to right they depicted a deer, a lion, and an eagle. They were the symbols of the three student-life houses that Claude had told her about, and if her research was true, they were also the symbols of the old Officer’s Academy that had been run out of the monastery.

“I get the feeling,” Byleth admitted. “It’s like there’s this string in your chest that’s yanking you along through memories that don’t feel like yours.”

“Yes,” Dimitri agreed. “I never spend much time on this part of campus, but this,” he gestured to the carving of the lion over their heads, “it feels so strangely familiar.”

“Maybe it’s the Blue Lions of old speaking through you,” Byleth suggested lightly and Dimitri laughed softly.

“I should like to think I would know if that were the case.”

He fell silent after a moment and Byleth studied him. He looked tired, but a lot less solemn than he had when she had first found him.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Byleth said before she could stop herself.

Dimitri’s shoulders tensed, but then they relaxed and he sighed. “Yes, it seems like everyone is.”

Byleth reached out to touch his arm and he looked towards her. There was a deep, resonating sadness to the blue of his eyes and before she could stop herself, her hand had found its way to land on his cheek. Dimitri, to his credit, didn’t react to the boldness of the gesture and Byleth gently retracted her touch.

“I lost my father too,” she admitted quietly. “The circumstances were different, but I’m still sorry you had to go through that.”

Dimitri nodded. “I’ve been well supported, thankfully. I’m sorry for your loss as well. Unlike what people say, it doesn’t really get any easier.”

Byleth smiled sadly. “No, it doesn’t.”

A sharp, cool wind blew around them and Byleth bristled in her coat, shivering. She nearly stepped closer to Dimitri on an instinctual level but managed to catch herself before she could. She stepped away instead, leaving a respectable distance between them. They were familiar enough, but the intimacy in the moment they had shared was almost alarming to her and she needed a clear head.

“Get home safe, Dimitri,” Byleth said gently. She tugged her coat more tightly around herself and gave him one last reassuring smile. “I’ll see you in tutorial.”

- ~ - ~ - ~ -

Garreg Mach Monastery - 12 Lone Moon, 1 AU

“The church is really coming along, Your Grace,” Claude complimented. There was a teasing lilt to his voice when he said her title and Byleth elbowed him.

“Just because you don’t believe in the goddess, doesn’t mean nobody else does,” she scolded lightly.

Claude shrugged. “You’re the one who invited the foreign national to visit,” he pointed out.

Byleth sighed. He was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. She walked away from him instead, heading toward the Reception Hall of the monastery, assuming he would follow. He did so, after a few paces, and they walked silently back through the bustling halls of the monastery. Monks and knights would pause in their step to nod or bow to Byleth and she offered them the best smiles she could before they were passing her by and moving on with their tasks.

“It feels different around here now, doesn’t it?” Byleth asked as she led Claude into the Reception Hall.

“Maybe that’s just because we’ve all changed so much. It has been six years since we started our year at the Officer’s Academy. Cyril tells me that you’re reopening the academy in the Great Tree Moon of next year,” Claude commented.

Byleth laughed. “To say we’ve changed is a bit of an understatement. Fódlan has changed a lot too.”

“Definitely,” Claude agreed. “I can’t take anything away from you or His Majesty on that front. You two have done a wonderful job.”

Byleth paused in her step and studied him. “You could have helped us,” she reminded.

Claude laughed. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to be here as foreign royalty. I would just be another Lord under His Majesty and the Almyrans would still be pounding at Fódlan’s Locket.”

Byleth sighed. “I suppose that’s true. What is it they have taken to calling you, the King of Dawn?”

He shrugged. “My father’s rule was stagnating. I suppose I have merely supplied a breath of fresh air for Almyrans. The new partnership with Fódlan has helped me curry more favour than I would like to admit.”

Before Byleth could reply, a familiar, booming voice pulled their attention across the Reception Hall: “Claude! Byleth!”

Byleth smiled at the familiar voice as she watched her husband approach them. He was smiling broadly as he took in Byleth and Claude. He paused to embrace Claude briefly before turning to Byleth and pressing a warm kiss against her cheek in greeting. Dimitri tried to pull away, but Byleth gripped his collar and planted a soft kiss on his lips before he could withdraw fully.

Claude laughed at her. “I see you two are the same as always.”

Dimitri slid one of his hands into hers as he smiled. “We try to be. How have you been Claude? We haven’t seen you in person since the Ethereal Moon.”

Byleth felt a pulse of unexpected bitterness rise in her chest and she bit down her retort. She didn’t want to snap at Dimitri when he was visiting the monastery, especially with how infrequent his visits had been recently. She didn’t want to complain, especially in front of Claude, about how she had spent almost as much time with Claude as she had with her husband since they’d been married.

Of course, it was a burden they had to bear. Byleth had a responsibility to the church at the monastery and Dimitri had a responsibility to the nation in Fhirdiad, so they spent much of their time separated by distance and work. It wasn’t exactly the married life she had imagined for them.

Claude and Dimitri had moved onto discussing some political motion that was in the works in Fhirdiad by the time Byleth managed to refocus on the conversation and she squeezed Dimitri’s hand. She stole a glance at him and noticed that he looked even more tired than he had when he had arrived three days prior.

“You must exclude me, Claude, my beloved, but I have something I have to do before dinner this evening. I will see you both then,” Dimitri said. He smiled at Claude and leaned down to give Byleth another brief kiss before he pulled his hand out of hers and was slipping away.

Byleth couldn’t manage to disguise her disappointment fast enough as she caught Claude giving her a curious look as Dimitri walked away. She quickly frowned and turned so Claude was only looking at her profile, hoping to dissuade whatever conversation he wanted to have about the interaction.

“This is different from the last time I was here,” Claude noted quietly. “His Kingliness is usually much better at picking up your signals. He was always better at it than anyone else, so it’s odd to see him so blind to it today.”

Byleth’s frown deepened. “We both have our own duties,” she said firmly. “There is no break for us in any of this.”

“No,” Claude agreed, “but surely a man can take a break to shower his wife with praises?”

Byleth sighed. “I don’t know why you think you’re qualified to speak on someone else’s relationship,” she pointed out sternly.

“Consider this the concern of a friend then,” he supplied. “Teach, I have never met a man more enamoured with a woman than Dimitri is with you. But, if that’s what all of your interactions have been like recently, something is wrong.”

Byleth sighed. “We got through the war,” she said simply. “We will get through this.”

She walked away from Claude then, not really caring if he followed her. It wasn’t that she was angry with him for his words, more frustrated that her own emotions regarding hers and Dimitri’s relationship had been so easy for him to discern. She was also frustrated that he had been right in the first place in noting the disconnect between the spouses. Besides their short, snipped conversations in the evenings and mornings, Byleth honestly couldn’t remember the last time she and Dimitri had had a real, personal conversation and it did make her nervous.

Without intending to, Byleth headed for the training grounds. It was an old habit she had of working out stress through fighting, something that had developed during her years growing up as a mercenary. The grounds were thankfully empty and Claude seemed to have picked up on her annoyance and had wisely chosen not to follow her.

Byleth set up a line of training dummies and then a line of magic targets on the far side of the hall. She forewent the training weapons, opting to work on her brawling skills. She picked the softest of the dummies and started with a few slow jabs before she worked into a faster, harder-hitting set that made her hands throb minorly. The pain was therapeutic, though. It reminded her that she was feeling and that helped, especially on days like this.

Once she had worn out her brawling drill, she chose to start in on her magic skills. Byleth called a crackling Thunder spell between her fingers and she turned to fire it at the targets she had set up, only to have to jerk her hand sharply left and blast lightning into the corner of the room, where it crackled and smoked with a bang.

Felix, who stood directly in front of her targets, seemed unphased as he strode towards her. Byleth folded her arms and frowned at him.

“I could have killed you,” she pointed out.

“I’ve taken a Thunder from you before,” he noted. “I’ve taken your spells at full-strength before, not when they were powered by your frustrations.”

Byleth blinked at him. “My frustrations?” she echoed.

“Don’t cast when you’re overly emotional,” he said. “You were the one who taught me that after I nearly burned Sylvain’s arm off. There’s nothing more dangerous to a magic-user than losing control.”

She had indeed taught both the Gautier and Fraldarius heirs the importance of control when they had been learning magic under her tutelage during their academy days and during the war. Byleth uncrossed her arms and brushed some of her hair out of her face.

“What are you doing here, Felix? I didn’t know you would be coming here with Dimitri.”

“Technically I’m not here with him,” Felix admitted. “We’re actually here to see Mercedes.”

“We?” Byleth questioned.

Felix’s lips pressed together and Byleth answered her own question as the pieces clicked in her mind. She smiled.

“Congratulations, Felix,” she commended.

He nodded. “Thank you. Annette will find you to tell you officially before we leave.”

“Are you just here to avoid all the celebratory talks then?” Byleth questioned, gesturing to the training hall.

“I was looking for you, actually,” Felix corrected.

Byleth frowned again, her optimism draining away. “Why?”

“Because I heard you and Dimitri got into it yesterday,” he admitted.

It was true. At the meeting with Claude to discuss foreign treaties the day before, Dimitri had pressed Byleth and the church for resources they couldn’t supply and she had, in return, pressed him for legislation that wasn’t supported by a majority of his advisors. It had definitely been one of their uglier discussions, especially since their wedding and doubly so since they had a spectator in Claude.

“We handled it,” Byleth said curtly, which was also true, but only thanks to Claude stepping in as a mediator.

“You did,” Felix pointed out. “Dimitri has been beating himself up about it all day. That’s why he’s been avoiding you.”

“Avoiding me?” she said.

“You haven’t noticed? How whenever you two run into each other, he miraculously has some meeting or something to get to shortly after you see each other? How he seemed to have more to say to your mutual friend than he did to his wife earlier in the Reception Hall?”

Byleth pressed her lips together. “I didn’t notice,” she admitted softly.

Felix exhaled. “I know. That’s why I’m here. Because, as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, Dimitri will never be the same as he was before the war. He’ll never be that perfect, princely figure again and he’ll certainly never be able to see himself in the same way again. Professor, he loves you very much so he’ll do his best to make sure you never notice, but he’s still struggling.”

Byleth twisted her hands together, rubbing her wedding ring almost nervously. “How could I miss that? Shouldn’t I notice things like that?”

Felix reached out and, in a rare move for him, placed his hands on her shoulders. “Professor, he is taking all the precautions to ensure you don’t see what he’s going through. He’s gotten better at hiding things from you since you’ve been here and he’s been in the capital. That’s why we’re here, right now,” he confessed.

Something clicked in her head. “Dedue wrote to Claude to invite him, didn’t he? And you and Ingrid and Sylvain and the others made sure that Dimitri would be here where we wouldn’t be able to hide from each other.”

Felix didn’t answer her question directly, but the answer glimmered in his amber eyes. “You take care of each other. You bring out the best in each other.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back. “Don’t lose that, Professor. There’s a lot riding on that trust and love going forward.”

Felix took another step back and then he was fully retreating, heading out of the training hall. The door closed behind him and Byleth was alone. She felt anchored to the spot and afraid. She was scared of being blind enough to miss the self-hatred that roiled in Dimitri. She had always been able to see it before and if she was losing that gift, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

She loved him, that much was certain, and obviously their friends cared about them both a great deal too.

Byleth immediately left the training hall and jogged through the hallways of the monastery. She hadn’t done much running in the halls since her ascension and there was something oddly freeing in the action. She felt a smile creeping up on her face as she dodged around people and made for the Cardinal’s Room on the second floor where Dimitri was supposed to be in a meeting.

She opened the door and immediately saw her husband speaking with a few Alliance nobles. The conversations halted when she appeared in the doorway and Dimitri rose from his seat, surprise etching across his face.

“Your Majesty,” Byleth said politely, “I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.”

Dimitri nodded politely to the nobles he had been conversing with and followed her out of the room into the hall. Byleth led him ten paces away from the door before she pivoted sharply to face him. She reached up and grasped his face, pulling him down for an urgent kiss. He reciprocated after a brief moment of surprise and Byleth pulled away, staring Dimitri in his good eye.

“I love you,” she said firmly. “I will never be angry with you for fighting for your country. I am proud of you and there is no one I would rather do any of this with,” she said, letting her emotions flow through her words.

Dimitri stared at her face for a long moment before he kissed her again, more firmly than she had kissed him, and he let the kiss linger for a second longer. He inhaled shakily and pressed their foreheads together. Byleth rocked onto her tiptoes to relieve the strain on his neck due to their height difference and Dimitri smiled gently.

“Okay,” he breathed out.

“I love you,” she said again.

“I love you too,” he replied.

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poeticsandaliens · 6 years

Text

In Dreams

Rating: Mature

Genre: Set post MS IV, but really an introspective fic.

Summary: The life of Dana Scully as described by her dreams. Some are smutty, some of horrifying, some are beautifully mundane. Many of them are of Mulder. This is another of my Barns-Courtney-album based fics (really, that album is inspiring), set to Golden Dandelions.

Consider this another one of my late night ramblings, as I procrastinate multiple papers. Apologies to Jess Mabe who I do not know for referencing her fic but I couldn’t help it. It was too good a chance to pass up.

Tagging @today-in-fic.

As a child, Scully dreams novels—legendary things, epics worthy of the ancient Greeks, brimming with pixie dust. She dreams a cherry tree with a different woman’s face on each blossom, a plethora of talking dragons, web-footed fey creatures that catch flies on their tongues. She dreams the looming sorcerer of her nightmares, with three fingers on each hand and a scarlet cape. The names of knights spill over her tiny lips, and when she wakes up, she’s sorry if she can’t recall them.

She hardly remembers the dreams of her adolescence. Maybe she’s too tired; maybe she can’t distinguish them from reality. Her teenage years are a blur of spiked jackets and Marlboros, making out with Larry Monsoon on the roof of her parents’ house and Missy taking credit for the condoms Ahab finds in the car. There are at least a hundred dreams of tests, more anxiety-inducing than the exams themselves. Sex dreams a plenty, probably more pleasurable than the sex she’s having at the time. Every once in awhile, a puff of mysticism, to counteract the strict diet of rebellion and heart-guarding rationality she keeps to in her waking hours.

More memorable and certainly more nagging are her dreams of Mulder. The wet dreams, the wild fantasies from their earlier days of working together. Restraining herself at work, she goes home to a ten-dollar vibrator and errant thoughts of her partner. When she dreams, it is sensual and extravagant; it is of parts of him. Taut pectorals, ripe lower lip, hazel eyes that never stop seeking. Hands before hips. Hips before hands. Once, after she watches Mission: Impossible, she dreams that he walks into their office in that red speedo, abdominals glistening, leans in to kiss her—and then whips off his Mulder-mask to reveal Assistant Director Skinner. After the Eddie van Blundht incident, she shoves that dream to the back of her mind.

However wild her sub-conscious fantasies become, they never measure up to the real thing. It’s worth noting that after they finally cave, when she smashes her mouth to his in the front seat of a shitty rental car, when they fuck in some dingy middle-of-nowhere motel, she dreams of him markedly less often. No. That’s not true. She still dreams of him, but her dreams settle comfortably in the mundane. She dreams of him popping a giant gum bubble and its pink splatter getting on her paperwork. She dreams Skinner calls them onto a case in the middle of a tropical vacation, and the hassle of catching a flight home wakes her. She dreams of facing him at the altar, wearing emerald green, and then running away before she can give her vows. She dreams that he forgives her, and they drive off into a desert sunset and live happily ever after in unwed sin. Sometimes, in the ever-changing narrative of her dream-life, Mulder dies of cancer, but sometimes it’s Scully in the coffin, watching him grieve for her and seeking the words to describe him like an omniscient narrator. She hates being the mournful storyteller more than anything.

When she’s pregnant with William, sleep is a reprieve. Going through the motions at work, she yearns to cast herself onto Mulder’s vacant couch, palm pressed against her growing son, and retreat into the world her brain creates for her. Scully has always been confident in her mind’s ability to provide what she needs to survive, so she pretends her dreams aren’t making things worse. Her dream world, once a land of magic and heroes, restricts itself to a green, loose-shingled house on the edge of an empty planet. There, the leaves are always blotted auburn and muted yellow; the wheatgrass is always dry and rustling in an autumn breeze. The dragonflies are always overgrown, swarming in clouds of violent blue and indigo, the sheen on their backs so bright she almost has to avert her eyes. A worn swing-set rocks gently in the front yard. A gangly, red-haired boy in a plaid shirt chases beetles the size of rats. Mulder is there, some nights a wise face etched into the only oak tree, dispensing loving words to his family, some nights tossing a baseball to his son, on the best nights turning dust into fireflies with a touch of his palms. Scully watches them from the rickety porch—always the porch—and marvels at the setting sun. The sun is always setting. The sun never sets.

On the run, she dreams of the fountain of youth spilling liquid gold, and Spender emerging from it with a lit cigarette between his fingers. She dreams of monsters, always monsters, babies with the black eyes of aliens and her own dry skin shedding into copper scales. She is surprised these dreams never caught her earlier, while she was neck deep in the X Files and her rational reality chipped away. Mulder’s arms sooth the assault of distorted creatures, but she still dreams of horns sprouting from William’s soft baby-skull and a dragon’s muzzle from his snout. She still sometimes imagines Mulder’s arm around her shoulders wrinkled and rotted and turned to dust in a matter of minutes, then turns in the mirror to find her own body reduced to a bonesack with a head of red hair and a cross dangling into her ribcage.

When she leaves him, it’s all sex dreams again. The wacky ones from her youth, intermixed with something more tender and mature. There’s more stroking in these fantasies, greater exploration and less hammering into the headboard. Somewhere, filed in the recesses of her brain, is a pegging dream that still makes her blush, but it’s the one where he fucks her in an empty airport Chili’s until she cries out his name that jolts her awake with an orgasm she isn’t prepared for. That’s the one that leaves her wet and aching for him, after all their time apart. She’ll never admit it, but that’s the one that makes her cry.

She stops dreaming when she sees him again. Except for one night, when a picture of their home in the dead of winter appears clearer than if she were actually seeing it. Inside, she is reading the newspaper; he is smoking a curved pipe. A deerstalker hat sits on their kitchen table. She turns to him and asks, with all sincerity, “do you mind if I practice my violin?” It doesn’t matter that she’s never played the violin in her life. It is an urgent matter. Outside, she hears the scuff of a horse and carriage in the snow. She tells him later, and he tries to convince her that no, he’s the Sherlock Holmes in their partnership more than she is, since she’s a medical doctor and keeps his feet grounded in reality. Scully calls bullshit. She is always Holmes, and Mulder will never be one hundred percent grounded in reality. It’s one of the reasons she fell in love with him.

She has a hazy summer, rosy and heavily pregnant with their daughter. The August heat is unbearable; her tank tops are too small, so she fans herself all day and in the evening lets their baby feel Virginia sunlight. Her shoulders are tan. Her belly is smooth as a skipping stone. She lies on their sky-blue adirondack chair for hours on end in a sort-of half-conscious state, listening to the hum of dragonflies. If her eyes close for a few seconds, she dreams of rivers and wildflowers. The murky Potomac, a slender brook, a roaring mountain cascade with her mother’s face etched into the current. Where she sits, facing the setting sun, fey creatures rustle in the untamed grass—little girls with freckles, Mulder’s eyes, and butterfly-wings, wearing skirts sewn of autumn leaves and carrying thumbtack swords in their hands. She dreams of weatherbeaten horses the color of ripe buckeyes galloping towards her. Fox Mulder rides to her in a suit of armor, shaggy and noble, his stubble greying but beautiful as it ever was. He takes off his gloves and presses his cheek against her rounded abdomen. He tucks a dying dandelion behind her ear. On the other horse is her son, a ranger-boy—a wiry, green-caped adolescent Jackson who hasn’t yet solidified his place in the world. Elfish ears stick up through his hair. She notices—from both their backs sprout the wings of crows, for they have died and lived to tell the tale. She embraces them.

#the x-files #txf fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr fafic #babyfic #I guess #stupid midlife miracle baby #jackson van de kamp #todayinfic #i dont know if yall remember me saying i was a poetic bitch #but give me caffeine and a research paper on a deadline #and i will procrastinate and write purple prose out the wazoo

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