07 Feb 2020
Dimitri doesn’t come back from Duscur. A double who has replaced him does instead. Nobody seems to notice this except Felix. Or perhaps it is that nobody else but Felix wishes to notice it. When he points to the double and whispers into his father’s ear, “But that’s not Dimitri” – all his father does is close his eyes and sigh.
Felix knows it isn’t Dimitri because Dimitri’s eyes are a brighter blue than that. And Dimitri’s hair is a more golden shade of blond. But of course the most damning fact is that looking at this double does not make Felix want to smile; if anything, looking at him does not make Felix feel anything at all.
The absence of emotion abruptly morphs into fear and foreboding. A terrible mistake has been made, Felix thinks to himself. Dimitri is still waiting in Duscur to be saved.
“It’s not him,” Felix says, more urgently this time. He tugs at his father’s sleeve which he knows his father dislikes – but it’s urgent.
His father replies, “Felix. Allow a miracle to be a miracle. Please.”
So Felix bites his tongue. But he does not change his mind.
His body is by ringtheory for machuba
24 Dec 2019
Not long after Felix leaves the monastery, a slender branch begins to grow from his chest, protruding modestly the skin so that is noticeable only upon careful observation. Though its roots must lie close to his heart, he doesn’t feel pain when he touches the branch and it grows back to the same shape when he trims it down, so he decides to leave it be.
The branch begins to grow in earnest after Dimitri’s execution is announced; it splits into tendrils and begins to wrap itself around Felix’s upper body like climbing ivy. Though Felix knows he should find the growth bizarre, he cannot bring himself to be concerned about the branch for long enough to properly worry about it is or isn’t. Instead he chases rumors of the crown prince’s violent defense of the Kingdom with calculated recklessness; the branch grows around his limbs in erratic spirals. Both the rumors and the branch move by patterns in which Felix can find neither meaning nor resolution.
12 Dec 2019
It is the Red Wolf Moon and winter’s first snow has fallen thickly over the Tailtean Plains. Dimitri has just escaped from his execution in Fhirdiad. He has lost the crown, his eye, and his pride; all he has to his name are the clothes he is wearing, the armor and lance that Dedue had managed to pass onto him, the paltry supplies he took off of the soldiers he had killed while making his getaway, his ghosts and his memories. He does not know where to go nor what he should do – he isn’t sure there is either a place or a purpose for him anymore.
As Dimitri stares over the white expanse in front of him, Felix’s voice surfaces in his mind. The last time that they had spoken was the day before the invasion of Garreg Mach; they had crossed paths by chance late into the evening and Felix steadfastly refused to meet Dimitri’s gaze.
“I don’t even want to see your face right now,” Felix had said, scowling deeply. Even so consumed by revenge, still Dimitri thought Felix looked lovely, touched and yet ever unchanged by evil. “Get lost.”
So that’s exactly what Dimitri does: he gets lost.