Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Goddess damn it, why does it always have to be me?"

Four years. It had been four miserable years — nearly five, at this point! — and yet, now was the time when the past finally caught up to haunt him. ...Not that it hadn't been doing that, but he had been trying his damnedest to ignore it by staring at the world around him through the bottom of a flask of whiskey. Wasn't so easy when that haunting became literal, though. And he would have liked to see anybody try to ignore what had happened to him two nights ago. Anybody would have been drinking themselves to sleep after that. Until they were doing what he was doing now, and following the blasted directions that had been laid out for him (again). He better get some peace after that.

He stared down at the box on his desk and the contents inside. They looked so... sad. Lonely, even, though he had no reason to assign feelings like that to an inanimate object (even if it was staring back up at him with its big button eye). Blast it all, but why was this happening now? That was the part he didn't get. Four years. Four years, and now, now was when he appeared, when Dimitri wasn't even in the damn castle?!

Prince Regent Rufus needed a drink. He needed a lot of drinks, actually. But first, he better get this damn thing done. Lest he incur the wrath of the departed or something like that. ...He shouldn't jinx himself when he knew just how real that was. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and began to put a lid on the box.

...But it really did look so lonely in there, didn't it? Damn him. What was he supposed to do? Send a note? What, for context?! He couldn't explain this. And he didn't even know what he'd say to his nephew, anyway.

But how much would it (hah) haunt him if he didn't say anything?

Cursing, he grabbed a piece of paper and just decided not to think too much about it. He scribbled a few words. Signed his name. And shoved the paper inside the box with the stuffed lion.

"...Hope this makes you happy, Brother," he said to the air around him. His throat tightened up a little. Nothing much else he'd done since his brother's death would have made him happy.

He sealed the box and handed it off to his manservant with the order to have it sent to Garreg Mach. There. He had done the thing. Hopefully that concluded his business with his dead brother. Because Rufus didn't really know how he'd react if his brother's ghost showed itself to him again.

He hoped his servant read his mind and came back with a fresh flask. Lambert. Goddess damn it. Lambert.

Claude Kiros dozed lightly. Kiros, Kiros. He had to get used to that new name. His younger self was the sole owner of ‘Claude’ now (or perhaps the ‘soul’ owner…)

Peeking open his eyes, he found Little Claude was still sleeping deeply. Oh, his poor brother. It was worth it all to give his younger self his body back, but he hated to see the consequences. ‘Touch touch touch hold touch…’ Hopefully his brother wouldn’t feel lonely in his dreams.

Curling around Little Claude was just one more reminder of his brother’s poor condition. He thumbed against Little Claude’s twig-like arms, biting back a low noise at how thin and starved he caused his younger self to become. Starved, hah. If anyone should look starved between the two of them, it was him! He was the one who looked like skin and bone when he cast his spell to send himself back in time. In all of life’s unfairness, now he was the one with a healthy body and his younger self was the one to suffer.

But he was here. He went back in time. He wouldn’t let his Golden Deer die this time. Wouldn’t let Hilda die. Wouldn’t let his younger self lose that passionate spark of life. He wouldn’t let Little Claude end up like him.

The door creaked as Flayn popped her head into the room. Perking up, he eyed the material of blankets and pillows collected in her arms. He couldn’t blame his urge to nest on his new instincts; not entirely, at least. For all the years he spent studying time magic under the ruins of Garreg Mach, his scraggly nest was his one place of comfort. He was pretty sure he had always enjoyed a good floor-nest, though it was hard to remember all the little details from a decade ago.

Little Claude liked blanket-nests. Whether or not that was a side effect of the ritual that gave Kiros his body (which imparted a few instincts and physical quirks), or a side effect of being a disembodied spirit trapped inside his body for so long… He was going to assume it wasn’t a new trait. Curling up in a heap of blankets with a good book seemed like something he would do.

Part of him itched to get up and help — his new instincts carried some very strong nesting demands — but the urge to cuddle up to Little Claude was stronger. It was strange to remember that Flayn was technically his sister now. That Seteth was technically his father. That his entire body had been remade…

He was a dragon. A Nabataean, the first one ‘born’ in over a thousand years. Within his chest, the once-empty heart of Begalta belonged to him, now. The ‘Riegan’ Crest Stone was his heart. Touching his chest, it was still a bit eerie to lack a heart beat. He would get used to it, though.

“Nest?” Flayn chirped, nodding to where he and Little Claude were curled together on the floor. Their current heap of blankets wasn’t very good.

He nodded, fighting back his itch to do the nesting himself. Instead he watched everything she was doing with a sharp, attentive gaze. When she arranged something how he liked, he purred loud to let her know. When something wasn't quite right, he stayed quiet. And then she kept messing with it until he did start purring, so everything ended up perfect in the end.

Perfect nest.

Flayn never thought she would have the chance to nest for a baby brother. Even before the genocide of her people and the death of her mother, she didn't think she would have a little sibling for a very long time. That she had one now... She was just so happy. 

Nestnestnest. She had to make the nest perfect! She loved Kiros so much. Baby brother! Her instincts were not as strong as her father's, but now that Kiros was a full blooded Nabataean, there was no resisting. As the big sister, she had to make sure her baby brother was comfortable and safe and loved! They were both single-clutches, they didn't have any other siblings to help them! At least, that was what her instincts screamed. Kiros did have a brother. Kiros and Claude, being the same soul divided only by a few years, were closer than any identical twin. She also had a hunch that their souls may have intermingled somewhat in the past months. It would explain Little Claude’s dependency to remain with Kiros.

Regardless: her instincts were, unfortunately, more or less blind to Claude's presence. Which meant she had to be the best big sister she could be for her baby brother! For now, that meant nest nest nest.  

Once she had the nest completed and to Kiros' satisfaction, she flopped in the spot she made for herself, curling mostly around Kiros' back and head. It was the perfect spot for her to groom his hair. It was rare for her to use her tongue and teeth to groom. Spending most of her life in human-form, she didn't have the best instinct for it. Kiros brought it out of her.

She licked and nibbled at Kiros’ green hair. It was just as unruly and wavy as Claude’s hair, but tempered by the length. It smelled like Claude, but also a little bit like Father (and herself). She accidentally nibbled Little Claude’s hair a few times. Thankfully, he did not stir.

“Little Claude was chewing on my hair when he woke up earlier,” came her baby brother’s amused voice. (He sounded exactly like Claude, who was not a ‘baby’ by any means. Her brain was still convinced that Kiros was a baby). “But I think he was just chewing on my hair because that’s where his mouth was when he woke up.”

She giggled at that. Despite his human origins, Kiros was not phased by her methods of grooming. In fact, it had him rumbling happy purrs.

“Thank you for the blankets,” he purred. “The nest is perfect.” Yes! She did good. Her eyes drifted over to Little Claude. Perhaps she would groom his hair when she was finished with Kiros. The brother of her brother was still her brother, after all. Though her instincts did not register him as such, she would grow used to seeing him in that light.

Purr, purr. It was a bit silly. Despite being so much older than Kiros, her purrs were so quiet. Both Claude and Kiros could purr much louder than her. The two had yet to be encouraged to suppress those sweet sounds. After all, their cover as humans relied on their ability to look and sound the part. Hopefully they could retain their innocence for a time yet. 

She paused her grooming, sniffing her brother’s scent. Hm. Baby brother needs something? “What else can I get for you, Brother?” He was yearning for something. She wiggled, eager to fetch it for him. Whatever he wanted! Food? Water? More blankets? Father? Pets? Maybe... maybe he was cold? She couldn't decipher what he wanted from his scent alone.

Kiros winced. He had just been thinking to himself about how much more perfect the nest would be if Hilda was here. Hilda needed space, though. She left in tears earlier. His fault. Seeing Little Claude so emaciated triggered all the whispers of memories from his timeline. His Hilda spent so much of the war struggling to keep him fed and rested while he burnt himself from both ends of the candlestick. In the dream they shared, she had seen his wretched form: prematurely aged, thin and ragged, starving and desperate.

Rubbing his hand down his face, he still wasn’t used to it all. He’d thought when Rhea used his bones to make him a new body, he would look his proper age. Ten years of stress had been erased from him. His face looked like his eighteen-year-old self. His hair was green now, and he had the length of hair and scrappy ‘beard’ that had grown in after years of neglect. But his face… it was all but a copy of his innocent younger self. 

Of course, there were other differences too. He only had one hand. Given his other arm had been lost in Derdriu, and thus never came to the past with him, Rhea didn’t have the bones to rebuild that. Just one more thing to distress Hilda.

He longed for Hilda. Between his missing arm and the destroyed state of his younger self, though, having her here was not an option. Hilda needed time to ‘cry out her feelings’. Maybe later… No. He couldn’t get his hopes up.

“Brother?” Flayn prompted, cocking her head. “If I am unable to obtain what you desire, Father will help too!”

“I’m fine,” he tried to bluff. Her eyes only narrowed. She must be able to smell that he wanted something. That he wanted some one. But he couldn’t have Hilda right now! “It’s nothing, I promise.”

“I do not believe it is simply ‘nothing’,” Flayn pressed.

“Okay, fine.” Better to say something before this got out of hand. “I miss Sarbi. That’s all.” And he did miss Sarbi. And Jamshid, but she was back in Almyra. “I know I can’t see Sarbi now, though. Can’t fit a wyvern in Seteth’s room.” He nodded towards the door, which was distinctly human-sized and not wyvern-sized. “Maybe later. He only fits on Rhea’s balcony, and I don’t plan to move from this spot until Little Claude wakes up.”

There. That should work. He really did miss Sarbi… So did Little Claude. Sarbi was their brother too, after all, wyvern or not. They grew up together. But Sarbi would have to wait.

"Oh. I see..." Hm. Surely there was some way she could smuggle Sarbi into the room... Or perhaps not. She nuzzled his cheek. "We will have to relocate you both to a sunshine nest upon the balcony. Not now, as you said. But soon. It will be good for Little Claude as well. Both the sunshine and the Sarbi, I am sure!" When Father returned, surely he would help them relocate.

Now what was she supposed to do, though? Kiros' request was understandably difficult. He wanted Sarbi, but preferred to remain here. She understood that. Her instincts did not. How to placate the instincts...? If not for Lil Claude, she would have played with Kiros. That was not much of an option. What to do...?  

She got up briefly, stalking around the room. What to bring baby brother...? There had to be something... Oh! She perked up, hopping over to her own bed. Wiggling underneath, she found her treasure. It was kept safe from dust in a secure box. Upon opening the box, she was delighted to see it in perfect condition. 

"Perhaps this will help! You may borrow him. Please be gentle, he is very special." She tucked the fish plushie between Kiros and Lil Claude. "My mother sewed him for me. He is no substitute for Sarbi, but I hope he will comfort you all the same." She plopped back into her spot and began kneading his back. She knew the specialness wasn't the same as it was for her. But, even after all these many, many years, her fish retained her mother's scent. A mother carried the strongest scent, after all. It was not Kiros' mother, but perhaps the motherly smell would put him at ease. Or perhaps simply holding her fish would make him happy. She hoped so.

Even before Flayn told him who made this plush, he could already tell that it was special. Watching her dig it out from under the bed and remove it from its safe little hiding place was enough to convey that. And when she brought it over to him, he could smell the scent of someone else. Someone he didn't know. A very, very old scent. 

"My mother sewed him for me," she said, and Kiros immediately understood just how important this plush was. 

"Are you sure?" He didn't need the plushie right now. He didn't have any arm free to hold it, since he was holding Little Claude! But Flayn was insistent, and gently placed the plushie between them, adding it to their cuddle pile. 

Claude rumbled at it in his sleep. Kiros felt the strange, strong urge to bite it. He pushed that instinct back, though, reminding himself that he was supposed to be gentle. This was not his plush! No claiming bites, even if it smelled wonderful and was so soft! 

"Thank you.” He gave it a little nuzzle instead. "...Your mother was human, right? What was her name?"

Good brother. Flayn’s scent was much milder than her father's, but it whispered praise for Kiros all the same. 

"I do not recall Mother’s name." She mimicked his sweet, gentle nuzzle, burying her face against his neck. Good good good brother. Thinking of her mother… it was sad. But it would be more sad to never speak of her out of grief. 

"She was very kind. She enjoyed fishing. We lived near the sea when I was little. Every day, she would fish for us, cooking the bounty she caught. She was very talented." She missed her mother terribly. But the ache was not so prominent here. Not beside her baby brother, whom she loved. “She would have loved you very much.”

Kiros purred and nuzzled Flayn right back, feeling a little bit sad. He couldn't imagine forgetting his own mother's name... 

...Would that happen to him, someday? He hadn't thought too much about it, but he wasn't human anymore. And yet, as of right now, he didn't feel all that different. He'd already been unmoored from reality for quite some time. How would his mind cope with his new lifespan? Would he really forget his parents' names? What they looked like? Everyone he knew and loved...? 

He was starting to make himself more sad, now. What was going to happen to him one day when Little Claude died? He held his twin tighter at the thought. "...Rooo..." he crooned. They hadn't warned him about this when they told him they were making him a new body!

Flayn flinched. Great, he was upsetting her now too. “It is okay! I am sorry, I should not have brought her up…” She nuzzled him hard. He bit back a noise as he clutched his younger self. But then Little Claude whined in his sleep. Too tight of a hug. But he couldn’t let go, not of his brother! “Shh, shh…” Flayn whispered, petting at his hand. “Not so tight, Brother.”

"It's, it's fine," he whispered back to Flayn, trying to relax his grip. Little Claude needed his rest. "Got lost in my own thoughts for a second. That, um. Happens a lot.” He bit back a croon. "Don't worry about it. I'm okay.” Just sad at the thought that, one day, he would lose everything he held dear once again.

“Are you missing Sarbi still?” She nuzzled his face. “When Father returns, he can fetch Sarbi. We can retreat to the star terrace and build a nest there. Little Claude likes the sunshine, yes? I am sure he will be equally delighted to see Sarbi.”

Kiros smiled a little at that. "I'm sure Little—that is, I'm sure Claude will definitely enjoy that.” He needed to get used to calling his younger self just plain ol' 'Claude'. Even if the present company knew better. It was... a process. All of this was going to be a process. 

He took a deep breath. "I doubt it'll take long for your father to get back. He never leaves for long, does he?" Strange to think that Seteth was his father too… But not that strange, either. Another process. "Think he'll come back with food?" He hadn't actually eaten anything since getting his new body. He had been too focused on looking after Claude.

"He will! I believe he only stepped away for a moment. He should return any time now—" 

Speaking of her father: he returned! She perked up, her scent begging him to come closer and fix her brother's sadness. 

Father smiled down at her, the smile growing softer when he spotted her fish friend between the Claudes. "Hello, Kiros. Sleep well?" She pouted up at him. He could smell Kiros' sadness! Why wasn't he fixing it yet? 

"Kiros misses Sarbi." There. Father would know how to fix it now!

"Hello," Kiros greeted his father. He could have said 'hello, Father.' But being honest, that still felt a little weird. It was a lot to get used to, this. He figured a lot would change by him coming back in time, but not this much. At least his head wasn't spinning like it had been the day he arrived in the past. The more he thought about all of this, the more it seemed... hard to handle. He wasn’t even human anymore.

He could handle it, though. For sure! Because actually, what was wrong with any of this? Nothing in the present moment. He was surrounded by love. It was just dread of the future getting to him. Really, that was nothing new. 

"What's the weather like outside?" he asked Seteth. "If we can move out to the balcony, Sarbi can come visit. And I know Claude will like the sunshine." He would, too, of course. But that was a given.

“Mostly sunny. Just a few clouds among the sky.” Seteth knelt down to pet him. Closing his eyes, he let the man’s love and scent sweep away the worst of his stress. “How about I carry young Claude, while you and Flayn carry nesting materials from Rhea's room?"

"Okay,” Kiros reluctantly agreed, “but try not to wake him.” Letting go of his brother…

He thought it would be more difficult to release his twin than it ended up being. His father was a trusted person, though, and so he relinquished his hold over his precious brother. He could have carried Claude himself if Claude had been awake enough to cling to him in return. But with only one arm, there was the risk of dropping him. So instead he just grabbed the fish plushie and his favorite blanket as he stood. 

“Flayn, will you open the inner pathway?” Seteth said as he settled Little Claude in his arms. Inner pathway?

His eyes went wide as Flayn moved aside a painting to reveal a switch. Once pressed, the wall moved. Garreg Mach still hid so many secrets… “Secret entrance?”

Instead of verbally replying, Seteth kicked up a gentle rumble in his chest for Claude. The boy settled easily enough in his arms, even slightly nuzzling against him. The twins were a package deal. He loved Kiros. That meant he needed to love Claude just as fiercely. It wasn't a love he could simply will into existence, but someday... 

He smiled as Kiros' eyes went round at the hidden pathway. Adorable. “Yes. Secret entrance. We needn’t let anyone see your younger self in this state, or see you until you are ready.” Leading the way, he carefully made sure Claude was secure before he went. Behind him, Flayn conjured a simple light for Kiros. They did not require light to navigate the secret halls. But Kiros had experienced enough darkness in his life.

"How many hidden passageways does this place have?" Kiros asked as they went through the hidden corridor. "I looked all over the place for these as a student. I know I definitely didn't find them all, even if I did find a few, heh.” The boy smiled a little at the confession. He smiled back. That curiosity was once the bane of his administrative existence. Now it was simply adorable.

He did not know how many passageways existed. Garreg Mach was old, and was also built atop a structure created by Mother herself. He simply shrugged. 

They exited into Rhea’s chambers. Rhea wasn't in her room, unsurprisingly. Flayn guided Kiros to where the extra blankets were located (freshly stocked up). Then they headed out to the star terrace. It didn't take long for the pair to craft a nest base together. 

He settled sleeping-Claude within. "I will return shortly with Sarbi." After one more check on his children (three children, not just two), he made his way to the wyvern eyrie.

"Arrwwoo..."  

"Yes, yes, I am bringing you to see Claude." 

Sarbi perked up. See Claude!! That was Khalid! He went from a sad puddle to an eager wiggler within seconds. Khalid!!

It had been days since he last saw his brother. This wasn't the first time days passed without seeing Khalid, but usually his brother warned him ahead of time. The times his brother didn’t warn him usually meant something bad happened. 

He allowed Seteth to saddle him. As soon as the man was on his back, he was zooming into the air. Khalid! The green-man barely had to direct him. Khalid was in the same spot as last time. Nice big balcony! He thumped down with an eager bugle, rushing his brother. 

Green?

Skidding to a halt, he sniffed Khalid. Khalid was green now. And smelled like Seteth. And smelled....more wyvern-y? Like Seteth! Wait. Was Khalid finally growing into a wyvern? Hah! He knew it! Jamshid was wrong! Wrong wrong sister, Sarbi was right! Delighted, he nuzzled his brother to the ground and chuffed with joy.

"...Beebee?" 

“Rmmm?” His brother's mouth didn't say that. He was watching Khalid’s mouth, and it didn’t move! But only Khalid called him Beebee… And... and Khalid sounded so weak. Why did his brother sound poisoned? Khalid did not look poisoned!

He looked up. In a blanket nest, he saw Khalid (again?). This Khalid was thin and ill. Bad! Khalid wasn't supposed to be sick! He looked between the two Khalids, confused. Small-Khalid smelled most correct, but healthy-green-Khalid smelled correct too. 

He thumped down and made a long confused noise. He did not understand. Why were there two brothers?

Sarbi! Sarbi recognized him! Kiros burst into delighted rumbles. He hugged his brother's snoot, which meant he could do nothing but hold on tight when the wyvern cuddled him to the ground. (No other arm he could use to catch himself, after all.) 

Either the sound of Sarbi's excited noises or the feeling of his own joy woke Claude. Kiros turned to look at his twin with wide eyes. Little Claude wasn't supposed to be awake yet! Oh, but of course he couldn't deprive him of visiting with Sarbi. No matter how much he needed to be either resting or eating, of course there was always time for their scaly brother! The memory of Little Claude’s disembodied spirit collapsed against Sarbi, unable to be seen or heard, had him biting back a croon. 

He made a noise meant to encourage Sarbi to go visit with Claude, but it didn't seem to work. In fact, Sarbi just plopped down, confused. "Aw," he exhaled, sitting up and rubbing Sarbi's jaw. "Poor boy, so confused. It's okay. You have two of us now. That's all.”

Sarbi was confused. But Big-Khalid spoke in reassuring tones. He sniffed Big-Khalid. Then sniffed Little-Khalid. Little-Khalid smelled more correct. But his little brother had been getting bigger recently, not smaller! Why was Little-Khalid so little?

Big-Khalid wriggled into the nest. Both Khalids cuddled together like Khalid would cuddle against him. Well... Sarbi didn't understand, but that was okay! It seemed he just had two brothers now. Probably some silly human magic thingy. Humans were always doing weird things like that. 

Rumbling, he fwumped around his brother(s) and began doing some big investigative sniffs. Little-Khalid smelled the most correct. Green-Khalid smelled a lot like the Seteth. But still mostly like Khalid. Investigate, investigate, investigate…

...Nope. Sarbi still didn't know. Maybe Jamshid would have been able to figure it out... Oh! Jamshid! If there were two Khalids now, Jamshid should be here! Now they could both carry Khalid and wouldn't have to fight over who got to carry their little brother. Maybe she would show up soon? He hoped so, he missed their sister.

He sniffed the blanket and stuffed thingy clutched in Little-Khalid's arms. Before he could get a big sniff, Green-Khalid told him 'Important' and gently pushed his snout away. Aw, okay! Sarbi wasn't very good at being gentle, so he would nibble on Khalid's hair instead. Hm. Which one, though...? He had two heads of Khalid-hair to pick from.

He nosed a little of the long green hair on top of Khalid's normal curls. Then took a nice munch of both.

Watching Sarbi try to figure out the situation before him was utterly adorable. He hoped Claude was enjoying it, too — he thought he was, from what emotions he could sense off of the other — because this was just so cute. Seteth and Flayn stayed back to allow the wyvern time to try and figure out what was going on, which he appreciated. He made extra-sure that Sarbi didn't mess with Flayn's plushie in return. It was probably as special to her as Sarbi was to him, and he knew that Sarbi was not the gentlest. 

The way his brother nosed some of his long hair over onto Little Claude's just so he could groom both of them at the same time was incredibly gentle, though. It made him coo with praise. Little Claude liked it, too. This time, he could tell by the purring. 

'We're up on the Star Terrace,' he told his twin, just in case he hadn't figured that part out yet. 'Seteth carried you up here for me. He was very gentle. Then he went and got Sarbi for us. He'll probably want to join the cuddle soon. Think Beebee will let him?'

Claude had only peeked his eyes open to see Sarbi for a second. Then he was shutting them in the bright sunshine. Sunshiiiine. He honestly didn't care where he was, so long as it was private and safe. Big Claude was calm, so that meant his two requirements were fulfilled. (It was going to take a while for him to really nail down 'Kiros' instead of Big Claude. Especially while he was only half awake.) 

He stretched a little, as much as his withered muscles allowed, rumbling against Sarbi and then his twin. Happyhappyhappy. Even though part of him still ached to be closer, to be a part of his older self, he was happy like this. Enough time had passed that he was coming around to their new reality (or rather, his old reality). 

"Beebee..." 

His older self asked him a question. Would Beebee let Seteth into the nest…? Hm. 'I think so. Beebee likes Seteth. And you smell a bit like Seteth now, so that helps.'  

Happyhappyhappy. He had his older self and his Sarbi and the sunshine. What more was there to want?

...Maybe some food, he had to admit. A little warble left him before he could help it. 'Food please.'  

Seteth reacted fast. Probably not as fast as if his older self had made the warble, but fast nonetheless. The man opened one of the pouches on his hip and withdrew some wrapped bread and cheese. Slowly, Seteth (with Flayn following) joined their nest. Sarbi allowed it. Which was good, because he was hungry and Seteth carried the food. 

The first bite of cheese had his purring kick up a notch. Mmm... Happyhappy.

Kiros reacted to the warble fast. What he did, though, was just look to Seteth and give his biggest, greenest, most pleading eyes to the man. 'Little Claude hungry!' was what he tried to convey with his expression. It seemed like Seteth already knew exactly what the warble had meant, though. Father was already in motion by the time Kiros looked at him. Good. Seteth understood Little Claude's hungries and was leaping to make them go away. Good.  

He purred, too, when the food started going into Little Claude's mouth. For him, it was directed up at his father. 'Thank you, Father,' he said, both with his purrs and a little nuzzle. 

Sarbi, thankfully, let Seteth stay without protest. Seteth was giving Little Claude food, so how could he be bad? Hopefully Sarbi saw it that way, because Seteth was quickly going to be adopted into their nest. He'd really hate for Sarbi to think he was an intruder here. Thankfully, probably due to him smelling like Seteth now (according to Little Claude), there were no issues.

"He's happy," Kiros told Seteth, just in case he couldn't tell. "Thank you. He likes the food."

Seteth smiled. Claude was blaring his joy and contentment for the whole world to hear and smell. "I'm glad," he said nonetheless to his son. Claude had absorbed just enough dragon magic that there was absolutely no doubting the boy's feelings. Happy. Good.  

Everyone was happy now. Kiros, Flayn, Claude, and Sarbi (and himself). Sarbi even allowed him to cuddle after he finished feeding Claude. Very good.  

He wondered if Sarbi would allow Rhea into their pile. Rhea was surely eager to cuddle as well. Though she was not as directly related to Kiros as Seteth and Flayn were, her magic had been a strong part of the ritual too. More than an aunt, less than a mother. She was being the responsible one though, ensuring church business went smoothly. 

"How are you, my Kiros?" he rumbled, nuzzling his boy. "Are you feeling hungry yet? Just say the word and I will bring you something to eat." Fish, he decided. He would get some for Flayn too. Hm, would Kiros' taste buds be any different now that he was a Nabataean? Hard to say.

'Hungry,' was the little noise that warbled unbidden from the new Nabataean. He hadn't eaten a single thing since the ritual, of course he was hungry! But he was just so worried about his twin that eating hadn't seemed very important. (Like when he was so worried about the war that eating hadn't seemed very important.) 

"I mean, I'm fine—" he began to say, but Seteth was already on the move. That left Kiros to pick up the bread and cheese where it had fallen into the nest (aaa loose food in the nest, the mice might come!) and bring it back to Claude's lips.

Claude's eyes had peeked open slightly, but they weren't staring after Seteth. They were looking up at him.  

"I'm fine. I'm really not all that hungry," he insisted to his twin, because Seteth wasn't around to say it to anymore.

Claude hummed, munching into what little was left of the food. "It's okay to eat even if you’re not hung’y." It wasn't like they were short on food, after all. And Big Claude could afford to eat as much as he wanted! Maybe he could even become a creature of comfort, if they were able to prevent the Bad Things from happening in this timeline. 

Mmmm... He liked that thought. His older self, able to curl up in the sunshine or nibble on snacks whenever he pleased, not a care in the world. It was an appealing image to him as well, though he knew he needed to get his ambitions back on track sooner rather than later (but not yet). 

It was nice to think about, actually. That there would be a part of him that might be free to just... live. Be happy. Not that he wasn't happy! He wanted to make change in the world, to carry the burden he did. But it was also tempting to give into the creature within himself that enjoyed the simple things in life. Especially after… ngh. He didn’t like to admit it, but his soul and body had been through a lot of hardship since this all started. 

"What'dya think Seteth will bring back for you?" he asked, lightly nuzzling against his twin. He didn’t want to think about how tattered and weak he felt.

Big Claude cuddled up to his younger self and purred. Even after all this time being here, getting told to take care of himself was something he was still getting used to. Of course he knew it was fine, and that he deserved to eat, and should look after himself and all that, but the mental habits were still hard to break. Fixating had always been a problem for him, and 'his own well being' was not one of the things he often fixated on. Good thing he had others to look after him now. 

"I don't know," he said quietly, nuzzling his twin back unconsciously and purring loud. "Fish, maybe. Flayn's always talking about fish."

"Mmm, fish... I hope so," Flayn said. Claude wasn't sure when exactly she had cuddled up to them, but it was probably shortly after Seteth did. 

A yawn caught him off guard. No! No sleepies! Sarbi was here, and so was his twin, and so was the sun! He didn't want to sleep. Next time he woke, he was sure to be inside and bereft of Beebee. He stubbornly clung on to wakefulness, pouting over how sleepy he was.

Sarbi nibbled his and Kiros' hair while they waited for Seteth to return. It didn't take long. He wasn't the only one to perk up at sight of a platter of fish. Though the smell of the bucket was less pleasant... 

"Did you bring a treat for Beebee?" he guessed, wiggling at the thoughtfulness. A fish for Beebee!

"There is enough for him, yes. I wasn't sure what would serve your palette best, Kiros. If you would like your fish cooked, then this is yours. If not—" Flayn already wiggled out of the nest, reaching into the bucket to pull out a raw fish. And... munch right into it. Okay. At least it was a small fish? 

He glanced at Kiros. 'Raw or cooked? ' He reluctantly had to admit that the raw fish seemed slightly appealing. Which wasn't saying much. Very, very slightly. That made him wonder if they were more desirable on Kiros' end. He would gladly eat the cooked fish if Kiros didn't want it.

'Raw or cooked?' That was... certainly a question. 

There was a part of him that did find the scent of the raw fish appealing. More appealing than it should be, for sure. Because, well... he had eaten too many raw 'meals' in Abyss to ever think he'd be comfortable with raw meat again when cooked was an option. 

So while his nose was curious, his stomach churned at the thought of eating raw food. "Rmm..." he let out a little whine as he eyed the bucket, ultimately shaking his head. He didn't want it to remind him of the raw mice he'd had to eat to survive.  

"Cooked, please," he requested, then nuzzled his twin. "I'll save some for you."

"Just a bite or two is all I want," Claude said, wiggling a little comfort nuzzle. "Sarbi and Flayn get the raw fish." 

Seteth brought quite a few fish. It seemed the man had been fairly certain that Kiros would want raw fish... Interesting. More fish for Sarbi, though! 

Flayn ate her fish, then cleaned her hands with her tongue. Seteth leaned over and did a spot-clean lick on her. By the time she came to lay with them, he didn't scent any raw fish on her. 

Big Claude fed him a couple of bites. Tried to feed him more, but he was satisfied by now. Foodfood. He wouldn't take much from his precious brother.

He really tried to get Little Claude to eat more, but his twin wasn't having any of it. Which wasn't fair! Little Claude was so little. He needed to eat more! After a certain point, he just refused, though, and Big Claude couldn't do anything about it. No matter how many little noises he made or how pleading his eyes got. Claude made the expression right back at him until eventually the older one gave in and ate the rest of the fish.

It was absolutely delicious. He had never disliked fish, but he'd also never been particularly inclined to it. There were a lot of things he would eat over fish before. Right now, though, when the fish met his mouth, it was like... the best thing he had ever eaten. 

"Do Nabataeans always like fish?" he asked Flayn and Seteth. "Because this is really, really good." He knew that wyverns like Sarbi almost always ate fish in the wild. He might have guessed that a dragon's diet was similar, but he'd never thought about it too much before.

Hey! He was full. No more. He pressed his lips together tightly and turned his head from the foodfood. It took his biggest, pleading-ist eyes to get Kiros to stop. He was glad that he was full. 

Big Claude was delighted but the fish, wiggling with joy. Part of him wondered if Kiros would be enjoying the raw fish even more. But... It was like there was something else in the way of him trying that. And that was fine! No need to eat the raw fish. More for Flayn and Sarbi. And Sarbi was sure enjoying his share of the fish.

"Not all," Seteth answered Kiros' question. "Rhea enjoys fish, though not like Flayn and I, for instance. Many Nabataeans can look vastly different. The same goes for our diet. I'm pleased to see how much you enjoy the fish, though. Is that enough? Would you like more?"

"I..." It was a portion size fit for a regular person, what Seteth had brought him. The man must have assumed he'd go for the raw fish, because there was a lot more of that than there was cooked. Perhaps he should just try that, instead of sending Seteth back for more food. Or just be satisfied with what he had already eaten, because it was enough. But... foodfood good. His expression was all it took to get Seteth leaping into action again.

"Would you like more fish? Or something else? I am certain I can find anything which suits your tastes." 

"Everything suits my tastes," Kiros said. As long as it wasn't served to him raw, if it wasn't supposed to be. "I'm... I'm not picky. If it's edible, I like it," he insisted. He'd lost all pickiness a long time ago.

"I will ensure your food is tasty as well as edible," Seteth said softly, pressing a kiss to Kiros' forehead. 

He almost rushed off then and there. But he forced himself to pause. Kiros had a twin. Which meant Claude was his son too, even though he had to consciously remind himself of the fact. "Would you like anything else too, Claude?" 

The boy began to shake his head, then paused."...Some tea?" 

"Of course! I will return shortly." 

As he ordered another platter of fish from the kitchen (he decided to try a different kind to see if Kiros liked it more or less), something occurred to him. An old dish, one that Rhea was more partial to than himself. He should still know how to make it... 

He returned shortly with two platters of fish, a pot of tea, and one more platter. He set the food just outside the nest, remembering how distressed Kiros could get over food in the nest. 

"Please, do not feel pressured to try this one." He gestured to the special meal. "I thought it was worth bringing, though." 

Claude cocked his head, barely clinging onto the waking world. "What'sit?" 

"Sashimi." He went ahead and took one of the pieces of fish himself. Mm. Not his favorite, but it did have a good flavor. Flayn's hand snaked out to snatch a couple of pieces. "You are welcome to try some as well, Claude. It's safe for human consumption as well." 

That had the human's slightly pointed ears perking. Claude was eager to try a piece. 

"Mm... mm! I didn't expect this to be so good. What is it, other than raw fish?" 

"Just that; cleaned and prepared properly."

While Seteth was gone, the Claudes curled back up together in the nest. Sarbi wrapped around them in turn, churring and nuzzling their heads. He groomed their hair a little. On his other side, Flayn also got to work nuzzling and grooming Kiros' hair, starting and the ends and working her way up. Kiros allowed it all to happen while he just took the time to hold his brother. He purred and purred and purred until Claude mewled at him to quit. All the purring was putting his little brother to sleep, and he didn't want to sleep yet. He wasn't able to quit purring entirely, but he at least quieted down a little. He nipped at his younger self's ear to help him stay awake. They were sensitive, after all.

Through Little Claude's determination and Kiros' help, the younger managed to stay awake until Seteth got back with more food. Kiros would never cease to be amazed by just how many trays Seteth could balance at once. His focus, though, was naturally more on the food than on Seteth's ability to carry it around. Fish! More fish! 

...Raw fish? His lips peeled back to show his teeth before he realized it was happening. 

Little Claude and Flayn thought there were no issues with it, though. He just was instinctively repelled by the concept of raw food. But then Flayn and Claude both ate some... 

"Mm... mm! I didn't expect it to be so good. What is it, other than raw fish?"  

"Just that; cleaned and prepared properly."  

Kiros' lips slowly settled back over his teeth and he let out an uncertain rumble. If Little Claude said it was tasty, then it was probably worth trying. But he wasn't sure...

"You don't have to," Claude told his brother, nuzzling their faces together. He probably shouldn't eat more, but he had to admit that the raw fish was shockingly good. Or, at the very least, it was tasty and different from what he usually ate. Hopefully Seteth was right, and it was perfectly healthy for a human to eat. "I'll eat the bad uncooked fish for you if you don't want any." Flayn sneaked another piece. "Me 'n Flayn."

He wasn't quite sure where the revulsion came from in his brother. It was more than plain dislike or disgust. There was something that deeply turned Kiros away from the raw fish. Did his older self have to subsist off raw fish for a time? He wasn't sure where the fish would have come from in Abyss... then again, perhaps there was a pond or lake underneath the monastery. 

Closing his eyes, he tried something. It was like sending a mental message. Instead of words, he tried to communicate the taste. At worst, he figured the taste wouldn't be strong enough to bother his older self if it worked at all. But maybe getting a whiff of the taste would settle his older self's uncertainty? Just in case, he hastily reached out and took some of the tea to wash away the taste, sending that to Kiros too. In case the taste was unwelcome.

'!!'  

Kiros' lips smacked together at the sudden fatty, oily, rich taste that appeared on his tongue. His eyes went wide and a little purr kicked up in his chest. Tasty! That tasted good!  

A second later it was gone, replaced by the gentler warmth of chamomile. He still rumbled, because chamomile was one of his favorite teas. But what had been that other thing?

It took him a moment to figure out where the tastes had come from. But when he did, he glanced from Little Claude back towards the plate of sashimi. He leaned a little closer to give it a sniff. That was how delicious this stuff was?  

His lips closed around the edge of a piece. But as they met the cold, moist flesh of the fish, everything he had eaten before tried to come right back up. He let go of his bite and retreated to the other side of the nest with a tiny kitten hiss. It wasn't the taste he didn't like. The taste was really good! But the texture... he couldn't stomach the texture.

He beamed when Kiros' shock and delight echoed through his head. Heh, he knew his brother would like it!

...Or not.

He made an alarmed little peep when Kiros' utter disgust in the fish appeared, physically and mentally. Wasn't the taste good? Maybe it was only good because it was filtered through his taste buds? 

Whatever the reason, he forced his weak body to flop closer to Kiros, who now sat at the edge of the nest. 'Sorry,' he sent, regretting his little push. He should have trusted that Kiros knew what he did and didn't like. Though they once shared the same taste buds, even that didn't guarantee they enjoyed things the same way. Sweets were a perfect example. He still didn't like sweets, but Kiros did. 

He was giving weak little kneads to Kiros without thought. 'Are you okay?' he asked mentally, because that was less work than saying it aloud.

Little Claude wasn't the only one who was alarmed at his reaction to the sashimi. Flayn cheeped at him. Seteth looked... a little discouraged, though he was trying to cover it. Even Sarbi yawped at him in surprise. 

Kiros rumbled back at all of them and hid his face against his brother's curls as soon as they were close enough to be available. "No, I'm sorry," he whispered back aloud, because everyone deserved to hear. "It does taste good. I like it. I just can't... ...the texture reminds me of the rats I had to eat," he confessed. While he was sure a Nabataean could stomach eating rats without too much issue, he'd only done it out of necessity. And it hadn't been good for him. He'd gotten sick from his food often, and he'd been pretty sure that his gut ended up swarming with parasites from his 'meals,' and it just... it hadn't been good. He had hated it, but he'd hated himself more. He'd forced himself to keep living, no matter the cost.

Kiros was surrounded by love the moment he opened up. Claude, Flayn, Seteth, and Sarbi all focused their attention on comforting him. 

"I'll eat it for you if you want," Claude offered again, though he meant it differently this time. He would eat the fish and send the flavor to Big Claude. Though... Maybe not now. He was full and also really sleepy. With everyone cuddling his older self (and him, by proxy), he wasn't going to last long. "You can, nmm..." 'You can come take a nap with me, if you want.'  

That was as far as he managed before he succumbed to exhaustion. It was up to Sarbi, Seteth, and Flayn to make sure Kiros was okay... 

Class got out for lunch. For once, Hilda avoided the dining hall like the plague. All day today, the Deer had been asking her about Claude. She understood. They were all right to be worried. Claude would be touched when he heard that everyone wanted to be sure he was okay! 

...She still felt awful for running away. How was she supposed to show her face again after that? Gosh. Claude got reconstructed from the dead, and then she couldn't even handle a little bit of skinny-Claude. She ran away sobbing! What was wrong with her? Here she was, making everything about herself…

"Hilda." 

She wilted. "Hey, Dimitri." 

"I planned to go visit Claude. Would you care to join me?" 

She sighed. No. But also yes. "Think he's upset at me?" 

"Not at all. Worried, likely. He thought it best to give you space for as long as you needed." 

Big Claude knew her well, she supposed. That was exactly what she needed. Still, she felt crummy about it... "Yes, I'll go with you." She probably wouldn't if Dimitri wasn't coming too. But... she was more settled, now. She could handle it. Maybe. She had to handle it.

Chapter Text

"They just fell asleep," was what Seteth told them when Dimitri and Hilda finally located their Claudes up on the third floor of the Monastery's main building. That was better than many of the other things Dimitri feared happening when he and Hilda arrived at Seteth's room only to find it vacant. He and Hilda had looked at one another with widened eyes and hurried upstairs. Thankfully they found their boys in the second place they looked. 

"Ah," the prince intoned, looking up at the man blocking their way inside. Seteth was a man protecting his newborn from being disturbed in his rest. Dimitri knew that. But Seteth also didn't intend to bar them access; Dimitri also knew that. It just took the dragon a moment to convince himself to let the pair inside. "We will be quiet, then," Dimitri assured, which was what finally got Seteth to move out of the way. 

"Very well... see that you do." Dimitri nodded to Hilda and stepped into the room. A shame, really, that Kiros was sleeping. He would want to know that Hilda had come to see him, and Dimitri was not sure how long she would stay.

Honestly? Hilda was relieved. She wasn't sure she was quite ready for this yet. She was even more relieved that the mound of Kiros, Flayn, and Sarbi hid most of Lil Claude from view. 

Dimitri settled onto the balcony like he would be staying the whole lunch hour and not a second less. She... wasn't sure about herself. Her stomach was twisted into knots. Kiros was so cute sleeping. Her Claude. A dragon now. It was just so crazy. The past month had been nothing but insanity. Not that she minded much. It was just... a lot. 

She didn't want to leave him. She didn't really want to stay either, though, having nothing to do but stew and stare in silence. 

She untied her ascot. Probably a silly thing to do. She wanted Kiros to know she had been here, though. And maybe he would like her scent? She laid it at the edge of the nest. Though tempting, she didn't kiss his forehead. Best to not risk waking him up. 

She nodded to Dimitri. Another time. Dimitri would let her Claude know she had been by if he woke within the hour. She didn't think she could wait around, though.

Dimitri watched Hilda remove her ascot and place it at the edge of the nest. Even before she looked up and nodded at him, he knew what she was doing. Leaving.  

He honestly couldn't imagine what must be going through her mind right now. If he was her, he wouldn't want to leave his Claude for a second. (He didn't want to leave his Claude for a second. The only reason he did was to keep up appearances, which was unfortunately necessary for someone of his position.) Hilda, though — no one would bat an eye if Hilda started skipping classes for a few days! If he had her reputation, he would be milking it for all it was worth right now. The chance to freely stay with his Claude for as long as he wanted? Of course that was something he desired! 

Hilda left, though. And Dimitri decided it was not his place to pass judgement on her. After all... she knew more about all of this than he did. Felt more about this than he did. The older Claude had torn a rift in time and it seemed like all of the Golden Deer were somewhat affected. He couldn't judge when he had no idea what exactly she was seeing when she looked down at the Claudes. Only that he knew it must be something more.

As for himself, he got as comfortable as possible, as close as possible, to his Claude. Hopefully he would be able to stay long enough to visit with him awake, even if there was no guarantee of that. He desired it with his whole heart.

The hour passed without a peep from his boyfriend. After spending an hour staring off into space (and making minor small talk with Seteth), he knew it was time to go.

Warmth... Warm... Warm leaving?  

"Eeehhh," Little Claude cried softly, fishing his hand out so he could paw at his warm-warm and beg it to stay. 

Someone hissed softly. "Shh... go back to sleep, Claude."

He cracked a sleepy eye open. Dimitri. "Dimi..." Dimitri's hand had been resting on his cheek. He felt it. He reached out for Dimitri's hand to place it back on his cheek. Dimitri allowed this. His boyfriend hated denying him anything. A low, sleepy rumble built in his throat. 

"Claude," Seteth whispered softly, the man reaching out to pet his hair. "Dimitri has class to return to." 

Oh... Class. "Gross. Should stay with me 'nstead. I'm cuter than Hanneman."

Dimitri let out a soft chuckle. "Heh, you are indeed," he said with a small smile. It was the sort of smile which was the best he could muster, most days. Right now, it was just small and soft because of how utterly endeared by Claude he was. "I have been here an hour already though, Claude. Much as I wish I could remain... I did not tell Dedue where I was going when I left before lunch." And even if he had, he would have erroneously given Dedue the wrong location. He hadn't known Claude moved. But even if he'd told Dedue he was going to Seteth's office, his retainer would not have been able to find him there. 

Unfortunate as it was, he did have to go. Kiros, however, was right there to try and slip in the gap. 

"I'll stay with you, Lil Claude," he said, nuzzling up against his brother's cheek. "I know I'm no blond prince, but I can keep you warm," he insisted.

"Mmm... Mkay. Wouldn't want to worry Dedue..." Everyone knew that the dumbest thing one could do was piss off one's chef. Or one's boyfriend's chef, he supposed. "Lovu. Thanks for visiting... Lovu." 

Dimitri offered a few more pets. "Hilda was here too." The prince handed a scrap of fabric to Kiros. "She sends her regards and well wishes." 

Aaaand that was as far as Claude got before he was passing out again. That was what he got for fighting against sleep for so long.

"Hilda came back?" Kiros' eyes were wide as he accepted the scrap of fabric from Dimitri. The tiniest sniff confirmed to him that, yes, it indeed was Hilda's. She'd come long enough to leave her token for him before departing once again. 

...Why hadn't she stayed longer, though? 

Probably couldn't bear to just sit here and stare at them while they slept, he guessed. Without being able to talk to them, her mind was bound to wander. And if she had nothing to look at but one Claude that was too skinny and one Claude that was missing his arm... 

Okay. He understood why she probably didn't stay. That didn't mean he wasn't sad about it, though. 

"...Miss her," he mumbled, cuddling her ascot close. He wasn't foolish enough to think that he disgusted her or that she didn't want him anymore or something like that. But he was sad that she didn't seem to want to stay if he wasn't conscious enough to ask her to.

"I'll bring her by after classes get out," Dimitri promised. "I'll be back too." 

"Your Highness," Dedue greeted, nodding his head as Dimitri made it back to class in time (just barely). It was not like His Highness to arrive so close to the bell, but he did not comment on the matter.

"Dedue," Dimitri greeted in reply. His Highness appeared to be in good spirits. Better spirits than when they left for lunch.

"You have mail." He nodded to the box he left on His Highness' desk. He had taken the liberty to check the mailroom. Dimitri didn't often get packages, and it was rare to receive a package from Fhirdiad castle. Whoever sent it, Dedue wasn't certain. There weren't many friendly people in Dimitri's life who would send the prince a package. There were plenty of unfriendly people who would send the prince a package. He already asked Mercedes to perform a magical sweep of the box. There shouldn't be anything dangerous within. 

"I bet someone's got a secret admirer," Sylvain teased. Dedue did not comment that his Highness did indeed have a 'secret' admirer of sorts. The package was doubtlessly not from Claude.

"I highly doubt that, Sylvain," Dimitri said, looking the box over at a distance at first. He glanced to Dedue from the corner of his eye, waiting for his retainer's nod that it was safe. Dedue would have, of course, checked it for such things. He'd tell Dimitri if he needed to be careful. At least, if he needed to be more careful than he always was when handling objects of unknown fragility. 

It was a rather simple box, all things said and done. If it was from an 'admirer' as Sylvain claimed, he would expect it to be done up a bit more for his title's sake. His best guess was that, perhaps, this was a gift from one of his old tutors who wanted to send him a present for his days at the Academy, tendered via the palace's couriers. If it was a present from a noble, he would have expected at least a nice ribbon. Even if they didn't hold much love for him, presents to win favors were not usually this plain. 

He pulled back the simple brown paper and found a box underneath. Gently lifting the lid off the box, he peered inside. What the light of the room revealed was not something he expected to see. His heart dropped into his stomach and the air stole away from his lungs. 

"Loog?" he said, choked with shock. How... why...?  

There was a note sitting inside the box with his plush lion (who Annette and Mercedes were already cooing over). He picked it up and broke the seal to read the short message inside. 

Had a feeling you might want this. -Rufus 

Dimitri slowly sat down, staring at the contents of the box like he was looking at one of his ghosts. But wasn't he, in a way? His uncle had no cause to send him his stuffed lion. He didn't think his uncle even knew he had a stuffed lion, the man was so absent and indifferent to his existence. The only possible explanation was... was something Dimitri hardly dared to think. 

His father. Lambert, the dead king, must have communicated this request to Rufus. Somehow. And his Uncle Rufus had gotten the message.

Felix wasn't looking, but Ingrid and Sylvain recognized Dimitri's old stuffed lion. Dedue did as well, though the man had never seen Dimitri tote the lion around like a fifth wheel. 

Sylvain almost said something. Almost. This was a prime teasing opportunity! Yet Dimitri was pale, as though he was staring at a ghost. There was shock written across the prince's features. Shock and something else. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach that something was off. That something might be wrong. (Which was none of his business! Nope, not at all.)

The classroom was silent while Dimitri stared down at Loog. Silent for long enough that Felix finally turned around and looked at what had been in the box. 

"Really? That old thing?" Felix scoffed. "I can't believe you still have that." ...It took a beat for Sylvain to catch how (relatively) soft Felix sounded. The hard edge of judgment sanded away. 

"Hm, methinks someone else missed Loog too." He winked at Felix "You loved that lion almost as much as Dimitri." 

"Back when we were children. Shut up."

"I didn't send for him," Dimitri said, handing off the letter to Dedue. Dedue was allowed to read it. The rest of his friends, not so much. None of them thought much of anything about Rufus to begin with, but if they knew that Rufus himself sent this then it was bound to cause a stir. 'What does that old drunkard want now?' he imagined would be the topic of conversation for hours to come if they knew. This was just so out of character a thing for his uncle to do that Dimitri could see no other reason behind it. His father must have spoken to his uncle. 

He needed to write a letter in return straight away. 

Unfortunately, that was the moment that Professor Hanneman decided to walk into the room and begin class. Dimitri had to gently close up the box containing Loog and place him under the desk for their afternoon lectures. 

...After a moment, he nudged the lid back just a little. There. Now Loog could see and hear their discussion on tactics. Dimitri always fancied that he liked such things.

Lambert was distantly aware of the classroom. He watched his son unwrap Loog. The poor boy was embarrassed to have his stuffed friend revealed in front of his friends and peers, but not too embarrassed. He smiled as he saw Dimitri open the lid of the box so Loog could hear the lesson. 

It didn't occur to him that being here was strange. (He wasn't fully back to himself.) Rufus had been strangely helpful when it came to sending Loog, though it felt like Lambert had to speak an awful lot before Rufus finally heard him. (Why did he need Rufus to do it for him, again...?) 

It was pleasant to watch Dimitri take notes in class. Something about the normality of it all... It was nice. 

At some point, he was hovering above his son's shoulder. His son was deeply focused on the tactics lesson. Peering down at Dimitri's notes, he noticed an error. 

"The third battalion is meant to be on the western flank, not the northern," he said softly, resting a hand on his son's shoulders. A simple mistake, easy to make when copying from the board.

Dimitri had gotten very, very good over the years at concealing or at least minimizing his reactions to the ghosts which he saw and heard. 

Having one of them touch him, though, was new. 

He hadn't even noticed his father was there! He had been thinking about what he was possibly going to write in his letter to his uncle when that hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder. Much too large to belong to most people, and too cold to be Dedue's. It was only years of practice at suppressing these things that he didn't scream and leap off the bench. Instead, his reaction was limited only to the simple snapping of the pencil in his hand. 

"Clumsy boar," Felix scoffed from further back in the classroom. Dimitri, though shaken, simply cleared his throat and glanced up to Professor Hanneman. 

"My apologies for the distraction, Professor," he said, getting out another pencil from the box Dedue kept on the table between them. He turned enough to glance at his father when he looked back around though, swallowing thickly. Father's face was clearer of burns than it had been in a while, but he still smelled the smoke. He nodded to his father and turned back to his notes, carefully correcting the mistake which his dad had pointed out. 

"There," he said softly. "That should be correct." 

Dedue was watching him with that knowing look in his eyes. But Dimitri had already made one too many 'scenes' around school lately. He wasn't about to make another.

Lambert chuckled softly as Dimitri broke his pencil. It was a familiar problem, even for him. "Didn't mean to startle you, lad." 

He watched quietly for the rest of the lesson (fading in and out, though he didn't notice). Though he was vaguely aware of Dimitri's friends, he didn't quite register them. (There was a lot that he wasn't able to register.) 

Before he knew it, class was over. He followed Dimitri. He... didn't often follow his son. Admittedly, though, he was feeling strangely lost. He knew his son, though. And he wanted to make sure Dimitri was okay. So he quietly followed his boy.

Now that Dimitri had been made aware of it, he was incredibly conscious of his father's presence. He knew that he was being followed by the specter every step he took... but for once he did not feel stalked by him. Instead he felt almost a... warmth. Not the icy cold of his usual ghosts. But neither was it the heat of the accursed flames. Just a warmth, like that he had once associated with the ghost of his birth mother. She had never seemed to know exactly who he was, but he had likened her presence to that of a guardian angel before he thought he learned the true nature of suffering of the departed. 

His father didn't seem tormented this time, though. Not when he was simply trailing after him, watching him carry Loog back in the direction of his room. He had promised to return to Claude's side as soon as classes ended, but this changed things. He could only hope that his boyfriend was currently sleeping and wouldn't miss him if he was a little late. Because he needed to write a letter back to the palace right away. 

He held the door open an extra moment for his father to follow him into his dorm, offering the spirit a thin smile as he entered. He sat Loog down on his desk and then sat down at it himself. He took out pen and paper and prepared to put words to the page. Writing a letter like this to a man he had barely spoken to these past years was not an easy thing, though. After staring at the page quietly for a few moments, he just sighed and looked up at his dad. 

"How was Uncle?" he asked. If he was intending to ask Rufus about a ghost... he may as well ask the ghost about Rufus, too.

"...Distracted," Lambert replied after a beat, thinking back to it. "It took quite the effort to even get his attention." He frowned. "He seemed... stressed. Sick, perhaps. He was awfully pale. Oh, but nothing for you to worry about, son." 

...Come to think of it... why had Rufus been in Fhirdiad instead of Itha? ...Perhaps his brother was taking care of things while he was on his trip to... to... where did he go, again? Rufus didn’t like going to Fhirdiad, though. Didn’t like dealing with politics at all. So why…?

He shook his head. Already his questions were slipping through his mind like sand. It was strange, but he quickly forgot it. He was left only with a strange sense of uncertainty. "What was your question again, son?" Glancing down at Dimitri's blank page gave no clues.

Pale... yep. That seemed about right for someone who was seeing a ghost. He wondered if it was Rufus' first time, or if this was a thing that his uncle had been concealing for a long time just like Dimitri had been. Father said it took effort to get Rufus’ attention. Had his father managed some sort of full-body apparition for a man who was not used to seeing ghosts? Regardless, seeing the visage of his dead brother was not something Dimitri imagined his lout of an uncle taking very well. 

He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I am wondering what to say in my letter to him. I must thank him for sending Loog to me.” 

His father was starting to look distracted. Confused. Uncertain. Dimitri was worried that any second he would slip away again, and he'd be left only with a screaming wraith. He tried to cling to his father's ghost as much as he could. Even reached out to take hold of his hand and put it atop his own. "You can write a message to him here if you like. Guide my hand," he offered. What would convince his uncle this was real more than seeing his dead brother's handwriting on a paper sent to him by Dimitri? Though he had no idea if this would really work. ...Or if his uncle would really care. For all Dimitri could tell, Rufus was more interested in his drink than in running the country his brother once led. And in all those years since the Tragedy, he'd never seen Rufus mourn. The man had never even tried to console him.

Not once.

On the day Rufus arrived from Itha after Father’s death... Dimitri had gone to him. He had not seen his uncle very often while growing up, but the Uncle Rufus he remembered was a smiling, if awkward, man who never made Dimitri feel judged. After the Tragedy, Uncle Rufus was all the family he had left. He had dragged himself from his room for the first time since being brought home and gone to meet his uncle at the gate. He had wanted comfort. Wanted family. More than anything, he had just wanted a hug from Uncle Rufus, who always made him feel welcome.

The only thing Uncle Rufus did when Dimitri came crying to him was shake him off his leg, and that was the last time they ever really had contact with one another. Despite living on the same hallway, his uncle did not speak to him, and he did not speak to his uncle. The most Rufus had done for him was give him leave to have Dedue as his servant, but that stemmed more from a lack of willingness to stop him than any permission he'd extended. 

There was no love lost between them. And he wondered if it had been the same for his father and uncle, when they were both alive, too. He supposed he would find out by virtue of what his father might want to say.

Lambert's focus solidified when his son reached out for him. A letter to Rufus? "That's very thoughtful of you, Son." Even more thoughtful that Dimitri was offering him a spot to write as well. Why would he need to guide Dimitri's hand instead of take up a quill himself...?

"Afraid you will break another quill?" He smiled softly, nostalgic. He used to do this for Dimitri when the lad was just a boy still learning how to hold things without breaking them. Even when Dimitri entered double-digits, now and then he still did this for his son. "I suppose I ought to thank Rufus as well." 

He did as Dimitri asked, laying his hand against his son’s. (Unbeknownst to him, his hand slipped through Dimitri's hand, possessing a tiny portion of his son.) 

"Hmm... How to start..." 

'Rufus,' he began, forgetting it was not his own hand that wrote. 'Thank you for promptly sending Loog the lion. Dimitri looked like he could use the pick-me-up.' He forgot that Dimitri was watching him write. His narrow focus was entirely on the letter. 'Be sure you are resting properly, Brother. We aren't as young as we used to be. But I won't nag (much). Do not allow Fhirdiad to wear you thin. I will return before you know it. Take good care of Faerghus until I return from...' The ink blotted on the page. 

...Why was Rufus in Fhirdiad, again? Rufus avoided the castle like it carried the plague. The reason was right at the tip of his brain. He went... went...

"I must be getting old," he murmured. "Where...?" 

Each time he tried to think of it, he was rebuffed. Then the question unraveled in his head.

'–Love, Lambert' he ended the letter, not noticing that he failed to finish his earlier sentence. Rufus would roll his eyes, as he surely always did, at the use of 'love'. It was how Lambert always ended his letters to his family, Faerghan sensibilities be damned.

Dimitri fought to keep his expression even as his father took hold of his hand in the most literal sense there was. His hand was not his own for nearly ten minutes. 

His father's writing was slow and plodding, with lots of thought between sentences. Especially when he got towards the end and failed to finish that sentence. Don't think about Duscur, he told himself, focusing only on his hand and making sure his father didn't slip away from him again into that horrid place. Don't think about it. 

'–Love, Lambert' his father concluded, leaving a little room at the bottom of the page for Dimitri to write his own message to his uncle. Hopefully Rufus would not think this was a prank. But Dimitri had never been dexterous or delicate enough to forge his father's handwriting. And to do so as some kind of joke would just be twisted. If nothing else, he hoped Rufus knew he wouldn't do a thing like that. This was... it was genuine. It was real. 

"I'm sure he'll appreciate the letter from you, Father," Dimitri said, shivering a little as Father's hand withdrew from inside of his own. He flexed the fingers he once more had control over. (He could have taken control back at any time. At least, he had that sense. But he hadn't wanted to cut his father's limited access to the world off.) "I'll make sure it gets sent. ...I'm meant to be going to dinner, soon. I will be eating with Claude.”

"Ah, wouldn't want to be late for that." He smiled fondly at his son. Something in his chest still feared for his child, something he couldn't explain. Dimitri seemed okay... But he wasn't truly convinced. He bent forward to press a kiss to Dimitri's forehead. Tender moments like these used to be so commonplace. As Dimitri grew though, he began to miss them. 

"Enjoy your time, Son. No boy wants their father intruding on a date." (Had he been alive, he might have beaten around the bush a little. As it was, his thoughts were closer to the surface.) "Have fun." He was tired. Perhaps... perhaps he could afford a nap. Yes... that sounded good.

Father's ghost faded out of existence. But he would be back. He always was. Dimitri knew this like he knew that the sky was blue. His father's ghost would return wailing for revenge eventually. 

His hand trembled and he broke another pen before he noticed how bad the shaking was. He sat down the broken pieces and took a deep breath and rested his head on his desk for a long, long time. 

When finally he lifted his head and looked back down at his letter again, his vision grew cloudy. There was his father's handwriting, right in front of him. It was proof Rufus just couldn't deny. But just in case his uncle thought this was a joke... Dimitri picked up a fresh quill, bathed it in ink, and began writing. He kept the message brief. 

'Prince-Regent, Thank you for sending Loog. I appreciate it. So does Father. He's here with me. I see him, too. –Prince Dimitri’

Hand shaking again already, he sat down his pen and picked up Loog to hug. The little lion still smelled of home. And he still brought Dimitri all the comfort he always had. 

There. The letter was written. He waited for the ink to dry before carefully folding it and taking it out to give to a courier addressed and sealed. 

He watched them ride off, hoping he hadn't just made a huge mistake. Anyone who saw that letter would have full grounds to call him a lunatic if he didn't pretend it was a joke instead, and he could not pretend such a thing. Trusting Rufus was impossible. But the letter was already out of his hands, and all he could do now was wait and see what sort of response it might get. He expected he'd hear something from his uncle before week's end.

Chapter Text

"Here we are!" Flayn's chipper voice roused Claude from his sleep. 

Still on the star terrace. Sarbi and Kiros were cuddled against him. "Hi Flayn," he croaked, peeking his head above the pile, blinking in the bright sunshine. "How’s it going?" Ugh, still felt awful. Couldn’t someone do something about that? He supposed not… Someone told him something about not being able to use magic on him. Which must include healing magic. Ugh.

Peeking around, he realized it wasn't just Flayn who was here. Hilda yanked her head away from him. "Oh. Sorry. Hi Hilda." He went limp, hiding himself once more against his brothers. It hurt that Hilda couldn't look at him, but he understood. "Thanks for coming. Will you stay? Kiros misses you." Hopefully she wouldn't run away again. She just got here! And Kiros really did miss her a lot. He peeked around for any hint of his boyfriend, but Dimitri was nowhere to be found.

"Hilda?" Kiros' face was the next to emerge from the pile of blankets and Sarbi. His eyes were excited and bright where they peeked out at his love. He wanted to reach out for her and pull her into the cuddle pile... but that would mean letting go of the blanket he had quickly wrapped around himself so she wouldn't have to look at his missing arm. Both he and Little Claude were aware they needed to walk on tiptoe around Hilda if they wanted her to stay. And he wanted her to stay very badly.

He had tucked her ascot into the collar of his shirt so he could nuzzle and cuddle it while she was gone. It smelled like her, so he was happy to cuddle it. But he would be even happier if he got the chance to cuddle her, too.

"Hey there, sleepy-heads," Hilda said softly, hoping no one would bring up her meltdown yesterday. She couldn't help but smile when she found her ascot. It killed her how she couldn't stand to look at her best friend. But it also killed her to actually look at him, so... 

She averted her eyes when Claude peeked up at her. Gosh. He really wasn’t looking too great… But she didn't avert her eyes too far. Instead, she found Kiros and began petting his silky hair. 

"Dimitri should be by soon," she said, for lack of anything else to say. "Kinda surprised he didn't beat me here." She had dragged her feet a little. "Oh! Before I forget!" She reached into the little bag that she brought with her. "Lysithea baked you some cookies, Claude, Kiros. I didn't answer anyone's questions today, obviously. But the class is worried about you." She passed the tin of cookies to Kiros.

Kiros was, understandably, very hesitant to let go of the blanket he was clutching around himself. But, well, he was wearing a robe with two sleeves. He still had his shoulder and a few inches past that. If she didn't look too closely, she could probably pretend that his arm was still there. And the blanket wouldn't fall all the way if he was careful! So he reached out with a smile and accepted the tin of cookies. 

"Thanks, Hils. You'll have to thank Lysithea for me." He sniffed at the tin. "Of course, I'll thank her too, next time I see her. But... that might be another few days." He wanted at least to wait long enough for Little Claude to gain some of his weight back. Cookies would help! 

"Think you'll like these?" he asked his twin as he sat the tin between his knees and squeezed it so he could pry off the lid one-handed. They looked to be sugar cookies dipped with one side in white chocolate. They were going to be very sweet, but maybe Little Claude's body wouldn't mind the sugar rush this time. Not when he was still recovering like this! "I can feed you one, if you want to try it. ...Or try to do what you did for me earlier. With the sashimi."

Claude's whole face scrunched up when he saw the white chocolate. "Well, I appreciate the thought. You better eat them. I wouldn't want to get poisoned by Lysithea's sugar-cooties." He hummed. "I wouldn't mind trying a bite through your taste buds, though." 

He watched Kiros eat one of the cookies. It didn't take long for flavor to explode through his mouth. He flinched and hissed at the sweetsweetsweet. Badbad!  

"Nope! Nope nope. All yours. Bleh. What does Lysithea put in those? Lead? It's way too sweet." 

"...You didn't eat one, though?" Hilda said, side-eyeing him (emphasis on the side). Flayn handed him some cheese to snack on. Perfect. (Perfect except for the fact that had to put the cheese directly into his mouth due to how weak his arms were.)

"Kiros did. We figured out we can share tastes. It's pretty neat."

"Just tastes like white sugar and chocolate to me," Kiros said. He stopped sending the taste signals and leaned down to nuzzle Claude's hair. Hopefully the cheese would help. "Hilda and I will take you to that bakery soon. There will be stuff there that you like. You should try one of those scones for yourself," he insisted before going back to the cookies. Hardly a good 'meal' for him, but he was hungry and the cookies were good! 

He knew he shouldn't eat two dozen of these sugar-bombs by himself, though, so he picked up the tin to offer some to Flayn and Hilda as well. Sarbi leaned forward, tongue flicking, but Kiros just laughed at that. "No, Sarbi, none for you.” 

Just then, running footsteps approached the star terrace. Kiros looked up, but he could already sort of tell who was on the way just based on how Little Claude was perking up. 

"I apologize for being late," Dimitri said, a bit out of breath from running all the way up here. Kiros' eyes grew wide. Dimitri hadn't come alone. "I, ah... I had some mail to attend to." He held up the little lion plush he had brought with him. "...This is Loog."

Loog? Claude took in the cute lion stuffy. ...Loog! 

"Is that the stuffed lion you mentioned a while ago? Aww, he's adorable! Did you send a letter to have it mailed here?" Dimitri must have felt nostalgic after conversing with his father. That, or maybe Dimitri was concerned that Lambert's ghost would get upset at being unable to deliver the plushie.

…Or maybe not, if the look that crossed Dimitri’s face was any indication. He didn’t know what to make of that.

"Come?" he requested, wriggling until he was kinda upright(ish). It was a stark improvement that he could lift his arms up a little for Dimitri to settle against. …Compared to how he should be, it was pathetic to consider ‘can move arms a little’ to be an improvement. That thought was only amplified when he saw Hilda flinch. He dipped back into the blanket heap. "Sorry." 

"Nono! Argh, no, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to feel like you need to hide yourself from me." Hilda said that to the ground. She looked like she needed a hug. But not from him. 

He buffed his face against Kiros. Go to her. Dimitri was settling beside him, and he still had Sarbi and Flayn too. Hilda needed a hug right now, and Kiros was the one who could give it to her.

"Please don't feel bad about it, Hilda. Kiros is on the way with a hug from me!” He glanced at his brother. ‘You better give her a hug for me now.’

Kiros got up for him, though his brother kept the blanket wrapped tight around himself. Oh, right… the arm. He cringed, hoping the hug he just forced Kiros and Hilda to engage with wasn’t awkward due to a lacking limb. Kiros settled beside Hilda and nuzzled her shoulder, then offered her a cookie. ‘No hard feelings,’ was the vibe Kiros sent out. Good, good.

“I'll look handsome again soon enough!” he added. “My recovery won't take long." Hopefully. Gods, his recovery better not take too long.

"You're handsome right now too," Dimitri corrected him. 

He rolled his eyes. "Flattery will get you everywhere. Now, official introductions to Sir Loog, please?" Without thinking, he buried his face against the plushie and nuzzled it, giving it a little purr. It smelled... well-loved.

Dimitri refrained from saying anything about how he got Loog until he was settled. Sending a letter to have Loog mailed… Oh, if only it was that simple.  

It only took a second for Claude to buff his face against the old, well-loved toy. At that point, he nearly shouted 'Careful!' before he remembered he didn't have to worry about any super-strength from Claude ripping his beloved toy apart. The lion had a multitude of seams stitched across him, evidence of times when Dimitri or one of his friends got a little too rough with the little guy. By now, Dimitri knew to be careful. And of course he knew that Claude would be careful with something so precious, too.

"Loog, this is my boyfriend, Claude," he said with a little smile. "Claude, this is Loog the Lion. ...I've had him since I was about three, I believe. A gift from my father." This was where his expression turned a little strained. "I... I did not send for him, no. My uncle sent him to me.” His voice fell in volume. "It isn't something I think my uncle would do unprompted. I'm not sure he even knew I still had Loog.”

Did Claude understand the implications of this already? Or was he going to have to spell it out? Someone else had given Rufus the idea to send Loog to him.

Claude’s eyebrows rose. Did that mean...? "Does your uncle have the same trait that you do?" He moved from scenting nuzzling Loog to nuzzling Dimitri. And cuddling close. Touch touch. "Maybe it is a family thing after all." He lowered his voice so no one else could hear. "Or perhaps your dad was just really determined." 

"Oh! You should introduce Loog to Flayn's fish." Flayn perked up, her plush fish clasped between her arms. "I bet they will be fast friends."

"I don't know. He has certainly never said anything about it to me," Dimitri replied quietly. "But this is not the sort of thing that is spoken about. My uncle and I... don't speak, regardless." He let out a deep breath. "I've written him a letter. Hopefully, we will have an answer soon enough. Though whether that answer is honest... I can't predict from Uncle Rufus." 

Though Dimitri did want to talk about this and have someone aware of what was going on, Claude could tell he didn’t want to dwell on it. His boyfriend’s eyes went towards Flayn, who was fluffing a pillow at the edge of the blanket-heap.

“Flayn!” Claude called, prompting her to perk up. “You should introduce Fish to Loog. I bet they’ll be fast friends.”

Flayn beamed. Oh, she was likewise clutching a plush animal against her chest. She looked much closer to the age of someone who could be seen with such things in public, but Dimitri knew she was much older than she appeared. That sort of made him feel a little better about carrying Loog across campus to come up here. He smiled at the girl and nodded. 

"I believe introductions are in order, then," he said, holding Loog up for her to see. "Do not worry. He is not interested in eating fish."

"Hello, Loog! My, what a regal lion you are." Flayn giggled. She was a touch old to be playing with stuffed animals. But so was Dimitri. She was in good company. "This is Fish! Worry not, dear Loog, for he does not eat lions." She mimed Fish giving Loog a bow. 

Claude was quick to purr as he watched the scene. A tiny part of her was jealous over how easily he could purr. Just a teeny tiny part, though. She rarely missed purring. It was not that she could not do it. Purring simply did not feel natural anymore. She had to consciously do it, and her purrs were more often than not very quiet. 

Sarbi joined the rumbles. The wyvern sniffed Dimitri, then gave a happy greeting consisting of a wyvern-lick to the face.

"Ah, Sarbi!" 

Dimitri yelped as the wyvern licked the side of his face. Thank goodness he had no particular fear of wyverns, or he would have been more hesitant about climbing into a nest with one. That did not mean, however, that he expected a lick to the face! 

But both Claude and Kiros laughed because of it, so he did not mind too much. Instead, he just chuckled and wiped his cheek onto his sleeve. "Hello to you too, friend," he said, greeting the wyvern with a few extremely gentle pats on the nose. 

Kiros leaned a little closer and made kissy noises at Sarbi, who turned his attention to grooming the green-haired man soon enough. "There, you're spared," Kiros told him with a grin. "Oh, cookie?" He offered out the tin and Dimitri glanced inside. 

"Ah, no thank you. ...Wait! I was supposed to bring a dinner tray up for you both!" he suddenly recalled. All of the shock surrounding Loog had just made him forget!

"That's okay," Claude said, draping himself (and a blanket) over top of Dimitri. Ugh, even the small movement took considerable effort. With his head pillowed against Dimitri's chest, he purred and purred. "Someone else can get food. You're stuck now." He nuzzled underneath Dimitri's chin to emphasize. And maybe planted a kiss there too. Aaaand a little nibble. 

He was just so happy. He got Dimitri, and Sarbi, and his older self to cuddle now! Once he was a bit less sharp and bony, Hilda would cuddle too. He could finally have that puppy pile that he always dreamed about as a kid. 

'Come cuddle...!' he called to Big Claude, briefly forgetting that Hilda couldn't bear to see him, let alone touch him. 'Both of you need to come cuddle. Else Dimitri will get up. Can't have that.’

Kiros chattered a small noise back to Little Claude when his brother tried to summon him into the nest. He loved cuddling his brother, of course, but... he couldn't right now. He was having Hilda time! And he didn't get a lot of that. After missing so much of that in the past years of his life, he didn't want to let go of even a single second, either. 

'Can't! I have cookies! No crumbs in the nest!' he protested, crunching into a cookie at that very moment just to prove his point. He nuzzled against Hilda to silently communicate that he didn't want to leave her, either. Hilda wouldn't come cuddle. They both knew that. So while she was here, which wasn't going to be forever, Kiros wanted to snuggle with her.

He made a little "Grrmgmnngn" sound against Dimitri's chin, but accepted his twin's reasoning. Kiros deserved to cuddle with Hilda, and Hilda deserved some cuddles without being triggered by him.  

Bereft of his older self and Hilda, he flopped as much as he could on Dimitri, starfishing himself until Dimitri laid down. Rumbling, he nibbled on Dimitri's hair (and jawline). "Seteth can get us food. He makes a good butler." 

Said good butler cleared his throat. He snickered. Seteth wouldn't get him in trouble anymore, so he could say what he wanted! The man sighed, but reached into the nest to pat his head anyways. Slowly but surely he was winning Seteth over. Wasn't much of an alternative, given they were connected through his twin. 

"Any requests? And for the rest of you?" 

"Mmm... A meal I can share with Dimitri," he decided. The prince probably had yet to eat. "And some more of that sashimi? Just a bit." He doubted Dimitri would care for the texture, but he wanted some for himself.

Kiros gave his father a little smile when his twin called him a butler. He hoped Seteth didn't mind. Or that he would at least get used to their particular sense of humor and teasing. Little Claude had a lot more of that in him than the elder did, but perhaps as he began to recover more and more that teasing side would come out of Kiros, too. 

His expression crumpled a little bit when Claude mentioned sharing food with Dimitri. That meant they were going to eat in the nest! And he didn't like that. He didn't like that one little bit. He let out a little whine, not wanting to limit his twin's cuddle time or restrict him from eating. But he didn't want things spilled or crumbling in the nest! That meant rats and bugs and spiders!

"Sashimi it will be," Seteth said. "As for what you might be able to share with Dimitri... I believe they are serving meat skewers in the dining hall today." He glanced to Kiros, who relaxed a little at the suggestion. Meat skewers were hard to spill and they didn't crumble. That would be good.

"I'll have some of those, too. Can't just eat cookies," Kiros said. "Did you want something from the dining hall too, Hilda?"

"Both for me!" Claude told Seteth, wiggling at the thought of eating both the tasty sashimi and the meat skewer. “Good butler.” His twin's whine halted his wiggles, though. 'What's wrong?'

Kiros' eyes dropped down to the nest. Oh! 

"I'll move. Promise. No eating in the nest." Mostly. He'd been fed snacks in the nest. Had that been causing his older self anxiety, and he hadn't noticed? "Afraid there is one snack I have to have in the nest, though. I won't compromise." He paused for dramatic effect. Then rammed his face into Dimitri's chest. "Thiff snack," he mumbled into his boyfriend.

Seteth left to get them food. He chirped at Dimitri, who just cooed at him in reply. Sweet, but not what he was after. He cocooned himself in his blanket thoroughly, then jutted his chin to the other side of Sarbi. "Carry me? So that I'll be outside the nest when food gets here."

Kiros' expression relaxed further when Claude assured him he would move out of the nest to eat. Not only was that good for cleanliness reasons, but also because it meant his twin felt well enough to be moved. Claude was rather active in bundling himself up in the blankets, which was good. He had more energy! That meant he was recovering.

Dimitri smiled at his boyfriend and nodded. He took only the time to place Loog gently in Claude's arms, making sure he was nice and secure and safe, before lifting Claude up. 

"I will have to tell Sylvain that I was called a 'snack' today," Dimitri said, mostly joking as far as Kiros could tell. "He'll be quite amused by that."

Claude laughed loudly at the thought. "He won't be amused — he'll drive himself crazy trying to figure out which girl called you a snack." As his laugh died down, he rested his head against Dimitri's heart. "Besides, you're more than just a snack. You're a whole meal. A buffet. Heh... A buff-buffet." Maybe the sleepies were making him silly. Or maybe he just felt safe enough to be silly around Dimitri. "All for me." 

He pressed a kiss to his boyfriend's bicep. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Loog's button eye staring at him. "I guess I can share with Loog. He has seniority. Besides, I'm sure he's just as into cuddling as I am." He smiled at the cute plush, reaching out to pet it with a quivering hand. He eyed Dimitri first to gauge whether or not that was okay, though. "He's only got one button-eye. What happened to the other? Poor thing deserves an eye-patch."

"I'm not sure what happened to it," Dimitri said. He was grateful that Claude changed the topic from him being a ‘buff-buffet’. He just really had no idea how to respond to that. He knew that people had flirted with him in the past — he wasn't as obtuse as most people thought he was. He just never reciprocated because he wasn't interested. Not before Claude. Now, he had this to contend with... a silver-tongued flirt up against someone who had no experience at all when it came to flirting. So he was glad to talk about Loog instead.

He petted the little lion's mane and smiled fondly. "The button-eye was lost ages ago. I think Felix bit it off, though he denied it until he was blue in the face. My father said we could sew a new one on, but it wasn't going to be the same, so... I refused. I didn't want a replacement. It's just how he is now," he explained.

"Felix bit it off? That's—I don't think I've ever heard something more Felix, aside from the word 'sword.'" He offered a gentle little nuzzle to the stuffie. "I love him just the way he is." 

Mmm... Happyhappy. He was here, in the sunshine, with all his favorite people, and with the promise of a meal on the way. The only thing that could make it better was if he was fully well again. Soon. Soon he would be better. 

"How was class today?" he asked both Dimitri and Hilda. He wiggled so he was as hidden as he could possibly be in the blankets (aside from his face). He didn't blame Hilda for not wanting to look at him, though it did make him feel like a crummy friend to force her to be around him. Really, he was mostly just grateful that his older self wasn't struggling with the same trauma as Hilda. If Big Claude couldn't bear to look at him or cuddle him, he wouldn't have been able to anchor his soul.

"Oh, same old, same old," Hilda answered, her eyes looking more at Lysithea's cookie tin than anywhere else. Big Claude had sat it down on the ground between them so he could hold his blanket closed around himself — both Claudes burrowing and hiding away from her view. It didn't make her feel that great, but at least she didn't feel the urge to run away this time.

Big Claude — Kiros, that was, she was still getting used to his new name — had settled his head on her shoulder and was purring, which was unbearably sweet. She just... couldn't really look at him. Either of them. Which was shameful! But neither called her out on it.

"Professor Manuela lectured on, um, I think swordsmanship. I dunno, I didn't really think it was important, I didn't listen much. You can get notes from Lysithea.” 

Kiros perked up. "Oh, yeah... little-me, I suppose you can take Byleth back up on those sword lessons. If you want to. Unless the slot already got claimed by someone else, I suppose. ...Then again, they might not want to fight you, either," he mumbled.

Byleth. When was the last time Claude thought about Byleth? He had to wonder what they were up to. Last he saw them was… was… the tea party. The one with ‘Sothis’. Hopefully they were using their time wisely in regards to the impending war. He and Kiros sort of got side-tracked (but it was an important and necessary side-track!). …How long had Kiros even been in his body, anyway? How long did they have?

He needed to get better. He needed to get better soon. Rhea better have a solution for him.

Sword lessons with Byleth. "Maybe," he said, keeping his options open. He wasn't inclined to make himself vulnerable to them in this timeline, though, despite their supposed regret. "I was thinking I might hone my axe skills, actually." 

Almyran axe-fighting wasn't something Byleth would know how to counter from him. Just in case. He didn't really care about the notes from class. Nor did he even really care about class. It was just something to ask Hilda. Mostly because— 

"I'm worried about you," he blurted out towards Hilda. Then pouted down at his own mouth. It was far easier to hold his tongue in the flesh, but his time with ghost-lips still left him blurting some things aloud. There was a moment of cringe-worthy silence as he didn't know how to follow that up. "This has been hard on you too," he awkwardly tacked on.

"Aww, what, worried about me?" Hilda asked. Her faux expression of shock, Kiros noted, was not nearly as convincing when she wouldn't even turn and look at little Claude. "That's sweet of you, Claudie, but you really don't have to be! I'm fine," she insisted.

"You're not," Kiros interjected with a little shake of his head. "And that's okay! It's okay to not be okay. I mean... this is a lot to take in.” He refrained from gesturing at himself. A lot to take in. "I just appreciate that you're here. I don't mind if you can't look at me yet."

"Yes, that," Claude agreed. "I mean, obviously I'd like you to be able to gaze upon my handsome face without triggering future-trauma. But that's more for your sake than mine. You're my best friend. Aaaand probably my future..." He paused, double-checking his mental calculations, "sister-in-law slash future-wife. Not my wife. But future me's wife." He paused again. "I mean, I assume that's the direction you two are going in. Although maybe that's not the sort of assumptions I should be making..."

His mumbles trailed off as he frowned down at the ground. Hilda and Big Claude were deeply in love. So it was a pretty clear through-line, right? Though he and Dimitri were in love too... He didn't have a clue how that was supposed to turn out. Argh, if only Dimitri and Hilda had opposite positions. It made much more sense for him to marry a Goneril who could come back with him to Almyra, and more sense for Kiros to marry a king and go to Faerghus. He didn't even know if Kiros had any ambition left in him after tearing down time and space itself.

Welp, reality was what it was. No use dreaming up slightly more convenient circumstances. Not when he had someone who whole-heartedly loved him. Who could be picky over that?

Future wife. Yes, that... that was something Kiros very much wanted. He hadn't thought a thing like that attainable — marriage, happiness — in his own lifetime. With the key part hinging on the happiness. Because, well... 

Once, he had been married. On paper, at least. It had been a political thing, something to make him look better in the eyes of the Almyran elders when he ascended to the throne. They'd consummated their marriage and for as 'fantastic' as sex was supposed to be (and as fantastic as it had been with Hilda) it hadn't fixed him back then. He'd divorced Leila before returning to Fodlan. There had been nothing connecting them — no love, no children — and he wasn't going to bind her for the rest of her life to a husk of a man. If she remarried and eventually had kids, he didn't know. And that really didn't seem like something he should bring up in front of Hilda and his younger self right now. 

"We have time to think about those things," was all he said aloud. "And averting the chaos of the war comes first, still, I'm afraid." Hilda wasn't going to like hearing that. But it was true. He wouldn't be able to go off and be happy somewhere else if all of his friends ended up dead in a war, regardless.

"I suppose I will have to be content with putting our lives first," Hilda teased (though it wasn't a very good thing to tease). She did want to marry Claude. Er, Kiros. He was the love of her life! But she understood that, yeah, stopping the Big Bad Future was probably a higher priority. Her own future proved that they couldn't marry if she died first. 

...That was all way too morbid.

Thank Seteth for Seteth, who returned with food before things could get too awkward. Lil Claude cheeped — actually cheeped! — for his food first. Seteth wasn't swayed by cute cheeps, though, and approached them (well, Kiros) first.

"Your talents are wasted on the church," she told him. "You could be a first-class waiter with the way you carry so many plates."

Kiros cheeped in response to his little brother, affirming that 'yes! your food first!' before Seteth ignored that and brought Kiros his tray immediately. Little Claude wilted just a bit and Kiros pouted up at his father in mute protest. But protesting wasn't going to get the tray to Dimitri and Claude any faster, so all he could do to speed up the process was take his own so Seteth could move on.

Hilda also got her tray, more of the same as everyone else. Beef skewers didn't cause a lot of mess and could easily be eaten with one hand, which Kiros was sure that everyone was glad for. No one had to help him dig into his meal and Dimitri could feed Claude easily enough, too!

"Oh, what is this?" Dimitri asked as Seteth sat down two trays, one with the beef skewers and the other with thin slices of pink fish. Kiros rumbled.

'If you want to send more of the taste my way, warn me first. I wanna be able to savor it by itself, not with a mouthful of kebab,' he requested. 'Think Dimitri and Hilda wanna try some?'

Claude licked his lips, opening his mouth slightly to let the purrs out louder. "Purrrrr," he said. "Ahem." He meant to say, "Want to try a bite, Dimitri? It's called sashimi! Shockingly good. Kiros doesn't like the texture, but he agreed it tastes really good." 

Dimitri squinted at his sashimi. "What is it...?"

"Fish! Raw. I know, I know. But don't knock it ‘til you try it. Seteth says it's safe for humans."

"Nutritious too," the man added, settling beside Flayn with their shared meal.

"Thank you for offering, Claude. I think I will pass, though. I can be particular about texture."

"If you say so.” He’d had a feeling Dimitri would say that. “Hilda, want a piece?" Though, she would have to look near him to try it... Picking up a piece, he judged the distance and tossed it. He undershot it slightly, thanks to his reduced muscles, but landed mostly on target! The chunk of fish flopped onto the edge of Hilda's plate.

"Oop, look out!" Kiros said the moment before Claude threw over his piece of sashimi onto Hilda's plate. She still jumped and let out a little squeal, her eyes going wide. 

"Claude! Don't throw food!" she scolded him as she stared down at the raw fish with equal parts curiosity and concern. "Raw fish, huh...? This sounds like something Holst would eat. ...Which means I'm not so sure about it."

"Holst does have some interesting tastes. Does he still write you about his mushroom adventures?" he asked with a little grin.

Dimitri stared down at Claude, watching his beloved's gaunt face peel into a cat-like grin at Hilda's squeal. Cute.

"That wasn't very nice," he said, without heat.

"But it was funny."

He rolled his eyes, hopelessly endeared by his mischievous boyfriend. To win the discussion, he gingerly picked up one of the... raw fish chunks and fed it to Claude. His boyfriend was eager to gobble it up, licking his fingers clean while purring like thunder. His face warmed as he watched Claude lick his fingers clean. And, ahem, keep licking…

The spell was broken as Claude nuzzled his hand, then buffed him with his head. Pets, Claude seemed to demand now, rubbing his curls against Dimitri's hand. Who was he to deny?

"Ah! Claude!" Apparently finished with pets, Claude had just taken to nibbling on his finger. "Don't bite me. You aren't actually a cat."

"But I am in desperate need of fish. Pwease?"

Obviously he gave in to Claude's request. He held up like paper at the bottom of a lake. "Mushrooms?" he asked Kiros and Hilda, attempting to will away any impure feelings he might possibly be feeling as Claude ate and lapped from his fingers. "What sort of mushroom adventures?"

"Oh, her brother likes to go hunting for wild edible mushrooms in the lands around their estate," Kiros explained.

Hilda rolled her eyes and nodded. "Yeah, he does. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you know about that already, Kiros. I don't think I've told Claude about it, though.” Kiros made a little noise that she determined to be an apology, but she just shook her head. "Oh, no! It's fine. I'm still just getting used to this idea, you know? I mean, I know stuff I don't really remember and all, so of course you do."

"You want to tell them about that time he and Balthus got high off of some mushrooms they mistook for something else?" he asked.

Hilda's eyes went wide now. "Whaaaat? I don't know about that!" she said. 

Kiros pursed his lips and thought about it. "Huh... actually, that might not have happened yet. Heh. Wonder if I could prevent that, too.”

"Why would you want to prevent that?" Claude piped up, snickering. "Sounds like a riot. Doesn't sound like anyone got hurt. Might teach Holst a lesson in vetting his mushrooms better. Getting high is much better than dying." He made a face, remembering the time he made that mistake. When he first came to Riegan, he explored the forest to clear his head. He'd never been in a forest before, not like they had in Leicester. Having read plenty about mushrooms, of course he had been excited when he stumbled across a patch that he thought he recognized.

Unfortunately, as he quickly learned, mushroom foraging was not a hobby for the 'eh, this looks close enough' crowd. If not for his Crest, it probably would have killed him. That said, if not for his Crest, he probably wouldn't have been so brazen as to risk it.

It worked out in the end, though. He learned his lesson and learned it well. Now he triple checked his mushrooms before he ate them. "Who's Balthus? I don't recognize the name." Hmm... Not any noble lords, he didn't think... Most of those he already memorized. Balthus, Balthus... nope, he was coming up blank.

Kiros chuckled a little bit at his younger self's words. Yeah, that was probably true. Oh... but then Claude made that face. Even without their connection, he would have understood what that look meant. Little Claude was thinking about that one time. 'That one time' was not very fun. Thankfully, it wasn't something either of them dwelled on. They'd been poisoned plenty of times in their life. The one instance where they'd done it to themselves was notable, but not really much different otherwise.

"Balthus is an old friend of Hilda's brother. And our mother, actually, though she only remembers Holst and Balthus as kids," he explained. "He's actually a member of House Albrecht, though it's not a title he clings to. ...He lives in Abyss right now," he mentioned. "Along with a few others. There's a whole city down there, you know. Not that I expect you and I to go exploring it any time soon.”

He shivered at the very thought. "Pretty sure I'm afraid of the dark now," he admitted unintentionally. "Dark and underground! Night time is fine." Though he might start sleeping with a light... Maybe he should look into getting something enchanted to provide a bit of light to save on candles.

But, a whole city. He couldn't imagine it. Right here, under Garreg Mach? What awful lives those people must live. Funny to think that a month(?) ago, he would have leapt at the idea of an underground city bursting with secrets. When he first came to Garreg Mach, that was exactly the sort of thing he was looking for. He didn't need those secrets anymore, though. He had all the secrets he could need here on the surface.

He ate a bite of sashimi to avoid thinking about the dark. Mmm. Much better. Wiggle wiggle. "Do you want a taste?" he offered his older self.

Kiros himself was... considering. Considering making a return visit to Abyss. As long as he didn't go to the place he'd fallen into, he was pretty sure he'd be okay. The place would be different, full of people like it was now. Well-lit. Populated. He sort of wanted to visit that old statue-fountain of his again and maybe find out its name. He was certain it had one, he just didn't know it. And there were so many secrets in that old library which he had ignored in his pursuit for time-bending magic. Maybe he would go back. If he didn't go alone. Maybe.

"Do you want a taste?"

"Mm? Mm-hmm," he responded distractedly. He was sorry for making his younger self scared of the dark. Abyss itself, when lived-in, really wasn't... that horrible. It had simply become so when he was its only resident.

And perhaps he was overestimating his ability to 'handle it'. Perhaps he'd try to visit the place and have an utter meltdown as soon as he set foot underground. There was really no telling what would happen until it was happening.

Seteth took a seat beside Kiros, opposite to Hilda. He rumbled at his son, providing physical and scent-based comfort. Even the minor downtick in mood was enough to summon him to fuss over his child. He would be fussing even harder if not for Hilda, whom he wasn't keen to scare away. Hilda made Kiros happy, thus she should stay. 

"You never have to go back there," he reminded his son, rumbling gentle comfort-purrs. "You are a being of light and stars." Hm. Did Kiros inherent Begalta's domain of the stars? Or did the new Nabatean have his own unique domain? Time would tell. But that was a good thought. Perhaps Kiros would enjoy stargazing tonight. He recalled Claude's appreciation for the stars (and his illegal possession of a distance-viewer). "Would you like to watch the stars tonight?" he asked aloud, petting Kiros' hair. "And no, Claude, this is not a ploy to take your distance-viewer. You may use it if you wish. But only up here. It wouldn't do to share such a thing with others." Rhea was particular about that, though she would make an exception for Kiros.

"Wait, you'll actually let us break the rules? I can use my telescope?" He watched Claude wiggle in Dimitri's lap. "Really-really? No take-backs! Dimitri, you're going to love it, I can't wait for tonight." It was endearing to watch. Not as endearing as his Kiros, but... he could see himself growing fond of Claude. He would have to, since the boy was his now too.

"I never understood why those were banned," Kiros murmured in response to his twin's excitement over getting to break out the ol' telescope. Dimitri and Hilda both looked like they had no idea what he was talking about. Flayn, too. Well, he supposed he'd just have to show them tonight! Or, rather, Claude would. It was his telescope, after all. 

Though that brought up the question of how they were supposed to get it up here. Claude wasn't strong enough to go fetch it himself, yet. Kiros wasn't sure he was ready to be seen. Dimitri might break it. He wasn't sure if Little Claude would want their contraband location known to the dragons. That left... "You'll get it for us, won't you, Hilda?" he asked, turning to nuzzle his beloved. "I'll tell you where to find it. Or maybe Little Claude will. Up to you, Lil Claude," he said.

Whatever they decided, he was looking forward to tonight, too. He was excited to see the stars. Somehow more excited than he had been for a while, even though his first time seeing them after so many years had to be the most exciting. There was just something in his very bones that was thrilled by the idea of stargazing with his new family tonight.

He nodded eagerly, then verbalized a "Yes!" when he remembered Hilda wasn't looking at him. It would be nice to see the actual stars again, instead of the memories of them in his dreams.

"Careful," Dimitri said softly. "Wouldn't want you to wiggle out of my arms." Those very words prompted another happy-wiggle from him.

"You won't let me wiggle away. I'm just excited. Trust me, you're going to love seeing the stars like this. Maybe... maybe I can even tell a few stories...?" He glanced at his older self. "Maybe we can tell a few stories. From home. There are a lot about the stars."

"I'm looking forward to it." Dimitri petted his face, prompting him to happily coo. Soon, he needed to reintegrate himself with his fellow humans. His noises and rumbles needed to get under control. It was hard when Dimitri made him feel so safe to just be himself, though. "You're adorable..."

He preened. Literally, his chest puffed out and he rumbled, preening under Dimitri's light praise. "Am I adorable enough to be fed a piece of fish? I promised to share."

"Of course." Dimitri gingerly lifted a chunk of fish. "Shall I give this one to Kiros?"

"No! Mine!" He nipped at it. Dimitri relinquished the piece to his waiting maw. Closing his eyes, he focused on the rich flavors, sending them to Kiros just like how he would send his thoughts. Yumyum!

"Shall I give this piece to Kiros, then?" Dimitri pointed to another chunk.

"No! Also mine!" He thoughtlessly nipped Dimitri's hand. His boyfriend chuckled.

"Will you share or not?"

"I am sharing! Mmm... Is it good, Kiros?" He sent a purr along too, both out loud and in their heads.

Dimitri didn't quite follow what Claude was doing. But he obliged his boyfriend's requests regardless, ever so indulgent with him. Of course he didn't really understand until he saw Kiros perk up and smack his lips. Then his eyes went wide. He knew that the pair of twin souls were close and could communicate telepathically. But to see them exchange something besides thoughts was incredible to witness.

"I see. My apologies, you are sharing, aren't you?" he asked with a fond little smile. He kissed Claude's forehead and held him a little bit tighter. His handsome boyfriend... so sweet. "Ah, you slippery thing, trying to wiggle away from me. I'll just have to hold on to you more tightly, won't I?"

"That's exactly what he wants," Kiros told Dimitri.

All he got in response to that was a smile from Dimitri. That, and a softly whispered, "I know," from the happy, indulgent prince.

Claude didn't even bother denying it. This was what he wanted. And what Dimitri clearly delighted in giving him. To have someone who cared so much about his happiness... 

Well, his purring was deafening everyone to the point of showing his deep appreciation.
"You have no idea how happy you make me," he decided to say out loud. Dimitri deserved the praise. He wiggled in Dimitri's tight grip just because he could. He loved it. Loved every last bit of it. Being held, being loved, being squeezed just a little. That Dimitri was so willing to indulge him even when he was being silly... He loved it and he loved Dimitri. Sensation was something he craved and Dimitri didn't deny him for a moment. He was utterly engulfed, utterly delighted.

Everything went fuzzy for a moment. Before his soul could slip out, he caught it and put a stop to it. No no. Stay in the body! Part of him wanted to share his joy with Dimitri intimately, yes, but to separate himself would worry Dimitri. Plus he was enjoying all the sensation! Hopefully no one noticed. His soul stayed in place, after all (it just sort of wobbled). He opened his mouth to say something. A yawn escaped, one that he was quick to try and silence. Not sleepy time yet! He wanted to cuddle and socialize and exist in the world. He needed to feel! Couldn't do that while sleeping.

Kiros' ear gave the smallest twitch when Little Claude's soul went loose. He turned to look at his twin and made a little 'mrrr?' noise, one of concern. That also made Flayn look over at Little Claude, too. But as everything seemed to be all right, no one panicked. Little Claude's soul settled back in place and Kiros' worry settled out into a purr once again. He moved closer to give his twin a nuzzle. Then he was going back to Hilda's side and finishing up his dinner.

Dimitri, meanwhile, clung to the wiggly thing that was Claude. He would have been purring too, if he was able. What good was being a lion if he couldn't purr? (He knew that big cats did not purr. He'd been told so by Uncle Rufus when he was very small and tried to tell the man that Loog was purring at him.) He had to make do with kisses and nuzzles instead. He noticed Claude yawn, but could tell his boyfriend didn't yet want to go back to sleep.

"You have some more food to finish," he reminded, picking up the meat skewer and bringing it to Claude's lips. "You can't go back to bed until you clean your plate. You have weight to gain back.”

He nodded eagerly (if a bit sleepily). "Prrp! Yes please." He opened his mouth like a baby bird. Thankfully, Dimitri did not feed him like a mama bird, and simply placed the next piece of fish in his mouth. Wiggle wiggle! He was so happy that he cheeped .

Soon enough, the fish was gone. So were the meat skewers. Dimitri offered him a few bites, which he gladly sampled, but he refused anything beyond a taste. Not only was he very full; Dimitri needed to eat too. Once Dimitri finished eating, he 'sampled' again via a kiss.

"Prr... prr... prrrrm..." His head bobbed and his eyelids fluttered. Mmm... full and cozy...  

"No!" he yelped, jerking himself awake. Despite his quick efforts to wake up, his eyes didn't want to focus. "Noooo... I can 'eep later..." His head already flopped back against Dimitri's chest, his neck unable to hold himself up. 'Keep me awake. Don't want to sleep yet.'

"You need your rest, Claude. Have to sleep off that big meal," Dimitri encouraged, giving his boyfriend's non-existent belly a few pats through the blanket.

Kiros, however, got the message. His twin didn't want to go back to sleep! Not yet. He wanted to stay in the real world and experience sensation and touch... which gave the older one a bit of a wicked idea.

"Mm, hmm-hmm," he hummed to himself as he walked on his knees over to where Dimitri and Claude were. Then he let go of his own blanket cloak so he could wiggle his hand into the cocoon that was Little Claude. He got his hand under the blankets, found one of his twin's feet, and tickled the arch.

Claude practically screamed and nearly kicked Kiros in the face. Having expected the reaction to be something like this, though, Kiros performed an expert dodge. "Got you!" he trilled, attacking Claude with his tickling fingers. "Awake now?" he asked through a laugh.

Claude vibrated at an extra happy frequency as his older self came over to cuddle. Cuddle! He eagerly welcomed Kiros into his blankets. Best best brother. Even though he didn't want to sleep, falling asleep between Dimitri and Kiros was the next best thi— 

"Yaaahh!!" was his screech of betrayal. His whole body jerked at the tickle, and it wasn't (entirely) voluntary as he nearly kicked Kiros in the face. The betrayal didn't end there. Having so thoroughly let down his guard, he was defenseless as Kiros attacked his ribs. He wailed and flailed, laughing as tears immediately sprang to his eyes. He tried to defend himself. His body was too busy spasming under Kiros' whims, and was too weak regardless. 

Dimitri rescued him. His boyfriend snatched Kiros' wrist and held it away from his ribs. His chest heaved as he caught his breath. He didn't know if that had been fun or not. It hurt, in truth. His whole body ached from using the strength he only barely had. Spasming left him exhausted, and as soon as the adrenaline left, he would plummet into a deep sleep. 

But, Kiros was grinning ear-to-ear, delighted to have gotten one over him. "We're like real brothers..." was what he wheezed. This was what he so often heard siblings were supposed to be like. Annoying, but loved. "Do that again and I will bite you," he warned. A tussle sounded fun, if not for his condition.

Whatever Kiros planned to say, it didn't happen. From behind, Hilda launched an attack on Big Claude, aiming for the same places that his twin revealed. Kiros went down, howling with laughter.

Ah, betrayal! Kiros howled with laughter as Hilda crept up behind him and immediately attacked the sensitive spots that he had accidentally pointed out on his twin. Of course they suffered the exact same weaknesses! And Hilda was eager to exploit them! 

"Traitor!" he declared, though just who he was talking to was unclear. It was a miracle that he got the word out at all between all of his laughter and gasping. How long had it been since he was last tickled? It had to have been Nader who did it to him last. Or his father, who had much less time to play with him than Nader, but still made the effort. It was usually wrestling with Nader that turned into tickle fights, and it would have been... probably two decades since he had gotten all the laughter wrung out of him like this. 

Despite not being able to say much else, he sent waves of affection in the direction of Little Claude. His heart felt so warm and full. "We're like real brothers..." his twin had said. Real brothers. He was so happy to be called that. 

"Hildaaaa!" he squealed, wiggling around underneath her and attempting to escape. He wasn't trying very hard to get away and she could probably tell. But eventually she let him up. He whirled on her with a bright grin and nuzzled her shoulder. Playplayplay!

But first, he could tell that his twin was swiftly heading back towards the realm of sleep. So he went back to Claude's side and gave him a kiss on the brow. "Sleep well, my little brother.”

Seteth lurched when his hatchling howled. It was only through extreme self-discipline that he remained where he was. His hatchling!! Flayn patted his shoulder, silently praising him for his restraint. He knew Hilda was just playing with his son. But his instincts needed to be convinced. Thankfully, he reined himself in and no one (except Flayn) noticed. It would have been quite embarrassing to bite Hilda... 

"Nini, big brothmn," cooed young Claude. Seteth found himself cooing a ‘sleep well,’ noise in reply. The boy needed his sleep.

Dimitri watched as Claude's eyes lost their battle. And with it, the war of consciousness was soundly decided. Claude conked. He waited for Kiros to finish a few more face-nuzzles. With that done, Dimitri was free to get up and return Claude to the nest. It didn't make much of a difference right now, since Claude was sleeping against his chest. But being in the nest seemed to be the proper place. 

Where Little Claude was exhausted, Big Claude was energized. He watched the Nabataean turn back to Hilda with play in his eyes. Time to find out how a ‘newborn’ Nabataean played…

Chapter Text

Kiros purred softly and gently as Little Claude drifted off to sleep. So sweet. Nini, little brother. Oh, he was so happy. Loved his brother so much. Soso so much. But he was sleeping now, and in Dimitri's loving care. Kiros entrusted him there. He would be safe and comfortable and warm.

Now that Little Claude was settled... He turned back around to Hilda. Playplay! His body wiggled at the very thought. He might look like an adult (though, a younger adult than he actually was) but the dragon part of him was still ready and eager to play like the child he could technically be considered.

Only... how to play with Hilda? He shouldn't do what his instincts were telling him to do. Which was to leap onto her and start biting. She would not be the biggest fan of that, which made him whine. He didn't think he would have to fight his instincts just to interact with his beloved! That was not fun! That was not play! And while he knew that Hilda was tough, he didn't think she was the sort to enjoy wrestling. (Especially not with a one-armed man, which she would definitely notice if they started tussling.) 

"Rrmm. How do you want to play?" he ended up asking in the end. That seemed like the safest thing to do.

For a second, Hilda seriously thought Kiros was going to leap at her. She braced herself, but her love managed to contain himself and his instincts. Gosh, he was just so adorable. All wiggles and smiles for her! So much better than how he looked when he was stressed.

He whined. "What's the matter?" she cooed. 

"Rrmm. How do you want to play?" So that was it. He was right that she wouldn't enjoy wrestling. The boys could do that together. She hummed, mulling over the options. Her Claude clearly needed to get up and move. She would prefer to be lazy... 

"Is it offensive if I suggest playing fetch?" That way he could zoom, she could stay in place, and everyone would be happy.

Kiros' ears gave the smallest little twitch when Hilda suggested fetch. Oo? His pupils dilated. She could probably tell just from that that he didn't take offense. In fact, his instincts were screaming that fetch was a fantastic way to spend his time. 

"What should we throw?" Kiros asked, wiggling in place once again. "If it's durable enough, I bet we can get Sarbi to play, too!" Obviously they would not be playing with either Flayn or Dimitri's beloved plushies. But what else out here was throwable? A pillow wouldn't stand up to Sarbi's rough play. 

He looked to Seteth and whined again. Surely the man would have something around that would be suitable for a young Nabataean (and a wyvern) to play with!

Was it bad that Hilda wanted to sew her Claude a toy later? He looked like he'd love a plush to hold and play with and maybe chew on. He was a baby dragon now, after all...  When did her life get so weird? Hah. It wasn’t a bad weird, though.

She looked around the terrace for something to throw. Sarbi perked up at the sound of his name. Hm... 

"I'll get something," Seteth said, eager to sate Kiros' needs. "For both of you." 

While Seteth was busy getting a wyvern-proof toy, she picked up a spoon and wiggled it in her grip. "How about a practice run, mm?" Ooo, Kiros was tracking her spoon close! His eyes were already huge, but they just seemed to get even bigger as her spoon caught the sunlight and sparkled. 

She chucked the spoon across the terrace. She needed to be extra careful to not throw too far. The last thing anyone wanted was for Kiros to go falling off the terrace!

Kiros' eyes closely tracked the shiny, shiny spoon that Hilda waved around in front of him. Excitement kicked his heart into racing. He hoped that the emotion wasn't too intense. Last thing he wanted to do was wake Little Claude with it. At most, he hoped to give his twin good, exciting dreams. His brother needed the res—

Spoon! Hilda threw the spoon!!

"Aaaarww!" was the sort of noise that escaped his lips as he rocketed to his feet and ran to the place the spoon clattered. Instinct told him to grab it up in his mouth. He managed to bite back that urge, too, and instead just flopped atop it with his whole body, hiding it possessively beneath himself. He purred loudly and got comfortable. 

His. His treasure. He caught it.

Hilda burst into giggles, prompting Dimitri to shush her. It wasn't her fault her Claude was being so silly! 

"You are so cute, Claudie! Er, I mean Kiros, sorry." She winced, hoping he didn't mind her slip up. She was still getting her bearings, honestly. 

She lifted her fork next, watching as Kiros' massive eyes followed the gleaming metal. Would Kiros chase the new shiny, or stay with his current shiny? She tossed it to figure out the answer. 

Kiros huddled over his treasure just a little bit more when Hilda addressed him. He knew she wasn't about to come over here and steal his spoon, but he just! Had to keep it! Safe! And then she started waving around the fork, and his eyes grew huge once again. 

She flung it through the air, and a horrible feeling of conflict swelled in his chest. Go get the new shiny? Or stay with his current shiny? Oh, what to do?! 

His feet scuffled around underneath him as he wrestled with indecision, making him wiggle all around as he stared at the fork. Eventually, he could no longer hold himself back and he flung himself at the second utensil, grabbing it up (with his hand) and running back over to sit it beside his spoon and then huddled over both of them once again, still purring.

Hilda appeared a little worried when Kiros spent so long staring at the fork and not chasing it. But that expression disappeared as Kiros zipped out to get the fork and then returned to his spoon.

Seteth understood exactly what he just witnessed. His son was feeling the effects of his hoarding instinct. With a wyvern tug toy in hand, he approached his sweet son. He cooed softly, a reassuring sound for his hatchling. For others, Kiros may have felt the urge to bite or lash out. Not at his father, though. "Do those belong to you now?" he asked softly, petting his son's hair. "We'll have to start a pile for you. Would you like me to guard them while you continue playing?" 

It was a ploy that could only work with a parent. Most dragons would be upset or suspicious at the idea of someone else guarding their hoard. It was different for younger dragons. Hopefully Kiros felt the way that Seteth expected. 

He tossed the wyvern-tug to Hilda, who caught it. "Once you give it to the boys, I can't guarantee you'll get that back," he warned her. Between Kiros and Sarbi, there were plenty of instincts to go around.

Kiros stared intently at Seteth as he came closer, but didn't growl or hiss or even show his teeth, even when the man made it all the way to his side and reached out. His purrs did slow down, but they didn't hesitate to kick back up once Seteth started petting him. 

"Rrrrrm..." He nuzzled his father's hand. He nipped a little bite against the man's palm, gently, before nodding. Seteth could guard his treasures. (He knew they weren't real treasures. Just cutlery from the kitchen. He would probably have to give them back. But that thought made his chest feel tight.) For now, they were safe with Seteth. He got the sense his father would not take them away from him, and so he would allow this. 

He carefully shuffled off his hoard and chattered a noise at his father while wiggling. 'Aren't they pretty?' he asked non-verbally. And they were! They were very pretty, and Seteth should admire them!

'Yes,' he crooned back, because of course his hatchling's first hoard-items were pretty. Some day, Kiros may lose interest in them. In such a case, Seteth would take them into his care, much like a human parent would keep their children's teeth. There was no guarantee that Kiros would ever want to give them up, though, and he had no plans to pressure his son. 

"The kitchen will never know," he said aloud, winking at his sweet son. 'They are yours.'  

Ideally he would be able to guide Kiros' hoarding tendencies. A dragon could fixate on anything (or everything) given the right circumstances, especially one so young. Some objects were more... inconvenient than others. Such as food that may spoil, or objects too large for his small son to feasibly move. 

"Oh Claaaaudie," Hilda called, dangling the tug-rope. "Want to play? Sarbi looks like he wants to play." Indeed, the wyvern was wiggling just like Kiros. Sarbi was being a good boy and waiting, though. And also protecting Little Claude, even though Dimitri was attempting to reassure the wyvern that Claude was already well protected.

Kiros smiled widely as his father agreed that his treasures were very pretty. He hopped once in place, unable to contain his wiggles just to one spot! And his purrs were loud, very very loud indeed. 

"Oh, Claaaaudie," Hilda called, making him look up and around at her with wide, bright eyes. She dangled a tug rope from her hands and his eyes tracked it. Playplay. Yes, of course he wanted to play! With Sarbi! 

He wasn't sure how they were going to play, though. Tug-of-war he would lose by virtue of not having good grip, and Sarbi and Hilda were both stronger than him, anyways. Hopefully it would be more fetch! He would be better at that than wresting with either anyone for possession of the rope. 

"Come on, Beebee!" he called to his wyvern, encouraging him to come play. "Little Claude is fine in the nest! Let's play!"

Sarbi looked between his smaller brother and his green brother. Khalid called him over even though Little-Khalid was sleeping... But Little-Khalid's mate was protecting him. Khalid trusted Dimee-tree, so Sarbi did too. Besides, Sarbi wanted to play! Khalid hadn't played with him (and Jamshid) for years! 

He extracted himself from the nest, eagerly making his way over to Big-Khalid's mate. She held a familiar play-rope. Usually he played with other wyverns. Khalid didn't have the bite strength to properly play tug-tug, but that was okay! They could play with it anyway. Biting the end, he took the rope from the small human. 

...He... he tried to take the rope. Grunting in shock, he tugged harder. Hilda didn't budge. Huffing, he pulled even harder. The human huffed back but didn't let go. She was so small, how was she so strong?! Not fair! 

Before he knew it, he was deeply engaged in a game of tug-tug with Khalid's mate instead of Khalid.

Kiros let out a noise of delight as he saw Hilda and Sarbi start fighting over the rope. He hadn't been able to hold onto a wyvern-pull against his two wyvern siblings since they were smaller than him! It had been good fun back then, and good for them to develop their bite strength and strong jaws, but once they got big it turned more into a game of 'pull Khalid around the yard' than it was actual tug-of-war. 

Hilda, though! Hilda was strong enough that she could hold onto the rope even against the strength of a fully grown wyvern! Incredible! 

Not wanting to feel left out, Kiros ran over and grabbed onto the rope on Hilda's side, pulling with her against Sarbi. He wanted to be included! And he wanted Hilda on his team! He hadn't gotten to play tug of war against Sarbi in ages, this was fun!

And now Green-Khalid joined too! Sarbi rumbled (happily!) at the added challenger. Not that the rope got any harder to pull. Khalid wasn't contributing much. It wasn't his brother's fault though. Poor Khalid was very small and also had one less arm than usual. Er... or was it one extra arm? Since there were two Khalids, that meant there were three Khalid-arms... Regardless, this Khalid understandably didn't contribute much to the tugging. But everyone was having fun, and that was what mattered! Aside from winning, of course. Sarbi did not lose at tug-tug! Unless it was to his sister, who did on occasion win.

The three of them tugged back and forth for a bit. It didn't take long for Sarbi to notice a pattern. Hilda was strong, but her strength came in bursts. She was always strong enough to hold her ground, but to pull the rope away from him? She had to work up to that. 

Sarbi might be a straight-forward sort of wyvern, yes, but his brother was tricky Khalid. He knew a few tricky tricks. 

Huffing like he was tired, he allowed Hilda to gain some ground. She did an extra big tug that nearly pulled the rope away, but he held on. He waited, and... There! Her grip loosened and he yanked with all his might! 

Both Hilda and Khalid yelped, falling as Sarbi won!! He dragged the pair a little ways around the terrace. Hilda was no fun though, letting go as soon as she realized she lost.

"Ah! Sarbi! Tricksy!" Kiros yelled as his wyvern's ploy was successful. He saw exactly what his brother had just done. Smart boy! Hilda let go of the rope, not allowing herself to get dragged very far, but Kiros hung on and allowed himself to be pulled around as part of his brother's 'prize'. He laughed, loud and full. And a second later realized just how good it felt to be able to laugh like that. Oh, he had missed this... missed Sarbi so much! 

"Good boy," he crooned as he was dragged around. Eventually his one-handed grip started to wane, but he held on for as long as he could. "Good boy, Sarbi! You're the winner, good boy!"

He dropped Khalid. Sarbi let go of the rope as soon as his brother stopped clinging, zipping back to his much more important prize. Khalid was doing the big happy rumbles and the big happy laughs. Sarbi's haunches wiggled with the happies too! Khalid had been so sad recently. Seeing his brother so happy was everything Sarbi wanted. Flopping around his brother, he nuzzled Khalid all over. 

Once he finished his nuzzles, he rested his face in Khalid's lap and chuffed. Happyhappy. Though he still wanted to play, he wanted this even more (for now). Happy Khalid and happy Sarbi! And happy Hilda, who came up behind him and patted his side. He lifted the wing that had been on top of Khalid as an invitation. She was welcome to join the cuddles too. Happy happy cuddles!

Kiros purred and purred and purred at his brother, just, just so happy. He almost couldn't bear how happy he was. Little Claude's dreams were probably filled with the emotion because it was spilling out of him everywhere. Including his eyes. Happy tears. He was so happy. 

Things only got more wonderful when Sarbi initiated a cuddle pile. Kiros draped his torso against Sarbi's head so his wyvern could feel all the rumbles he was letting out. And then Sarbi invited Hilda to join them! This was the most wonderful. He looked up at Hilda through his glassy eyes and grinned. She didn't seem to flinch at the sight of him this time. She must be getting used to how he looked now. Thank goodness. He didn't want to have to hide from her forever, under blankets or heavy robes or anything else. 

Right now, he just wanted to cuddle. 

"Join us," he insisted, wiggling a little. "Sarbi says you're invited. Join us, Hils."

It was much easier to look at her Claude like this. That was the thing, really. It wasn't (entirely) his lacking arm that bothered Hilda. It was the haunted look in his eyes that sent spikes of dread through her chest. As though the Death Knight's scythe came crashing down—

He was laughing and purring. So much. He was just... delighted! Utterly delighted. "Of course," she told him, shoving aside any reluctance to crawl into the embrace of a wyvern. Of course she was going to cuddle! For her beloved's sake. 

She crawled into Sarbi's embrace. It was like a scaly blanket-fort with the way Sarbi closed his wing around them like the flap of a tent. Surrounded by Sarbi's scales and Claude's rumbling warmth, it was... gosh, it was really nice. Mostly thanks to her beloved, no offense to Sarbi. 

"You're both such sweethearts. But next time, we're playing fetch instead." Never mind the fact that she was the one who thought it was funny to not let go of the rope. She didn't regret it, even though it was a lot of work. Claude had so much fun, how could she regret it?

Hilda didn't hesitate to join them for even a second once he made it known that she was invited. He pressed himself up against her side and let out a chuff. "I love you," he said immediately afterwards, in case she didn't recognize any of his noises as saying that exact thing. He nuzzled her shoulder and kissed her cheek and just, just got as close to her as he could. He understood his younger self's desire to slip inside Dimitri's body and wrap around his soul and cuddle there. If he could do that with Hilda, then he was pretty sure he would. It was such an intimate thing. And he knew that he would feel safe and loved and protected with her. 

"Tell me you don't have to go anywhere else for the rest of the day," he requested. Classes were over, they'd already eaten dinner, so what else was there for her to do? Chores? If she had any, she flaked on those all the time. No one would suspect a thing! 

...Except everyone knew that he was missing and that Hilda knew where he was. Lysithea even gave her the cookies to bring to him! They couldn't hide up here for forever. He couldn't hide up here for forever. Eventually, he would have to face his Deer again. And he would have to tell them the truth. 

That was too stressful a thing to think about right now. He shifted so he could wrap his arm around her and squeeze tight. This was the closest he could get. He would have to be content with this.

"I don't have to be anywhere at all," she declared. "Nowhere but here." She sunk into his arms—his arm. She was comfortable here. This was the best way to spend the day lazing!

She should have done better, been stronger. She failed to protect Claude in the end. He lost his arm, his ambition, his hope. Of course there was nothing she could have done against the unending tide of Imperial soldiers. But she should have convinced Claude to flee, or try something else...  

"What's the first thing you want to do after Lil Claude gets better?" She spoke because she had to. She had to banish the future thoughts so they wouldn’t overwhelm her. Right now, Claude was happy and alive. She refused to get upset while he was in such a great mood! "We have got to go down to the market place again. I'll buy you some silverware," she teased, poking his nose. "The shiniest silverware." 

She mentally added to her craft list. Not only did she need to sew him a toy, but clearly he needed her prettiest, sparkliest accessories.

Kiros gave a little laugh as Hilda booped his nose, playfully showing his teeth and nipping at the air after she pulled away. She probably didn't actually want him to bite her. But the instinct was hard to fight. These play nips at the air were the best he could manage when it came to not actually biting her. 

"Mm, when Little Claude gets better... we might go flying," he said. "Sarbi can carry both of us at once. Though, Claude said something about writing home and seeing if they'll send Jamshid. That'd make both of us happy, having her here... but that might take a while.” Hm, what else? "I want to... oh! I want to see if I can transform! Like Rhea can.” Do you remember? he almost asked. He decided not to because that had been... such a traumatic time. "And of course I want to go shopping with you, too. I want to spend so much time with you. All the time I never got before..." 

Was that selfish? Probably. Especially when she still had to graduate. (Though they never technically did that the first time, either.) And there was so much he still had to do to avert the terrible future. He should probably start by talking to Teach again sometime soon.

He didn’t want to think about Teach right now.

"Mm, flying..." An image popped into Hilda's mind. One of sunlight and beaming smiles and such a full heart. "That was when I first knew," she realized. 

Claude flew on Sarbi now and then. But when Nardel brought the white wyvern? He smiled with his whole face. He lit up. Like the sun itself. He had hopped onto the white wyvern's back, suddenly so free from his burdens. So light and happy. 'I want to be the reason he smiles like that,' she had thought. Up on that white wyvern, he laughed with his whole body. She didn't remember why he laughed, but she refused to ever forget that smile and that sound. He was so delighted. He was golden in the sunshine, joy made manifest. She was not a religious woman, but if she was, she would think the Goddess had cast divine light on him right then and there. He was so beautiful. But more than that, he was life itself. He whooped with joy as the wyvern leapt into the air, his eyes shined brighter than stars. 

She loved him. She loved him so much it hurt. As the war grew closer to their doorstep, she worried more and more that his bright spark would burn out. Watching him fly, though? Nothing could snuff out Claude von Riegan. The universe could try. She wouldn't let it — and Claude wouldn't either. 

...She blinked, having missed the rest of what Claude said. She took his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. The excited gleam turned to confusion, or maybe worry. "You've been through so much," she said softly, remembering the broken man from her dreams. She failed. Failed to protect his light. Despite that… the embers never went out. Even at his darkest, she believed that. "It's still there. Fate threw everything it had at you. And you're still you. Still so... bright. So alive.” He probably wouldn't agree. But she saw the truth in his eyes. She pressed their foreheads together and hugged him. She just... She loved him so much.

"That was when I first knew," Hilda said suddenly. Her eyes focused on something in the middle distance and she went quiet. Kiros saw her get lost out there somewhere. In thoughts, in memories. And he knew — he just knew — that they weren't ones from her own lifetime. 

He didn't know where she went. But when she came back and so softly, so somberly, cupped his face with her hands and spoke to him again, he listened to everything she had to say with both concern and reverence. 

"You've been through so much," she softly began, and he expected her eyes to dart down to look at him. His arm. But they remained fixed on his face. Her gaze strayed not once as she spoke, telling him that she still saw him. Despite everything fate threw at him, he was still himself. Bright. Alive. He could not argue the last point. He was most certainly alive, and that was no longer a grey area for anyone to judge. He was living, breathing, more than just a soul. He was alive. And he was... was living. He was trying to live. Inevitably he would slip back and fall at some point. (Probably when he least expected it.) But right now...?

She called him bright. Alive. Himself. He did not know what it meant to be 'himself' anymore. But if she still saw something in him that made her think of the man she fell in love with, then he would cling to it with everything he had. She expected him to argue. He could not. 

"Yes," he agreed. To all of it. He was alive. He was... someone. And if she saw him, then he would not deny her that. And... yes. He had been through so much. "...I think it got pretty close there," he whispered. "Fate, I mean. Got close to... snuffing out what was left." 

'I'm almost out of light,' he whispered to no one as he ignited the stumpy wick of his last candle. This was it. It was now or never. He would gain nothing more by staying here for even a second longer. He'd done the math. Learned the spells. Put everything in place. He was almost out of light. He was almost out of light.  

He nuzzled her palm and purred. It was not exactly a happy purr. Could there be sad purrs? Comfort purrs. Comfort purrs for himself. "I'm... I'm here now, though. I'm with you again. I got—" he closed his eyes from the force of how aggressively he nuzzled her "—I got what I wanted."

"We're here together," she said softly, and they weren't exactly her words. They were her words, the words of her future self, who was both here and not here. But... it was close enough. She wasn't exactly the Hilda that Claude had known, but she wasn't just the Hilda she had been either. She was a bit of both. And that was close enough for her. 

They all got what they wanted, in a way. She got the love of her life. Claude got his second chance and the love of his life. Even Lil Claude and Dimitri won, getting each other. Lil Claude wasn't forced to sacrifice his body forever to give Kiros a host. It was perfect... 

Except not quite. Her Claude was still struggling. He was hurt down to the soul, and that would take time to heal. Lil Claude’s physical body was in shambles. And... and there was still the war. All the events that cascaded Claude into his horrific situation were still in motion, for the most part. Obviously this timeline wouldn't turn out exactly like the last, but there was still the potential to get there. 

It would be different. It would be. She wouldn't let her Claude be hurt so terribly ever again. Cradling the back of his head, she guided his ear to rest against her chest, against her beating heart. 

Earlier, he mentioned something about transforming. He was a ‘dragon’ now. She only knew about those through the church’s rare depictions. "How big do you think you'll be if you can actually transform?" she asked, changing the subject. "Maybe you'll be little enough to ride on me. Wouldn't that be adorable?"

Hilda guided his head down to her chest until his ear was pressed against her heart. His comfort purrs once again turned slowly into happy purrs. He pressed himself flush against her side for all the cuddles he could get. They were here together. So it was going to be okay. He knew he hadn't done much yet to avert the terrible future that was on its way. Hopefully Byleth was on it (and hopefully he could trust Byleth). For now... at least he knew that he would not let things play out the same they had for his Deer. For himself. Even if the worst happened, he would not let his Deer die. He would not let Little Claude be alone. He would protect them. All of them. 

He might even have a dragon form to be able to do it in. 

Hilda changed the subject to remind him of that, asking him how big he thought he'd be. He gave a tiny laugh at the image she painted of a little baby dragon small enough to ride on her shoulders. He could picture it easily. It would be just like when Sarbi and Jamshid were babies. 

"I don't know how big," he said. "I mean... this body is new. But the heart in my chest is ancient. So I suppose it depends. Will it be determined by my body, or the age and power of my Crest Stone? I don't know. I don't suppose anyone else does, either. This hasn't been done before. So... we'll just have to find out how adorable I get to be.”

The Deer weren't the only ones worried about Claude's absence. Byleth understood some of what was going on with Claude. More than most, they assumed. 

Rhea seemed to know about Claude, though, so it was to her that they went with their concerns. To think, they once slaughtered the woman... It wasn't in cold blood. Rhea burned Fhirdiad, and for what? To slow them? The death and destruction hadn't been worth it. It wasn't the Empire that suffered in her snub — it was the civilians of Fhirdiad. Homeless, kingless, hopeless. That was what Rhea did to the lucky ones that survived. 

But this woman was not quite the same as the insane dragon they slew. Close, but not quite. Rhea trusted them. Far more than she should. Rhea trusted them and treated them like family, at times. Distant family, but family nonetheless. Was this how their mother was treated?

They did what they did best: host a tea party.

They didn’t actually have tea. And it was not a party in the slightest. But they did invite Rhea to a private chat. A private chat that the archbishop was all too eager to accept.

"Where is Claude?" they asked as soon as Rhea stepped into their quarters.

“…Ah." Byleth wasn’t certain if ‘hilarious’ was the right word for the way the archbishop wilted at their immediate question. She was clearly disappointed that they hadn't been inviting her for a simple tea party, though. "I suppose... well. Now is a good time. Walk with me, dear child." 

A walk? All from a question about Claude…? Of course they followed. Their eyebrows rose when, with a wave of the archbishop’s hand, an invisible bubble of magic formed around them. A Silence spell. 

"How much do you know of Claude’s situation, Byleth?" 

"The basics. I know some of his secrets. More than he would like." 

Rhea filled them in. The archbishop was cagey as ever, yet surprisingly straight forward. Of course she was. Rhea was taking them to Claude, it was quickly apparent. Apparently there were now two Claudes. As far as Rhea’s secretive nature could go, this was almost stunning in how open she was. 

They were missing details. Many, many, many details. Claude always had secrets, in the past and in the present, and that remained true. They didn't ask, and Rhea did not tell. 

"Wait here," Rhea requested, right before the star terrace. Rhea left them there, listening past the door.

"Kiros, my dear boy." There was a pause and a chitter. "There is one more member of our family who has yet to see you." Another pause. Peeking past the door, they noted that Rhea was lavishing a long, green-haired Claude with pets. Seteth settled on the other side of Hilda, snuggling Claude too.

"Byleth? You may enter."  

Upon being summoned, they entered the terrace and went no further. Rhea might not know it, but they knew how uncomfortable Claude was around them. For good reason, of course.

Rhea would be nervous around them too, if she knew. Or, rather, Rhea would not tolerate their existence.

"Claude," they greeted quietly, lowering their head. Nearby, there was a second Claude. One with the hair they expected and none of the meat on his bones, swaddled in Dimitri's embrace. "Dimitri, Hilda, Seteth, Flayn. Hello. I will leave if I am unwelcome." They stated that directly to Claude (the awake one).

When Rhea said that they had a guest who was family and curious to meet him, Kiros automatically assumed it was Macuil. He never met Rhea and Seteth's brothers, but he knew that they existed, living somewhere north of here. He remembered hearing about Indech's death. Those two had been in hiding for a very, very long time. If there was anyone out there, though, who could have sensed his arrival, or what Seteth and Rhea had done in giving him a new body, he assumed that it would be their brother Macuil, Saint of Reason Magic and probably a very, very powerful mage. 

That was who he expected when Rhea came onto the terrace and told him he had a visitor. What would Macuil be like? Anyone would forget how to interact with people after being apart from them for so long. From what he'd read about Saint Macuil, though, the man had always been sort of like that. He didn't mind. He was excited to meet his uncle. 

"Byleth? You may enter."  

Byleth.

Kiros had a few seconds of 'does not compute' as he stared up at the visitor. Why was he being introduced to Byleth? Byleth already knew who he was (and knew far too many of his secrets for his liking). But of course it made sense. Rhea was showing off one pet project of hers to another. She'd created both him and Byleth, in a sense, in an effort to revive her dying people. There were other benefits for Claude too, of course, being one of those pet projects. And he'd been able to give his consent, even if it was a little late when she asked. He was more of a success. 

Of course she would consider Byleth family. Byleth had Sothis' Crest Stone in their chest. And none of them besides Dimitri and Little Claude had any idea about why Big Claude might not want to see Byleth. He hadn't mentioned that to them for fear of what they might do to Byleth or Edelgard or anyone else. 

He couldn't stop the instinctive way his back arched and his teeth peeked out, though. Nor the way his scent probably shifted to stress and anxiety. Everyone probably noticed. Dimitri definitely did — Kiros caught sight of him pulling his younger self closer and that made him feel a little better. Dimitri would not let anything happen to Little Claude. Seteth was just as quick to puff up and act as a barrier between himself and Byleth. And Byleth... Byleth was willing to leave if they were unwelcome. 

It took him a second. He had to remember to breathe. Hilda was clutching his remaining hand tight. (Did she remember Byleth's involvement? He didn't know.) But his lips slowly covered his teeth again and he didn't hiss or growl. Byleth was working with him towards the future they all wanted, now. He couldn't afford to shove them away or things might turn out just like they had last time.

"Hey, Teach," he greeted weakly. "...Nah. You don't have to leave. You're, um. You're welcome here. If Lady Rhea says so." A flicker of green by Byleth's shoulder caught his gaze and he squinted at it a moment before his eyes widened a little. Oh, so that was...! "You, too," he greeted Sothis as neutrally as possible. He had a feeling that Byleth didn't want it announced that they knew about the Goddess living inside them.

Seteth bristled the moment he sensed his hatchling's distress. How dare Rhea?! How dare Rhea bring an outsider here to upset his hatchling! Had he been slightly more in-tune with his draconic roots, he would have hissed at Byleth for daring to upset his hatchling. As it was, he puffed up and put himself between the pair. 

Kiros reluctantly accepted Byleth's presence. He rumbled a sound that meant 'I will remove them if you wish it.' Rhea shot him a look that he ignored. She should have known better than to spring something stressful on his hatchling! 

Byleth's eyes widened slightly when Kiros said ‘You too’. Seteth wasn't sure what that meant. Regardless, he continued to guard his hatchling. By Kiros' permission, Byleth was allowed to be nearby. But not close. He would gut them if they tried! Or at least tackle them. If he had a tail, it would be lashing forcefully behind him. 

After a short stare-down, Seteth engulfed his hatchling on the opposite side as Hilda. 'He is mine and you will not touch him,' his body-language screamed. To Kiros, he offered a nuzzle. 'Safe. You are safe, my son.'

Kiros turned his head enough to nibble on the end of Seteth's hair in response to the man's mother-henning. For once, he appreciated it. A lot. He was terrified of Byleth, though he was doing his best to tamp that down. If Seteth caught a whiff of that, he would probably chase Byleth right over the edge of the terrace! Which was sort of reassuring. Seteth was not going to let anything happen to him, even if Rhea was trusting the Professor pretty blindly as of right now. Both he and Byleth knew far more about what was going on here than any of the Nabataeans did. Dimitri knew more about it than the Nabataeans did, and Hilda might, depending on what she remembered. He spared a little glance towards her but she mostly just looked worried about him. He gave her a weak purr. Then he stood up. 

He only had one hand to grab someone with, and so he grabbed Hilda's hand. He knew Seteth would just follow, especially when he gave the man a look that requested it. He moved back to the nest. He needed to sit closer to Lil Claude. Make sure his twin was safe from the threat of the future. He was never going to let his younger self go through what he did. He needed to be close. Needed to protect. 

"As, ah, as you can probably see, I've got my own body now," he said. He walked so that his right side was shielded from Byleth, but there was no hiding the missing arm. This was the first time they had seen him without it since they cut it off. Remembering how Byleth had... disassociated, last time, he did spare a little glance up at the professor. If they had a breakdown now, there was going to be a lot to explain. So he hid his right side as much as possible. "My bones got dragged with me when I, you know. And so did what was left of Failnaught. Rhea put all the pieces together and... made me live again," he explained.

"...I see." They glanced at Rhea. While the Archbishop wasn't oblivious to Claude's discomfort, she didn't see it as a big enough of a deal to dismiss them. They figured the path of least resistance was to stay, unless Claude asked them to leave. 

It seemed they were no longer the only product of Rhea's magic. They and their mother had been created and born by Rhea's plans, and now so had Claude. It was strange, to know there was another out there like them. Though, they supposed they were not ‘created’ like Claude was. Their mother was the one who was created… they assumed. Rhea never elaborated.

"How strange that the older soul can now see me," Sothis murmured, peering at Claude with a cocked head. "He does feel different. ...Younger, in a way I cannot articulate..." 

They glanced around the terrace. No one was speaking. Their presence made everything awkward. "I wanted to make sure you were okay," they finally said. "Are you okay?"

Wanted to make sure he was okay. He decided that was probably kind. Especially from the person who had sort of messed him up so badly in the first place. Byleth wasn't solely responsible for what had happened to him. He didn't hate them, either. He didn't hate Edelgard. No one was solely responsible for what had happened, and the only person he could rightfully lay blame on for his situation was himself. Which was something he'd thought for a very long time. 

His ear twitched a little as Sothis spoke. Yes, it was strange. Especially considering he hadn't been the one able to see her the first time. That had been Little Claude, who had been in his spirit form the first time he saw Sothis. Perhaps this was just a result of having been a transplanted soul, or some sort of Nabataean magic related to that. But he agreed, it was strange. He wouldn't say anything about it now, obviously, since 'no one' had said anything about it. He just reached out and petted Little Claude's hair while considering his answer to Byleth's question. 

"My younger self is worse off than me." Physically. "But Rhea says he'll be better soon. Can't keep people wondering where he is forever, you know. No need to worry.” He took a deep breath to steady himself and cleared his throat. "We should, um. Probably have tea together at some point. The three of us."

They nodded. "I would like that. But perhaps another time." Not only should their chat be alone (or with only a handful of the people currently in the area), but Claude was far too tense. They couldn't blame him, of course. His single arm, a scar he bore even in his new body, was reason enough not to trust them. 

"I'll take my leave," they started to say. They didn't move, though. Sothis hummed as she approached the two Claudes, especially the older one. She floated around both men, looking the pair up and down.

“Be well, hatchlings…” Sothis murmured towards the younger Claude, her expression one of sadness. Before Byleth could question it, Sothis vanished from sight.

When Claude said 'the three of us,' he had meant both Byleth and his younger self. Thinking about it, he figured he could probably invite Dimitri, too. Little Claude would like his protection (and so would Big Claude, something about the prince just screamed security even though he wasn't in love with him). 

But when Sothis drifted closer, he had the realization that she probably thought he had meant to include her in the three. If he could see her, after all, why wouldn't he address her? Hopefully she wouldn't figure it out and take that as an insult. Or she'd just assume he was trying to be subtle about the fact that he could see her. 

The way he watched her as she came closer was probably not very subtle at all. But he remembered after a second to look back at Byleth instead of at her, even when she got very close to him. 

"...Be well, hatchlings," she said. There was… was something about her. He didn't recognize the magic, but it made his heart feel light and happy. Something like Seteth’s scents. Something deep inside him almost blurted out 'Mother!' But he contained himself. 

"We'll let you know when we're ready," he said to Byleth as Sothis returned to their side. Byleth nodded and left.

Chapter Text

Dimitri wasn't the only one to relax as soon as the professor left the terrace. To think, he once fought over Byleth with Claude and Edelgard. Though, perhaps things would have turned out differently for Claude, had he won that battle instead of Edelgard... 

Seteth immediately pounced on fussing over Kiros. Flayn brought Kiros some snacks, though paused when she remembered her brother's hesitance to eat in the nest. It was Rhea who acted the most strange, though. She stared at the door Byleth left through with a thoughtful expression. No doubt Kiros smelled stressed to the Nabateans — yet she wasn't here smothering the newborn Nabataean in comfort. Strange.  

"Mmmr..." 

"Shhh. Shh, go back to sleep," he whispered to Claude, who began to stir in his arms. Why now? Everything was settling down and quieter now, yet Claude was determined to rise. 

"No sneep," Claude slurred, bonking the underside of his chin with those fluffy curls. Claude wiggled, then chomped (gently) on his collarbone. 

"I don't know, Claude. You seem pretty sleepy still." He smiled fondly as his boyfriend fought an intense battle against his sleepiness. Dimitri's hair-pets weren't helping. 

Despite his hair-pets, Claude managed to open his eyes and yawn. "Mm... ‘M wake…" Purring, Claude nuzzled against his neck. "Could probably eat 'nother bite soon." Claude’s eyes drifted over to Kiros, and he made a loud sniff. Ah. Maybe Claude could smell Kiros’ stress just like the dragons?

Kiros softly whined as his father and sister began fussing over him. Seteth's scent especially wanted to know what was wrong and why he was so upset, but the youngest Nabataean stayed quiet on the matter. Byleth was working on their side now. He didn't want to say or do anything that might get them into trouble. Even if he couldn't deny that having Byleth or Edelgard out of the way would drastically change how things went down in the future... He didn't want to make that call. Not without even giving them a chance. 

Flayn brought him food. Out of gratitude (and knowing that food would make him feel better) he ate a few little nibbles of the grapes she fed him. Grapes were okay... didn't crumble, didn't get lost in the nest. She was careful not to drop any. It was okay. He was trying very hard to change his stress scent to an 'it's okay' scent so people would stop worrying about him, even though he knew that wasn't likely to happen. 

"Mmmr..." While everyone else (besides Rhea) leapt to comfort him, Kiros' attention snapped to his twin as soon as he heard him waking. Only Hilda let go of him immediately as soon as he started trying to wiggle over to Claude; Flayn and Seteth took more determined wiggling to escape. But finally he was able to squish himself up against his brother's back and start purring at him. Lil Claude sandwich time.

"Foodfood?" he asked, having heard his twin's mumblings. "Flayn?" She was quick to respond and bring over the bunch of grapes that Kiros had just been munching on. He allowed her to feed them to Claude instead of passing them over to him to feed his twin. He was too busy snuggling and telling his racing pulse that the danger was gone (and that there had been no danger in the first place).

Claude's purrs hiccupped as Kiros squished beside him, radiating distress (or the dregs of it). He forced his eyes to open, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Seteth and Flayn seemed extra fussy, though that was difficult to tell for sure. 

'What's wrong?' He nuzzled his older self and accepted the grapes that Flayn gave him. Wiggling away from Dimitri, he did his best to roll atop Kiros and squish the upset away. He didn't exactly have the body mass to squish anything bigger than an ant, but it was the thought that counted. Plus he was on top now, pressing his twin into the blankets.

Kiros purred louder when his twin squished him gently into the blankets. It made him feel protected and safe... like he was his little brother's hoard. His treasure.  

He tilted his head and nibbled on the end of Claude's braid while Flayn fed grapes to him. His twin was hungry, and so he should eat! But Claude didn't need to stop eating for them to be able to talk. 

'Byleth visited,' he answered, crooning aloud as he did. Protect! Protect Lil Claude! His instincts were still screaming for him to do so. But he was a coward, and hid under his twin instead. 'Rhea just brought them out here without any warning. I, I handled it.' He most certainly could have handled it better if Rhea didn't spring the surprise visit on him like she had. 

But he was okay. Better now that his twin was awake and cuddling him. Even Dimitri, bereft of a Claude to cuddle, reached out and began petting his long hair. That was also a comfort. (One which Hilda quickly imitated on his other side.) "I'm okay," he told them both, his teeth still nibbling on Claude's hair.

He barely stifled a growl at Rhea. She should have known better! Obviously the woman wouldn't know that Byleth would trigger Kiros, but she shouldn't have brought anyone who Kiros wasn't expecting. He did stifle that growl, though, because Kiros was more important. 

Between grapes, he nuzzled and cuddled his older self, rumbling his comfort-purrs. Though he wasn't Nabataean, it was impossible to deny that some of it hadn't rubbed off on him. He felt a bit like Sarbi, in truth, as he sat atop his very important treasure brother. 

Speaking of Sarbi; the wyvern was nuzzling Kiros too, with what little room there was. Sarbi's bulk was a protective shield towards the outside world. Kiros nibbled on his hair, but Sarbi returned the favor and nibbled on the ends of Kiros' hair. Perhaps he should nibble on Sarbi's scales to complete the circle. 

'You're safe,' he reaffirmed for his older self. 'We're all safe. We're all okay now. Lovvu lovvu.' In the middle of one of his nuzzles, he found himself chomping again. Mine, his chomp meant. His brother.

He knew that he was safe now. He knew that. He was back home, back in these brighter days before everything went wrong. He had family surrounding him, more family than he ever expected to have, especially here in Fodlan. 

That didn't stop him from thinking he was probably going to have nightmares about losing his arm again later. About people dying and Derdriu burning and his entire world spiraling into madness. There had been no peace for him until now. Even when he tried to turn things around, to run back to Almyra and pick up the pieces of his life and move forward, he hadn't been able to. The nightmares always followed. The guilt plagued him. Even now... whenever he looked at Byleth, he felt all of that again. Like the world was just waiting to fall down atop his head all over again. 

"Nnn..." he whimpered, pressing the side of his face against Claude's and his shoulder up into the claiming bite. He wanted his twin to be right. Wanted to believe that he was safe — that they were all safe, and that everything was going to be okay now. It was easy to believe while the outside world stayed away from them these past days. But opening the door even a little burst his happy bubble. The world was out to get him and had been since he was born. Forgetting about that would just be stupid.

Claude chomped down harder, as though by biting with more force, he could keep his twin safe. Dreams, he could help with. He could—no, he would steer Kiros' dreams into something safe. He felt strangely awake enough that he didn't think he was going to sleep nearly as deeply as he had been. 

It wasn't so simple, though. Kiros had plenty to be upset and afraid about. They all did. 

Rhea approached. Now Claude did growl at her, adding a hiss to top it all off. Even Seteth bristled. The man wasn't ignorant to the fact that it was Rhea who brought such an upsetting person to the nest. Rhea simply bowed her head to Kiros and held out her hand. 

"Forgive me, little one. I did not foresee how distressing an unexpected visitor would be." Her eyes passed over Dimitri and Hilda; both 'unexpected' in a sense, but very welcome nonetheless. "It will not happen again, dear child." 

Though Claude didn't have the nose for it, Rhea's scent was calming, attempting to ease away the distress marring Kiros' scent.

Kiros knew that Rhea hadn't meant to upset him. She couldn't have known that Byleth would upset him so much, either. He hadn't told her about it (and didn't intend to, since losing Byleth's loyalty had been one of the things that, as far as he understood it, had driven her over the edge). He, in fact, wanted to spend more time with Byleth. At least, in a logical, 'this is best to avoid the horrible future' sense. All his primal, self-preservation instincts wanted to run as far from Byleth as possible. He was a forgiving guy. He wanted it to all be water under the bridge. But the part of him that wanted to forgive and the part of him that was horribly, horribly traumatized by the Professor weren't in conflict. They coexisted, which led to this state. One where he wanted to reach out his remaining hand, but was absolutely terrified of it being chopped off, too. 

Sarbi nuzzled him more insistently. So did Little Claude. Rhea apologized and said that it wouldn't happen again. He believed her. All these things slowly made his purrs come back. Hilda brought him one of Lysithea's cookies. When he was able to turn his head away from Claude long enough to accept it, that made everyone else feel better. He could smell it. If he was eating, then things couldn't be that bad. He purred and nuzzled Hilda's empty palm before returning to cuddling his twin. Safe, safe, they were all safe now...  

"M'sorry," he mumbled out eventually. "...Little Claude wants food." It was true, he could sense it. But he said so, mostly, just to get the attention off of him for a bit. He didn't want to keep being stared at. 

"What do you want to eat, my Claude?" Dimitri asked. "I will go get something for you."

Claude wasn't actually all that hungry. He was hungry, yes, but not terribly so. His stomach probably needed a little bit to digest what was in it. But he wiggled like was hungry nonetheless, eager to take the attention off his brother. Dimitri offered to get him food, so... 

"Hm. I want... that one thing with the tasty spices in it." Something made by Dedue's hand. Dedue would be happy to have Dimitri show up, and even happier to make the prince a meal. "Big portion? So that I can share it." With you, he left out, allowing Dimitri to think he meant Kiros (which he did, in part, also mean). 

He wiggled over to give Dimitri a kiss on the cheek. He actually lifted himself up to do so, feeling stronger than he had since Kiros gained a new body. Still weak compared to how he should feel, but better. Kiss delivered, he flopped back onto his twin and rumbled.

'That one thing with tasty spices in it,' was not very specific for Dimitri. He did, however, have the confidence to nod — he was quite certain that Dedue would know what his boyfriend was referring to. "It will be done," he assured. He stayed in place only long enough to receive his kiss, then got up with a little grin and trotted off. 

"You know, I've never seen Prince Dimitri smile this much," Hilda commented, looking down (sort of) at the younger Claude with a smile of her own. "You make him really happy... Oh! Do you think he meant to leave his lion?" she asked, picking up Loog from the nest. 

"We'll look after it for him," Kiros assured. Hilda sat the plushie down atop Claude's back, letting it 'hold him down' where he was. A little tower of Claudes and lion plushie. Kiros managed to let go of his twin to pat the lion's tangled mane. His rumbles got louder. Loog would make sure his twin didn't go anywhere. Which meant Claude was staying with him. Good. That tamped down the anxiety bubbling in his chest. At least a little bit.

Claude wiggled with delight. Yes! He made Dimitri smile! Ah, it was just so, so... so nice! Nice to have a friend, one deep and true. In truth, Dimitri was the majority of his childhood dreams wrapped up into one princely body. 

"He's just so perfect," he sighed to Hilda. Kiros surely felt the same way about Hilda that he did towards Dimitri. Funny how they could both love different people so intensely. Funny how they both fell in love with people that could effortlessly pin him down.

Hilda placed Loog on his back. "We'll keep Loog safe." Now he was pinned down. That was fine, though. There was nowhere else for him to be but right where he was. "I'm feeling better," he said aloud, nuzzling Kiros. 'Thank you for not giving up on me.' Obviously his brother wouldn't. But if either he or Dimitri hadn't put their foot down about keeping his soul in his body, he wouldn't be as healed as he currently was.

'I'd never give up on you. You didn't give up on me,' was the reply Little Claude got as his twin nuzzled him aggressively and purred loud. He had nearly died here, when his soul fell out of their shared body. He had fallen through the earth into the hell of his own making and his soul had unraveled. If Claude hadn't come running to save him, he would have disappeared into nothing. Just a tangled mess of broken, burning dreams. 'I thought... 'at least I wrote it all down for you',' he confessed. That had been his only thought, insomuch as he could think during all of that. At least he wrote it down. He just had to trust that his younger self could figure it out and fix things on his own, because he wasn't going to be around. His death was years overdue. It was a fitting end, to just turn into nothing, buried beneath the grounds of Garreg Mach. 

He grimaced. He shouldn't be thinking about this. It'd make him upset. But the fear and guilt and grief was always lingering under his skin, deep inside his soul. Seeing Byleth had probably dragged it all closer to the surface. He chomped his twin's shoulder. Be happy! he told himself. Little Claude was feeling better! Why did that make him sad?

Chomp! They really were twins, because they both chomped each other's shoulders in unison. In Claude's case, he sensed his older self turning melancholic. The bite was to ground Kiros. Stay with me. Stay in the sunshine.  

He didn't need Kiros to be happy. Just to not be sad. Of course Kiros had plenty of valid reasons to be sad or upset. Rumbling, he did his best to keep his brother here in the present. Here, where life still flourished. Where Hilda petted his hair, and Seteth too, and where Kiros was surrounded by love. 

They would get through this. He wouldn't let Kiros not get through this. 'Love you,' he sent, biting harder. Big love, big bite. 'You aren't going anywhere. We're together now.' Two halves of the same whole.

"Rrrm..." Kiros rumbled at the bite his twin delivered. He understood the message. Stay. Stay in the sunshine. With Lil Claude. Just stay. There were no demands for him to be happy or to put on a smile or even to stop hiding underneath him. Just love. Only love. Big love, big bite.  

'You aren't going anywhere. We're together now.'  

"Prrrm, rrmmm..." he rumbled again, louder this time. He snuggled all the way up under Little Claude's chin. He was safe here. It was warm. He was loved. Everything was fine. The sun was shining down on them and the world was at peace. For now, everything was fine. 

'I told Byleth we'd have tea with them soon,' he told his younger self. 'They said okay. And then—oh. I saw her,' he silently confided. 'Sothis. I was able to see her this time.'

'Then we'll have tea with them. Together.' His older self didn't have to face Byleth alone. 'We can always bring Dimitri or Hilda as backup too, if you want.'

'I saw her,' Kiros said. Sothis. 

'Sothis?' Now that was interesting. 'Think I'll still be able to see her? I hope so. She was fun to antagonize.' Kiros shot him a mental look. 'What? She had fun too! She seems lonely. Or something like that.' Plus, now that he knew she was a Goddess (or something), he had all sorts of questions. Later, though. 

Right now, he was smothering Kiros in as much love and affection as possible. 'Together.' They wouldn't be parted. He couldn't tell if it was because Kiros was literally a copy of his own soul, or if it was due to how much time their souls spent together in the same body, but he felt deeply compelled to remain near Kiros. He wanted them to be together, preferably as close as possible. Part of him still wanted to slip his own body and go to Kiros. Obviously he couldn't and wouldn't (at the moment). But the desire to be close went beyond skin. 

He was codependent, and heavily so. Before this all happened, he would be mortified (and terrified) at the thought of being dependent on anyone. Now though, it was a comfort. He wasn't alone.

Kiros nodded very slightly, only enough to confirm the reply to everything his twin said. He otherwise didn't want to disturb how they were laying. So close. So comfy. So warm. 

'What food did you mean for Dimitri to bring you?' he eventually asked, just to change the topic. When his twin responded that 'he didn't know and was just sure that Dedue would make something good,' he let out the tiniest laugh. 'I suppose so. Hopefully that won't bother Dedue too much, thinking he has to take a guess at your tastes.’

Something poked him in the cheek. His eyes, which had closed at some point, peeked open to find Seteth there. Huh? What was Seteth doing? He didn't think his father was the sort to just poke him. But—

Oh! Seteth was delivering him his shiny silverware! 

"Puurrrr!" he said, his mouth falling open to let out the noise. He grabbed the spoon with his teeth and yanked it out of Seteth's hand so he could go back to cuddling. Chuckling, Seteth laid the fork on his shoulder and gave him a pat. Yes. Good. This was better. All his treasures in one pile.

He and Kiros (and Loog and the silverware) dozed in a heap for a bit. Was Kiros going to get possessive like a wyvern? Hopefully not. That had been a struggle to deal with when his siblings reached a certain age (and size). Though... honestly, he probably had some possessive (or rather, dependent) issues of his own. 

It wasn't worth worrying about yet. It was cute to see his older self so delighted over shiny silverware. Sleepy cuddles. It was good. Even better when Dimitri eventually returned with a whole pot of tasty smelling stew. 

"Mmmmm. Did you bring enough plates for everyone, Dima? Kiros and Hilda and Flayn can share with us." 

"Us? Oh, I'm not that hungry..." 

He pouted up at his boyfriend. "But I like sharing meals. That's half the fun!" 

Dimitri bit his lip. "You can share with Kiros." 

"But I want to share with you too." 

"I, ah... blast. Fine. I'll have some as well." 

Seteth was already back with bowls by the time he convinced Dimitri. Enough for everyone! He wasn't sure how hungry everyone else was, but a stew that smelled this good had to be shared.

Kiros reluctantly sat up when Dimitri returned with the food. He didn't want to leave the cuddle pile! But they couldn't eat while in the cuddle pile. Stew spilled too easily. That meant they needed to move out of the nest to eat, or at least to the edge of it. Holding his twin against himself, he chattered at Little Claude until he latched onto him tightly. Then he wiggled his way over to the edge of the nest and settled there. 

"What kind of stew is it?" he asked, and Dimitri stared down at the pot. 

"It's, ah... good stew?" 

That made Kiros smile. It was likely that Dedue had just put together 'something good and spicy' from anything that was around. "I believe the meat is beef," the prince said after a moment of contemplation. 

"Well, I'm sure it's good if Dedue made it," Hilda said. "I heard he was like, some kind of genius chef. So it's got to be delicious." 

"Yes, it usually is," Dimitri agreed.

Claude intended to simply latch and be a little hanger-on to his older self. But once he was snug, he couldn't help but rumble and nuzzle. Touchtouchtouch. Maybe someday he would feel satisfied. Maybe someday he would entirely forget what it was like to be bodiless and unable to sense. For now, he took his fill of earthly delights. 

Oh right, stew! He was busy cuddling, though. Kiros was nuzzling him back. Wait... "Are you still compelled to eat?" Before, with the trauma of starving, Kiros ate and ate when food was available, his attention helplessly fixed. But that hadn't been the case for a while. Did his new body no longer cause that issue? Or was it just suppressed by Claude's new need to take in calories? 

He didn't know, but he did know it was a good thing if his brother was no longer so transfixed by food. This was a stage of healing, right?

"Rrrmmm..." Kiros responded, taking a moment to think about it. As he eyed the stew, the desire to reach out and grab it started to grow. Yes, he did want the foodfoodfood. And he was pretty sure he would still eat most anything that was offered to him, as long as he could stomach it. But... 

"You need it more," he insisted. He refused to allow his younger self to starve. And... his mind had seemed to realize that his body was in no danger of starving itself, anymore. He didn't have to eat the food. In fact, more than anything, he wanted to share it. Just like his twin said. The delight came from sharing. 

And from making sure his younger self had more than enough.

"I won't starve," he said with a happy rumble. It was a little nice to be fussed over. Just a little! He was happy to accept a bite as Dimitri spoon-fed him. Happy to be pampered a little. Happy that he felt safe to be pampered.

"Mmm!" Flavor! Ahh, he could eat a whole pot of this! Not that he intended to. Hilda and Flayn knew magic to prevent him from bursting, but he didn't see the point in stuffing himself so full. His body was supposed to recover as naturally as possible. And thankfully, despite looking like he nearly starved to death, he didn't feel like that. He was so ‘hungry’ because of the taste. Taste! He missed the taste of eating so much. 

Kiros fed him the next bite. 'Try some! It's good!' Instead of trying some, Kiros fed him again. He grumbled, both happy and mildly annoyed. Happy because it was delicious. But annoyed because he didn't want to hog all the tasty tasty stew! Even though he could eat the whole thing on his own.

"I'll try some once you've eaten at least a bowlful," Kiros insisted. Dimitri was holding the bowl that they were both using to feed his twin. Kiros, wanting Claude to get better as fast as possible, was even feeding him with the spoon from his hoard. ...He knew that made no difference. But his instincts said it did, and so he was doing it. "Now open," he insisted, putting another bite into Claude's mouth.

"You really should eat, too, Claudie. I mean, Kiros," Hilda said, catching herself after a second. Kiros rumbled at her. 

"I will! But after Little Claude!"

"Mrrrow," was the noise he made between bites. A mix between 'Yummy! More!' and 'Noooo'. Kiros should be eating too! He was pretty sure that if he acted too enthusiastic, everyone would feed him the whole thing. Just because he 'needed it more.' But the others needed to eat too! Dimitri probably hadn't eaten all day (and he was realizing he forgot to share during dinner)! And Kiros would find this yummy! 

When the next bite came, he bit down on the spoon and yanked it away. Tucking it between himself and Kiros, he rumble-growled. No more for him until the others ate! Then he would give the spoon back.

"Eh!" Kiros protested as Claude took away his spoon. His! Spoon! The treasure spoon! It was stolen from him! He knew that his brother wasn't taking it away for forever. But still! It made his heart rate speed up. ...Or whatever the closest thing to that was, since he knew his heart wasn't beating anymore. 

Regardless! His! Spoon!! 

"Weh!" he bleated, making a grab to get the utensil back. His!! Spoon!!!

The spoon was tucked between their chests. Claude puffed up a bit as he squished himself flatter, hissing and nipping as Kiros tried to get it back. No spoon! Seteth was there in an instant. He hissed at Seteth too. No spoon! Not until everyone else ate too! He didn't want to eat it all and make the others go hungry. Dimitri for sure wouldn't seek out an actual meal. And he wanted Kiros to taste the tasty food before it was gone! 

"Claude—" Seteth tried. 

"Grrm!" He snapped his teeth at the man. No! Brother time! Not Seteth time! 

Turning his eyes back to his distressed brother, he crooned. He wouldn't have taken the spoon if Kiros listened to him!

Kiros' mood turned in an instant from demanding to sad. He understood. No spoon. Not until he ate. Not even his father could get it back from Claude. Which meant the only way to get it back was to obey his demands. Eat the stew. Those were the terms. 

He wiggled away from his twin, leaving him in Dimitri's arms while he got a bowl for himself. Hilda ladled the stew into it, and Kiros lifted the bowl to his lips to drink it. It was tasty. But, but he had... had no spoon to eat it with. 

It was a stupid thing to be sad about and the human part of him was screaming at him to stop being upset. If he got upset, then everyone else would get upset. He focused on the taste of the stew. 

"Mm," he said, but his heart wasn't in it. Hilda petted his hair. That, at least, helped a little.

...He did something wrong, didn't he? Claude’s eyes went wide as Kiros wriggled out of his latch-hold. To get soup? Yes, he wanted Kiros to get soup, but he didn't want to let go! Seteth snatched the spoon from him, sending him a wicked scowl. He hissed in reply. Kiros hadn't been listening to him! Taking the spoon away got him to listen! But it also made Kiros sad, and that wasn't what he wanted. 

He expected Kiros to be a little possessive over the spoon. Maybe they would tussle, he thought. He didn't expect Kiros to get upset. At him. Kiros drank the stew but clearly didn't enjoy it. 

He wilted, no longer hungry. He spoiled the stew and upset his twin. Seteth was quick to deliver the spoon back to Kiros. Claude sank against Dimitri, guilty. He didn't think it would be this upsetting (for both of them). 

'I'm sorry. Come back? Cuddle?'

Father brought his spoon back. He perked up a little when it was returned to him, sitting down the bowl just so he could take back his spoon. And then he stuck the spoon under his knees and curled up over it, roosting upon it. Hilda picked up his bowl and offered to spoon feed him the rest. He accepted this. Hilda had liked feeding him before. He nipped up every little bite she gave him and slowly a purr returned. 

'I'm sorry. Come back? Cuddle?' He knew that his twin hadn't realized the severity of what he'd done. Otherwise, he wouldn't have done it. And so he only hesitated a second before nodding. He didn't want Little Claude to be upset, too. He would come back and cuddle. After he finished his stew, like Claude had wanted most of all.

Note to self: he isn't possessive like a wyvern. Kiros had gotten sad and upset. Not feisty. 

‘Sorrysorry.'  

Kiros dutifully finished the bowl. Claude still felt guilty. What he wanted most of all was to share the joy of foodfood. Instead, he was forcing Kiros to eat a meal that he didn't want to eat. Dimitri tried to feed him again, but he shook his head. He wasn't hungry anymore. Maybe later. If he felt better. 

But Dimitri needed to eat! He chattered at his boyfriend, which unfortunately conveyed nothing. "Have you eaten yet today?" He tried to remember: had Dimitri eaten any of the meat skewers at lunch? Argh, why had he let himself be so distracted with throwing raw fish at Hilda?

"I have eaten a bit here and there." 

"So that's a no. Please eat? If you want to..." It was probably his sad eyes that got Dimitri to eat. Once the prince started though, it was clear how hungry he was. Good.  

Kiros finished eating and crawled back to him. As soon as his twin was back, he chomped and crooned, latching his arms around Kiros. 'Staystay.' He wouldn't take the spoon again. He wouldn't.

Kiros gave his spoon back to Seteth for safekeeping for now. Fork went, too. His father would know where to hide them safely. So they couldn't be stolen again. (He found it strange how he trusted Seteth with his hoard and not his twin. But that might have everything to do with how his twin had just stolen half his hoard without asking. Yes, it wasn't a big hoard. Little Claude took only a spoon. But it was still half his hoard. And it made him very upset that his brother would do such a thing.) 

He still cuddled back up to Claude as soon as he was done eating. They had been upset with one another before, and they had learned from those times. What Kiros had learned was that the last thing he wanted to do was run away from or isolate his twin. That only made things worse. They'd cuddle it better, like they always did. Claude chomped him and crooned his apology and Kiros already felt a little better. 

'You didn't mean it. I know,' he said, giving a nuzzle. 'I'll stay.'

'I didn't mean it,' he confirmed, gnawing gently on his brother. Don't go don't go. 'It's different from wyverns, isn't it.' 

There had been plenty of times that he playfully 'took' things from his siblings. Usually that resulted in a game of wrestling. Usually it was fun, even for his siblings. 

This had not been fun for Kiros. Kiros hadn't even fought that hard to get it back, and even Sarbi would know that he would give the thing back in a bit. So clearly this was difficult. 'Tell me? What it means to you?' He didn't want to make the same mistake twice.

Kiros let out a low whine. He didn't know why he had gotten upset, truly. He was stronger than Claude was, at least right now. He could have taken his treasure back by force. But... he hadn't wanted to use force. Hadn't wanted to start a fight. Just like all those years ago... 

'I just, I don't want to lose anything else ever again,' he responded, tucking his head against Claude's shoulder and neck. 'I know that's stupid. It's just a spoon. I know that. But having things taken from me, it... it hurts,' he whined again. He didn't want the things that were important to him stolen away. Not again.

'It's not stupid,' he was quick to rebuke. 'I won't do it again. We're both still figuring this out. I should probably stop comparing you to Sarbi and Jamshid.' Though he did feel a bit guilty, he knew it wasn't really his fault. Wasn't Kiros' fault either. Neither of them fully understood exactly what Nabataean instincts meant. They were both learning as they went. 

Instead of dwelling, he pawed at Dimitri. When he had his attentive boyfriend's attention, he pointed. Dimitri understood, leaning over to take the bread knife that was lying unused. It wasn't sharp by any significance on the knife-scale. 

"Here. To complete the fork and spoon set." He gifted the knife to Kiros.

Kiros' eyes went wide as he was gifted the butter knife by his twin. Complete set! Collection complete! "Eeeeee...!" he very nearly squeaked as he turned to look at Seteth, who was holding the rest of his hoard. Seteth cast a skeptical eye over the knife, but even as he did so Kiros already knew he wouldn't dare take it away from him. It was hardly sharp, not dangerous at all, and it completed his set!  

"Ee!" he chirped again. Seteth relented and handed over the fork and spoon so Kiros could hold his entire hoard at once. He shoved them down into the blankets and then laid on top of them, purring. He knew that Nabataean instincts weren't exactly like wyvern ones, but he didn't mind the comparison. After all, as of right now, he was acting exactly like his siblings did when they had something they wanted to keep. He'd been sat on by them more times than he could count. He was their treasure. And these three pieces of cutlery were his!

Claude purred as his peace offering was accepted. Was giving a knife the best idea given Kiros sat on it? Maybe not, but he didn't care. It made his twin happy and smoother over the hurt he caused. "I won't take from you again. Promise." That was the least brotherly promise he had ever made, judging by his own brothers. They didn't count though. He was a better brother than them! And so was Kiros. 

He got to work kneading against his brother. No hard feelings and they both learned something.

Dimitri tapped him. Oh. His boyfriend showed him an empty bowl, which was swapped out for a full bowl for him. "Did you get enough to eat?" Of course Dimitri nodded. He had to hope that it was actually true. "All right..." He glanced between Dimitri and Kiros. "If you're hungry, you can have another bowl. Or if you want to actually enjoy it this time. I really don't need to eat all of it." He was looking forward to another bowl. Though, that anticipation was somewhat marred by the fact that he ruined Kiros' bowl.

Kiros eyed the soup pot with keen and clear interest as his twin told him to take more. He had no idea what a Nabataean appetite was supposed to be like, but he'd already eaten so much fish today! Like, probably more fish than he would eat in an entire month otherwise, not counting when he lived in Derdriu. There they ate fish all the time, enough that he got sick of it sometimes. Right now, though... 

His stomach grumbled. He grumbled back at it. He really wasn't all that hungry! But... but there was food. And it was good, even though he hadn't really enjoyed it the first time. He wanted to enjoy it more. He wanted more.  

His entire body gave a little wiggle. Dimitri chuckled at this. "I will get you another bowl, Kiros. Unless you would like to do it instead, Hilda?"

"I've got it!" 

Claude rumbled when Kiros agreed to have another bowl. Good, he didn't want to eat alone. Hilda was quick to get a bowl for Kiros and then both of them were being fed by their significant other. Happyhappy. Now that someone else was enjoying the food too, he allowed himself to really enjoy the taste. Wiggling and purring against his brother, in the sunshine, being fed by Dimitri... what more could he ask for? His body barely ached at the moment. 

...He was going to have to return to real life sooner rather than later. He wouldn't be free to purr or act in his partial-Nabataean manners. He needed to get a grip on his humanity again. ...But not right now. Right now, it was yummy-soup-and-purring time. 

Once the soup was done, though, he and Kiros should talk about their plans. Figuring out their excuses/stories was step number one.

Rufus sat at his (terrible, terrible) desk, staring up at the ceiling, praying that if he just kept staring for long enough, the letter upon it would vanish.

Glancing down, the letter had not, in fact, vanished. Nor had any of the other paperwork that he was Not Doing.

Sighing, scrubbing at his temples, and reaching for a drink from his flask, he opened a drawer and shoved an armful of paperwork into its depths. There was paperwork from the last time he did that. And the time before that. And—it was cramped, but he managed to get the blasted drawer to shut.

Dimitri’s letter still sat on his desk. Just an innocent letter. Words couldn’t hurt him (except when they did). He just… bah. What was he so afraid of? It was just a letter from his nephew. The nephew he never spoke with. Ever. The nephew with strength that could effortlessly break all his bones, and had a bit of a temper… and… now had a childhood toy… courtesy of Rufus… who really should not know about said toy…

Fine. Fine! He grabbed the letter and tore it open (but not before another swig). He would just make up some sort of excuse for how he found it. Play it off as a, a, a drunken whim! Or something.

He looked down at the letter and promptly choked.

After half a minute of hacking up his lungs, he picked the letter up off the floor from where it fell. He held it away from himself a bit, as though that could blunt what he was reading. But even at a glance, he knew his brother’s handwriting.

That was his brother’s handwriting.

He reached for his flask, but didn’t take a drink this time (yet). He just clutched it for support. It was one thing to see his brother’s ghost. …He’d caught the scent of smoke rarely over the past years, and always at a distance. Always following Dimitri around. But he tried not to think about that. Ever.

‘Rufus,’ the letter began, penned with handwriting that should not be possible. His brother thanked him for sending Loog the plush lion, and then… proceeded to nag him about his health. Not only was the handwriting right, but so were the contents. And then, of course…

‘I will return before you know it. Take good care of Faerghus until I return from…’

Return from where? The dead?! His brother didn’t finish the letter. The words were hard to read as he scanned them over and over, which was how he noticed that his hands were shaking to bits.

Then the letter ended just like how his brother always used to end his letters. ‘Love, Lambert.’ And wasn’t that just a kick to the gut? But that still wasn’t all. Beneath Lambert’s letter was a short paragraph in different handwriting.

'Prince-Regent, Thank you for sending Loog. I appreciate it. So does Father. He's here with me. I see him, too. –Prince Dimitri’

“Sothis’ tits,” he groaned, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling again. ‘He’s here with me. I see him, too.’ Dimitri saw the ghost of his father. And somehow got Lambert to write a letter.

Shaking his head, he got up and went to the hearth. His hands still shook as he tossed the letter into the fireplace. It took a second try, because the first time it only landed on the rim of the hearth, just the corner catching a few embers. When he picked it back up again, he saw the ‘Love’ part of Lambert’s farewell was already burnt. Probably the Goddess reminding him that he did not and never had deserved his brother’s affection.

He didn’t miss the second time. The letter burnt away. All he could think about was the charred body they had him identify—

Chugging the rest of his flask, he turned towards his liquor cabinet. He was going to need a lot of wine to sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

Kiros enjoyed the soup this time. Hilda seemed to enjoy feeding it to him, too, despite him being so close to Little Claude while she was doing it. She seemed to be feeling a little bit better about looking at Claude now, though it was obvious she still didn't like it. But Little Claude was gaining his weight back, too! That probably helped. 

At the same time, he could sense Claude's mood shifting. Not to something sad. Just... something more serious. Unintentionally, Kiros copied the feeling with his own serious expression, wondering what his twin was thinking about. There were plenty of things he could think of right off the bat. Dimitri's ghost situation, tea with Byleth, the dire future ahead of them... it could have been as simple as returning to class, honestly. He decided not to pry, and just focused on his meal for now. It was yummy-soup-and-purring time! Nothing else was more important than that right now.

Eventually soup-time came to an end. Claude was happy that his brother ate with him. Having finished his soup, he sprawled against Dimitri and his twin, feeling gloriously stuffed. Mmm... good soup.  

He basked in the feeling for a few minutes. His thoughts nagged at him, though. "Are you going to come to class with me?" he asked his brother. "We'll have to figure out what to tell people. 'M sure Seteth or Rhea or someone can smooth it over with Manuela. As for our peers, though..." 

He trailed off. Big Claude desperately wanted to reconnect with the Deer before the whole 'new body, who dis' shenanigans happened. But there was pain there too. "You'll come to class with me, right?" He didn't know how to function without Kiros anymore. The thought of navigating life alone made him tremble.

They finished their food, and for a while, everything was just warm and floaty. Kiros basked in the feeling (just like his twin did) and cuddled up to everyone he possibly could. Hilda and Claude mostly. But Dimitri also got a few snuggles and purrs just from proximity.

It couldn't last. Soon enough, Claude was lifting his head and looking at him. Then, he started talking. Asking the difficult questions. Questions that took away the happy warm floaty feelings and replaced them with anxiety. (Which was at least better than dread, but was still anxiety.)

This had to be addressed, though. Especially with Claude getting better. They had to go out and face the real world, and the sooner they did so, the less they would worry their peers. "...To class with you...?" he echoed. While he was sure that Rhea could smooth it over with Manuela, that was still stressful. "I don't want to leave you alone," he affirmed first, because he didn't want Claude to get the wrong idea. "But... how will the others react? Because they're going to know. And I don't know if I can... face them. Every day. Depending on... on what they do."

Claude crooned. His brother had to be with him! He couldn't face the world (or his peers) alone! Not when he was, was... this. He was weakened in both body and mind. It wasn't all bad things. He was more trusting than ever, knowing how important the Golden Deer were to his future self. …Maybe. Maybe he was just more prone to blurting things out. That wasn’t real trust. That was just, just…

He was also raw. This experience scooped out his soul and left so much of it inside out. Claude von Riegan, the independent and charming trickster, had evaporated. He was... he was Khalid now, with no social armor to speak of. Hell, he was Khalid, brother to wyverns. He bit and crooned and nuzzled to communicate and he feared it wasn't a habit he could break in a week. If he felt threatened, he was more likely to growl instead of smile it away. Little Khalid, too young and innocent to know how to defend himself from strangers. He wasn't innocent. But it was like he had been reset.

It was terrifying. All his carefully honed instincts... gone. Yes, he could trust most of his Golden Deer (supposedly). But what about Lorenz, who would surely update Count Gloucester on his... issues? Or Edelgard, who he would have to endure lordling meetings with? Edelgard, who would be seizing him up for now easy Leicester might crumble under her heel.

He chomped. Harder than before, harder than he had ever chomped Kiros. It was a fear-bite, one that broke skin. His defenses were destroyed. But he had his twin now. He wasn't alone. That was his saving grace. 

But only if Kiros actually came to class with him!

Claude bit him, and bit him hard, and Kiros didn't make a sound. No yelp of surprise or pain, even though the bite broke his skin and drew blood. He was absolutely silent in the face of Claude's fear and sheer desperation. He recognized how weak he must feel. How raw he was from this entire experience. All of this, it had practically destroyed his defenses and left him with nothing to hide behind. Nothing... but a twin brother who had promised to stay by his side. One which had a duty, now, to protect and care for that which he had destroyed. Claude's defenses were gone. All his carefully honed instincts were gone. All he had was Kiros (and Hilda, and Dimitri, but he knew they were different).

This was more important than him and his own fears and anxieties. He had caused his brother to be like this. The only way he could make up for it was to remain by his side. No matter how scary that seemed. He still had no time to rest or relax. There was still work to be done; work that he had absolutely created for himself, and was all his fault, and so he had no choice. He couldn't stop now. The dragging himself forward would continue, no matter what else he felt. This was the only thing he could do. Anything else... well. It'd just make a failure and a coward of him all over again. 

"I'll come," he quietly assured. He had no other choice. Not if he wanted to make this right. "I'll come with you. Promise."

Little Claude’s bite softened. “I’ll protect you too. If it ends up being too much, then I’ll protect you.” 

Yeah. Sure. He could be protected from anxiety. That would work. 

He did his level best to make sure his skepticism didn't leak through their link. But he couldn't help how doubtful he was. When he was in public, he felt like he was always on the edge of a breakdown. He'd do his best. But really, if either of them snapped, the whole charade would probably fall apart. And he was much more likely to snap than Claude was. He thought his brother wasn't giving himself enough credit for how strong he was and how those self-preservation instincts would kick in. If even he could put together enough of a semblance of them to convince people that he was Claude after living underground as a feral creature for years, he was pretty confident that Little Claude would be able to do the same with much more ease even after what he'd gone through. Those instincts went deeper than his twin realized if they still lingered inside even him. He'd be fine. It was the older one that would be there to mess everything up. 

With a rumble, Claude’s bite got rough again, only letting go to speak. “Even if I have to go to class alone, I’ll protect you. You have to try, though. I need you with me to start with, at least.”

“I’ll be there too, don’t forget,” Hilda added. That helped, though it probably helped him more than Little Claude.

"We should get our stories straight, if you’re up for it.” Claude said, though he bit back a yawn as he did so. They needed to get their story straight, so he had no choice but to be up for it. It was his responsibility. “Hm… You traveled to Fodlan searching for your wayward twin, only to find out he charmed his way into a massive inheritance. Now, in the aftermath of some mysterious magical ailment, you're here to keep him safe. Eh? How's that sound?" 

"I doubt the Deer will buy it," he said with a slow nod. "But as for everyone else... the world is good at swallowing lies. Even ridiculous ones, if they aren't upsetting. Nothing about the lie is upsetting. I think people will buy it.”

Claude grinned. “And whatever they don't believe, they'll fill it in with fiction far easier to believe than the truth." It was okay if the Deer didn't buy it. The Deer were... safe. Safeish. 

"Thank you," he rumbled into his twin's neck. Though he wanted to stay awake and scheme, it seemed whatever energy boost he got earlier was finally fading. Full of warm soup and cuddled by Kiros and Dimitri, he didn’t stand a chance. "We'll have... yawn, a few days to come up with better ideas. We still have time." He tucked his face under Kiros' chin. "Still have time to be our raw selves in the sunshine." Though, it wouldn't be long before sundown. Rude. The sun should stay up for him. 

Then again, sundown meant the stars would come out. He yawned again. "Nap time has arrived. Wake me later? I want to look at the stars with you." He peeked an eye at Dimitri, then and Hilda too. "We could tell you stories about the stars. Would be fun."

Kiros slowly, quietly started to rumble back at Claude as he got comfortable. Yes, that cover story would work. Not too many frills, sort of crazy but not crazier than the truth, and his twin was right — people would fill in what they didn't believe with more believable stuff. He was sure Hilda would keep her ear to the ground for rumors. And in the meantime... Kiros thought he should probably shave his beard. He'd look younger if he did, and they were going for twins. So he would do that before they went back out into the real world. 

The topic dropped there, turning to stars and stargazing instead. Something in his chest expanded with warmth at the idea of being able to stargaze with this group of people. His eyes almost twinkled with the thought. 

"Of course I will wake you up for stars. Promise. In the meantime... sleep well, my brother.”

Seteth shifted back and forth, his whole body clenched as he waited for Kiros to lull Claude to sleep. It didn't take long. As soon as Claude slumbered, Seteth was there, nosing against the bleeding bite wound. 

If Claude wasn't Kiros' brother, he would have been far more upset about the action. He knew it had been a fear-bite though, not one meant to harm. Still, he began gently lapping at it, licking away anything that might cause it to become infected. His saliva formed a thin coat to keep the wound safe and promote healing. There.  

Rumbling, he curled around Kiros' back. Hilda, who was sat by Kiros' head, grumbled at him. This was his son. He would cuddle and protect his boy as he pleased!

Part of Kiros' brain was a little bit worried about how Seteth licked his open wound. He had been taught a long time ago that licking his wounds (literally) didn't make them better. It was a lesson his baba had to teach him, something he had to correct from all of the instincts and habits a young Khalid had picked up from growing up alongside wyverns. He was taught that licking Sarbi and Jamshid's wounds was unsanitary, and he shouldn't let them lick his, either. That could lead to infection. 

And yet, Seteth wouldn't do anything to harm him. Something was telling him that this was okay. Dragon spit was different from wyvern or human spit. This was fine. Probably. 

"He's frightened," he whispered quietly to his father as Claude slept against him. "Doesn't want to go back alone. But... I'm frightened, too," he confessed. He felt so weak. The old him never would have confessed to weakness like this. But he was far from his old self, and had been for a long long time.

Seteth wriggled closer, slightly on top of Kiros. "You're being so brave, my son." He wanted to tell his boy that he didn't have to go to class. But Claude did, in fact, need to return to class eventually. Kiros wouldn't abandon his brother, thus... this. "You are not alone. I can come with you." He paused. Flayn never responded well to that sort of offer. "Flayn can go with you. And if anyone dares upset you, I will deal with them." He nuzzled his son and rumbled. "You will have Claude, Flayn, and Hilda with you in class. You have myself and Rhea to support you outside of the classroom too.” 

His arms wrapped around Kiros' chest, though he was careful not to get between Kiros and Claude. "You are safe here. I promise it." Unfortunately, there was little he could do to protect from the social side of things. It was something he knew well ever since Flayn awoke from her slumber. For a baby, he shouldn't have to worry about this yet! But Kiros was no normal infant. Kiros was not attached to him the way Cethleann had once been, crying any time he left her line of sight (not that he did that often). If anything, Kiros was attached to his brother that way. 

Hm. That made him wonder... Perhaps some of Kiros' more baby-ish instincts had morphed under Claude's adult mind. He wouldn't know until Kiros and Claude were separated, but he worried that it might trigger instincts in his son. The best option was to simply not separate them, he supposed. 

He rumbled and hummed a soft little song for his scared son. Kiros didn't seem particularly tired, but his song should calm some of his boy's nerves.

Seteth reassured him as Kiros expected he would. Even offered to come to class with him, which was not a surprise in the least. Thankfully, the dragon walked back on that offer before Claude had to tell him that people would definitely question it if Seteth suddenly started coming to class alongside a mysterious new student. 

...Actually, considering Flayn was in their class now, that made perfect sense. Of course Seteth wouldn't want to leave her alone with a mysterious new student! But he doubted Flayn would like that very much. Hopefully, it wouldn't be necessary. Both he and Claude wanted to be as independent as possible. It just wasn't possible for them to be independent from one another. 

"Thank you," he said anyway, glad for the support. He arched his back to press against Seteth's chest and purred. The man began to hum and his eyes automatically slid shut. He wasn't planning on sleep. But relaxing in the sunlight sounded nice. 

Wait a moment. 

His eyes blinked back open again a moment later. "I know that song," he said, though he was quite certain he had never heard Seteth hum it before. At least... he hadn't. But there were fragments inside of him of a someone else; someone who probably had.

Seteth’s humming stuttered, but he kept going until the melody came to an end. "Is that so?" he murmured, soft so as to keep Kiros in his peaceful state. Begalta. He had to assume Kiros knew it from Begalta. How much did Kiros know from Begalta? More than nothing, it seemed. But Kiros was still himself despite bearing his sister’s Crest Stone. Kiros, Not Begalta. Though he mourned his sister, he was happy that Kiros was here. His son. He had a son... It was still so incredible. Maybe someday it would sink in. Sometimes he was still amazed that he had a daughter, so perhaps not. 

He resumed humming, his rumbles mixing with the tune. Hilda petted Kiros' hair, and so did Flayn (who clearly wanted to wriggle into Kiros's arm, but that arm was already holding Claude). 

"Do you mind if I go for a lil bit, Claudie?" Hilda asked, still petting. "I can come back later. We can have a sleepover. I want to get a gift for you, though. Heh, you and Claude, actually. But I'll stay if you prefer me here." 

Seteth eyed Hilda, catching the slight pinch to her eyes. She needed some breathing room. Though she was getting used to Kiros' only arm and Claude's emaciated state, it clearly still upset her. 

Seteth rumbled a possessive noise, one that could be seen as him dismissing Hilda. Obviously she was listening to Kiros, not him. But he wanted his son to himself for a bit (and Flayn too).

Kiros opened his mouth automatically to tell Hilda that he wanted her to stay with him — didn't want to miss having a single second with her — when he heard Seteth's possessive rumble. Then his mouth was open to scold Steth for growling at his Hilda. And then, luckily, before he could do any of those things, he actually processed Hilda's question. 

‘Do you mind if I go’. Not ‘do you want me to go’. Hilda wasn't asking if he wanted her to stay. Which he did. Of course he did. But she wasn't asking that. She was asking for permission to leave. And Seteth was offering her a dismissal before he even was able to say anything! Clearly the dragons must want him to themselves for a bit. And Hilda... needed a break. He understood. He was sad, but he understood. 

"Oh, go on," he said, trying to sound playful and like he didn't mind so much. He was not sure how successful he was. "I'll be here if you need me. You'll come back for stargazing, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Hilda told him, lowering her head until she nuzzled it against his hair. "I'll be back. And with a gift! So look forward to it. Love you, Cla— Kiros. My Kiros..." With a peck to the lips, Hilda withdrew and left.

"Shall I also go?" Dimitri asked. The question was mostly aimed at Seteth as far as he could tell, but this time Kiros was quick to interject before his father could make any noise. 

"No! No," he cried. "I mean. Unless you want to go. But Claude needs you.” Hopefully Hilda was too far away to hear how quick he was to beg Dimitri to stay.

"You are fine," Seteth affirmed for Dimitri. Dimitri was here for Claude, not Kiros. Which meant there was no one else to take his hatchling's attention (except Flayn, who he did not mind). 

Seteth had been extremely successful in tamping down his instincts this entire time. His lost draconic form helped with that. Yet he could only suppress his needs for so long when it came to a child. His child.  

It was a miracle he could keep himself from dragging Kiros away and cuddling in a secluded corner. He wanted his hatchling in his arms. Which he did have, though Kiros was facing away from him (and towards Claude). He needed to hold his child. Kiros was a newborn! His instincts screamed to roost atop his child and hide the hatchling from view, at least for a few years until Kiros was a bit bigger and better able to defend himself.

That wasn't how this worked, though. Instincts be damned, he had to use his brain. No, he could not tear Kiros away from his twin. No, he could not sit atop his son. Neither of them were shaped properly for that. Their world was not one in which he could spend dozens of years slowly raising a baby to a toddler.

He was a bit huffy after so long denying his (ludicrous) instincts. He did his best to temper them by clinging tightly to Kiros' back and rumble-humming.

Kiros watched Hilda go, the whole time swallowing down the whine that threatened to escape and ask her to stay, please! He managed to keep the selfish little noise inside, reminding himself that he already had enough people here to cuddle. He had his twin, of course. And Seteth! 

...Seteth really wanted to cuddle him. 

He wasn't sure if it was the huffs, possessive growls, or even just the man's scent that told him that. But from those three things, it was a simple logical deduction. Dimitri couldn't even smell Seteth's scent properly and even he seemed to get it! At least, that's why Kiros assumed Dimitri did what he next did. Which was to move closer with Loog in his arms and pet Claude's hair. 

"...May I hold Claude for a bit?" Dimitri asked. It wasn't a selfish request. Kiros thought Dimitri was trying to be helpful and play peacemaker, judging by how often he was glancing between Seteth and Claude. Kiros slowly, slowly loosened his grip. His twin wasn't going anywhere. They'd all be staying in the same nest. But he didn't want to be selfish and hog him. And Seteth wanted to be selfish and hog him. This seemed like the right thing to do for the situation. Even though letting go of little Claude was hard. 

"Okay," he quietly agreed at last, and let Dimitri cuddle up with Claude (Loog between them). He stared at them for a second before rolling over. Time for father cuddles.

Bless Dimitri. Bless Faerghus. Bless chivalrous princes who knew how to read a room. Dimitri got Kiros to do what Seteth assumed wasn't possible at the moment. Kiros rolled into his arms and he purred. Loudly. 

Puffing up his shoulders as much as he could, he engulfed Kiros. Given they were both full grown adult humans in shape, he wasn't satisfied with how little he could really hold his son. His son should be small! A baby! But Seteth should also be big, and that was lost to him.

He didn't notice his scent change. Flayn inhaled sharply and bopped his face. What? He was—

His scent was strong enough to be commanding. Kiros didn't like to be compelled. Feared it, even. But before he could tamp his scent down, there was a soft pop!  

He immediately curled around the now smaller bundle of his son, rumbling deeply. Yes. Better. Perfect. His perfect perfect son was now small in his arms, as was meant to be. Between himself and the nest, he could properly shroud his child from the dangerous world. 

His scent was full of praise and joy. His son shifted forms. Good boy. Perfectly healthy with a working set of newborn Nabataean circuits. This was the final proof that the ritual worked in its entirety.

"Oh!" 

It was Dimitri who reacted the loudest to Kiros' sudden and unexpected transformation. Seteth acted like this was normal. Flayn acted like this was normal. As far as Dimitri could tell, Kiros was acting like it was normal, too, as the surprisingly small form cuddled up to Seteth's chest. 

Now Kiros looked like a baby Nabataean. His humanoid form still looked like an adult man as far as anyone could tell. But the little guy squirming to cuddle himself against Seteth's chest was definitely a baby dragon. Kiros was greener than Dimitri expected him to be, with sparkly golden horns. The rest, he couldn't really see due to how Seteth engulfed him. The green of his wings was the same green as his hair in his human form, while his scales were a bit lighter. It was surprising; all the art he'd ever seen of dragons had them as pure white. He decided not to question it for now, and just carefully tried to see if he could coax his Claude awake. He wouldn't want to miss this, would he?

"Rrmpfm," was the most Dimitri could get out of Claude. He was too deep in his slumber to be roused. Dimitri supposed it would simply have to be a surprise for later, providing Kiros stayed in that form. Judging by how cuddly the baby Nabataean was with Seteth, he doubted there would be a change anytime soon. 

Seteth, for his part, was elated. Ecstatic. Overwhelmed with fatherly emotions. He cooed down at his son, his son. Such striking, healthy coloring. Some baby Nabataean didn't gain color in their scales until they were adolescents; Flayn had only just been growing in her color when—well. No use dwelling on that. 

Begalta, if he remembered correctly, had always been colorful. Much darker in color than Kiros was, but colorful nonetheless. The fact that Kiros was so bright was fitting. His bright son... Still so colorful despite everything he had been through. Rich greens and golds. 

Kiros wriggled just like a newborn should. Seteth undid a few buttons so his son could wiggle into his shirt. Skin to skin (or scale to scale) contact was vital for such a young child, to better transfer magic and heat. 

"There you are..." he murmured as Kiros cuddled against his chest. His purrs shifted into a deep, primal rumble, the rumble of a father. Kiros replied with a baby's little "Prm, prm, prm."

Kiros really didn't notice, at first, what had happened. Everything that occurred happened by pure instinct. Seteth's scent was commanding, but if Kiros had focused on that command, he would not have known what to do. Shifting forms was something which was supposed to be possible, yes. He knew that logically. But he had no idea how to go about trying it.

Luckily, his instincts knew what they were doing. They knew so well that he didn't realize anything had happened at all. Just that he fit better into his father's arms. Like he was supposed to. And father was letting him cuddle up so close! Crawl right inside his shirt and nuzzle against him and purr, and purr, and purr.

His purrs sounded different. That was what he noticed first. They were tinier. Then he realized how he was tinier. And then he looked down and saw that he had no hands. That was even less hands than he was supposed to have! But his hand had been replaced by... a taloned paw.  

He was a dragon. A tiny baby dragon. 

"Awwwr!" he crooned when he realized what was going on. He was a dragon!

Sarbi was confused. While he had been dozing, somehow Khalid vanished...? He hadn't been dozing that deeply! But now he couldn't find the second Khalid. Alarmed and confused, he got up and sniffed the nest. Where...?  

"Awwwr!"  

Sarbi flinched at the sound. Baby? Baby sound?? It came from Seteth. But Seteth wasn't a baby. Sarbi's eyes narrowed. Something was wiggling in Seteth's shirt. Too small to be Khalid, but... 

He sniffed the lump. It smelled like Khalid (and Seteth). His snout nudged the lump. "Ep!" 

Hmmm... Hmmmmmm.  

He was still confused. 

"Arrro..." he rumbled, looking around for his brother. One of the Khalids was bundled against his mate. Sarbi needed to find the other one, though!

Sarbi! Sarbi was looking for him! He recognized the lonely noises his brother was making. Determined to make the lonely-sad noises stop, he wiggled his way back out of Seteth's shirt, enough to pop his head out of the blankets. 

"Ep!" he yapped again, squirming out of the cuddle pile. Oooh, his body was longer than he expected it to be. His legs were hard to control when they were so far away! And he flopped onto his front half with an irritated sound. 

He wasn't just clumsy. He only had three legs to get around with. 

"Eeeeh!" he complained. He knew he would get used to it eventually. He wasn't ever going to know what being a dragon with four limbs was like, he just had to get used to the new body in general. But for right now, he wasn't able to go very far. He just sort of splooted onto the ground, wiggled and rumbling for his brother's attention.

"Kiros!" the Seteth man gasped, failing to catch his not-wyvern-thing son before the sploot. Sarbi flinched as a little hatchling fell out of Seteth's shirt. 

...Where did the hatchling come from? That did explain why Seteth smelled like a new father. Seteth tried to pick the baby up, but the baby whined and rumbled towards Sarbi. Him?

Lowering his snout, he gave the child a big sniff. It smelled like Khalid! His jaw fell open as he caught more of the scent. It was Khalid, there was no mistaking it! Baby Khalid! 

He sat on his rump and cocked his head, poking the baby with his snout. Sarbi was confused and Jamshid wasn't here to explain. And Khalid wasn't explaining himself! His older brother was supposed to get bigger, not smaller. Not as big as Sarbi, but that was because Khalid was supposed to be a human. Except now Khalid was a wyvern(?). A baby wyvern. 

A... very strangely proportioned wyvern. 

Khalid's wings were on his back. And he only had three legs, which matched with Sad-Khalid's missing arm. But Khalid was so... long. Wyvern hatchlings were supposed to be pudgy and compact. Maybe Khalid was malnourished? He didn't know! No one told him that humans could become (weird) wyverns. 

Regardless, this was his brother. His now-baby-brother. Rumbling, he nuzzled Khalid and crooned a worried noise. 'Okay? Khalid okay?'

Kiros flapped his wings excitedly as Sarbi came over to investigate him. He could tell that his father was worried that this might be a bad idea, but Kiros had no fear! This was his brother, who he had known for his entire life! (For Sarbi's entire life, anyway... no. No sad thoughts. Not right now. Sad thoughts were for Human Kiros. Dragon Kiros was too baby to be sad.) 

He wasn't scared, and he wasn't sad, either. He was, in fact, excited! Excited for Sarbi to meet him in his new form and excited to play with him. Though playing would have to wait until after he could walk, probably. Most of Sarbi's games involved running around, and he couldn't play those right now. 

But Meeting-Time was happening! And he was so happy to meet Sarbi.

"Eeee!" he trilled, nuzzling his face up against Sarbi's. His wyvern's scent was very strong. Very confused. Very concerned. Kiros trilled at his brother. 'No need to be worried! Kiros okay!'

"Rrmm!" Sarbi might not understand what happened, but he did know his brother. And his brother was happy! Excited! That was good! 

He glanced at Seteth. Seteth was Khalid's wyvern-father now. No, Sarbi didn't know how that worked, but he didn't need to. What he did know was that some wyverns were very, very protective of their clutch. Some weren't. He and Jamshid grew up without any parents. Some wyverns would roost over their hatchlings like they were the most precious treasure, though. He was pretty sure Seteth was one of those wyverns, judging by the smell. 

With that in mind, Sarbi didn't take his brother even though he wanted to. Seteth might attack. Even though Sarbi was bigger and could easily toss little Seteth off the terrace, he liked Seteth and did not want to upset the human-wyvern.

Seteth, for his part, desperately wanted to scoop Kiros up and hold the boy close. Since it was Kiros who parted from him, though, he reluctantly allowed this. So long as Sarbi didn't take Kiros! That was non-negotiable. Sarbi knew and understood.

Sarbi nuzzled his tiny brother very, very gently. As gently as possible. Tiny size meant tiny bones, and Khalid's human bones were already so fragile. Scooting his snout a little underneath Khalid's tiny body, he slowly lifted his happy brother, crossing his eyes to see. 

Khalid's wings wiggled all over the place as Sarbi lifted him. A benefit of having wings on the back meant that Khalid's claws could hold Sarbi's snout and not fall off. He rumbled a happy noise, though didn't open his mouth. Moving his jaw might send his brother flying, and Khalid wasn't ready to fly yet.

"Eee! Whee!" Kiros chirped delightedly as he was lifted off the ground by Sarbi. Technically, Sarbi lifted him off the ground all the time, but this was different! This was like being held, and Kiros had not been held by a parent since he was very small. 

Well, now he was small again! He wiggled as Sarbi held him. But he didn't wiggle too much! That would just make him fall, and he did not want to fall. Father would have a fit even though Kiros was quite confident he would not be hurt if he was dropped. Not if he was only dropped five feet right into a pile of blankets. Still, he didn't want to upset his father. So he held still and didn't slide off Sarbi's face. Instead, he nuzzled and licked his brother's cheek affectionately. Happy Sarbi, happy Kiros! 

"He's so lovely like this," Dimitri said from a few feet away. Ah! Kiros forgot that he was even there. A strange look rested on the prince's features. Something wistful, longing, and nostalgic.

“He really is!” Flayn added while Kiros was still trying to figure out what the prince’s expression meant.

Ah. It must be because he was happy. Like this, there was a layer of separation between his human self and his dragon self. A layer of separation from his traumas and fears and anxieties. At least there was for now, while it was exciting and new. He didn't dwell on that, though he hoped it wouldn't change. He was a baby. He couldn't be a depressed, traumatized baby.

Sarbi was happy too! Khalid was happy and so was Sarbi! His whole back half wiggled with the happies! But he was careful to keep his face very, very still. 

Slowly, he bobbed his head up and down. Khalid's tiny wings flapped with each up and down, clearly delighting his brother. It was just like when he and Jamshid were babies and Khalid would fly them around! His haunch wiggled harder at his delight. Khalid was the baby brother now! Sarbi would play uppies with him! Carefully. 

Seteth kept a close eye on them but didn't object. Sarbi moved Khalid up and down, sometimes all around! He brought his tiny brother to say hi to still-human-brother's mate. Then over to Seteth's other child, who was also very happy! Then back to Seteth. He was diligent to keep Khalid over the blankets at all times just in case there was a slip. Sarbi was on his best behavior! Safety first! 

Careful not to move his jaw, he snuck his tongue out of his mouth and poked one of Khalid's tiny taloned feet. Then he zipped his tongue away when Khalid squeaked. Wasn't Sarbi! Sarbi didn't do it! It was Jamshid!

Sarbi licked him! Kiros knew it was him. No one else was close enough to lick his toes! Except maybe Flayn, but it hadn't been Flayn. He could see her face when the lick suddenly came out of nowhere. 

He wiggled and huffed, pretending that he was mad. Except he wasn't a very good pretender in this form. The wiggles of happiness and playfulness were just too powerful. He only just managed to keep from falling off of Sarbi's muzzle. Which he didn't want to do, because he was having too much fun being uppies. He nipped Sarbi's scales to show his affection, his tail wagging all around. Fun, fun, fun! 

"All right, Kiros, come down," Father said, and Kiros screeched his discontent. He knew that father wanted to cuddle! But why couldn't father cuddle Sarbi with him? He latched onto Sarbi tightly and refused to come down. Temperamental baby dragon.

Sarbi jumped at Khalid's screech. Not wanting to let his newly baby brother down, but also not wanting to get between a hatchling and its parent, he enacted a half measure and lowered his muzzle to the nest. That way Khalid wouldn't fall! Because with all those wiggles, Khalid was probably going to fall. Khalid screeched again, still latched tight. His brother wanted more uppies! He understood. Once, that had been him throwing a tantrum. He did the same thing Khalid used to do to him and his sister: he booped his lil brother's nose. And then licked it (which Khalid did not usually do). 

His snout burrowed underneath Khalid. If his brother wanted uppies... How about flippies? Rumbling with amusement, he flipped his little brother. Those green wings flapped and Khalid squawked, wriggling on his back as he tried to figure out how to right himself. Khalid’s belly was golden and shiny like coins! Sparkly too, almost. Sarbi was just about to poke the baby’s belly when Seteth intervened.

"Rrrrm!" growled Seteth, snatching Khalid up and tucking him close. Hey! Flippies were done in good fun! He nipped at Seteth's shirt and growled right back. Khalid was his brother first! Sarbi had seniority!

No! No no no! It was uppies time! Why was Sarbi putting him down? It was supposed to be uppies! 

Kiros hissed and screeched and just threw a fit. He tried to chomp Sarbi but couldn't get a good angle. 

"Oh, my," Dimitri softly said from nearby. Kiros ignored him. Dimitri didn't understand this treachery! Uppies time! It was uppies, not downies! 

"Meep!" he bleated a startled little noise as downies time turned into flippies time. He ended up on his back, his head on the blankets and all his limbs in the air and his little golden belly facing the sky. He was too stunned by the sudden move to do anything to figure out how to right himself. He was still wiggling and he supposed it must have looked like struggling because his father finally scooped him up and growled at Sarbi. 

Hey! No! No growlies at Sarbi! Kiros did to his father what Sarbi had just done to him in an effort to calm him down. He reached up with his little taloned foot and booped the end of his father's nose. Shshsh! No growl! It was okay! No tantrum! (Oh, he was such a hypocrite.) No tantrum!

"Mmmrm?" Kiros' tantrum succeeded where Dimitri's earlier attempts failed. At the howling of an upset baby wyvern (or dragon), Claude rose to the surface of the waking world. He almost fell back asleep. But then he heard Sarbi growling. 

'What's wrong?' he meant to ask, though it came out more like "Wsssmong?", slurred by his sleepiness. 

Cracking his eyes open was a monumental effort, but he did it. Sarbi was biting Seteth's shirt. No. Bad Sarbi. Blinking, his sleepy eyes couldn't find Kiros. That had him slightly less sleepy. 

'Where??' Before he could get too alarmed, he felt that his brother was close. But where? All he saw was Sarbi, Seteth, and... ...What was that? A little wyvern-like creature booped Seteth on the nose. He almost chalked it up to a dream until he noticed the creature only had one arm. 

"...Kiros?" He could only blink sleepily, not comprehending what he was seeing. Was that his brother? Was that his brother's dragon form? Oooor was he just asleep and dreaming about it? That was highly possible.

His other brother was awake! Kiros' long body went limp in his father's arms just so he could flop his head backwards to stare at Claude upside down. At the same time, his little feet started kicking like he was running and his entire body wiggled. Brother brother brother!  

"Weh!" he cried, wanting to go to him right now. He wanted Claude to see his dragon form, too! And to cuddle him. He knew it was supposed to be cuddle time with father, but he had to do all his introductions first! And all the introductory cuddles! 

"That's Kiros," Dimitri confirmed for his sleepy boyfriend. "Your dragon brother."

Seteth reluctantly brought his wiggle-worm of a son over to Claude. Sarbi's snout followed closely, attempting to help nudge Kiros towards Claude. 

"Kiros..." Claude lifted his arms in a 'hug' motion. 

Kiros squeaked and air-paddled even harder. "Shhh, my son... I can't transfer you when you're so wiggly..." 

"Weh!" Somehow, he managed to pass Kiros off to Claude without dropping the wiggly boy. Kiros immediately squirmed against Claude, wiggling and kicking and flopping. The baby dragon managed to find the hem of Claude's shirt and burrowed within. 

Claude chuckled as Kiros wiggled into his shirt. "Hey, brother. This is a fun surprise. Can't believe you transformed without me." Claude patted his stomach, or rather the wiggle-worm on his stomach.

"I did try to wake you up to see it before, my Claude. But you were quite insistent on sleeping," Dimitri said. The prince’s voice briefly attracted Kiros’ attention. Even Dimitri couldn't help but smile as the little dragon joined their cuddle pile! It was a real smile, one that showed his dimples. Which Claude was sure to coo over if he noticed, but with Kiros taking up so much of his attention, it wasn't likely. 

"Wrrrrmm!" Kiros answered his twin's words, squirming all around until he was able to poke his head fully out of Claude's shirt collar and cuddle up under his chin. He cooed and, finally, settled. Wow... he didn't notice until he stopped moving, but all this excitement had really worn him out. 

"I think he's going to fall asleep there, my Claude," Dimitri said. He glanced up towards Father, well aware that the man wanted to be the one cuddling him right now. Unfortunately for Father, Kiros wanted his brother.

Claude rumbled as Dimitri told him he had been ‘insistent on sleeping’. That tracked. He had been in the middle of a dream, doing... something. He'd been deeply asleep, was the point. But that was fine. 

'My Claude.' That was what Dimitri called him. He didn't fully register it the first time. The second time, though? He melted. And nibbled Dimitri a tiny bit. It was a happy nibble. 

"We can sleep together," he murmured with a smile. Glancing up at Dimitri, he was swallowed by how brightly his prince was grinning. No one told him Dimitri could smile like that. "You're beautiful, you know," was how he conveyed his sleepy feelings (with an additional slow blink).

He wasn't the only sleepy one. Kiros went from zipping to drooping. The wiggles stopped and Kiros sort of splooted against him, going limp. Patting the lump under his shirt got him a little 'Prm,' so Kiros was fine. Just sleepy. 

'We can dream together again. I'll see you soon.'  

He wasn't long for the waking world. The last thing he noticed was Seteth cuddling up to his front, with Flayn wriggling into the mix too. If he was more awake, he might have commented on it. Between Seteth's Big rumbles, Kiros' lil rumbles, Flayn's scraggly but sweet rumbles, Dimitri's steady warmth, and Sarbi's body curling around their sandwich, that was a lot of cuddles. 'Mmm, a Claude sandwich.' Kiros still counted as a Claude.

Chapter Text

Kiros was out like a light as soon as he was curled up against his twin. He 'woke up,' though. In a familiar place. Inside the shared dreamspace between him and his younger self. He wasn't a dragon here. At least, not entirely. He wasn't his mini dragon self, probably because he had the desire to talk to his twin a little bit and he had no idea how to talk with his new mouth yet, so his subconscious probably took that into account. 

He was still feeling just as cuddly and protective of his twin as always, though. Which was reflected in the fact that he was the one cuddled up around Claude, with two massive, dark green wings wrapped around his body. 

"Mm," he greeted, running his fingers through his twin's hair and giving him a nuzzle. "You here?" he asked, unsure if Claude was dreaming with him, or if this was just a dream all on his own.

"I'm here." Claude opened his eyes slowly, nuzzling his twin. His humanoid twin. Something curled around him. Two somethings, so it wasn't arms... 

Wings? His eyes widened at the sight. They almost seemed to sparkle like the night sky... Kiros was looking extra dragon-y in the dream, like he had before getting a body. Long, long ears wiggled as Kiros nuzzled him. Of course he was eager to reciprocate the hug, cuddling up close. So close.

"Missed you," he mumbled into Kiros' neck. "You make an adorable dragon, by the way. We'll have to play uppies when we wake up. Just like we used to do with Sarbi and Jamshid."

Kiros grinned a toothy grin and purred loudly when his twin said that they would play uppies. "Sarbi played uppies with me once already. You missed it. But I'm sure he'll do it again. He seemed to have a lot of fun. I had a lot of fun." He rumbled. "Things are... different, being in that form. Maybe it's just psychological, but... it's easier for me to just have fun. Relax. Forget the woes of my human self." And Gods knew he had plenty of woes. 

He didn't dwell on those. Instead, he took a long look at his wings. "Is this what they look like in real life?' he asked. "I never got to look in a mirror. I'm not entirely sure what I look like."

"I—hm. I wasn't actually paying attention, if I'm honest." He had noticed that Kiros was a dragon, then said dragon was cuddling under his shirt. "We'll have to give you a thorough examination when we wake up. I do know that you're adorable. Dare I speak this blasphemy, but you're even cuter than Sarbi and Jamshid were. Hilda's going to love your dragon form." 

He wiggled with excitement. It was a subdued wiggle, because even in his dreams he was still sleepy. But excited too! He couldn't wait to learn more about dragons and about his brother's new body.

"Cuter than Sarbi and Jamshid? That's impossible!" Kiros insisted. He nuzzled his brother again, then gave him an extra affectionate nip. Hilda was going to love his dragon form. She had been excited about the prospect of being able to carry him around.

"You're good at doing that. Doing the impossible."

Kiros' eyes widened. Then his expression softened and wobbled a little. Big Claude leaned his head down and pressed his forehead to his twin's. He was back to being Big Claude again, just from that little comment. He warbled out a purr. A compliment like that was... it meant a lot. It clearly meant a lot to him. Even if Little Claude meant it as a joke. The insinuations that came along with it struck him deeply. It was making him emotional. And it was very hard to conceal their emotions in this dreamspace. 

Little Claude made a soft noise at him and petted his hair. “Maybe someday you’ll be big enough to ride. Though, Sarbi might be jealous.”

"Sarbi would be jealous. He might even just be jealous of you giving me uppies," he said, his voice watery. He sniffled. He hid his face. Damn it, he didn't want to cry!

If they weren't so close, he would be worried as Big Claude began to cry. It didn't feel like a bad cry, though. Just... A lot. 

His older self had been through so much. From surviving at Derdriu, to becoming king, to running back to Fodlan and spending years alone in the dark, to going back in time, to surviving that trip back in time (in spirit), to getting a whole new body... That was a lot of impossible that Big Claude made possible. It gave him hope for his own future. One that would be better than the hand Kiros was dealt. 

"Sarbi won't be jealous if I play uppies with him." They could take turns. Or— er, his plan to gently toss Kiros between himself and Sarbi was snuffed out by the concept of Seteth. (Maybe another time.) He would figure something out. Sarbi would probably have to do the heavy lifting anyways, what with Claude's situation. 

All the while he was thinking, he petted and cuddled his older self, radiating love and contentment. Happy. He was so... so happy. Happier than he ever could have been without his older self in his life. Perhaps it was silly, but it really felt like there was meant to be two of them. He was complete in a way he never realized he was incomplete. (Or perhaps this was simply what it was like to not feel lonely.) 

"I have you, purrurr. I have you, Brother."

He really tried to listen to what his younger self was saying, but his emotions were distracting him. At the same time, so were Little Claude's emotions. Just, the wave of love and contentment that rushed over him, so warm and all-encompassing, and it was a lot to take in. One would think he'd be used to it by now. But sometimes it still hit him in waves. That he was here, and he was loved, and that things were going to get better. They had been getting better. Ever since he arrived here, everything was better, even if it wasn't perfect. There were still things he needed to work through; things which he had pretty much been ignoring until this afternoon when Byleth suddenly showed up. It was easy to hide in his bubble with Claude and the dragons and Dimitri and Hilda. But the bubble had to pop eventually. He was frightened of that. 

Hearing his twin voice so much confidence in him was something that floored him. Given how many times he had failed — and how terrible those failures were for everyone who believed in him — having people who still believed in him felt scary, too. But the worst had not yet happened and there were people helping him who would help him stop it this time. He knew what hung in the balance but right now it felt like the stakes were low. It was just a matter of... going to class. Seeing his friends again. And sticking close to the side of his other half, which he could not imagine doing anything but. 

"I know you've got me," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get emotional. It's just... it's hard," he whispered. "It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that people believe in me still. Even though I've failed so hard so many times. I-I know it hasn't happened here, in this timeline. But I still remember.” He hung his head. "In the face of that, getting back here, back to this time, it feels more like a fluke than... than something I could have just done on my own. I know it's not. But it feels like I just got... lucky."

"No sorries," he said softly, pressing a kiss to Kiros' forehead. "Cry all you need. A lot has happened. And keeps happening, heh. It's okay. I love you." 

He understood. All his life, he believed that he had control over his own fate. Yet he couldn't deny how, at times, he had so much doubt. Doubt that fate wasn't real or wasn't malleable, and that it was all luck. Luck that was entirely out of his control. It made sense that Kiros would feel that way, given the hand he had been dealt. Yet to Claude, it was affirmation that fate was malleable to those with unwavering persistence. Kiros would surely disagree with that description, but he thought it was apt. 

"Whether you got lucky or you forced fate's river to flow to your own design, what matters is that you're here. With me."

"With you," he echoed quietly in agreement, nuzzling his twin's shoulder and nipping it gently. "I know." 

Little Claude often missed the warm hands wrapped around him and holding him from when they shared a body. Big Claude knew that. He hoped his twin liked this new method of holding, though. Wings, instead of hands. Because they wrapped around his younger self tight. They were large enough that they were wrapped up in partial darkness, and he worried that Little Claude might find that scary. But when he opened his eyes... 

"Oh... look," he said softly, staring at his wings. "I've got... stars."

There was such a massive difference between the Dark and being cuddled in Big Claude' embrace. Sometimes they overlapped, but this wasn't one of those cases. Even when fully wrapped up, he was being held. That was what mattered to him. 

"Oh... Look. I've got... stars."  

"You do," he replied, nuzzling one of the wings. It reminded him of the inside of the Crest Stone, what he knew of it. Begalta's influence, probably, but it was fitting for them regardless. 

"The stars always seemed so far away." He petted one of the glimmering spots on the inside of Krios’ wings. "Now they're right here, within reach. You really did reach the stars, mm?"

He burst into tears. He couldn't help it. He was already so emotional, and then his twin went and said that. Little Claude couldn't, couldn't just do that to him! Say something that made him seem so, so, so—he didn't even know! So much greater and more important than he actually was. 

The feelings of love and reassurance wrapped around him again, and so did his twin's arms. Big Claude hid his face for a few seconds. But eventually, he looked up at his wings again. He reached out his hand and touched one of the stars shining on the inside of his wings. And he just cried.

Claude held tight, with love and acceptance and purrs. The stars seemed to twinkle on his older self's wings, glimmering just like the stars that dripped from Big Claude's eyes. 

Time held no meaning in the dream. Big Claude cried for as long as he needed. Little Claude rumbled and loved him throughout it all. There was part of him that wanted to keep talking. 'Of course you're great. You're incredible. And, hey, you're literally a dragon now.' But he spoke only in calm, comforting purrs. 

Eventually the falling stars dried up. Big Claude sniffled and hiccupped in the aftermath, having emotionally exhausted himself. His older self was soon to slip into a deeper sleep after that. That was okay, though. Little Claude would follow and sleep deeply with him. That way they would both wake together.

He fell into a deeper sleep alongside his twin shortly after the tears stopped falling. They slept together deeply and comfortably, tangled up with one another through two layers of consciousness. Even though they had been pulled apart, it seemed like their souls remained just as tangled as they always had been. 

Thank goodness for his twin, was what Big Claude thought as he drifted off. Thank goodness he was one half of a whole. That he didn't have to be on his own ever again.  

Back in the waking world, Dimitri was in a cuddle pile with his boyfriend, three dragons, a wyvern, and little Loog. It was not the sort of cuddle pile he ever imagined himself being a part of. He'd had plenty of friends growing up, and they had cuddled sometimes (Felix used to be especially cuddly with him, before). But this was different. It was, at the very least, something he'd not had for many years. And of course he never imagined a cuddle pile being quite this scaly. 

He was as quiet and still as he could be while his boyfriend and his boyfriend's twin rested. Kiros, in his sleep, found Claude's braid with his nose and started sucking on it. This led Seteth to have a minor heart attack wherein he quickly removed the gold braid cap from Claude's braid, presumably so Kiros wouldn't choke. Dimitri worried that the sudden action would wake up the baby dragon, but thankfully both of them stayed sleeping. Sleeping, and just as cute as anything he had ever seen before in his life.

Claude woke slowly. He didn't wake alone. As his eyelids lifted, Kiros was there too, lifting his wings and stretching. Oh, wow. They really did sparkle, an effect made all the more stunning by the darkness of dusk surrounding them. 

"Whoops, did I wake them? My bad," came Hilda's voice. She shut the door behind her. "Was worried I got here too late." She frowned as she got closer. "Where's Claudie? Kiros, I mean." 

Claude yawned. "He's bein' a cuddle-bean." Said cuddle bean wiggled, head and wings poking out of his shirt. Hilda squinted. "C’mere, gotta show you the cutest thing you'll ever see." 

As Hilda approached, he lifted his shirt and fully exposed Kiros. Strange... hadn't Kiros' belly been gold earlier? It was darker in color now, not gold at all. "Say hi."

"Rrrmm!" Kiros let out a noise of protest as Claude lifted his shirt and thus let out all the trapped heat they had been cuddling in. No! Warm! He wanted the warm back! His little legs kicked in protest, one of them managing to nail his twin right in his diaphragm before he realized why he was being woken up. 

He was much less moody after he noticed Hilda. His little ears pricked forward and his eyes seemed to sparkle and he hopped up to greet her with a chirp, a wiggle, and a wave of both of his wings. Hilda's eyes grew wide and she gasped at the sight of him. For once, it wasn't a horrified gasp. Her expression didn't even turn pitying or sad! Instead, she just looked at him with utter affection. Yes. This was how he wanted the love of his life to look at him. Not with guilt in her expression like she had been before. But like he was just the cutest darn boy in the world (something which he remembered Hilda once calling him, a lifetime ago). 

"Ee!" he squeaked, jumping once in his excitement. He jumped higher than he thought he would. There must be springs in his legs! ...And then he crashed back down into the nest, landing on top of his father's face. Whoops. Hopefully Father didn't mind!

Seteth startled, having been in a doze himself until a little someone jumped onto his face. Sputtering, he was quick to reposition his son somewhere a little safer (for them both). 

"Have a good nap, Son?" he cooed, rubbing his nose against his boy's snout. Kiros conked hard after his playing earlier, which was to be expected for a newborn. A newborn that Kiros fully resembled now. 

"Wait. That's...?" Hilda gasped, then squeed. "Oh my gosh, you are the cutest dragon ever! Nono, the cutest anything ever! Even my cuteness has been thoroughly bested!" Hilda muscled her way into the cuddle pile, focused fully on Kiros. "Aaaaa. You're so little! Can I hold you? Please?"

Kiros cheeped happy noises as Hilda shoved her way into the cuddle pile. He was excited! He was excited that she was excited! Especially because she was excited to cuddle him, which was something she hadn't seemed too super excited to do ever since he got his new body. But like this, he was cute and adorable and didn't dig up any bad memories for her. He wiggled atop Seteth and gave Hilda big eyes. 

'Uppies! Uppies please!'

Kiros' delight was contagious. Claude couldn't stop his grin if he tried. "He wants you to play uppies," he told Hilda, reaching out to demonstrate. Kiros glanced at Hilda, but allowed up to scoop the cat-sized dragon up. "Uppies. Just... Like..." 

He bounced Kiros up into the air. Not far. Just far enough for Kiros to snap his wings out. 

"This!" 

Seteth hissed at him, hands reaching for Kiros. Claude hissed back, well versed in this language. "You'll handicap him if you smother him, Seteth. Don't you want him to be happy and healthy?" 

Seteth rumbled, but stayed his hand. Good, because Kiros wasn't happy about Seteth trying to take him either. "Just... Not too high." 

"Of course." He bounced Kiros twice more, delighting in the happy dragon noises. "Your turn, Hils."

There were happy dragon noises aplenty as Claude scooped wee Kiros up and began to play with him. The first toss was a bit scary and made his pulse jump, but it was more fun than it was frightening. Of course, Father tried to interfere with the game, which he expected. He didn't hiss at father like Claude did. He figured his twin had it handled. After all, they were good at getting what they wanted if they acted cute enough and always had been. So while Claude scolded Father and cautioned against smothering him, all Kiros did was look cute. The one-two combo! 

And it certainly worked. Father relented, and soon enough he was being passed off to Hilda. Before they started playing uppies, he leaned forward to nuzzle her face and purr. He was so glad that she was here for star-gazing time. They would do that, soon. But uppies first!

"I hope you don't mind baby-talking, because I can't not. You're so cute! Yes you are!" Delaying the 'uppies', she gave him a hug. It would be nice if he was fluffy and soft, but the scales would grow on her. They were pretty, that was for sure! Especially the sparkly bits. 

Very carefully, she bounced Kiros a few times. He did really seem to have fun, but she worried about launching him up too high. It was a little windy, and if Kiros' wings popped out in just the right direction, she feared he would catch the wind enough to fly him off the edge of the terrace. They were in the direct middle of the terrace, but still.

It was kind of weird to actually see that her lover was a baby. Literally a (dragon) baby. Seeing Kiros act like such a cute widdle baby meant they probably weren't going to get up to anything frisky anytime soon. Which was fine, of course! She didn’t have any plans. She just wasn't sure how much his actual mind/human body was affected by this, though. He probably didn't know either. That meant they needed to navigate this carefully. And she would, because her Claudie deserved only the best from her.

Kiros wiggled adorably, making a tiny 'Yip!' sound. "How about something better than uppies? Does that sound nice, mm Claudie?" She placed him down on the nest. Saints, he was just so tiny. With such big, cute eyes! Aaaa. While she dug into the bag she brought, Sarbi nosed under Claude and provided an uppie. 

"Here we are... for you!" Sarbi lowered his snout for her, and she placed the stuffed deer down for Kiros to investigate.

He didn't mind the baby talking at all. He knew he was adorable, yesss. And he just... he preferred this, really. Preferred Hilda baby-talking him instead of looking at him with guilt or pity or pain. He was a baby dragon, but on the inside he was also an adult human. (That was more difficult to remember in this form. That was possibly because he didn't want to think about human things at all in this form. Baby dragons couldn't be angsty! He was too smol!) But he still remembered how sad Hilda looked when she saw him without his arm. It was easier to ignore when he was like this. He was too cute for anyone to be sad around him. 

He enjoyed Hilda holding him, playing with him, talking to him. So much so that he protested when she sat him down. Better than uppies? What was better than uppies? Clearly, Sarbi didn't know either, because his wyvern was quick to lean down and resume the uppies. His turn! Kiros clung to his muzzle and squeaked happily until Hilda called for his attention again. She was holding something out to him. When he realized what it was, his eyes went wide. 

"Ee!" he squeaked, hopping down into the nest and crawling over to investigate the plushie. A deer! For him! He loved it. Hilda sat it down beside him and he immediately wound his long body around it. (Sort of like how a snake would strangle their prey, but he was just hugging.) He felt the instinct, once he was wrapped around the plush, to start kicking and shredding with his back legs, but he managed to refrain. This was a gift! Not prey a toy to be shredded! He purred and started sucking on the deer's ear instead. His, his, his.

Hilda squeed softly as her Claude investigated her plushie, wrapped around it, and then started suckling. He was just so cute! "I'm so glad you like it!" She noticed his little leggies twitch like he was going to kick, but refrained. She'd have to make him some sort of kick-toy. He was going to have so many toys if she had anything to say about it! 

Crossing her legs, she settled down and plopped her tiny dragon boy onto her lap, petting between his cute antlers as he suckled on the deer's ears. His big eyes peered up at her with such adoration... She could barely stand how adorable he was. 

"Don't go getting jealous, Claude," she said to her audience. "I've got one in the works for you too. My fingers aren't that fast, though, so it isn't done yet." She winked at him. He didn't need a stuffed toy. But given his recent personality shift, she thought he might like it nonetheless. It was going to stay her secret for now, but she actually planned to make him a baby wyvern plush. Though she might model the plush after Kiros, actually. Then Claude could have something to hold when Kiros wasn't around.

So much attention. So much affection. So much love. So much praise. 

Of course after years spent on his own Kiros happily soaked all of this up. And in this form, it was easier to do so without guilt. He didn't have to be guilty or hesitant or upset. He was too smol for that. All he had to do was accept the love. And everyone had so much love to give to him. He was so happy.  

After a while of lying curled up in Hilda's lap, the stars began to come out. It was around that point that he began to think about returning to his human form. It was supposed to be story time with the stars, soon, and while he knew his twin could handle that, he wanted to participate, too. He thought that maybe dragons could talk in this form, but that seemed like too much effort to figure out right now. 

So he finally looked up to his father and gave a little bark. He wasn't sure how Father made him transform in the first place. But he could help him transform back, right?

Seteth was right there the moment Kiros barked. Actually before Kiros barked, Seteth could tell his hatchling wanted something. Taking a sniff of his son and listening made the question clear: Kiros was ready to change forms once more. 

"It will be second nature to you in due time," he reassured his son, gently plucking him from Hilda's lap and placing his boy onto his own lap. "Can you set aside the deer? Wouldn't want it to get squished in the transition." 

Once he coaxed his reluctant child to unwind, he brought their foreheads together. Pressing against the Crest Stone engraved upon Kiros' forehead, he sent a pulse of magic. 

Kiros' body knew how to respond. In moments, he held a much larger, much more human-like son in his embrace. Rumbling, he nuzzled his boy. "Just like that." 

Claude drifted, honestly a little high off the happies buzzing off his older self. It would be easy to 'stop listening' to the emotions, so to speak. But they were so nice and joyful. Which made him happy too! He was a happy puddle basking in Kiros' sunshine, melted atop his boyfriend. Mm, like melty cheese. All was right in the world. 

He yipped when that innocent joy twisted and vanished. It wasn't that Kiros stopped being happy. But now that Kiros was human again, the childish buzz of joy became a more normalized adult-y happy. It wasn't quite as contagious, in other words. 

Blinking, he adjusted quickly. It felt a bit like someone just turned down the sun, or powered down his magic heat-lamp. But he was plenty warm and fuzzy inside already. 

Dimitri stared at him, a little concerned. In reply, he nuzzled and purred his boyfriend. Everything was still good. Stargazing time! Though he would need to tamp down his purrs to tell stories... Oh well, that could wait a little. His eyes drifted back to Kiros. 'Okay?' He could tell that the transformation felt a bit jarring.

Kiros inhaled a sharp breath as his body became bigger once again. Seteth didn't seem concerned about anything, but Kiros couldn't help but wonder at the size ratio difference between him and his dragon form. If it was natural for him to be so small when his human form was this big. Because, well, the first thing he noticed when he came back to his human form was how much longer it took to breathe. His lungs had been smaller in the other form, and taking a 'deep breath' felt so different as opposed to now, when he felt like he was still breathing just the same but instead was panting. It wasn't exertion from transforming. It was just an adjustment going from little lungs to big ones. 

He caught his breath after a moment, though, and pulled back to offer Seteth a tiny smile. "Thank you," he said. Then he leaned right back in to give a nuzzle. Father. He stayed in Seteth's lap for now. Cuddle time with Father. He hadn't been fair and given him enough cuddles yet, instead choosing Claude and Hilda over him. But now was Seteth's turn. 

He did look over at his twin, though, able to feel the questioning stare. He smiled and nodded and purred. 'Okay,' he affirmed. Everything was fine. A little jarring, yes, but only for a few seconds. Now, he was ready to gaze at the stars with everyone. And tell stories, of course! He wondered what stories his twin wanted to tell. He'd let Claude have dibs on their favorites. He probably remembered them better.

Okay. Good. His brother was okay and cuddling with Seteth. They both purred softly, making their own little song for everyone to enjoy. 

"Hilda, did you find it?" Not that he wanted her looking through his things... but she had proven herself to be trustworthy. 

"Yep! It was right where you told me it was, Claude." 'I didn't go looking through your stuff, that would be way too much effort' was what she also meant. He trusted her (because Big Claude trusted her). 

She pulled the tube out of her bag. Well, she pulled a bundle of cloth that held the tube within. This reaffirmed his willingness to trust her with it. Not only did she bring it, but having heard it could break, she cushioned it in her bag for extra safety. 

Wobbling onto his knees, he crawled over to her and began setting it up. Dimitri had to steady him, which was humiliating, but no one said anything about it. 

With a twist, he pulled the tube out to its full size. Then he fiddled with the extendable tripod and set it on its feet. "There we have it. One telescope!" Not the finest in Almyra, but still a work of skilled talent. What it lacked in flashiness it made up for with its ability to fold up. Fiddling with the lenses, he searched the sky for a nice star. He landed on a pretty blue one. "Dimitri? Want the honor of looking first?"

"A-Are you certain?" Dimitri asked as the far-viewer... or whatever it was called... was offered to him. Well, not directly offered, of course. If he was asked to hold such a beautiful and fragile looking device, he would absolutely refuse. The risk of him breaking such a thing was far too high. So high that he was hesitant about even getting near to such a beautiful and priceless object (priceless in Fodlan certainly, and he had no idea how much gold such a thing cost in Almyra). 

"It's all right. You'll be careful," Kiros said, which wasn't really the right thing to say. It only added more pressure. Whenever someone said that to him and handed him something which then broke anyway, the implication that he 'would be careful' made it seem like he obviously hadn't been when something broke. Like it was intentional. His shoulders drew up towards his ears for a moment before he realized that he was doing that and forced them to relax again. Prince posture time. People couldn't know he was uncomfortable or scared. Princes weren't supposed to feel those things. 

Still, he tried to find a way around it. It was probably a timid crutch to use, but... he picked up Loog. 

"Maybe Loog can look first, instead?"

"That's a great idea," Claude said, and genuinely meant it. "He can model for everyone." Taking Loog from Dimitri, he brought the stuffed lion up to the lens. "All right Loog, now close one eye." He placed his hand over the eye that wasn't by the telescope. "You might need to squint a bit, or wobble your head around until the star comes into focus. You'll know it when you see it." He shifted the lion slightly, then lifted the tail as though Loog was surprised to see the star. "There you go! Pretty pretty, mm? And you don't even have to touch the telescope." That was said for Dimitri's sake. 

He gave Loog a few more seconds. Then he turned the lion towards Dimitri and mimed little hops back into Dimitri's lap. "Make sense?" Hopefully, not having to touch it would reassure his boyfriend.

Dimitri's heart was so warm and full when Claude didn't laugh at him. In fact, no one laughed at him. He thought he was being... childish, or something. But it would have been easier to laugh off what he'd said as a joke than to try and explain why he wanted someone else to go first. It was honestly an honor that Claude offered the first glance to him and he didn't want to just refuse because that might hurt his feelings. 

It was clear now that, by the same turn, Claude didn't want to hurt him either. He didn't laugh at the silly suggestion of letting a plush animal have the first 'view' through the telescope. He just went with it. Even seemed to really think that it was a good idea. 

"Thank you," he said as he accepted his beloved lion back. "That does make sense, yes. I suppose I shall give it a try, now?" He was still nervous. But much less so now that he knew he wouldn't have to touch the telescope at all.

"Yep." He held out his arm, inviting Dimitri to sit beside him and in his embrace. Wrapping his arm around his boyfriend's shoulder, he did his best to give security. Dimitri was worried about harming the telescope, so Claude would do everything he could to reassure him. This way, if Dimitri moved around a little to get a better image, even that wouldn't cause his boyfriend to bump into the telescope. Not without a shoulder-squeeze warning first. 

"All right. Close one eye. Can you wink, Your Princeliness?" Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen Dimitri wink before. "If not, feel free to use your hand. Ba—My father always had to manually cover his eye. I get my winks from my mother." 

He held back the wiggles that wanted to break free. Dimitri was going to see the star! Claude picked a blue one just for Dimitri too, he hoped his boyfriend liked it. Without a telescope, all the stars twinkled white. 'I'm so excited,' he gushed to his twin. This was Dimitri's first look through a telescope! And Hilda's too, soon. Maybe Seteth's, if the dragon wanted, though he wasn't sure if Seteth had used a telescope before or not.

Kiros smiled back at his twin, able to easily sense the excitement even without Claude telling him about it. He thought Dimitri was excited, too, now that he knew it'd be fine. (He didn't realize he might have put his foot in his mouth with the prince, though. He wasn't as up on his social skills as he used to be.) Even though he wasn't in love with Dimitri, he still would admit that the prince's face was pretty beautiful when it lit up with wonder only a few seconds after peering into the telescope. 

"It's blue!" Dimitri exclaimed. "Is this the Blue Sea Star?" he asked, because that was the natural question to ask. It was difficult for Kiros to bite back his own response to the question, but he knew Claude would want to answer it instead. Questions from Dimitri belonged to Little Claude!

"A reasonable guess! But nope. There are a lot of blue stars. Stars have all sorts of colors when you look closely enough. That one is, ah... well, I've always called it Venant. It's one of the four guardian stars. That one is the watcher of the north. Heh, it's in the lion constellation, so it's said to have the power of a lion. Thought it was fitting for you. And for Loog, of course!" 

"There are many blue stars? I never knew…”

Sitting back a little, he admired his own star. Dimitri was lit up in such wonder. "Gods, you're so pretty..." slipped out without his notice. He wouldn't have known he said anything had Dimitri not drawn back from the telescope to shoot him a bewildered look. Clearing his throat, he shrugged. "What? It's true. Objectively speaking! Right, Hilda? Back me up." 

Hilda giggled at him. "Well, word around the school is that Dimitri is the hottest 'eligible' bachelor around." She winked at him. Strangely, he felt the urge to growl at the implication. Dimitri was his. "Buuut you're a bit more smitten than the masses, Claude. You look just as awed as Dimitri. Is Dimitri your star, mm?"

She was teasing him. It was true, though, and his hot cheeks spilled that truth. "...Maybe," he mumbled, looking away from Dimitri. That was stupidly cheesy of him, right? But it was true. He gravitated towards Dimitri, utterly caught in his boyfriend's orbit and warmth.

Dimitri wondered if the stars came in other colors. Before he could voice that, Claude answered that without him even asking! So now he wondered what colors there were up there. Was it possible the stars had colors they didn't know about down here on land? If so, would his eyes even be able to see them? 

He opened his mouth to ask about that when Claude suddenly changed the topic. By calling him pretty. He had learned not to finch from a very young age, because flinches and startles often led to accidents. So he managed to draw back from the telescope slowly. That did not, however, stop his expression of shock. Or his blush when Hilda called him 'hot.' 

"Who has been saying that? Was it Sylvain?" he demanded. Sounded like a Sylvain thing to say. He didn't know who else used such terms in describing people. But then... Hilda called him Claude's star. And Claude agreed. 

That had his attention taken right back to his boyfriend and a warmth rising on his cheeks when Claude would not look him in the eye. He should probably say something here. Compliment his beloved back. And he certainly would have, if so many people weren't watching them. He was hyper conscious of it right now, probably because of the telescope and how careful he had to be. All of his instincts were screaming for him to be careful. And so in the end, all he did was blush, and said nothing in reply.

"Who spread the rumor? Heh. Oh, no one important," Hilda said with a wave of her hand. "Gossip and all that. Who wouldn't want a pretty prince charming on their arm? Of course, Claude got a pretty prince Dimitri on his arm, which is way better." She winked and gave him a thumbs up while Dimitri wasn't looking. 

Claude didn't mean to make Dimitri uncomfortable. He wouldn't apologize though, because he said nothing false. He nuzzled his body against Dimitri's shoulder and rested his burning cheek against his boyfriend's shoulder. "Want to see a different one?" There. A change of topics. Nosing back up to the telescope, he moved it. Then remembered no one else got to see Venant. "I'll go back to Venant in a bit," he promised, because Hilda deserved to see it too. 

"...Aha. Here's an orange one. Satevis, watcher of the west." He leaned back for Dimitri to peer into the telescope again.

"They come in orange as well?" Dimitri asked. Kiros bit his tongue again and let Little Claude explain how the stars were sort of like fire. Different temperatures burned differently, and all that. Honestly, though, letting his twin do all the explaining was sort of hard. He... remembered that he used to like to talk about this kind of stuff. How he had passions outside of the magic he'd been so desperately studying. Some of those passions were lost to him now, like archery. A lot of life had left him after the war and nothing had seemed interesting anymore. Only now was he actually... excited about something like this. Well, he supposed he had been excited for eating. But that was for a different reason. Did he still have a hobby deep down?  

He didn't voice that question. But pieces of his thoughts probably drifted over to his twin. He figured that Claude was too distracted by Dimitri to listen to anything, though. They were pretty, heh, star-struck with one another right now. So he cuddled Seteth, who could probably smell the nostalgia coming off of him, or something. He wanted to participate! But he wasn't going to step on anyone's toes. Especially not his twin's. He'd stolen Claude's entire body. He didn't want to keep stealing things from him. 

He was chewing on Seteth's hair now. He didn't really notice.

"...And that's why blue stars are the hottest and red are the coolest," Claude was saying, no longer able to contain his wiggles. 

"Fascinating!" Dimitri was interested! He could blab about this sort of thing for hours. Usually, he didn't have anyone who cared to listen. He'd always imagined this was what it was like to have friends: to be able to blab about his interests and have someone genuinely interested to hear what he had to say. It was fun! He had so much to say! 

He had to stop talking because he was purring so loudly. Purring and nuzzling. (He was also a little out of breath). Dimitri probably thought he was happy because of the stars. Those did help, but really... really, he was just so happy that he had someone who cared to listen to him. He could tell Dimitri about all sorts of things! Like stars and Almyran tales and poisons and snake facts! And Dimitri would listen! 

"Perhaps we should allow Hilda a turn," Dimitri said, reminding him that other people existed. Oops. He nodded, still purring too loudly to speak clearly. Dimitri moved aside, taking him too. Not too far, so he could still guide Hilda, but far enough that they weren't in the way. He turned to his older self. Maybe Big Claude wanted to share now? Plus, he needed to figure out how to stop purring quite so loudly. 'Your turn?'

'His turn!'  

Kiros practically sprang out of Seteth's lap to come closer to the telescope, leaving the dragon holding his little deer plush and air. He approached the telescope with something like reverence. Yes, technically it was his telescope. But he hadn't seen it in such a long time. He wasn't sure he even remembered how to use it. But he knew he could always ask his twin for help with it. He peeked through the lens to get a look at the star Claude had currently focused on, and a smile curled on his lips. 

"Hilda, come see?" he requested. "You too, Seteth. I think you'll like it. Have you ever looked through a telescope before?" he asked the dragon.

Oh! Oops. He had been hogging the telescope. Watching how eagerly Kiros zipped over to the telescope, and how brightly he smiled upon seeing the stars, he knew his brother had been very patient with him. 

Hilda and Seteth settled beside Kiros. Kiros gave Hilda the first look. "Oh wow! It really is orange. And bright." Leaning back from the telescope, she looked up at the sky. "I can't believe that one of those white stars is orange. And apparently one of them is blue too? How come these telescope thingies are banned? The stars are so pretty." 

Seteth cleared his throat. "Such viewing devices such as these can be used as instruments of war to devastating effect. That is why." 

Claude rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and swords are also devastating tools of war. Nah, for telescopes? I bet they're banned for religious reasons. It takes a lot of the 'mystery' out of things when you can look at the blue sea star and start wondering 'hm, how did the Goddess come out of a ball of fire?'" 

Seteth side-eyed him, unamused. He winked and stuck out his tongue. He was just calling it like he saw it! Payback for banning his beloved telescope.

"I don't want to think about war," Kiros announced to the group (mostly Seteth). Though Seteth glared around at Claude like he was the one to bring it up. Kiros ignored his father's glare and he hoped that his twin did, too. "Can you take it back to Venant?" he asked his twin. He was certain he would be able to use his own telescope. Probably. But Claude would be faster with it, for sure. "I'd like to see it again." 

He would. He didn't know why. But he felt... especially drawn to the stars tonight. And just... the night sky in general. He wanted to be up there in it. To share it with Hilda and Seteth, too. But... he also really wanted to look. Remember all the sights he had long since forgotten, which had been pushed out of his brain to make room for other things. He was done with those other things now. He wanted the stars back, instead.

It was Seteth's fault that war got brought up! Claude glared right back at the man. Maybe if someone wasn't tiptoeing around stupid religious stuff, it wouldn't have come up. 

"I'll get it for you!" he was eager to offer, skittering off Dimitri's lap so he could press against his twin and rumble. It didn't occur to him that Kiros could have moved the telescope too. He just figured his twin wanted a snuggle. One that he was enthusiastic to provide. 

A little too enthusiastic, since he knocked them both flat. "Oops," he said while nuzzling under Kiros' chin. 

After three more rough nuzzles and a nibble, he sat up and began adjusting the telescope. "Aaaand... Here! Pretty and blue, just for you. And Hilda, hehe." Seteth lost telescope rights until Kiros said otherwise. Briefly abandoning his boyfriend, he cuddled back up to Kiros and rumbled his little purr-box out.

Kiros didn't expect his twin to come rushing over like he did. Yes, he thought Claude would be happy to adjust the telescope for him. But rushing over to cuddle with him and purr when he had just been cuddling with and purring at Dimitri instead was not something he foresaw. Of course his twin loved to snuggle with Dimitri, they were boyfriends. But Claude just picked him over that. 

Oh—it was because his twin thought he was upset, wasn't it? 

He purred back to reassure, and nuzzled Claude's curls and nibbled his braid. 'All fine,' he wanted to assure. He wasn't sad or spiraling into dark memories. (He might have if they kept talking about war.) But right now, he was fine.

'All fine.' Good. He had been a little worried about his twin at the mention of war. Mostly though, he was just enthusiastic. A little bit of his twin's 'baby' was in him too (or maybe it was just because his outer shell had been rubbed raw). 

He pawed at poked his older self. The telescope was in place! What was Kiros waiting for? It was set up! Oh, oops. He must be in the way. He wiggled a little out of the way, though not much since he was still latched like a leech. 

"Venant's waiting." It probably didn't help that he buffed his face against Kiros' and got in the way again.

"It's not going anywhere in a hurry," Kiros replied. He did want to see the star. He was excited to see it. But cuddles time with his twin was also wonderful. And even if he spent all night giving cuddles to his twin and didn't look through the telescope hardly at all, there would be another night. 

"If you aren't going to look, can I?" Hilda asked. Kiros purred and nodded and buffed Claude's head out of the way. Gave his brother a little kiss on the forehead. Then flopped over with him, landing atop him and squishing him down into one of the blankets that seemed to be so conveniently strewn just wherever he needed them to be. "Purrurrurr...."

"Who am I to argue with that? Purrr..." They swiftly became a pile of pure purring and nuzzling. Of course the telescope was exciting. But they had plenty of time to look at the stars. Plenty of time to cuddle with his twin too, he supposed... but he felt like cuddling now, not 'sometime'. 

This was peace. Sure, he knew inner peace well. A guy like him needed to know his own self inside-out in order to survive, and there was a peace that came with that. That knowledge was a little altered at the moment, but he was still himself. Still at peace. 

This was a different kind of peace. One that was warm and wholesome beyond just himself. He had friends. A boyfriend. A twin! Cuddle-buddies. He had a social life of the likes he had only ever fantasized about. In all his ambitious dreaming, he honestly never thought he would have this with anyone. Especially not a 'dragon twin who is actually him from the future'. Dimitri was a better example for something in the realm of possibility for non-Khalid people. But Dimitri was possible. For him. So was Hilda and Kiros. And maybe even the Golden Deer... 

At some point, he chomped onto his older self. His jaw was still there.

Kiros didn't mind the chomp. Of course he didn't. He knew it was friendly. Claiming. Possessive, even. And he didn't mind that one bit. It was just... nice to have somewhere to belong. And that was not a new feeling. He had wanted somewhere to belong for his whole life. A place that he could feel truly at peace, with people who loved and understood him... 

This was peace. Finally. He was surrounded by people who loved him. And who would ever understand him better than himself? This was not what he expected to win when he performed that spell. There had been so many things that could have gone wrong. Some of them did, like him dying, for example. But so many miracles had happened in the wake of it. He was back alive, for one. His Deer were alive. And he had more family than he had ever expected or dreamed he could possibly have, including a twin. Someone who was just like him.  

He chomped back. No one said anything about it. No one even seemed to think it was weird. (It probably was weird. But it didn't feel weird and he didn't notice if anyone thought it was.) 

'Lovuu. Lovuu. Lovuu.'

Chapter Text

As much as Claude wanted the night to last forever, time waited for no man (except his older self, but not in this context). He shared a few more stars. Shared a couple of small stories. He was sleepy though, sleepy and cuddly. At some point, he put the telescope away and everyone hunkered down to sleep.

He slept deeply. If he dreamed, he didn't remember it. It was dawn's light that eventually woke him. That, and the smell of food. Not even food could rouse him quickly, though. Rumbling as he woke, he nuzzled against... mmm, Dimitri. Dimitri and Kiros. He scented Hilda and Flayn in their pile too. The girls were cuddled up to Kiros (who was cuddled up to him). Mmm... Cuddle pile. Just like the piles he always wanted to join as a kid.

Kiros was groggily waking up too. Claude sent a mental message conveying the puppy piles they always got excluded from and how happy he was to finally be in the middle of one. His jaw cracked to let his purrs out louder.

The clink of plates against tile reminded him that there was food. Not opening his eyes yet, he lifted his face enough to catch the scent. Hmm... bacon. Oatmeal. Eggs. Fruit. Other stuff. Mmm. He mewled to be fed like a hungry baby dragon, though he didn't know that. His sleepy eyes stayed closed as he nuzzled his nearest cuddle-buddy.

No one spoke much that morning. For Kiros and Claude and Flayn, the instinct was simply to cuddle and purr. For Dimitri and Hilda, neither of them wanted to disturb the adorable peace of their Claudes. They were just too cute! How could they bear to break the silence? 

Seteth was the one that eventually had to do it, with a quiet call of, "Breakfast is here." Then the younger Claude let out that little mewling sound, and the dragon gave a weak smile. "Prince Dimitri, I believe he is asking for assistance," Seteth explained. Dimitri, not understanding the noise but understanding the closed eyes and parted lips, pushed himself up enough to grab a piece of toast and bring it to his boyfriend's lips.

"Here you are, my Claude," Dimitri murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple on one side while Kiros blinked his eyes open and nuzzled the other.

"Amkkrr oomrr," Claude thanked through a mouthful of toast and a throat full of purrs. It was only after his twin used words that he remembered that he should also use those (or at least attempt to). Said attempt wasn’t very understandable, but oh well.

He rumbled in bliss as he was not only fed, but nuzzled from both sides! Love love. He nibbled the toast blindly until it was gone, licking Dimitri's fingers clean and nuzzling the palm. The next thing brought to his lips — some fruit — was refused. His lips pressed shut as he turned towards his twin and trilled. Kiros' turn! Big Claude needed breakfast too!

Dimitri couldn't help but let out a little chuckle as his boyfriend refused food in favor of his twin. "I believe Kiros has his own breakfast already sorted out," he assured. And indeed, all three of Flayn, Hilda, and Seteth were vying to get close to Kiros and make sure he was fed his breakfast. Seteth was the most insistent so he was 'winning', as it were. But the point remained that Big Claude was getting plenty of food. "Would you rather something besides an apple? There are grapes here as well. And some sort of dried fruit... cherries, I believe?" 

"Those are for mixing in with the oatmeal," Seteth said, holding a bowl of said oatmeal himself, which he was feeding to Kiros. "They are quite tart on their own," he cautioned.

"Mmm. Kiros deserves the apple slice anyways," Claude said, nudging Dimitri's hand back towards his twin. It was a gift! He wiggled when Kiros ate it. "Dried fruit next please." 

Dimitri's hand hovered over the dried cherries. "In oatmeal?" 

"No. Just the cherries." He loved dried fruit, and wasn't big on sweets to begin with. 'Tart' sounded great right now. 

As soon as Dimitri fed him a berry, he was vindicated. Mmm. True to Seteth's warning, they weren't very sweet. They were nonetheless flavorful and perfect. He purred for more cherries.

Dimitri scooped up a palmful of the cherries, and after testing one in his own mouth just to make sure that the pits had already been removed (of course they had been, Seteth wouldn't risk anything else) (and that cherry also counted as Dimitri's breakfast) he began to feed them to Claude. He went one at a time, imagining his beloved like a cute baby bird. 

"Let me know if you want to eat something else," he said, though for now it seemed like Claude was quite happy with his cherries. Kiros eventually seemed to get curious about them and nosed his way over. Just to humor him, he fed one to the dragon-version of Claude before going back to his own Claude. He was rewarded with a purr before Kiros went back to eating whatever Seteth had to give him.

Dimitri should have known that he couldn't get away with just eating a cherry, however. Eventually, Claude's attention turned to him, and how he hadn't eaten anything besides one (1) little cherry. He started making peeping noises, and though Dimitri didn't understand them, he still understood.  

"I'm not very hungry in the mornings, usually," he explained, but his boyfriend had none of it. The peeps got angrier until he picked up a plate with an omelet on it and slid about half of it into his mouth at once.

Claude's eyebrows shot up when Dimitri pelican'd half an omelet. Didn't Dimitri just say he wasn't hungry? His maman was the same way. Always in such a hurry to eat with no time taken to enjoy the food. Huffing, he pawed at the plate of omelet until Dimitri set it down. Glancing at the spread, he selected a few slices of oranges, then buffed Dimitri's jaw until the prince opened up (it took a lot of buffing and a comment from Kiros). Then he fed Dimitri the orange. 

"You should eat something light, silly," he said after he finished feeding his boyfriend. "Like fruit." He snuck another fruit slice into Dimitri's mouth when the prince tried to speak. "Exactly."

"Claude," Dimitri said past the orange, "I'm supposed to be feeding you." 

"Peep peep." We can take turns.

Dimitri had to admit, the fruit did sit better on his stomach than the omelet. For as much as he loved cheese and all the pleasant and varied textures it could have, it wasn't his favorite thing to eat first thing in the morning. He could sense the acidic nature of the orange that he was fed, though he couldn't taste it of course. The bite was refreshing, though. Hm, perhaps he should make request of fruit for breakfast more often. Not that he often requested breakfast, but it would make Dedue happy. Although, if he got in the habit of fruit for breakfast, that'd make winters in Faerghus pretty difficult in that regard... Something to consider, at least. 

He ate as much as he could stomach, which wasn't all that much, but was at least an effort that he hoped Claude appreciated. Eventually, he looked to Seteth. "How long do we have before classes start?" he asked. He hoped they weren't already late. He'd been absent a downright shameful amount for a House Leader.

"Class?" Seteth asked, blinking owlishly at Dimitri as though the word 'class' had never been uttered in his presence. 

"Class?" Hilda repeated, glancing at the sun. "Nah, we've got time." Hilda was probably the worst person to ask about that. She considered 'anytime before lunch' to be punctual. 

Claude's purrs slowed to a low boil. Class. Glancing down at himself, he knew it would still be a few more days before he could return (if he was lucky). He… wasn't recovering as fast as he wanted. But he was recovering! Already he was filling back out. His arms no longer looked like skin-wrapped bones. Now they just looked unhealthily skinny. His mobility was actually measurable now too. He wasn't sure how well he could walk, but he could crawl (for a short period of time… so long as he wasn't already fatigued…)

He wasn't ready to go back to class yet. Turning his head, he nibbled on a chunk of Hilda's hair. He wanted to go to class too! "Rooo..."  

He wasn't just not-ready in body, but in mind too. He was chewing on Hilda's hair and making animal noises. Lorenz would have a stroke to see him like this (and promptly tattle to Count Gloucester). Despite being surrounded by cuddles and love and sunshine and food, part of him craved socializing with his classmates once more. But he couldn't have that.

“I feel as though the House Leader of the Blue Lions should not be as truant as I have been," Dimitri said. Not only did it look bad, but his friends would start to worry. Eventually. Dedue was probably already worried. As for the rest of his friends, it was hard to say. Sylvain would probably never worry. Ingrid would give it another day. And he was pretty sure Felix would also never worry about him. 

The rest of the Blue Lions would worry, though. They were sweet like that. 

"I will need to go back—Claude!" he exclaimed as his boyfriend promptly crawled into his lap in an obvious ploy to keep him right where he was. "I must go to class, Claude. Dedue will worry otherwise."

"Prrup prrup prrup," Claude 'said' as he got comfortable, nuzzling his boyfriend's chest. Class? Nope! Dimitri didn't need to go to class, haha! Obviously Dimitri was needed here, to act as a seat. One that might pet him?? Please?? He pushed his head under Dimitri's hand.

...Gods, what was he doing? He was acting like a cat. Kiros was the Nabataean, not him! He was supposed to be the human one, but he sure wasn't acting like it. He wasn't acting like Claude either. He was, debatably, acting like Khalid. At least, he was acting like Khalid always wanted to act deep down. Plus some dragon-cat mixed in. If he wanted to go back to class, he had to get a handle on himself! Step one of that was allowing Dimitri to leave. 

He chomped Dimitri's hand. 'Don't go.'  

No. Bad Claude. His purrs were gone now, though it had little to do with Dimitri and everything to do with his utter inability to act with discipline. 

He was done for. Forget being able to exist in the noble circles of Leicester, he wasn't even going to be able to act like a convincing human at this rate. It was just so nice to feel loved and pampered. Bah, he was spoiled! He moved his teeth from Dimitri's hand to his own. Dimitri needed to go to class. As much as Claude wanted his boyfriend to stay and pet him, he had to take Dimitri's feelings into account too. Which meant! Getting off! 

He wrestled himself off of Dimitri, flopping against his twin. Growling, he bit himself harder, frustrated.  

When he finally managed to pry his jaw off, he turned to Seteth. "I'll get better, right?" This was mostly his own fault. His own desires were getting in the way. He wanted to believe it wasn't, because then he wouldn't be obligated to fix it. But it was up to him to fix his brain. Somehow...

He headbutted Dimitri before his boyfriend could get up. Not to make him stay! Just to be friendly. "Have a good class. Thanks for coming last night. And, er, all of yesterday. I had fun." He nuzzled his scent against the prince, building a rumble just for Dimitri. "Lovvu." 'You can go. I allow it.'

Much as Dimitri wanted to tell his beloved that everything was fine and that he didn't need to get better, he knew that would be a lie. Though no one wanted Claude to give up doing things that made him happy or expressing that happiness, there were simply certain behaviors that were not accepted in normal society. Purring, flopping, and nuzzling was unfortunately a set that would be unacceptable, despite how cute it was. 

"I'm sure it'll come back to you once you need it," Dimitri said. 

"It will," Kiros echoed with confidence. "Think about it. If I could act convincingly enough to make people think things were... er, close to fine, you won't have any trouble. I promise.” 

Dimitri nodded. If Kiros could act like Claude after years underground driving himself mad, then Claude would be able to act like Claude after a few weeks of disconnect, surely! "All will be well," he promised, leaning down to peck Claude's cheek. Claude moved his head so that Dimitri 'missed' and kissed him on the lips instead. He drew back with a blush and a smile. "I'll be back after class. I'll bring dinner. Until then..." He glanced around the nest until he found his plush lion. "Ah, here. Will you babysit Loog for me?"

"Yes!" He zipped over to Loog as fast as he could manage and curled up around the plushie, careful not to put too much weight on it. Having something to do made him feel better, even if it was just 'babysit an inanimate object'. "I'll keep him safe.”

He sent a purr Dimitri's way and blinked slowly. He really hoped the others were right. Hopefully, as soon as he was put in the line of fire, his well-honed instincts would come rushing back to replace all the dragon-y ones. ...Like roosting, which he was now doing to Loog with a weird amount of zeal. Egg. Protect mate's egg.

"Shall we go, Hilda?" Dimitri offered her his arm. 

"Ugh. Me? Get to class early? Uuuugh. No thanks. I'll just stay here and—" Seteth cleared his throat. "...fine." She stuck her tongue out at Seteth and took Dimitri’s arm. Thankfully, he didn't feel any jealousy. He was secure in knowing Dimitri was his.

"Your education is of vital importance," Seteth stated stiffly. 

"You just want Claudie all to yourself," she groused. "Don't see you going to class." 

"Because I am not enrolled in any classes, Hilda." 

Flayn watched her father bicker with Hilda before remembering something: "Oh! I am also enrolled in classes!" She had only gone for a day or two before events with Kiros came to a head, but she was technically a member of the Golden Deer class. She glanced to her father, then to her brother, then to Dimitri and Hilda who were looking back at her. 

"You don't have to go," Kiros said, giving her Big Eyes. She did not think that those were intentional. So that meant of course she was staying here! 

"I will rejoin the Golden Deer at the same time as Claude," she decided. Oh, her poor father. When they all went back to class, he would have a nest with no egg in it! She was certain he would adapt, though. Hopefully. 

"If there is no one else joining us, then I suppose we shall be off," Dimitri said.  "I will see you all this evening," he promised one more time before leading Hilda off the terrace and down the stairs.

"Bye!" Claude called, watching as Dimitri left his line of sight. He had to clamp his jaw shut to prevent crooning at the loss. Getting up (and picking Loog up with him), he padded shaky circles until his nest felt better. It wasn’t very many circles. After the first tiny round, he already felt the burn in his near nonexistent muscles. Laying back down, curled up with Loog in the middle, he chirped for Kiros to come nest with him. Seteth was invited too, if only because Claude was already feeling lonely and needy. Kiros was the baby, so why was he so needy?! Never mind his emaciated and weak state.

Even though it wasn't his magical circuits, it seemed housing so much dragon magic had a spill-over effect throughout his body. He huffed, praying the instincts would go away as he got stronger. 

"What do you want to do today?" he asked his brother. He didn't want to sleep all day! He might not have the physical energy to zoom, but he was bored. Sleeping all day was so boring. He needed stimulation!

Kiros nyoomed right over to his brother's side as soon as he was called. He flopped into the nest half-beside him, half-atop him, and purred. He was starting to wake up more now that he had finished breakfast, and he was feeling the urge to run around again like he had yesterday. New body! New legs to run around on! Zoom! Except his twin couldn't zoom yet. 

Kiros reined himself in, reminding himself that he was an adult and he had a responsibility to look after his younger self. Protect. Care. Love. Those powerful instincts drove the wiggles away and replaced them with the need to stay at his twin's side. 

Flayn came over and brought his deer plushie to him. Kiros sat him down beside Loog. All the while, he considered Claude's question. "We could play chess, maybe," he suggested. "Or maybe... maybe go on a flight later. If you are feeling up for that sort of thing.”

"Chess sounds fun." Claude always did think it would be fun to play chess with himself (but not the lonely way of playing chess with himself where he played both sides. He did that a lot growing up and it wasn't much fun). Flying sounded fun too, though he wasn't sure he was up for that yet. There was something else, though. 

"You need to get your jitters out." With his face, he gently pushed at Kiros. "Go zoom. I'll watch." He hunkered down a little further, protecting both Loog and the deer. "Not that there's a ton of room to sprint on the terrace... Not for a human, that is." He winked. Maybe Kiros wanted to zoom around in his dragon form? Only Kiros knew for sure.

Kiros whined as he was pushed away from his twin, though he understood why. He probably did need to get his energy out somehow. Otherwise, who knew what might happen? He could try to eat one of the chess pieces or something, and that would not be good. But there was hardly any room to zoom up here! 

"Not for a human, that is."  

His eyes grew wide as his twin seemingly read his mind and immediately thought of a solution. He hadn't tried to run or even walk in his dragon form yet — mostly people had just carried him around and played uppies with him. But learning to walk would be important! So he turned his gaze to Seteth and cheeped. 'Dragon time please!'

Seteth was pleased the moment Kiros turned to him. Rumbling, he nuzzled his son. His scent was eager to encourage Kiros to transform. Such young hatchlings weren't supposed to even be able to transform, after all. Kiros' natural state was that of a dragon. 

The flesh he nuzzled was replaced with scales. "There you are, my dear son..." If only he could transform to match. No use dwelling, though. Kiros did a little wiggle. Oh, his sweet son. Sarbi was still sleeping, so he supposed... He supposed he could perform the beloved 'uppies', if his son so desired. 

Holding out his palms, he was just about to call for Kiros to settle on them. But Kiros already zoomed back over to Claude (tripping over himself in the process). 

"Chkchk!" he called from the back of his throat. He needed to hold his son! But he met the hatchling halfway in this matter. Instead of forcing Kiros away from Claude, Seteth settled beside Claude. That way he could hold his son and still be close to Claude.

Kiros didn't notice Seteth reaching out to pick him up before he was nyooming back over to his brother. This morning, the scales of his belly and horns were a bright gold, unlike the midnight black of the night before. His wings stretched out and flailed about in the air as he did a three-legged gallomph over to Claude, figuring out how to run before he even tried to walk. Momentum! Momentum would help! 

He tripped and did a little roll across the ground and landed beside Loog and his deer (who still needed a name) and, of course, his twin. He cheeped a greeting and bit Claude's nose. Oops. Maybe a little hard. As his brother snorted and pulled his face back, Father came to pick him up. He squeed as he was lifted off the ground and his wings spread out and flapped. Uppies! Uppies!

"You're golden now..." Claude gasped, eyes wide as he took in the change of color. It was a little tricky to tell exactly what Kiros' wings looked like, since they refused to stop moving, but he didn't think they had stars on them anymore. "He changes color?" he asked to Seteth, taking in his shiny brother. 

"Such a difference is not common, but it isn’t unheard of either," Seteth responded as he gently lifted Kiros up into the air. The tiny dragon squeaked and flapped his wings. Flight training. No wonder Kiros was so eager for uppies. It was a natural part of training a baby's wings. He smiled as he watched his now-tiny brother wriggle and flap with each uppie. It was good. Really good. Kiros was so unburdened like this. So, well... young. Literally a baby, hah. It was good. 

"A shame we cannot offer uppies to you as well," Flayn said to him. 

"For me? Hah. I appreciate the thought. That's what Sarbi is for." He patted his brother's tail. Sarbi was a heavy sleeper and unless he called out, the wyvern would be sleeping for a while longer.

Kiros was utterly delighted to be lifted up and 'tossed' lightly into the air. Father didn't throw him more than a couple inches above his palms, but it was still thrilling! Reminded him of his real baba, back home in Almyra, and when he used to be tiny enough for him to play uppies with him like this. 

He missed Baba. He missed Maman. 

Emotions were such a hard thing to handle when he was this tiny. He went from being utterly delighted on one toss to making sad little peeps the next. He wanted Maman. He wanted Baba. He wanted his whole family here. He wanted Nader and Jamshid too. He missed them all so much. He hadn't seen them in so long. They all probably thought he was dead.  

"Weeeeh!" he cried, wiggling all around. Downies! Downies now! He needed to cuddle up to his twin again. Claude was the only person who could possibly know exactly what he was sad about right now. But unfortunately, there wasn't a thing any of them could do about it. Maman and Baba and Nader and Jamshid were all far away, and they weren't coming here just to visit pathetic, lonely little him. He was supposed to be grown up and independent. But he wanted his parents!

"Eh!" Claude cried, already reaching for his brother before Seteth brought him down. Kiros felt things so much as a baby. Yesterday, it left him feeling high enough to bask in. Now it made his stomach plummet from the sads spilling over. 

The moment he has his baby brother, he tucked into a ball with Kiros at the center. Kiros' "Weeeeh!" woke Sarbi as well, who curled up on the outside of his ball. Two layers of brothers encircled Kiros. 

'Maman and Baba and Nader and Jamshid are far away, and they aren't coming here just to visit pathetic, lonely little me.'  

He felt the thoughts more than he heard them. He felt them deeply, like a razor to his heart, because he felt that way too. He missed his family. Wasn't that just pathetic, to miss them? He made the choice to leave for Fodlan. He missed them though. He missed them, and Almyra, and home. He missed the innocent(ish) days of his childhood where Baba and Nader would play with him without a care in the world. So did Kiros. 

He'd always been so, so lonely. 

He curled himself as tightly around Kiros as he could manage without hurting his little brother. He wasn't Maman, or Baba, or Nader, or Jamshid. But he was here. And so was Sarbi.

He missed his family so badly. He missed his parents. He missed Jamshid and Nader. Hell, he even missed Shahid, and he missed Leila, and, and he had never even really loved them in the first place! He had been alone for such a long time. In the dark. Alone, alone, alone.  

Claude was lonely. They always had been lonely. But he had done nothing but make it worse for himself, and he felt everything expanded ten times right now. He didn't quite feel the trauma of the darkness and self-torture in this form. He was able to detach himself from it a little with his baby-brain. But he still wanted not to feel lonely. That was impossible, though. He always felt lonely. 

He knew it was supposed to be playtime and zoomies time. Little Claude was supposed to be having fun watching him! He had ruined something for Little Claude again. Did baby dragons cry? Because right now, Kiros felt like he was going to cry, and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it.

Baby dragons couldn't cry. Kiros could still cry through his younger self, though. Before Claude knew it, fat tears rolled down his cheeks. Sarbi rumbled, alarmed. He didn't cry often (anymore) and when he did, it was over something serious. 

He didn't know what to do. He and Kiros were going to spiral each other further down this terribly lonely tunnel if he didn't do something. It clawed at his chest. He tried to pull up the memory of sleeping in a puppy pile yesterday. 'See, we can't be lonely. We have real friends now!' It was a trivial childhood dream that he never thought could be achieved. But he did it! 

That was friends, though. He wanted his family. He missed his family, desperately. What if something happened and he never saw them again? The throne was a dangerous place. His parents, untouchable as they always seemed, could be killed like anyone else. He wanted them. He wanted them here now to tell him he was being silly. They weren't here, though. He was alone. 

Well, not alone. He had a proxy-crying dragon and a wyvern brother. 'Not entirely alone,' he tried to project. Not the most comforting...

Big Claude hid his face against his younger self, feeling horrible. He made Little Claude cry. All because he couldn't pull himself together. This was just like all the other times he made life worse for his younger self. He kept doing this, and it wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair! 

His twin tried to comfort him, sending him images of the puppy pile they'd enjoyed yesterday, the feeling of friendship and happiness and togetherness, but the joy he was meant to be filled with felt shallow. He latched onto his deer plushie and started sucking on its ear again as a self-soothing gesture. He was making things bad for his twin. Bad bad. He was bad. He was very bad.

Not bad! No bad! Kiros suckled on the deer's ear. Claude nibbled on the tip of Kiros' horn. Kiros was too little to properly chomp. He curled a little tighter around Kiros, though he couldn't get much more curled up than he already was. Maybe they just needed to cry this out. It was like in their dreams, where emotions were right at the surface. They still were, really. But now he had a body with hormones that would run their course and tire out. He wouldn't be stuck upset until some outside force fixed him, not this time. 

He allowed himself to cry. Sarbi nibbled on his hair and stayed curled around him. Seteth tried to pet him, but Sarbi said No. He would feel better when the tears were gone. Not great. But better.

Giant, warm hands cupped around his body and held him close. Was this what it felt like when Little Claude's soul was still inside of him and they shared a body? His younger self had asked to be held so many times, and he had wrapped him up in his embrace as much as he could. Little Claude had loved it. Asked for the warm hands so, so many times.  

He understood why, now. The hands that held him were so comforting and strong and reassuring. As a baby, he upset easily. But that meant he was also easier to calm. He cried himself out quickly. Claude gave him pets and reassurances and purrs and promises that he wasn't bad. Even if he felt like he was the bad one sometimes who messed everything up. Little Claude didn't think so. And that... that was good. That had to be good enough for now. 

He slowly calmed down, taking reassurance in his twin's presence. He missed his family badly. But at least he had family here. He wasn't alone like he once had been. And he'd never be alone again. Claude would never leave him. They were two halves of a whole, now. And they were going to stick together no matter what. 

That made him feel better.

Claude calmed as Kiros did. Oh, the ache remained. It never really left. But the sun would still rise and fall regardless of how he felt. He knew the old ache so well.

He wasn't alone anymore. Kiros might feel like he was being a burden right now, but nothing could be farther from the truth. He loved his twin. He couldn't imagine going forward without Kiros in his life, by his side. 

He accepted a handkerchief from Flayn, a little embarrassed to remember that he had had an audience. The dragons understood, though. Kiros got upset because he was a baby with Big Feelings, so Claude got upset too. It was simply how it was. Sarbi licked his face clean for him. That was what he used the handkerchief for — to clean Sarbi's enthusiasm from his face. 

Kiros was tucked under his shirt for now, curled against his heart. As he sat up, he made sure to keep the dragon supported. Leaning against his Sarbi-chair, he looked to the sky to further solidify his calm. The sky, the clouds... those helped him stay calm and, ironically, grounded. No matter how lonely, how sad, how overwhelmed with the world he ever felt… the sky above remained as it always did.

Kiros fell asleep under Claude's shirt, listening to his heartbeat and letting the sound lull him to sleep. It was quiet on the terrace after that — at least until lunch, when Seteth lured the baby dragon out with promises of fish (cooked).

On the monastery grounds proper, Dimitri was considering skipping lunch. He knew he told Claude he would be back only for dinner, but if he showed up now at lunchtime it would be a wonderful surprise for his boyfriend. Perhaps he could even bring him flowers? He knew well that if he went up there, though, there was every chance that he might not be able to escape in time to make it back to class again. So he should probably refrain. 

Besides, going to the dining hall would set many of his friends' nerves at ease. Dedue's especially, because no matter how many times he insisted that he had eaten breakfast he knew that his retainer was not going to believe him.

The fact that Dimitri did, in fact, show up to eat in the dining hall was a pleasant surprise. Dedue waited until His Highness actually sat down and took a bite to thank the Gods. 

It was no secret that something was going on with Claude (who was missing). Likewise, it was no secret that something was going on with Dimitri too, who kept acting strange and vanishing for hours on end. Dedue wanted to ask Prince Dimitri about where he was last night. Not in his bedroom, he knew that much. As Dimitri's retainer, he needed to know these sorts of things. But he would not complain. It was not his place. Especially around so many others. 

"Sooo... Who's the lovely lady?" Sylvain winked. Three times. "Seems she's keeping you out of your own bed. I'm almost jealous." The man leaned across the table, attempting to place himself as far into Dimitri’s personal space as possible.

Dedue knew Sylvain well enough to catch the fish for information. Sylvain was sharper than he pretended and knew Dimitri wasn't the sort to lay with just any woman (or as Dedue now knew, any woman at all). 

"Sylvain!" Ingrid beat him to the reprimand, as he knew she would. "Keep your filthy thoughts in your own head."

Dimitri withheld the urge to roll his eyes at Sylvain. Princes, after all, did not roll their eyes at people. It was disrespectful to his uncle and advisors and rude to everyone else. "There is no 'lovely lady,' Sylvain," he said, though he was quite sure he knew that already. "I spent the night in the library doing research, that's all." 

"All night?" Annette asked from further down the table, a little frown on her face. Blast, even she rarely did full all-nighters in the library. He would know, given how late he often spent in the library. Staying awake late to peruse the library was not new to him, no, but he never advertised that fact.

"It has been more difficult than it used to be to locate the books I need to reference. Tomas was an encyclopedia of knowledge on the tomes in the Monastery's collection, and without him around it's been a challenge to find everything, since I can no longer simply ask.” He didn't know what had happened to Tomas, or if he would be back any time soon. (No one in the school knew that, except for the people Dimitri had left just this morning.)

It was a good excuse. One that Dedue wasn't buying. He checked the library last night. Twice. Dimitri had not been there. He had suspicions about where (or with whom) Dimitri was last night. It wasn't his place to speak up, especially if it involved Claude. 

"Your Highness, you informed me that you intended to retire at some point," Dedue said with a sigh. "I could have remained in the library if you required assistance in searching for books." There. Of course, the look he shot Dimitri was not false. He was worried. But if his words convinced the others to leave His Highness alone, then he would say whatever needed to be said. 

Ah. Dedue had checked the library for him. Of course he had. Nothing got past Dedue. Thankfully, his retainer was willing to cover for him so his friends would stop asking questions. 

"My apologies," was all he said for now. "Time must have gotten away from me." His eyes were telling Dedue something different, though. In truth... he did want to talk to Dedue about... some of the recent developments. Nothing to do with Claude, if he could manage to avoid the subject. But... concerning the matter of how Loog managed to get himself in a package and sent here. Perhaps it was time to talk about his ghosts with someone besides Claude.

He trusted no one more than Dedue for this.

Though Sylvain was glad that Dimitri showed up, once the excitement wore off, the quieter mood of the dining hall swept over the table. The dining hall was quiet because the Golden Deer were quiet. 

Claude was still missing. 

Word around school was that Hilda knew something. Sylvain just so happened to spot Dimitri escorting Hilda to class this morning. Jokingly, he mulled around the idea that Dimitri was having a secret tryst with Hilda. He wasn't dumb, though. If Dimitri and Hilda were involved, he would swear off sex for the rest of his life. No, something else was going on. Something that might just involve a missing deer. 

Sylvain shouldn't didn't really care. He was curious, sure. It wasn't exactly his business. He was worried for his old friend, but what did that matter? Dimitri was just... acting odd. Bolting off randomly in the middle of class. Getting a letter from Rufus of all people, and then sending a letter back (there were perks to seducing the mailgirl). Something wasn't adding up. Usually, when Rufus came up, Dimitri got all sour and huffy. Why send old Loog, though? Dimitri claimed that he didn't ask Rufus to send for it, but how else would the man know to send it? 

The questions kept rattling around his head through lunch, then well into class too. He retained absolutely nothing Hanneman rambled about, too busy failing to understand what was going on with his prince. It did not matter, it was none of his business. He needed to put it out of his head and start thinking about more productive things. Like girls. Or… literally anything else.

It was a puzzle that was going to drive him mad until he solved it. Thus, as soon as class was over, he kept his eye on Dimitri. When Dimitri took Dedue aside and headed somewhere private, Sylvain might have tailed them. Just a little.

Dimitri figured that the best place to go for a conversation like this was the dorm. Dedue's, since it was closer. And with its door to the main path, it would be obvious if anyone tried to listen through it and eavesdrop on their conversation. Someone would have been bound to see that. (He didn't count on Sylvain slipping into Byleth's room and pressing his ear against the wall.) 

Dedue offered to make tea, and Dimitri accepted. After all, he needed to figure out how to broach this topic. It wasn't just a thing that someone could just blurt out. 'I see dead people,' sure, yeah, that was a great way to start a conversation! 

"Did I show you the letter from my uncle?" he asked, though he knew he had. He'd passed it off to Dedue so he could pull Loog out of the box he'd received. Whether Dedue had read it or not was another question, though.

"It was short," Dedue replied, settling the chamomile buds in the hot water. "Only a few words, if I recall correctly." 

'Had a feeling you might want this.' That was the whole letter. He only caught a glance at it, but it was short enough to memorize at a glance. Dimitri had turned bone-white upon seeing the innocent-looking stuffed lion. Whatever the significance, it prompted Dimitri to immediately write a letter back to his uncle. "Was it code?" 

Though he obviously wouldn't be trusted with such a thing as a man of Duscur, he heard of the concept before. Royal code-words in the case of dire scenarios. Whether or not Faerghus had such a thing, he did not know.

"It... was not," Dimitri said with a little shake of his head. "I believe you've seen Loog before, back at the palace." Of course Dedue had. Though Dimitri had been unable to cry after the genocide that brought Dedue to his side, he had often spent nights in that first year after his parents' death curled up with the lion and wishing for his father to come back not burned and screaming at him. Eventually he'd put Loog away. Not because he outgrew him. Rather, he realized that thinking of his father always seemed to summon his ghost, and Loog couldn't help but remind him of his father. Honestly, he was surprised his uncle had found the toy. Dimitri was pretty sure he had buried him inside a trunk somewhere. 

"I didn't send for Loog," he said. "But... I have reason to suspect that my uncle had more than just 'a feeling' to send him to me. I..." He trailed off for a moment, then cleared his throat and shook his head. "Forgive me. I do not know how to broach the topic. This was... not something I ever thought I would speak about before now," he confessed.

"You need not tell me if—" But Dimitri shook his head. Dimitri wanted to tell him, it seemed, but did not know the words. "Whatever the topic, Your Highness, know that I will always remain by your side. If I may aid you, it is my duty to do so." 

He poured Dimitri a cup of chamomile, then a cup for himself. Bad etiquette, to serve himself alongside his prince. He knew well that Dimitri would not drink unless he drank too, though, so he poured the cup. 

Dedue honestly had no idea where this conversation was going. Loog and Rufus. Judging by the way Dimitri struggled to breach the subject, perhaps it was related to the late king. He didn't see how it could relate to Claude (who had recently been Dimitri's main focus). Dimitri often had difficulty speaking at length about his father.

"Take your time, Your Highness." 

('Get on with it,' Sylvain mouthed to himself, a little worried that Byleth could return at any time.)

This was going to sound crazy. It was crazy, and he knew it. And if word got around that Prince Dimitri thought he could see ghosts, he knew people would think he was crazy. Of course everyone knew he had been messed up since the Tragedy. The court of Faerghus was a cutthroat place. If he showed himself in any way to be... mad, or something of the sort, he was certain some noble or another would take it as their cause to make sure he didn't get the crown. And with what he suspected about his uncle having the same ability, it wouldn't be long before the Blaiddyd family was overthrown.

But that was the worst possible scenario and he knew it. This was only if word got out. He knew Dedue would speak of this to no one. 

"I believe my uncle got the idea from someone else to send Loog to me. You see... there's someone I have spoken to recently who asked me about Loog. And when I told him that I was too old for stuffed animals, he did not seem convinced. He told me that he would have him sent to me.” Looking down at his gauntlets, he resisted the urge to fidget. "I suspect this person is the one who told my uncle." 

There. That was easing into it, right?

Dedue thought he might know where this was going. Possibly. Perhaps Loog came up in conversation with Claude. It seemed bold even for Claude to write the prince-regent on such a trivial matter, but he couldn't think of anyone else. 

"You need not feel embarrassed, Your Highness. There is no harm in finding comfort." If a stuffed toy could ease even a sliver of Dimitri's burdens, that was all he cared about. 

Something still wasn't right, though. Dedue knew about Claude. Surely Dimitri would not be dancing around the identity of this person if it was just Claude. Yet that was the only answer that fit. 

"It was Claude who sent the letter to Rufus, I presume?"

Dimitri's fingers tightened around his teacup. Thank goodness it was made of metal to withstand his strength, otherwise it would be broken in his hands. For now, all it did was provide a comforting warmth to his palms. It wasn't nearly warm enough to make him feel comfortable entirely, though. Because... here it was. He was about to say it. A secret he had not dared tell even Dedue for all these years. 

"It was not," he said. "It was not Claude. The... the person who asked my uncle to send me Loog was... was, my father. Or, at least... my father's ghost."

"Ah." This wasn't what Dedue expected. That said, he honestly wasn't that surprised, either. He knew, at least to an extent, that Dimitri was haunted. It had been most obvious when they were younger, shortly after the Tragedy. As they grew older, Dimitri hid such things better. But not perfectly. Not to Dedue.

 Dedue knew that Dimitri experienced visual and auditory hallucinations. It was one of the reasons he would state obvious things from time to time, such as 'We are alone, Your Highness,' or 'I see nothing amiss in the stew.' Small things. He hadn't known for sure whether or not Dimitri still saw specters. This was confirmation that Dimitri was indeed still seeing them, though. 

And... perhaps they were not mere hallucinations, as Dedue thought. 

"You spoke to no one else about Loog?" He was not doubting Dimitri. He simply wanted to clear out other possibilities. This did explain why Dimitri turned so pale upon seeing the stuffed lion. 

As far as he was aware, Fodlan's only 'customs' to speak with the dead (saints aside), was among the mad. In Duscur, there were processes to determine madness from the blessing of the white stag. Guardians of the afterlife, it was said the divine creatures would bless mortals after tragedies. The blessed mortal — one familiar with and trusted by the slew of dead souls — was to aid the guardians in guiding the dead to their rest.

Dedue didn't know what to do with this information. He did know one thing he needed to say, however: "I believe you." That was what Dimitri was waiting to hear with baited breath. "I presume this revelation has been causing you distress, Your Highness?"

"It... it has," Dimitri said, shoulders dropping along with his gaze. He had been studying Dedue's face ever since he made the confession, trying to read his expression to determine his reaction. Though Dimitri was better at reading Dedue than most, even he could not tell what his friend was about to say until it was said. 

But Dedue believed him. That was a relief. Though his retainer's discretion was a guarantee, Dimitri hadn't known what else might come of this conversation. And yet, he was believed. 

"There is no other explanation. I spoke to no one else about Loog," he explained. He supposed that Claude had been in the room at the time he had the conversation with his father, but Claude certainly would have said something by now if he had sent a letter to Rufus. Especially now that Loog was here. "I confess that I told Claude about the visions. He was... with me, when one happened, recently. He's been trying to teach me meditation to, well, calm myself. As it seems the spirits are affected by my mood, and... it hasn't been until recently, I think, that I've been able to speak to my father without the cloud of guilt being so thick that... he was not himself.” 

He shook his head. "I digress. Things have only become more complicated since Loog got here. You do realize what it means, don't you, Dedue?" he asked, finally looking up to meet his friend's eyes again. "There is only one way my uncle could have known to send Loog. And that would require that... that I am not the only person in my family who can speak to the dead."

Dedue's eyes widened. That had not occurred to him, focused as he was on Dimitri. "That is a revelation indeed..." He highly doubted Rufus had the strength of spirit to be a spirit guide. Perhaps this was more Fodlani magic. Just when he thought he had a grasp on it all, something new would pop up. Like speaking to the dead. 

That must be related to why Dimitri was so quick to respond with a letter. Prince Rufus may be able to speak with the dead, just as Dimitri could…

...Sylvain, on the other side of the wall, was staring a hole through space. What. Out of everything he expected to eavesdrop, 'I hear the dead' was not one of them. At least he knew why Dimitri was around Claude so much recently. Meditation, huh.  

He remembered when Dimitri was very, very young. They all were, of course. But Dimitri wouldn't have been more than three. Might have even been two. Young enough to not know when to avoid certain subjects. Or know better than to invite his new friends to a tea party with an empty seat for the dead queen. He'd forgotten about that until now... Whenever someone tried to sit in the woman’s chair, little Dimitri would get upset about it. Ingrid and Felix, being just as young as Dimitri, went along with it. He had been old enough to know it was weird to host a party with one's dead mother in attendance.

He brought his fist up to his lips as the full horror of Dimitri's situation hit him. What... what was Duscur like? Just the Tragedy was already horrific. When people died, did their screams ever stop for Dimitri? 

Well, shit. No wonder their prince constantly looked haunted. Shit. Shit.

"That's why I wrote to Rufus," Dimitri said to Dedue. "I must know if he knows anything more about it. I... truly thought I was alone in this.” He stared down at his tea, not trusting himself to drink. "Claude speculated briefly that it might be a side effect of my Crest, but if that was the case it surely would have been documented by now. A Blaiddyd at some point would have brought it up with a Crest Scholar. So it isn't that. Hearing that my uncle also saw my father's ghost only confirms it, because he has no Crest at all.” He shook his head. "It is either that he has also had this ‘ability’ his whole life and has kept quiet about it, or that my father's spirit mustered enough energy and willpower to appear before him despite him not having the ability. I am not sure which case is the more likely. What I do know is... is more than I think I ever would have figured out without Claude's aid," he confessed. "It was Claude who realized that the spirits are affected by my emotions. And that if I remain calm, then so do they. Which has been... an improvement, compared to what I have been seeing and hearing these past four years."

(And there was the answer to Sylvain's unasked question.) 

"Having an outside perspective... it, it has helped," he explained. "And so has being able to... to actually speak about this knowing that, perhaps, I won't sound entirely like a madman anymore. Loog is the proof. What I've seen is real, and I am not the only one who has seen it." 

He released a deep breath. "...Thank you for listening, Dedue," he said. "I appreciate it, truly." Having Dedue listen to him was all he had wanted out of this conversation when it began. But something he'd said just now made him wonder if his friend might have a little more to offer than just a willing ear. An outside perspective...  

"As I've just told you, we don't know much about these things in Fodlan," he went on to say. "I've read every book in the library about it by now." Mostly to try and help his Claude, but also to help himself. "I have found very little. I wonder, do you know anything about this? Are there stories in Duscur about... about this sort of thing?"

Though he knew Dimitri did not mean it in this way, there was a condemnation of Dedue. Dedue never stepped forward to offer an 'outside perspective', nor was he trustworthy enough for Dimitri to trust him with the truth until now. He bowed his head, vowing to do better by his liege. 

"We have such a thing in Duscur, but if your uncle is in the same situation as yours, I do not believe it applies. It is said after an event of great death, the white stags — who are meant to guide the souls of the departed — may grant their boon to a survivor of strong soul. With the deer overwhelmed by too many souls, some may slip away and wander lost. Thus, the deer asks the mortal to find and guide those who cannot find their rest." He paused, recalling the details. "Once the task is complete, stories differ on whether or not the Speaker retains their abilities. I believe the Speaker chooses whether or not they wish to retain their ties to the afterlife upon finishing their duties." 

It did fit. If Dimitri began experiencing this after the death of his father... perhaps there was merit to the old folktale. Who better to guide the souls of Faerghus’ lost men than their prince? Yet, there were holes in the theory. For one, it should not take so many years for the souls to pass on, as far as he was aware. And it did not explain Rufus and his role.

"Ah," Dimitri said, his expression softening a little. Dedue bowed his head. It was an action he did often, but usually when he thought he had reason to apologize or that he had done something wrong. This time, Dimitri couldn't figure it out. But something he'd said or done made Dedue hurt. 

It was probably just asking about his homeland and stories from there. It was, in general, a topic he did not broach flippantly. To do so in connection with the Tragedy, though... he knew why this upset Dedue. Now he was feeling guilty, as well. Especially when he was pretty sure that what Dedue said probably did not apply to him. 

"It is a beautiful folktale," he offered gently, “but I do not believe that is what has happened with me. I have seen spirits since I was a child," he confessed. "My birth mother never left the castle. Not for many years past her death." 

At that moment, the door of the room next to them opened. Dimitri took a sip of his tea to pause the conversation. He didn't want anyone to overhear this and get the wrong idea, even though he knew Byleth would probably keep quiet about it. A lot could be misinterpreted from hearing only part of a conversation, and this one was sensitive. Best just to pause for a moment until Byleth got what they needed and left... 

"Sylvain? Did you need something?"  

Dimitri nearly spat out his tea.

Chapter Text

“Sylvain? Did you need something?”

“Shit!”

Sylvain knew he was so dead.

Somehow, Byleth opened their door silently. And remained silent until they spoke. He startled like a spooked cat, knocking something off their desk in a loud crash. Damn the lower-dorm's thin walls. This wasn't the first time he damned the thin walls, though usually it was due to a date. There was no point in making a 'shh' signal to the professor. He was screwed thrice over. 

There was no way Dimitri failed to hear him eavesdropping.

"Yeah," he deadpanned in a 'fuck you' tone, glaring at Byleth. "I did need something."

While Byleth was trying to figure out what Sylvain was doing in their office, Dimitri was staring across the small table at Dedue with wide eyes. Just how long had Sylvain been listening? As he'd just been thinking, a lot could be misconstrued from only hearing a part of a conversation like the one they'd just had. What must his friend be thinking about him now? 

All those worries about being labeled mad came rushing back at once. The metal cup in his hand cracked and he sat it down quickly but it was too late to prevent the tea from leaking out of the sides. It was too late for a lot more than just the teacup, too. 

He braced his hands on his knees and gathered himself before getting to his feet. There wasn't time to ask Dedue what he should do. For all he knew, Sylvain could be trying to scamper off right now, and where would he go? Right to tell Felix and Ingrid about this, probably. He couldn't let that happen, so he left Dedue's room and immediately moved to stand in Byleth's, ready to body-block Sylvain if need be.

Sylvain hadn't really moved from his spot against the wall by the time Dimitri rushed into view. Busted. He couldn't tell if the prince was furious or terrified. Or both. 

"Heyyy, did you need something from the professor too, Your Highness?" His grin lasted all of a second before it crumbled. Dimitri was going to break every bone in his body. And then break every bone in his spirit when that was done. If he was lucky, he would get out of this with only a scathing lecture. Somehow, he doubted his luck would hold.

Dimitri didn't like the way Sylvain was looking at him. He really, really didn't like it. Because Sylvain wasn't looking at him like Sylvain usually looked at him. There was no nonchalant grin or anything. No trying to laugh this off or pretend everything was fine. And if even Sylvain was being serious, then this was really serious. 

It wasn't fine. Of course it wasn't. Because Sylvain was looking at him with fear. Oh, Goddess. What had Sylvain heard? What had been said that would make his friend look at him like that? This was how Felix looked at him after they had to go crush the rebellion when he was sixteen. This was horror. Horror that, if Felix was any tell, would probably soon morph into hate and disgust. 

Sylvain thought he was mad, didn't he? That he was utterly insane, thought he could talk to the dead. That the prince and future king was completely unhinged and was not fit for the throne. And Sylvain was going to tell everyone about it, wasn't he? 

He didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He just knew he didn't want his friend to be afraid of him. He didn't want any of his friends to be afraid of him. But it might be too late for that.

Sylvain did think Dimitri was mad. Angry, not insane. The ruling was still out on that one, honestly, but who was he to judge? They all had their coping mechanics one way or another. He needed to talk to Claude before he decided whether or not the dukeling was messing with Dimitri. 

He also really didn't know what to say. He had clearly been eavesdropping on Dimitri and Dedue's very private conversation. And his prince was, understandably, extremely pissed. On the bright side, no one knew what to say. Byleth included.

The three of them stared at each other. In silence. So long as the silence lasted, at least there was no shouting? Nice, peaceful silence… 

"Ahem." Scratch that, Dedue arrived with the single brain cell. "My room is the second one past the stairs, Sylvain, not the first."

...Welp, he wasn't getting out of this one. "Whoops! No wonder I couldn't find you guys. Sorry, Professor, won't happen again." 

He tried to sneak past Dimitri and escape. That wasn't happening either. 

"In my room." Dedue gestured towards the open door. He was escorted. The door shut behind the three of them, now in Dedue's room. There was a pause as Byleth audibly fumbled around for something in their room, found it, and left. Damn thin dorm walls. The silence stretched. 

"...In my defense, I had perfectly pure intentions. I was worried about my prince. Can't fault a future knight of Faerghus for that, yeah?" Dimitri was always lecturing him about being more responsible and taking his duty seriously. Well, this was him taking it seriously! That was his excuse, at least.

"And you chose now of all times to start acting like a knight?" Dimitri asked flatly. He knew that wasn't the real reason Sylvain was eavesdropping. Certainly not out of 'knightly duty.' But at least part of what he said was true. He was worried about his prince. Of course he was. Everyone was worried about the prince. They always were, because if there was something wrong with the prince, then Faerghus would fall even flatter on its face than it had already been. 

There was a lot to worry about when it came to Faerghus and the prince. Dimitri did not believe that any of his friends had worried about Dimitri in a very long time, though. He'd been too distant. Too secluded, after the Tragedy. None of them knew him anymore. And they might claim to care, but they surely didn't. Not about Dimitri. Just about the prince. 

He crossed his arms, frowning more at Sylvain's nose than anything else. He couldn't quite bring himself to meet the other's eyes. He was too angry. Too afraid. Too upset. And he didn't want Sylvain to read all of that off of him even though he probably could anyway. Not looking him in the eyes made it a little easier when he started issuing demanding questions. 

"How much did you hear?" was the first, because he had to know that before anything else. Perhaps they could still sweep this under the rug. But Dimitri doubted that. Sylvain was scared of him now. Soon as he told everyone else why, they would be scared of him, too. And then what? He'd be all alone. (Would it really be any different than it was now? He felt alone now, too. ...Yes, it would be different. Because his friends wouldn't even pretend to like him anymore if they knew the truth.) Not to mention the impact this would have on Faerghus. The people would not tolerate a Mad King. His brain was in survival mode. He needed to do all the damage control he could, otherwise he was certain he was going to lose everything.

He considered lying. He considered it real hard, because that would be a nice out. 'Didn't hear a thing, Your Highness! No need to look so angry, haha.’

"Yeah, like, the whole thing." He cringed. There wasn't any getting around it. "The whole, y'know. Rufus. And Loog. …And Lambert." He shrugged as flippantly as possible. Just the prince regent, and a stuffed lion, and the dead King of Faerghus. "Life really likes to hand you the short end of the stick, Your Highness." 

He couldn't keep his tone light. Instead, it went quiet as he thought about how much more horrific watching his loved ones die must be if he could see their ghosts. Or thought he saw the ghosts. One way or another, Dimitri believed the ghosts were real, and frankly that was more important than whatever the truth was.

The whole thing. Sylvain heard the whole thing. What did he do now? Shouting at Sylvain and making him swear to secrecy would only scare him more (and he already looked so scared, cringing away like he was). Sylvain couldn't even joke about it, and he was the king of making jokes at inappropriate times just to try and lighten the mood. Now there were no smiles. And that just scared Dimitri, too. 

"...What do you intend to tell the others?" he asked. He assumed that they knew Sylvain was here. Ingrid and Felix weren't stupid, they would be able to figure this out soon enough. Especially if Sylvain couldn't get his 'idiot' act back together soon. Someone would ask him what was wrong and one way or another they would get this out of him. And then... all the terrible things that Dimitri had already imagined.

Sylvain just kind of blinked at Dimitri. "Uh." He raised an eyebrow. "Nothing? Obviously?" 

He didn't think Dimitri would actually kill him for this. As much as he feared for his bones, he knew Dimitri wouldn’t lay a hand on him with violent intentions. No matter how furious, Dimitri was not that kind of person.

Regardless of that, this was obviously private. He wasn't about to go blabbing about this! Not even to Ingrid. She would either freak or fuss or make a big deal out of things. And he especially was not telling Felix. Dimitri didn't really think he was going to gossip about this, right? Obviously it needed to stay in trusted hands. Or at least ‘not malicious’ hands, in his case.

Dimitri's arms dropped back to his sides instantly in an expression of shock. Very tentatively, he met Sylvain's eyes. Was... was he being truthful? 

"But surely you cannot want—want someone like me on the throne.” Honestly, he had been thinking it for years at this point. He knew he wasn't fit. More fit than his uncle, perhaps. But his father had left behind such large shoes to fill, and he knew he wasn't worthy of taking his place. "I—I know you all must think so.” Everyone knew. "Everyone must think so. Everyone is so concerned with making sure the prince is all right, because if Faerghus doesn't get a perfect prince, then it's going to collapse. That's all that matters to anyone. As long as I can manage to act like everyone expects, then nothing else matters. Isn't that right?" He shook his head. "Or is this...? Ah. Of course. Of course it is." 

He trailed off as he realized why Sylvain was going to keep mum. "We'll just keep this one quiet, too, eh?" he asked, his brow creasing. "Another flaw to pretend that I don't have." Another burden he would have to deal with on his own, because everyone else refused to acknowledge any issue he ever had. He was the prince. He was supposed to be fine. Faerghus needed him to be fine, and so that was how it would be. They would all go on pretending for forever that nothing was wrong, and... things would just continue as they had before. 

Sylvain was good at pretending he had nothing to worry about. Dimitri was less good at that. But Faerghus required him to be fine. So he'd just be fine.

This is where Felix would tell Dimitri to fuck off. Sylvain had more tact. ...He was still tempted to tell Dimitri to fuck off. 

"Wow. It's impressive how much you got wrong." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not Ingrid. And even she isn't that bad. Look, Dimitri. I know we haven't really talked over the last few years. So let me spell this out for you. Yes, you're my prince. There's a duty there and whatever the fuck goes along with it. We also have, you know, a history? Entire childhood friendship? Ring a bell?" He waggled his hands in a wide gesture. “A personal relationship that might be a factor, hmm?”

He stared into Dimitri's eyes, searching them. "I'm used to assumptions being made about what I think or do. So I won't hold that one against you." He shrugged. "For the record, there's no one I want on the throne more than you." Except Lambert, but that wasn't worth saying. "You don't give yourself enough credit." Leaning back, he threw his hands around the back of his neck. "Can't be worse than the man on the throne now, yeah? At least you actually care. You could be mad as a hen in a—" 

He paused. Mad.  

Mad.

"...I don't think you're crazy, Dimitri, if that's why you're having a panic attack." Grief-stricken, sure. Sylvain was the king of shitty coping mechanics. Far be it from him to judge Dimitri for possibly being the prince of shitty coping mechanisms. He wasn't going to judge Dimitri for hallucinating his dead father or whatever. Sylvain had seen plenty of unreal things in some of his more... desperate moments. But crazy? No. Dimitri was not crazy.

Also, the prince was giving way too much weight to his word. Ingrid would believe Dimitri over him every time.

Dimitri carefully watched Sylvain's every move. He was desperate to figure out if this was a trick or if he was being lied to. He wasn't as good at that as some people he knew (Claude and, possibly, Sylvain himself). But he had to know. If Sylvain was going to run out of here and declare his condition to the entire world after this, he'd... he'd... He didn't know what. Obviously he couldn't do anything to stop Sylvain. That would only confirm all of the other's worst fears. He was mad, and violent, and, and, and so many horrible things that were hiding just under his surface. (He needed to remember how to breathe. Claude told him that breathing was important.) 

All he could do was brace himself. Prepare himself for the worst if Sylvain let the secret spill. He needed to know what the other's intentions were. So he listened close. 

Sylvain got one point in his favor when he called Dimitri by his name instead of his title. It always rubbed him the wrong way that hardly anyone called him by just his name anymore. Claude did. Mercedes did, because she was kind like that. But Ashe couldn't bring himself to do it and everyone else he knew felt a duty to him that prevented them from just treating him like a person. The reminders were constant. Sylvain even brought it up again right away. Duty. The free point went away.

Then he set into his lecture. Dimitri was pretty sure it was meant to be reassuring, but it wasn't. All Sylvain said was that he was the best option out of what was left for Faerghus. Surely there were better, though. The bar was just set so low for him by Rufus. That wasn't reassuring to hear. 

And then Sylvain called him mad. He must have reacted to that, because suddenly Sylvain cut himself off. Dimitri wasn't sure what he did in that second to make Sylvain stop. He realized his fists were clenched but he had no idea when they first did that. His breathing was definitely shallow. (Breathe, he needed to breathe, Claude told him it was important!) 

"...I don't think you're crazy, Dimitri, if that's why you're having a panic attack." Yes. Yes, it was. That was exactly the reason why he was panicking. And so, that was the first really reassuring thing Sylvain had said so far. It was only one sentence of reassurance. But it was still enough to knock the wind out of him. 

His knees wobbled and then crumpled and luckily he had been standing in front of a chair. It just looked like he sat down really hard, probably. The relief knocked him down. Sylvain didn't think he was crazy.  

"...Thank you. I think," he murmured. His voice was weaker than he expected it to be. Probably because his chest had been so tight up until three seconds ago.

So that really was Dimitri's fear. And fear it was, undeniable in the way Dimitri shook and wobbled in the aftermath. Rubbing the back of his neck, he couldn't quite look his prince in the eye. Sure, he was kind of pissed that Dimitri thought he was such a, what, traitor? Shitty friend? Well, he was that last one, but not like that.  

"It would be your word against mine," he reminded Dimitri, still not understanding why his prince was so shaken up about it. "And who has a reputation for being a liar? Not you. Even if I did tell anyone — and I won't — you're still in the clear. And it's not like it's that big of a deal. Who was it? Your great, great, great, great grandma or something? The 'Spirit-Speaker Queen'?" He pretended like he didn't have the history perfectly memorized and shrugged. “She was called ‘mad’, but history agrees she did a great job.”

That was one of the more esoteric Faerghan monarchs, since she was a woman, but she existed and was known for speaking to the dead, or something. He waved a hand and held back a sigh. 

"Look, the point is, I'm not out to get you. We're kind of friends, in case you forgot? No worries, I know we don't have the best examples around us. Just look at Felix. Ooh, and don't get me started on Ingrid!" And himself, of course.

Sylvain repeated all his reassurances once again, using logic to fight back Dimitri's fear. His word against Sylvain's. His and Dedue's word, though he knew there were those who didn't think Dedue's word had any weight. But that was still two against one. And no one would believe Sylvain over him. That was correct. It was a fact. He was in the clear. 

"And it's not like it's that big of a deal. Who was it? Your great, great, great, great grandma or something? The 'Spirit-Speaker Queen'?"  

Dimitri stared at Sylvain again, blinking owlishly. Of course Dimitri had his own family tree memorized, that was simply a part of his education. Of course he knew about the kings and queens (rare though they were) before him. The thing was, after he got back past his great-grandparents, the details of who they actually were sort of escaped him. It seemed less important to know facts about his dead relatives than other aspects of his education, and he hadn't been all that invested in finding out what each individual member of his House had been like. 

Perhaps he should have been more invested. Because now Sylvain was just dropping this information on him like a 'fun fact' he was supposed to already know. In Dimitri's defense, he had thought he was alone in this up until yesterday when he found out about his uncle. The idea that this was connected to his Crest was already a false one, but it had to be somewhere in the bloodline if there were two of them with the ability now. He counted back the number of greats Sylvain rattled off to the last Queen of Faerghus.

"Queen Idgrod?" he said, though the end of the word curled up like a question. Sylvain had already moved on to talking about Felix and Ingrid and what paragons of friendship they were, but Dimitri's brain was stuck on what he'd said before. There were stories of this in his family tree. Ones that he hadn't learned, but somehow Sylvain had. And now he was out here just dropping that information into his lap. A name. He had a name now. Someone he could look into... someone he could actually research and, hopefully, find out more about where his ability came from and what he was supposed to do with it.

"Yeah, that's the one. Church wasn't too impressed with her, which unfortunately means a lot of the records are gone too." Sylvain shrugged. "Doubt you'll find much about her here in the monastery, but you never know. I haven't exactly checked." Most likely, any surviving records would be in Fhirdiad. "She had her fans, so I'm sure the information is out there somewhere." 

That was one more reason why he didn't plan to blab, as though he needed more. Wouldn't want to strain relations with the Church of Seiros when Faerghus was on such shaky grounds. 

"So... we good? I have a date waiting for me, so I gotta get going." A good friend (like Dedue) would stick around and finish talking this out. Sylvain just wanted to leave before he stuck his foot in his mouth again. "I'll even pinky-promise not to tell anyone if you want." He stuck out his pinky and winked. A risky kind of promise to make with a Blaiddyd, especially one like Dimitri that could bench press him with said pinky.

"A pinky-promise?" Dimitri was yanked completely out of his thoughts by the offer. He was pretty sure the last person that made him pinky promise something was... El. To practice his dancing, he thought. That was quite the memory for Sylvain to dig up right now when Dimitri was feeling so raw. But he moved past it. 

His head was swirling with so many thoughts. Too many thoughts. The room smelled like smoke. Was that his father, responding to his stress and fear? If indeed Father was about to appear, then Dimitri wanted Sylvain gone. So he nodded and held up his hand, pinkie outstretched. 

"Very well," he agreed. He mostly just held still while Sylvain hooked his finger around Dimitri's and gave a little squeeze. 

With a carefree farewell, Sylvain was out the door and gone. Dimitri stayed in his chair, quietly waiting. Dedue was pouring him another cup of tea. The smell of smoke grew stronger. 

"Dedue?" he spoke up quietly. "Would you pour a third cup? My... I, I believe my father is going to be here shortly."

"Of course, Your Highness."  

The voice was familiar, though Lambert struggled to place where he knew it from. Blinking slowly, he took stock of the room. 

...Garreg Mach. His brow furrowed. This... this wasn't his room—no, Dimitri's room... this wasn't Dimitri's room... 

Tea. A third cup was being poured for him. He must have been expected. What had he been doing before this?

"Hello, son." He turned to the other man in the room. His furrow deepened. This was.... hm. He should know the name. This was one of Dimitri's dear friends. "...Dedue," he finally said, smiling now that he recalled it. Dedue was here for Dimitri frequently. Lambert owed the man a debt. The least he could do was remember the lad's name! "Thank you kindly, Dedue." 

He frowned when Dedue did not respond. It wasn't that he expected deference. Far from it. But few people outright ignored him. 

"It is Dedue, yes? Forgive me if I have the wrong name." ...Nothing. 

Before he could think too hard about it, Dimitri drew his attention. The words Dimitri spoke were lost on him. He was too focused on how stressed his son was. He stared through Dimitri for a long, long beat before shaking himself. 

Ah, a third cup! How polite. He must have been expected. 

Taking his seat, he closed his eyes to enjoy the scent of the tea. "Hmm... Almyran Pine? Rodrigue adores this tea." He didn't take a sip. Rodrigue adored the smoky tea. He found it difficult to choke down. When did Dimitri take a liking to it? Blast, his son was growing up so fast. That was one of the burdens of being king. Though he made time for his son more than anyone thought he could, there were still so many milestones he missed. If there was a reason they were having tea today, he didn't recall it. 

"What's troubling you, son?" Something had his son's brow furrowed. He reached out and laid his hand over Dimitri's, gently squeezing.

"He is greeting you and thanking you for the tea," Dimitri quickly told Dedue the second time his father spoke. Obviously Father was waiting for some kind of response or reaction, but... Dedue did not give one in time. That was all right. Dimitri knew better than to ask other people to act like they could hear his ghosts. (Even Dedue probably didn't want to indulge him this much. Playing make-believe? Because that was all it would be for Dedue: make-believe.) 

'It's okay,' he repeated to himself several times. A mantra which must have somehow reached his father, because after a good thirty seconds of silence, he shook himself and looked down at the cup of tea, smiling as though he was seeing it for the first time. Poor Father. Claude was right. It... it must be so difficult to be a spirit. Especially one that didn't even realize he was a spirit.  

He smiled weakly as his father commented on Almyran Pine tea. Interesting. He decided not to correct him to tell him that it was Chamomile. Whatever it took, he didn't want to upset the ghost's happy reality. Anything that made the bubble burst could lead to disaster. And he knew his father didn't really like Almyran Pine, so... if that would keep him from failing to pick up the teacup, it was probably good. 

"Maybe we'll invite Rodrigue next time, too," he said in the hopes that it'd make his father happy. There would be no such tea party, of course. It was one thing to have Dedue and Sylvain know about this. Confessing his ability to a noble of Faerghus, though... that was out of the question. He was terrified of being labeled as Mad.

His fear and stress must still be showing on his face. Or his father could detect it in some other way, which wouldn't be too much of a surprise. Kiros and Claude could practically read each other's minds! And his father's ghost had been anchored to him for far longer than Kiros had existed in this world. Yet what could he say to alleviate his dad's concerns? 

Father reached out and placed his hand over his and squeezed and all Dimitri could think about was how glad he was to be wearing his gauntlets right now. He didn't know what his father would do if he saw his burned up hands. Ask about them, probably. And he was not ready for that, even if he was beginning to realize that, eventually, he would have to address this. His father couldn't go on forever oblivious to his fate. One day, perhaps even one day soon, Dimitri would have to tell him. But not yet. He wasn't ready yet. 

"...Sylvain and I got into an argument," he said, since it was the most honest thing he could say without bursting his father's bubble. Dedue sat down at the table across from him and did not judge him for speaking to the air. "Dedue and I were having a private conversation and he was eavesdropping. I'm unsure if I handled it well, or if... if I just made him fear me.”

"Aaah, I see." Sylvain was a kind boy, one with a full heart. Even-tempered compared to soft-hearted Felix, and lighthearted in the face of Ingrid's stern determination. But that boy did get up to mischief. To hear he got caught eavesdropping was not a surprise, nor was his son's upset over the fact. 

He patted his son's hand. Fear. Not a new fear for his son. In fact, it was his son's oldest fear regarding his friends. All Crested Blaiddyds had to be careful with their touch. Dimitri especially struggled to control his strength. 

"What makes you think Sylvain was afraid of you?" he began with, assessing whether or not his son was overthinking. His mind — strangely foggy as it was — was already gearing towards a solution to unruffle feathers. "A heartfelt apology rarely goes awry among friends." He had to pause in order to dredge up the rest of the issue. Eavesdropping. Sylvain was caught eavesdropping. "Though it seems he owes you an apology as well. Hm. Perhaps give it some time to settle, my son. All will be well in the end. It will blow over."

Had either of them apologized by the end of their conversation? ...No. No, Dimitri didn't think they had. Not a heartfelt apology like his father was recommending. But Father didn't have the whole picture. They weren't the sweet children they had once been when he was still alive. They were grown now, and... things weren't as simple as they used to be.

His father told him to give it some time and it would all blow over. Dimitri wasn't so sure. Sylvain was probably never going to look at him the same way again. 

"In truth, Father, things between us have been strained for a while," he quietly said. "I believe Sylvain will just pretend as though nothing has happened. Which is what he has been doing for a while now. My... my friends, they don't like to acknowledge it when I'm... upset or not acting right. None of my old friends do.” He glanced across the table and his expression softened. "Except Dedue. Dedue is always here for me." Even though Dedue still wouldn't let him call him a friend, which caused a different sort of hurt. "Sylvain denied it, but it feels like... like the four of us are constantly in a game of make-believe just pretending things are okay the way they are. And I'm... I... I don't know if I am.”

This was an unfair thing to bring to his father. Any advice Father had to give was going to be based on a skewed view of reality. And thus it would probably be bad advice. Which would only make it hurt more when Dimitri was now the one in a game of make-believe pretending things were okay for his father's sake. 

The illusion was going to come crashing down eventually. He knew this. But he didn't know what to do about it in the current moment, and instead all his other worries were spilling out. He knew his father couldn't fix them. His poor father. Father didn't even know what kind of tea was on the table. How was he supposed to make Dimitri feel better?

Dimitri was right that Lambert couldn't help, not really. Even as Dimitri professed what was bothering him, Lambert struggled to keep it in his head. What he did know, though, was that his son was looking to him for advice. 

"Such things are not easy, as you know," he said softly. "Especially for those of our station. They place you upon a lofty pedestal, so far away. They never notice how lonely such a spot is." 

His eyes drifted down, staring past the grain of the table. A lofty pedestal… He’d been happy to see Dimitri have so many friends growing up. He was never allowed that. It wasn’t until he met Rodrigue in these very halls that he gained a precious friendship; his most precious friendship. Even then, it took stubborn effort on his end to show Rodrigue how terrible it was to live atop a pedestal. Rodrigue had been by his side all throughout school, and then through the Sreng campaign. Afterwards, though, their duties drew them apart. They still made time for each other, but…

"I should write to Rodrigue," he murmured, losing himself to those lonely thoughts. He missed his oldest and dearest friend. "Perhaps I ought to visit him... It's been quite some time." He quirked a small smile at the thought. "I can already picture his surprise. Perhaps... yes, perhaps I shall do that. I don't get out of Fhirdiad enough." Though, Rodrigue scolded him for going on the road so often... He’d always loved traveling, though. Seeing the world beyond Fhirdiad’s walls…

Like a tether, his attention was pulled back to Dimitri. Shaking his head, he rubbed his face. "Apologies, I didn't mean to get lost in thought. What were we speaking about again...? Ah. Your friends." He sighed, squeezing his son's hand again. "I wish I could offer better advice. Remain diligent. Speak of the little hurts too, lest they fester into something bigger. As a prince, it is not easy — or even safe — to speak so openly of such things." He knelt beside Dimitri's chair, getting down to be near eye-level. "Trust is hard for us. But you must find people whom you trust. Your people. You must. It will eat you alive otherwise."

He remembered Dedue, turning to the young man his son spoke so highly of. "It seems you have at least one. Ah, and young Claude. That’s two." He smiled at Dedue, nodding his head. "Thank you for being a friend to my son. He's worth so much more than his title. He is everything to me." 

His eyes lost focus as he spoke. He could ramble on about his son for days if he wasn't careful. He had done so when his son was just a baby, talking the ears off all who would listen. But, as his son got older, he tried not to be embarrassing. 

Blinking sluggishly, it was hard to remember where he was or what he was just doing. Dimitri was here, though, and Dimitri was safe. Ah, now he remembered! He was giving his son fatherly advice. 

"I should rest, son," he said, patting Dimitri's knee as he yawned. "Snuck up on me. Must have spent too long on the road..." 

As he pulled his hand off Dimitri's knee, he brushed the teacup. Hissing, he tried to catch it before it fell. Luckily, it simply wobbled. Shaking out his tingling hand, he offered a little grin to his son. "Phew. I really must be exhausted if I'm acting so clumsy."

The teacup wobbled. The liquid inside rippled. And at the moment it happened, neither he nor Dedue had their hands on the table. Neither of them bumped the table. The teacup just moved. Dimitri, of course, could see the cause. But Dedue could only see the teacup. That alone was enough to make his retainer's eyes go wide. 

His father was, as always, constantly distracted from their conversation. He seemed more focused than usual, though, and kept bringing the conversation back around to the topic of his friends without prompting. Was this a good sign? It was so difficult to tell. Especially when Dimitri himself was distracted between listening to the advice his father had to give — to talk about these things with people he was certain he couldn't talk about them with — and watching Dedue realize who must have bumped the teacup. 

"I understand, Father. You're tired," Dimitri said. "I will consider what you have said. Thank you." Find someone he trusted. He had to. Otherwise, his stresses and worries and fears would eat him alive. Well, he had Claude. And... he had Dedue, too. He knew that. Even if Dedue saw no evidence of a ghost, Dimitri knew he had Dedue. But now Dedue had seen. It was a small thing. But it was something.

"If you would like me to help you in writing a letter to Rodrigue, I can," he offered. He glanced around the room, knowing that his father was probably just going to disappear now but not wanting him to feel as though he was leaving without finishing something important. 

He understood that Rodrigue's relationship with his father was deeper and more complex than he had ever known as a child. And if his father had some final words to say to Rodrigue after all this time, then the least Dimitri could do was offer him his hand again for ghost writing. He'd done it for the letter with Rufus and his father hadn't questioned it too much. (Gods, he wished he could see the look on his uncle's face when he opened that letter.) If his dad needed his hand again, he would give it. Reaching out to Rodrigue was probably just as important, if not more important, to his father than reaching out to Rufus was.

The fatigue settled over him swiftly. Still, he heard his son. He didn't question the oddity of his son offering to help him write a letter. Not when he was so tired. "Yes... I would like that very much. I miss him." 

"I won't forget, Father. We'll write that letter next time you visit me. I promise. I won't let you forget.”

His eyelids grew heavy, his thoughts slow. Yes... he would rest for a bit. Then they would write to Rodrigue... 

"Mm... love you, son..." he mumbled as his image faded.

“Rest well, Father.”

Dedue already believed Dimitri. Watching his Highness hold a conversation with a ghost was... strange. But he allowed it to happen without judgment. Perhaps he should have given the prince privacy... though, it didn't sound like Dimitri wanted to be alone for this. 

He could tell how stressed the prince was. But the tea cup. The third tea cup. It nearly spilled for seemingly no reason. His wide eyes shot to Dimitri, and of course, Dimitri was looking in the direction of that spot. He waited until the prince saw his father off. 

"I wasn't aware he could move objects. It was His Majesty who moved the cup, yes?"

Dimitri watched the image of his father flicker and fade away. Father's spirit was tired. It seemed almost strange. Back when he had seen his father as little more than a screaming, wailing wraith, Father never seemed to grow tired. He would howl for hours on end, demanding justice, demanding vengeance, demanding blood. The pain and torment had been ceaseless. But now that his father's real spirit had finally broken through to make itself known to him, it never lingered long. 

Claude had told him that time passed differently to someone without a heartbeat to measure the time. He wondered if his father thought he had been here for more than five minutes.

It did not matter. For now, his father was tired. He would go rest... wherever it was that he rested when he was not making himself known to Dimitri. But he would be back. He always came back. 

The image finally faded and Dimitri turned to Dedue. Dedue was still staring at the teacup in silence, waiting for Dimitri to bid his father a good rest.

"It was him. Yes. It was him," he confirmed. He was utterly relieved that Dedue had seen some proof. Though confident that Dedue would not question what he was seeing or hearing, to have proof was still... still such a relief. Otherwise, he knew that there would be a part of Dedue that would always wonder if it was just all in Dimitri's head (and, therefore, that he was mad). But now Dedue had seen! That meant there was someone, external to himself, that could tell him that this was real. He wasn't just seeing 'things.' He was truly seeing the ghosts of the departed. 

"He bumped the tea cup," he told Dedue. "He didn't even mean to move it like that. It was not intentional. ...I did not know he could move things like that, either," he confessed. "But... but it was him. It was real. What I'm seeing... it's. It's real, isn't it, Dedue?" He did not wait for his friend's reply. "Perhaps I should send a follow up letter to my uncle. Ask him to see if he can find anything in our records about Queen Idgrod. Meanwhile, I should have a look here... even if what Sylvain says is true and there may be little to find kept in the records of the Central Church." 

Perhaps he should ask Rhea about it directly. She already knew that he could see Claude's spirit. It should not be much of a stretch to confess to her that he saw other ones, too.

Chapter Text

Claude woke gently. He had no concept of how long he slept, but he was very cozy. He was in a pile of rumbles, curled around... Right! Kiros. Little Kiros. Teeny tiny widdol Kiros. Uncurling his spine, he stretched and cracked his back. Kiros splooted out and into the blankets without his cinnamon structure. Like a cooked noodle... 

He poked Kiros. 

"Meh."  

"Psps." His poke turned to a stroking pet. "Pspsps." 

"Mehhhh." 

Something gently bopped his head. Blinking, he found Seteth glaring at him. "Let him sleep," Seteth hissed. 

"Rrm." After one more stretch, he curled back around his tiny twin.

Kiros drifted peacefully for a while, even after being disturbed in his sleep. As a baby, he seemed predisposed to be ready for naptime whenever it struck him. Being interrupted in the middle didn't necessarily mean he was going to stay awake. Especially when he was so sleepy in the first place. Big Emotions made for Big Sleepies. Especially in such a little body. 

He did end up waking himself up not too much longer after that. Maybe it was Claude's pets that brought him closer to consciousness. Maybe it was just the fact that the sun was in his eyes. Or maybe it was just time to be awake.

He got up, stretching out his legs and his wings as much as he could. Then he climbed up onto the side of Claude's face and began slowly and meticulously grooming his hair. This was a good waking-up activity. It would make both of them happy, and show Claude how much he was loved. 

(He worried in the back of his mind that he hadn't made Claude feel loved earlier. When he was crying about wanting his parents like Claude wasn't enough family for him. That wasn't the case and he was pretty sure his twin knew that. But he got extra cuddles now, just in case.)

Claude figured they were both going back to nap time. Kiros showed him wrong as the little fella got up and did a big stretchie. Then climbed onto his face. "Careful with your talons." They pricked his face, but didn't catch. 

Kiros began nibbling at his hair. He purred, petting back. There was no hair to groom on Kiros, but wyverns did grooming activities with their scales. He didn't have the equipment here to properly groom a scaled creature, but petting was a decent mimic. 

(Claude knew he was loved, and he understood why Kiros wanted more. He wanted more too, often. Wanted his mother and father even when he shouldn't.) 

He figured his brother was just wanting extra cuddles after all those emotions. Heh, he knew he did! In fact, he cupped his hands around Kiros. Big, warm hands and little, comfy body. His hands weren't big enough to really engulf Kiros, not like how Kiros did with his soul. But it was the closest he would ever physically get to how it felt.

Big purrs. Big groomies. Big love for Little Claude. Kiros was very careful with his talons, not wanting to scratch his twin's face. Especially when his twin was being so loving back to him. Lots of pets and purrs and cuddles. Big, big, big love. 

He could have stayed there forever. And he might have at least stayed there until he fell asleep again, curled up in the light of the sun on the side of his brother's face, if it wasn't for something else that happened. 

He suddenly stopped grooming Claude and went tense and still. His eyes went wide and his purrs went quiet. 

Bug.

Bug bug bug!

There was a bug flying by! A dragonfly. A dragonfly for a little dragon to catch! "Rrrrm..." he growled, zeroing in on his target as his entire body gave a shimmy. Catch the bug.

Kiros went tense. Claude's eyes — having just started to lull shut — snapped open. 

"What's—" wrong? He didn't even get the question out of his mouth before he heard it. 

Bugbugbug!!

Zeroing in on Kiros' fixation, he went still too. He didn't exactly feel compelled to chase it, thankfully. But it did catch his attention. 

"Rrrrrm..."

"Go get it," he whispered. "You got this!"

Kiros shimmied. And shimmied again. Then, in a burst of movement, Kiros sprang forth! ...and missed by a mile. The little dragon shot forward, upwards, then tumbled downwards, wings flailing wildly to catch himself. Flop! went the little guy, his limbs and lengthy body like a bit of thread against the ground, all tangled up. 

"You gave it a good try." 

"Ahem." Seteth cleared his throat. Amazingly, there was the dragonfly, perched atop Seteth's fingers! Er... Seteth was holding the little bug's feet. Damn, Seteth had some good reaction time to be able to snag that bug. Seteth motioned for Kiros to get back to his feet and try again.

Father had the bug! Father caught the bug! He was the champion bug catcher! Kiros leapt back up to his feet and flapped his wings and made cheeping noises. 'Good job, Father!'  

But then he realized that the bug was being held for him, and he got quiet and low to the ground again. He adjusted his feet under himself until they were all in perfect position for springing. Right when he had zeroed in, that was when father let go of the bug. 

In another excited burst, he ran and jumped after the bug. His wings threw themselves out wide and gave a big flap and lifted him higher into the air until he was able to snap his jaws around the— 

He crashed back down to the ground, gagging and retching. He did it. He caught the bug. But he forgot that bugs tasted bad (and were another survival food for him, down in Abyss, that he had grown sick of). He hissed and whined and tried to spit it out, but this mouth of his in dragon form wasn't very good at spitting. Stupid, stupid, bad bug. Bad bad bad! He hated it forever.

It was funny for about half a second. Then Kiros gagged and hissed and retched. He and Seteth crashed skulls as they zoomed to help the baby dragon. While he was still dazed, Seteth pushed past the pain and scooped Kiros onto his lap. Without any hesitation, Seteth opened Kiros' jaw and delved past the sharp teeth, plucking the dead, twitching dragonfly out of the dragon's maw. Claude winced. That was a pretty big mouthful for such a tiny mouth. 

Throwing the bug corpse into the nearest plant, Seteth curled around Kiros and cooed, rumbling and petting the baby. "Gone now. All gone now." Flayn popped up and offered Kiros a grape to wash the taste away.

Kiros almost bit father's finger when it was stuck in his mouth, just because it was in his mouth. Father, thankfully, was fast enough to not get bitten. Seteth pulled out the bug and then Sister was there to offer him a refreshing grape. He chomped down on it gratefully, and chewed it slowly, letting the juice wash away the buggy taste. 

Slowly, his purrs came back. Gone now. All gone now. He lifted himself up enough to bump his forehead against Seteth's and whine. 'Person time again.' Being such a little guy was difficult when he had emotions and impulses too big for his body to contain. 'Person time again.'

Seteth jolted when his son looked at him and whined like that. It was a requested. However...

Kiros needed plenty of time in his dragon body to adjust, grow, and learn how to move. Seteth didn't know what side effects there may be for his son to stay in humanoid form for so much time. Flayn was his best point of reference, though like any normal baby dragon, she had not transformed for the first decades of her life. She did first transform at an extremely young age for a dragon. She has been… Blast, he couldn't recall. Older than a toddler. But Kiros was a newborn, not even a single week in age. No normal Nabataean would be able to transform into an alternate form at such a young age.

Privately, he spent the past thousand years wondering if it was his fault that his daughter slept so long. By allowing her to spend so much time in an alternate form, had it weakened her draconic abilities? It should not take a dragon a thousand years to slumber off the wounds Cethleann accrued. Not even a dragon with a cracked crest stone. His only guess was that so much time away from her dragon form stunted her. 

He didn't know. No one did. No one knew about Kiros' unique situation, either. The uncertainty made him want to keep Kiros little. To keep his son in his proper form. But that could upset his boy, and while being little, Kiros was so easy to be upset. 

"Are you sure?" he tried, soothing his son as much as his pets and scent could manage.

Kiros blinked up at father with big eyes, confused as to why he wasn't immediately helping him turn back. "Awwwr?" he asked, wiggling around in Father's hold just a little. Yes he was sure! Why wasn't Father sure? 

He didn't get it. Was he doing something wrong? He didn't know. He had only been a dragon for a few days. He didn't know what the right and wrong things to do were. He disliked having such big emotions that he couldn't control. He didn't mind being little so much, because he liked being held and cuddled like this. But his adult human brain was wrestling against his baby dragon brain and it was liable to give him a headache or something if it kept up. Right? 

But Father knew best, or at least knew better than him. So when father asked if he was sure with such a worried look in his eye, Kiros paused. "Awwr," he said again, getting comfy in his parent's arms. He would stay little if Father wanted him to.

"Such a sweet boy," Seteth cooed, praising his son with words, pets, scent, and nuzzles. If there was another distressing episode, he would help his son transform. Like this though, Kiros was better able to absorb Seteth's dragon magic, as a child was meant to do. That, and... he hadn't had much time to actually cuddle his son. His chest ached to be close like this. Were he like Kiros, and in his dragon form, he doubted he would be able to act with such restraint. (Then again, if he had his dragon form, he would be big enough that Kiros could cuddle with whomever he pleased and Seteth.) 

Claude wobbled to his feet, managing to stand. It was a shaky stand, but stand the young man did. Claude wobbled over to the edge of the nest and began doing some light stretches. Smart. Regaining a healthy weight was only part of the battle. it would take more than just eating to return the lost muscle. 

Though Kiros would surely love to help, more likely than not the small hatchling would get in the way. Flayn scampered over to Claude and tried to mimic one of his poses. Lighting up with one of his old smiles, Claude began working Flayn through his routine.

Kiros laid contently in Father's arms for a while, just watching his brother and sister go through their stretchies. After a few minutes, he started to fuss, but this was easily remedied by Claude turning towards Father and telling him that Kiros just wanted his deer plushie. Once he had that, he wound himself up around it and started sucking on its ear again and purring like the sweet little kitten he was. Father gave him lots of pets and 'good hatchling's, and he was happy and content once again. Bug incident forgotten. Everything happy now. 

His ears pricked forward and his eyes stayed focused on his twin. It was good to see him up and about again! But he was a little worried about Claude pushing himself. Hopefully having Flayn beside him would mean that he'd be all right. If he started to fall down, then Flayn would catch him, right?

It wasn't something that a lot of people knew about Claude, but he was a hard worker. Not only was he a hard worker, but he also worked hard to not let people see how hard he worked. People couldn't make fun of judge use it against him if they didn't know, after all. But he was, in fact, an extremely hard worker. 

Claude knew his limits well. He knew his body's tells and understood what 'too much' felt like. Unfortunately, his current body was not like the one he was used to. Which meant exhaustion felt different and came quicker. He didn't have the stamina to 'grit through it' like usual. But he still tried. 

It didn't take long for his limbs to start shaking. He was even going through a light variation of his usual morning meditation! Meditation wasn't supposed to wear him out, either. It was mostly just stretches and easy poses. Even those were proving extremely difficult. Moving at all was extremely difficult.

He tried to distract himself by teaching Flayn. That resulted in him getting out of breath. Panting and shaking only a few minutes later, he was exhausted. He wouldn't get better if he quit so easily, though! He could take more than this. At least a little more. Just two more poses! He could do that. 

With that goal set in mind, he got into a crouch. Blinking a moment later, he didn't understand why he wasn't crouching anymore. The blankets were against his back. And head. Because he was laying down. Flayn peered down at him, and her hand came up to press against his sweaty forehead.

...Did... did he just pass out? Oh. He did. But only for a few seconds! 

"Claude, you should have said something." Flayn pouted at him, bringing a waterskin to his lips. Yesyes please water.  

"I'm fine," he stated after drinking the water. He attempted to prove he was fine by getting up. Instead he groaned and merely twitched. Ow. Ow ow ow.

"No. Stop. Bad." She sat on him. Thankfully, she didn't put enough weight down to hurt him. 

"Nap time." He groaned, already sore and aching. Ugh, he didn't want nap time again! He wanted to get better! To train, and move, and be active!

"Eh! Eh eh eh!" Kiros screeched when his brother was about to collapse. He couldn't hear Claude's full thoughts, but he heard enough that he was able to notice when his twin started pushing himself. He couldn't squirm out of Father's arms in time to stop him catch him do something as he began to wobble. But his alarmed screeches at least alerted Flayn to spring into action when Claude wobbled and fell. She didn't really catch him. She sort of just pushed him so the angle of his fall adjusted enough for him to land on blankets. 

He wiggle-wiggle-wiggled until Father put him down and he was able to crawl over the mountains of blankets and pillow to get to his twin, though Flayn got there first. 

"Claude, you should have said something," she said, giving him water to drink. Claude eagerly drank it down and then insisted he was fine. No! No, he was not fine! 

"Wheeeeeg!" he scolded as he, too, came over to sit down on his brother. His brother's arm, mostly, though he also latched onto his braid and started sucking on it. Stay down! It was okay. Claude was with safe people. He was allowed to be weak.

"You would've done the same," Claude grumbled to his older self, though it was without heat. It wasn't that he didn't want to be seen as weak. He just wanted to get better as soon as possible. His brother understood that, right? He wanted to be strong enough to be Claude von Riegan again. Or at least something close. 

He couldn't stay mad at his tiny brother. (He wasn't even mad to begin with.) Too cute. 'I really am okay.' Maybe the fact that it was easier to think his words than to get his jaw to go through the motions was telling. He refused to admit it though. He thought he hadn't pushed himself too far. He sighed, disappointed. Of course this was a price he was more than willing to pay to give his brother a body. Still, couldn't help but feel upset about it. 

Seteth slunk over to his corner of the nest. After a beat, the man came closer. And a little closer. Eyes fixed on Kiros, Seteth pressed up against him, getting as close to Kiros as possible without interfering with Kiros' current position.

Kiros blinked up at his father and made a purring noise as he snuck closer. Father was not very sneaky! Kiros saw him coming! His body gave a little shimmy that was close to 'play play?' but without the full force behind it. More of a 'I see you creeping up on me! Not sneaky! I win!' then asking Seteth to actually play with him right now. Now was not playtime. It was cuddles time again. Cuddles with his twin. 

'Were stretchies good?' he asked, wanting his twin to know that he didn't blame him or think he had done anything wrong. Because yes, absolutely, Kiros would have done the exact same thing. He was a lot of things, but not a hypocrite. 'I wanted to do them with you. But I had cuddles-duty.'

'Really good. Want to do more.' Moving was good. So was stretching. Unfortunately, he was drained now. He was tired of sleeping! 'I'm so tired of being tired.'

Peeking open an eye (when did those shut?), he took note of the two abandoned charges. "Eh," was the articulate grunt he made. When that didn't get a response, he resigned himself to words. "Seteth, can you get Loog and Lil Deer?" He was supposed to protect Loog, and Kiros was sure to want Lil Deer. The soft ear was surely better to suckle against than metal (though he didn't mind). Plus, the plushies were friends now. They needed to stay together.

Seteth was quick to do as he asked. There were quips on the tip of his tongue. Something about teasing the man for catering to his every whim, or... something. He whined. If he wasn't so tired, he could have easily formulated something witty to say. Instead he just felt like a useless blob of pain.

"Hey, Flayn? I'm really sore." 

She cringed. "It is still best to avoid healing magic unless absolutely necessary..." 

He wilted. This was sort of his own fault, true. But now his body hurt. He wanted to get away from the pain. He could leave his body and cuddle with Kiros.... But then he wouldn't get better.

"Brrm..." Kiros purred soothingly at his twin. He tried to moosh against his arm to massage his shoulder a little bit, but doing that with only one dragon hand was difficult. He gave up soon enough. That was okay. Father was bringing the plushies over for cuddle time, now. He wound himself around his little deer and started sucking on the ear again. Comfy comfy comfy. Loog was comfy, too, tucked up in Claude's arms. He would have to tell Dimitri later that his lion had been taken very good care of, because he was sure Dimitri was coming back in a while and would want to know. 

For now, he just focused on making things better for his twin. He didn't want Claude to be in too much pain, so he cuddled up to him and became a purr machine. Hopefully the cuddles would help, because he couldn't do much else besides be cute and cuddly.

As much pain as he was in, he couldn't stay wilted for long. Not when Kiros was being so sweet and cute. His purrs came back. A little symphony with his twin.

Thankfully, his physical exhaustion meant he conked out. He didn't ache in his dreams. He didn't dream, either. But that was fine. One moment he was cuddling his tiny twin. The next moment, someone was settling beside him. 

"Prmnm," he greeted Dimitri, not even opening his eyes. Placing his chin on Dimitri's thigh, he rumbled. "Dida good job," he mumbled, nuzzling. "Loog's comfy 'n happy." Smacking his lips, he was ready to go back to sleep. Kiros? Still in his arms? Maybe? He checked.

...No? Not in arms? Where was his tiny brother...?

Kiros was not still in Claude's arms! Kiros was on a quest! A quest for tea! Which, in actuality, was easily accomplished by his sitting draped across his father's shoulders while he made tea. Dimitri had come back from class smelling like stress. Enough like stress, apparently, for even his father to sense it. Tea would help, though. Tea was calming. So he went on a tea quest. For Prince Dimitri! And also for Little Claude, of course, who would possibly also want tea. So he made sure to pick out the chamomile when his father asked for what kind he wanted, and carefully supervised as it was brewed. 

Lorenz said there were a lot of ways to brew tea wrong, but Kiros wasn't picky. Neither was Dimitri, he was pretty sure. So tea quest was easy! He just had to make sure it got to them soon. 

He nibbled his father's ear to try and hurry him up. Gently, of course! He was very gentle. He just wanted a tea party soon. Claude was waking up! He could sense it.

"Chuuchuu," Seteth cooed to his son. "The tea will be hot water if we serve it now. Just a little longer." Kiros warbled impatiently. He replied with chin scritches. Claude purrp'd as Dimitri settled down. 

Seteth spared a glance for the prince. Something was eating away at the young man. Dimitri reeked of stress. "Would you like to talk?" Seteth offered the prince as he finished brewing. 

Currently, it was just him, Kiros, Claude, and Sarbi on the terrace. Flayn was with Rhea for the time being, and Hilda had yet to join. His words were soft and not demanding. If the Faerghan prince would rather not share his bothers, Seteth would not push. 

Kiros nibbled his ear again. He nuzzled the boy in return, earning himself a nose nibble. Despite the stress in the air, he laughed at his sweet little boy. "Yes, yes. Almost ready, my son." 

By the time he brought the tea over, Dimitri was still seated on the edge of the nest, tense as a board. Placing a steaming cup of chamomile beside the blankets, he patted Dimitri's shoulder. "Take off your armor, unless you are more comfortable with it on. Come, the nest is comfortable, and you are welcome." Dimitri's stress stressed Kiros, which was unacceptable. That, and he cared for the students of the academy.

Dimitri couldn't exactly move away from the edge of the nest while he had Claude's head on his lap. At least, that was his good excuse for not making himself comfortable when he felt so uneasy. He petted his boyfriend's hair very, very gently with his gauntleted hand, and Loog with the other. Good Claude. Good Loog. Perhaps just being around them would have him calming down in a little while. 

Then Seteth came back with tea. In tiny porcelain cups that he was too nervous to drink from. The man suggested he take off his armor — literally lower his defenses — and talk about what was bothering him. He could try to do that. Possibly. But if he did, there was every chance that something might go wrong. Sylvain said that the Church had not liked his ancestor. If they found out he had her gift... 

"I do not know if I can say," he murmured to Seteth, refusing to take a teacup. He didn't want to ruin anything. So he had to be cautious.

"You need not say anything, if that is your wish." Seteth did not push it. When Dimitri did not take the tea, he winced. Blaiddyd. "Apologies. I should have thought to use a metal cup. A moment." It was especially egregious given Dimitri had used a metal cup already. Where had it gone...?

"Eep!" Kiros remembered better than him, pointing to where the cup was stashed. Thanking his son with a caress, he brought out the Blaiddyd-resistant cup and poured another serving of tea. The porcelain cup could be for Claude. 

Speaking of Claude; the lad was rousing somewhat, slinking further and further onto Dimitri's lap despite his sleepy state. "Mimi...prr..." Eyes still closed, Claude took to little nuzzles against Dimitri's stomach. That was quickly followed by kneading mooshes. "Prrprr... Wanmgnubbble." 

"He wants to cuddle," Seteth translated.

"Not to worry, I understood," Dimitri said with a weak smile. He accepted the metal teacup and shifted a little more into the nest so that Claude wouldn't be crawling out of it. "Thank you," he said, crossing his legs so that Claude could curl up in the little divot this made in his lap. So cute. His boyfriend was just like a kitten like this! 

"You're going to make Loog jealous," he said. Claude responded to that by pawing around until he found Loog and added him to the cuddle pile. Adorable. Even more adorable than before.  Seeing this did make him feel better. But at the same time, the underlying stress wasn't leaving. He just... couldn't shake it. Argh, why did Sylvain have to be the way he was? 

"Peep?" Kiros asked him, licking his cheek once. 

Dimitri sighed. "It is nothing major. I had a disagreement with one of my friends. That is all.”

Claude grumbled. "Mrgh. I'll bite 'em. Bite Felix for you." Felix was the most likely culprit, in his (sleepy, shut) eyes. He headbutted his boyfriend to get them both laying down. Dimitri didn't budge. When he peeked open his eye a pinch, he saw why. If Dimitri laid down, he would be out of the nest. Chomping onto Dimitri's tunic, he yanked at the fabric. 'Come further into the nest.' It was lay down time. Cuddle time. De-stress time! But it wasn't working. Dimitri was fussing about something.

'Can you help Dimitri dress down a little?' he asked Kiros. He'd do it himself, but his body was still sore and he was really sleepy. Right now, he was best at doing his cuddles (but little else). 

Finally Dimitri fell like a logged tree upon the cushioned blankets. Claude wormed his way closer until they were chest-to-chest so that Dimitri could better hear his heart. Oww. Everything ached. Despite the cuddles, Dimitri still seemed stressed. 

He wasn't thinking. Just sleepy and wanting Dimitri to feel better. For the first time in days, he slipped from his body and entered Dimitri. Rumbling down to the soul, he coiled around Dimitri's soul and purred calmness.

Dimitri was resistant to laying down until he at least sat aside his teacup. Unfortunately, this seemed to make Claude frustrated with him. Being particularly sensitive today, the fact that he was upsetting Claude was upsetting to him. 

"Hold on, just hold on a moment, Claude!" he said, searching for somewhere to put the teacup. Seteth came to the rescue. The man held out his hand and took the cup from him, and Dimitri finally flopped backwards with a sigh.

“Claude,” came Seteth's light chiding tone. Bah, he didn't want that either.

"I apologize, I don't mean to sound short with anyone, it's just... it's been a day. That's al—Claude!" he jolted as he felt the body atop him go limp and a warmth suddenly fill his chest. "Claude, you need to stay in your body to heal!"

"Weh!" Kiros agreed, hopping down from Seteth's shoulders to nip at his twin's shoulder. "Eh! Eh!" Clearly, Kiros thought Dimitri was right. Claude needed to stay inside his body! 

This was stressful. Everything about today was stressful. Why did it have to be so stressful?

Claude felt the spike of distress. How could he not, when being so close to Dimitri's soul? He didn't connect it to being his fault, though. Still half-asleep, he clung harder and wrapped himself more thoroughly around his boyfriend to provide as much comfort as possible. 

(There was also a gravitational pull that, had he tried, would have been difficult to escape. Dimitri was upset. That drew him closer like a moth to a flame.) 

Claude wasn't the only one that felt Dimitri's stress. Called forth by Dimitri's spike of alarm, Lambert found himself standing in an unfamiliar terrace. Nothing mattered except his son's distress, though, so he paid it all no mind. Much like Claude, he surged forth to comfort Dimitri too.

Something got in the way. Rather, someone. Someone's body.

Lambert gasped, his eyes flying open as his whole body screamed in agony (and sensation). Curling in on himself, he twisted and spasmed. Everything was so heavy and solid and filled with pain! Was this death?

Even as he lay dying (for he had to assume he was dying), he didn't forget about Dimitri. His hand — quivering violently — shot out and gripped his boy as tightly as he could manage. Dimitri. Dimitri. Dimitri. He had to make sure his son was okay! Dimitri must live!

"Eh!" Kiros screeched as Claude's body suddenly animated and began to jerk and writhe in pain. They all knew this was coming; Claude was always overstimulated when he returned to his body. Kiros made little purring noises from close by, wanting to come closer and groom his twin's hair to calm him down but understanding that that would not help in this situation. Too much touch was bad. He just needed Claude to calm down. So he purred, and purred, and purred... 

Except Claude wasn't the only one panicking. Dimitri shot upright as Claude's body tumbled off of him and fell into the nest, his eyes wide with alarm and horror. 

"Oh no, oh no, nonono—" Dimitri choked out. His eyes were staring at Claude, but also... not staring at him. The prince was looking at Claude's body but also looking through it. His eyes didn't follow the outline quite right, and when Kiros thought he should have been looking at Claude's face, he was looking several inches above that instead. He reached out and settled his hand at a random point in the air while Claude's body spasmed and clutched at him. "Just breathe, it's all right, just breathe, just focus on breathing... d-damn it, Claude, wh-what am I supposed to do?" the Prince asked, distress pouring off of him. 

Kiros didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to calm anyone down or what was happening. But... he began to get the picture. Reaching out with his soul, he realized... whatever was in Claude's body right now was not Claude. Kiros couldn't see who it was. But knowing it wasn't his twin was terrifying. 

"Calm down, calm down, just breathe—F-Father—"

'Calming down' was easier said than done. Claude would know. Horrified, he woke up enough just in time to witness one of Dimitri's fears come to fruition. A spirit — not his spirit — was in his body. King Lambert himself.

Sure enough, as he reached out of Dimitri with a single spirit hand, searching towards himself, his hand couldn't slip back into his own body. It was full, after all. With enough effort, he could surely shove himself back in there. But he didn't want to tangle with another spirit. Not while it was in the throes of overstimulation. 

Dimitri was panicking. His twin was panicking. Claude wasn't panicking, though he was kicking himself.

"Cover his eyes," he told Dimitri. "Try to avoid making too much noise. Processing one sense at a time is easier than everything all at once." His soul twisted with worry, though not nearly to the same extent as everyone else. Frankly, he was more worried about Lambert right now. His boyfriend's father had been a ghost for years. Claude (technically) had only been a ghost for a few days before he got limited access to his senses back, and it had been beyond overwhelming. 

He couldn't see or hear anything. He only knew what he gathered from Dimitri. "Heart," he remembered. "If you can, pull his ear against your heart. Having something steady to tell time will help."

So much was happening around him all at once, Dimitri had no idea how his father was dealing with it. His father wasn't dealing with it, that was how. 

There was a flash of light as Kiros went from a tiny dragon back to his human shape, and his father cringed away from that light. 

"Cover his eyes," Claude coached him. A voice which he knew his father couldn't hear, so at least that wasn't adding to his panic. Seteth and Kiros were both talking, though. Asking things that Dimitri either didn't know the answer to or didn't care to answer in the first place. He barely heard them anyway. He was too focused on his father, and helping him by doing what Claude told him to do. 

"Everyone, be quiet!" he hissed as he scooped the ghost-possessed body of his boyfriend off the ground and pulled him against his chest. It was hard to gauge exactly how he needed to hold his father, since he could see both the writhing form of the ghost and the writhing form of Claude's physical body. But as he remembered that Kiros couldn't see his ghostly self and processed the world with Claude's senses, he figured manipulating Claude's body and not trying to manipulate the ghostly body was the way to go. 

He grabbed a blanket and threw it over the twisting form, making it warm and dark and muffling the noises of the outside world. Then he pulled the body's ear up against his chest, so hopefully his father could hear his heartbeat. He tried his best to keep it even and steady and to calm himself down. 

Breathe. Breathing was important. He took deep breaths and... and prayed. Prayed that everything would be okay, and that his father's panic would be over soon.

Lambert writhed and twisted. Internally, he screamed. Externally, his jaw muscles spasmed right alongside his lungs, not giving him enough air to scream even if he wanted. It wasn't just his body, either. His mind tumbled and screamed as though the world flipped upside down. Nothing was right and everything hurt. 

It started to hurt less, though. The wash of light-color-bright-toomuch was muffled into darkness. Same with the noise-noise-noise. Plush material gently but firmly coiled around his writhing form, giving structure to his body. 

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...  

His agony fell to the background. The new sound was gentle enough on his senses. Gentle and rhythmic. Slowly, his breathing stuttered into something resembling what it was supposed to be. 

He listened. Listened to the beats... and heard his own heart beating back. How long he spent listening, he didn't know. He settled, somewhat. Everything still hurt. Everything was so, so... sensitive. He didn't feel right. Goddess, did he not feel right. Mentally scrambling, he didn't know where he was, what he had been doing, or why he hurt. He couldn't seem to remember much of anything... 

Dimitri. He remembered his son. Dimitri had been stressed. His head ached, so he figured that was all he needed to know for now. The rest would come back to him. 

"Dih—ack." His throat caught and he coughed, the agony bringing tears to his eyes. Thirsty. So thirsty. Yet he couldn't bear the thought of swallowing anything.

"I'm here, Father," Dimitri said, barely over a whisper. "I've got you. It's okay... shh..." Everyone stayed silent as Dimitri helped his father calm down and figure out how to breathe again. For the most part, anyway. Claude was still speaking to him, telling him that he was doing a good job and to keep it up, it was going to be okay soon. Of course, the ideal would be for Claude to be back in his body and for Father to have never possessed it in the first place, but he couldn't communicate that to his father. Not at all. That would be too much information for his overstimulated and confused mind to process. 

The only thing to do was sit and wait this out until his father was feeling better. And none of them knew how long that might take. Kiros and Seteth were quiet, too. Thankfully. Dimitri was sure they had questions about what was going on but neither of them said anything after Dimitri told them to be quiet. They just sat here, in the sunlight, listening to the birds chirping nearby and Father's stuttering breaths. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly, though, they began to even out. Dimitri began to gingerly rub his hand up and down his father's back, and when his father didn't flinch at it, he knew that things were beginning to be all right. He was beginning to come around. 

"I'm here," he repeated, a little more firmly this time. "I'm okay, Father. You're okay. We're all okay..." He had no idea if he was saying the right thing. Because what he was saying were lies. They weren't okay. Father was dead. Dead and possessing his boyfriend's body! Of course it wasn't okay. But maybe the lie would make things better. So he kept to it, repeatedly shushing and comforting again and again.

Lambert shook, his nerves still alight. Unlike Claude — or perhaps exactly like Claude — he had no sense of how long it had been since he had a body. As far as he was aware, he never lost his body at all. Deep down, perhaps he knew the truth: that he was dead. That was buried deep, though. All he knew was that he was worried for his son. 

Gathering himself, his head was slowly beginning to settle. Between the blanket around him, the thud of a heartbeat, and the gentle rub against his back, his mind was adjusting. Oh, everything still hurt wickedly. The hurt was just... hurt, though. Not agony. 

Breathing felt strange. Everything felt strange. His head felt strange, as though he was rising from an endless fog. He felt... He felt small. It was Dimitri that he was against. He knew that with more certainty than anything. And yet, his son could hold all of him. Dimitri had grown into a fine young man, yes, but he was—no... no, Dimitri was not yet fully grown. How old was his son, again? 

His head ached as two conflicting pictures formed. One, his sweet-eyed young boy. The other, a haunted, rugged young man. Both were his present. Yet that was not physically possible. His throat was drier than ever as he failed to determine how old Dimitri was. Something was wrong with his mind.

Even if his son was fully grown, it shouldn't be possible to feel so small against his son. Lambert was a large man. He... he did not feel large, though. He felt small. Weak. Strange.  

"Dimitri," he croaked softly, clenching around the fabric of his son's shirt. "I... I'm here." He didn't know what was happening. He couldn't remember... anything, of the recent past. But he wouldn't let his son come to harm.

Of course it wasn't his father's voice that came out of Claude's body. At least, it wasn't exactly. Being that he could still see and feel his father's spirit, of course he could hear it as well. But it was underlain with a strange echo of Claude's voice that made it seem distorted and strange. But perhaps that was just because he had never heard his father sound this tired and weak before. His memories of his father's voice before now were... strained and stretched, he realized. He didn't think he had actually heard his father's real voice for years, at least before this week. He thought he had heard it. But that only meant that, for so long, his father's voice was made of tortured screams. To hear it now, so frayed and weak, was of course different. But still a small piece of torture. Just a different kind of torture to hear his dad in pain like this. 

"I know you're here, Father. I've known. You never left me. I know," he whispered. "What do you need?" he asked, desperate to help in some way. His father had a physical body now! Something he could properly touch and hold and hug. Something that he could actually make feel better. He was desperate to do so in any small way that he could. "We have tea here," he said, hearing how hoarse his father's voice was. "Would you like tea? It's... chamomile." 

He hesitated upon realizing that even chamomile would probably be too overwhelming for his dad right now. So finally, he looked to Seteth. The man looked confused and concerned. Mostly concerned, thank goodness. Dimitri was relieved that he didn't start asking questions. "Could you please get some water?" he asked. "Room-temperature water?"

"I... I am thirsty." Lambert couldn't remember the last time he drank. Couldn't... couldn't remember much. At all. That was worrying. 

He stayed tucked right where he was. Though he was adjusting to sound, sunlight was still too much for him. The blanket was warm. It wrapped around him well. Kept the loud world muffled. Four dozen heartbeats later, someone approached his son with the requested water. To drink would mean exposing himself... 

His thoughtful son already thought ahead. The blanket was brought up to tent above his head, above both of their heads now. It gave him room to sit up and drink. Even though he shook. 

Another face entered the blanket cave. Green. Green hair and green eyes. The man wasn't familiar. He tried to take the water. His hands shook so violently. "Allow me," the green-haired man said softly, bringing the cup to his lips. He allowed the man to quench his thirst. Water. It was good. Very good. He was fed with slow, careful sips until the water was gone. "Would you like more?" 

"No... That was enough, thank you." His voice... his voice didn't sound right. Looking down at his arm — what little he could see in the peeks of light — he was utterly emaciated. His arm was stick-thin, devoid of the muscle that came so naturally to his bloodline. "A-am I ill, Dimitri?" That was his only guess. Something was wrong with him, very wrong. Yet, at the same time, he could finally hold his son again. He could touch his son, protect him!

"Father, it... it is going to be a lot to explain," Dimitri said, pain twisting his heart into knots. Seteth and Kiros could only see the confusion on Claude's face, but Dimitri could see it in both places. The utter fear that he could see in his father's eyes was breaking his heart and taking him right back to the last time he had seen his father in the flesh. He didn't want to think about that part. But he knew that if he was going to explain to his father what was going on and what had happened to him... then he had no choice but to explain it all. 

But not yet. He needed to make sure his father was all right first, and then he'd figure out how to break the news that... that he was a ghost. A dead ghost that was possessing the body of someone who, by most definitions, was sick. 

Thank goodness he had Claude here to keep him calm through this, giving him running advice in a calm voice. Seteth, too. He didn't know if the dragon had figured out yet what was going on, but he wasn't asking any questions. Just doing the things Dimitri asked of him to help. 

"I ask that you just focus on breathing for now, Father. I know that everything is... so much, right now. Just relax. Relax, and tell me... tell me when you think you're ready to hear everything."

Breathe. Lambert could do that. It was strangely difficult to do manually. He did his best to match Dimitri. The other man retreated from their makeshift tent. Just him and Dimitri now. 

Dimitri said he would speak when Lambert was ready. It sounded like his son needed more time, though. He could do the math. He must be terribly ill... His recent memories were hidden in fog. Dimitri was older than he remembered his boy being. Was he older too, then? Was this an illness of age? Was that why his mind and body were in such shambles?... That did not seem right either. Nothing was right. But he knew, beyond everything, he worried for his son. Something deep within him said Dimitri was not okay. 

He must be dying. Whatever he was sick with, it must be terminal. His poor son deserved better. Dimitri was so young to lose his father. He'd wanted Dimitri to be free in his youth, unburdened by the weight of the crown. It seemed he failed at that. With his death, he knew well how the weight of the crown fell upon the son. He knew it all too well.

Still quivering, he allowed his head to rest against his son's heart and listen. It was a strong beat. A lively one. One that would go on even if he didn't. He... he had to be okay with that. Dimitri would be okay without him. No. No, Dimitri would not be okay without him.

"Take your time," he told his son. Whatever this was, he knew it would hurt Dimitri more to say than for him to hear.

When his father was able to speak without stuttering, Dimitri knew that he was probably calm enough to at least process what he was going to say. Even if he likely wouldn't be ready to hear it (because who was ready to hear that they were dead?). It didn't mean Dimitri was ready to say it, either, but he didn't think he'd ever be ready to say this. And his father deserved better than that. His father deserved to know.  

He just had no idea where to start. He figured the best place was with his question. "You... you aren't sick, Father," he said quietly. He could already see the doubt in the man's eyes. "I am not lying to you. I wouldn't lie," he whispered. "Not about this. Believe me, Father. You aren't sick. You are... y-you are in a body that is sick. But you're not sick. B-Because this isn't your body. Your body is—it's—" 

The body they had brought back from Duscur was so charred as to be unrecognizable. The older lords and nobles of the court (Rodrigue, Gustave, and Uncle) didn't let him look at it for long at all, worried that seeing his father's corpse would traumatize him. As though he could be more traumatized. For all he knew, the body buried in Fhirdiad wasn't his father's body at all. His mother's had never been found. Amongst all that wreckage and ruin, how was one supposed to tell the body of a peasant from the body of a king? The end result was the same, though. Being that the most honest thing to tell his father was, 

"I-It's gone. Your body. It's gone and buried, Father. Because you... y-you are a spirit. You're already dead, F-Father. I-I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry—"

...Ah. 

Lambert hadn't known he was dead. He didn't think he knew. But he must have, at least somewhat. He believed Dimitri instantly. 

He... He remembered. Not all of it. Even the echo of his memory was filled with such pain. But he remembered fire. He remembered utter desperation, utter despair as he realized they would not escape alive. He remembered howling. Howling for his son to run. That was the last thing he remembered. 

Fire. Blood. Death. Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri. In that moment, he had prayed with all his might. He was a dead man, he knew that. But if his son could survive... He had prayed with his whole soul to the Goddess. Then the axe came down, and his head rolled.

His hand cupped Dimitri's cheek. He looked into his son's eyes, what he could see in the dark. The terrified boy from his last moments had grown into a young man. A living young man. 

"She answered me..." he realized, taking in every detail of his son's face. "You survived. Oh, son. It's a miracle. You survived. You lived."

Dimitri felt something so strange when his father's hand reached up to cradle his face. As both Claude's real hand and his father's colder, ghostly one cupped his cheek, it was wet. The sensation was so surprising it nearly made Dimitri jump. Only years of training to keep himself from making fast, sudden movements stopped him. But there were—there were tears on his face. 

It had been four years. Four years, and nearly five, since his father had been killed. And it had been just as long since the last time he cried. 

"I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so-o-orry," he sobbed, because those were the only words he knew how to say. He knew his father didn't want his apologies. They hadn't been good enough. Not for the screaming wraith from the past four years. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, Father, I'm sorry—" Sorry that he hadn't been able to stop him from dying. Sorry that he had run away. Sorry even more that he hadn't been able to help his father's ghost. 

He knew that he had been only a child when the attack came. He even knew that there was nothing he could have possibly done except die alongside his parents trying to be a hero. But he had convinced himself over the years that that would have been better than surviving to hear the screams of the dead crying for vengeance. Even now that he knew that hadn't really been his father's true spirit, but the manifestation of his guilt, he still felt shame for it. He had no ground to stand on. All he had done these past four years was cause his father pain and confusion and torment. Which was not what a good son did.

"Oh, Dimitri, no." Lambert thumbed at his son's tears. They weren't what he was saying no to. "Don't apologize, my son. You did nothing wrong. You did everything right. You lived. That's everything I wanted." Alive and happy. To live and move on. Dimitri had not moved on. It was undeniable. His son had not moved on and instead carried guilt for what happened. 

He was still confused. Of course he was. He didn't understand how he was here, speaking to his son, when he remembered his head rolling. He didn't know whose body he was in. None of that mattered right now, though. All that mattered was holding his son. His son.  

"I love you, Dimitri." He had never been shy about saying it. He was glad that wasn't a regret of his. "You've grown." His lips formed an awed smile. "Look at you... My son. I'm so sorry I haven't been here to see you grow into a man. To keep you safe."

Now that the tears had started, they just wouldn't stop. They were hot as they streamed from his eyes, spilling down into his father's palm while he valiantly tried to wipe them away. 

"I love you, Dimitri," he said, and Dimitri swallowed the wail that threatened to fill up his throat. His sobs were stifled. He didn't want to miss a word his father said. "You've grown. Look at you... My son. I'm so sorry I haven't been here to see you grow into a man. To keep you safe."  

"B-But you have been here," Dimitri said. "You h-have been. You've been trying, Father, I know you have, I-I have s-seen you almost every day since then." 

He was shaking. All he wanted to do was wrap his father in a hug and never let go of him. As another Blaiddyd, his father had always been more durable than others when it came to withstanding the strength of the hugs he really wanted to give. It took work for Dimitri to remember that he was holding Claude's body and that he could not do that. But he managed, despite the ocean of pain and grief he was otherwise drowning in. 

"I-I've seen you. I know you were t-trying to watch over me. But I-I stopped you. M-My guilt and my pain and my fear, th-they all made it impossible. Y-You couldn't speak to me. Not with words that were yours. Y-You've been—you've been so angry, and in so much pain, and it's all my fault!" he cried. "I couldn't help you. I'm sorry, I-I didn't know. I didn't know I was hurting you. That e-everyday it was me that was shoving you back into the flames!" 

All the horrible things his father's wraith had said swarmed his mind. That he was a weak and pathetic excuse for a son. That he should have died alongside them if he wasn't going to get vengeance. That he had to prove that he loved them by finding their killer. Don't you love us, Dimitri? Then why won't you save us? Why won't you save us?  

"I-I couldn't save you," he whimpered. "I wasn't strong enough. I'm still not strong enough. I'm sorry."

Lambert didn't really understand. How could he, when he barely understood that he was dead? But he could, in a vague sense, understand what his son was saying. It was like a dream. A nightmare, at times. Hazy and insubstantial, as though nothing was real. Having a body (hopefully whoever he was occupying did not mind the temporary possession) grounded him enough to reflect on the hazy 'memories' he had since his death.

He remembered... his son. His suffering son. He remembered again and again crawling through the flames, trying to get close enough to help his boy. Every time, the flames would consume him before he could get close enough. An endless cycle. Of course he kept trying. No matter how many times he was burnt to a crisp, of course he kept returning to his son. He couldn't rest until he knew Dimitri was safe and happy. 

Dimitri was safe. But his son wasn't happy. 

"If I have been angry, it hasn't been with you. I've been afraid." He did not hide the truth from his son. Yes, he had feared for his own life too. But that paled compared to his fear for his son. "My memories are hazy. All I recall of... of after, is trying to get to you. To keep you safe." Recently, he thought he managed it. A few times, perhaps. He even... even saw Rufus? Maybe? Hard to say. "I don't have any hint of a recollection of you pushing me into the flames, my son. If you are guilty for what you claim, then I am just as guilty for being unable to reach past the flames and find you." 

He tucked a piece of Dimitri's bangs behind his ear. He hated this. Hated what he saw in Dimitri's eyes. It was familiar, too familiar. He knew those eyes.

"Was there war?" Such a cruel question. "You look like... like Rodrigue looked after Sreng. Is he still...? No. You need not answer." 

He knew this grief. It was a grief he saw all around him. His attempts to comfort Rodrigue never seemed to work. He had to try, though.

"He felt the guilt too. Rodrigue. Guilt for living when others died. I always told him there was nothing more we could have done. I tell you the same, though that never seemed to comfort Rodrigue." Moving was an agony of sensation. He moved anyway, pressing their foreheads together. 

"You did the best with the knowledge you had." It was something he tried to instill in his son. As king, mistakes would be made. It was a fact of life. The only way to keep going was to do the best with the information at hand, and not regret what wasn't known. Of course, it wasn't always so simple. But he tried. "You are strong, my beloved son. I... I don't know if I got the words out. But I wanted you to live. More than anything, I just wanted you to make it out of those flames and live a full, happy life. You lived. You have nothing to apologize for, my son. Not a single thing."

Dimitri pressed his forehead against his father's and stared deep into his green blue eyes. Father was still layered over Claude. But Dimitri could see him. Could see his father's real face, his actual face, less burned than it had been in a long time. He didn't smell any smoke. He smelled the tea that Seteth had brewed. It was the lack of ash that convinced him that this was truly real. This was his real father, talking to him without the pain of his death dragging him down, seeing him with clarity and speaking the truth. These were his words. Dimitri wasn't making them up inside his own head or influencing them with his wild emotions. It was just his father, telling him that he was strong and loved and that he had nothing to apologize for.

"I-I don't remember what your last words were," he confessed in a whisper. "I-I remember you yelling something at me, far away, b-but I couldn't find you. Since then, I have heard a wraith with your face and your voice yell so many things that I, I can't remember what your real words were.”

But... but that was okay, now. He didn't need to remember what his father had actually said. Because right here and now, he was hearing what his father had wanted to say. It was 'Please live, my son.' And Dimitri had. He... he had done that. He'd fulfilled his father's dying wish. To live. He made it out. He had done what his father wanted.

Even that knowledge wasn't enough to completely ease the grief and pain in his heart. How could it? For four years, he had been agonizing over this. Apologizing to a ghost — to so many ghosts — that he thought he had wronged. Finding out that that wasn't true wasn't enough to make him feel better. It wasn't enough to make him think he could let go of his father. When he finally had him back? Able to see and speak and think? He wasn't ready. He couldn't let go of his dad yet. 

"Please don't leave me," he whispered. "Please. Not yet. I'm not ready yet." He knew his father would need to leave Claude's body soon. But he didn't want this to be the last time they ever spoke. He still wanted—he wanted so much more. He wanted his father to stay. If he was to be cursed with these eyes that showed him the dead, then couldn't he at least have the gift of keeping his parent, just for a little longer? At least a little longer. Please, Goddess. I'm not ready.

Lambert felt Dimitri's unwillingness to let him go. He hadn't thought to question much of the situation yet, not until he felt something from his son. Something that touched his soul, anchoring him in a strange manner. It didn't distress him — he had no plans to leave this realm until he was certain Dimitri was prepared for him to do so. But even had he wanted to, he knew he could not. Not unless Dimitri permitted it. 

"I won't leave," he promised. "Not until you are ready for me to go." It was a promise he knew he could keep (this time). Dimitri held enough power over his very soul that he didn't fear accidentally slipping away. 

Though... he would need to leave this body. Reality was no longer a scream howled straight through his skull. Sensation was still overwhelming, but not horribly so. Goddess... how long had he been dead? No wonder he reacted so violently to the sudden… everything of life.

Regardless, he refused to steal another person's body. Borrowing it unintentionally was enough of a stretch of his morals as it was. Once his son was a little more comforted, he needed to vacate this host. What would become of him then? He knew he would remain here, in the mortal realm. Beyond his determination, he was tethered to Dimitri through the means of their souls. But his mind, his thoughts... Would he stay coherent, like this? There was so much he was missing. Little blips of memories kept popping into his head, but he didn't have the focus to review them while also comforting his son. Whatever the outcome, he would press onward. For his son.  

His lips — well, not his lips — twisted wryly. A king was meant to put his country above all else. That had been one of his toughest tasks in life. In death, he hadn't spared even a thought for Faerghus until now. It wasn't that he didn't love his country — he did. Oh, did he love Faerghus. He had always struggled to put kingdom before family, though.

Dimitri no longer had to compete for his attention. Well, only to compete with the complications of his slain state. "I will stay as long as you need me, Dimitri." 

The more he spoke, the more it struck him that this wasn't his voice and wasn't his body. "Perhaps I should, ah... 'vacate' this body. I do not wish to bring harm to an ill innocent." 

He stroked Dimitri's cheek, savoring the feel of life while it lasted. Painful as it was, it was something. 

"He can stay a bit longer, Dima. I don't mind," Claude said, still curled tightly around Dimitri's core. He rumbled, far more comfortable within his boyfriend than he had been in his aching body. "In fact, he can stay a while. My body only heals when it has a soul in it. Doesn't have to be me. If Lambert wants to endure the discomfort in exchange for a temporary body, well, it's a fair trade in my eyes." 

Claude felt like a koi in a pond as he circled Dimitri's core, worried about his prince. Though he framed things as a transaction, he really did want to give Dimitri more time with his father. Lambert wasn't the only one worried about what would happen to the man's mind without a physical body. Dimitri had enough stress today already, and Claude added plenty to that by accident. If Lambert wanted his body for a bit longer, it was only fair to offer it. 

Besides, Dimitri was comfy. He missed spending time outside of his body (though not as much as he had missed spending time in control of his body).

His father wouldn't leave. He, he wasn't leaving. He wasn't going to just poof and disappear the moment he got the chance. Dimitri had been scared of that. Scared that, now that his father knew he was dead, he would stop trying to remain here with him. Father would think it was time to move on and that his ghost would vanish from his life. He didn't want that. Not now that he actually had the chance to spend more time with the father that he knew and loved. His real father, who wasn't angry, who wasn't tortured, who still loved him despite all these years of misunderstanding and hurt and pain caused to his soul. That was finally over now. 

So of course Dimitri didn't want the visits to stop. He had more control over them now than he ever had before. His ability, for the first time, felt more like a gift than a curse. He wanted to learn more about it, and what better spirit to help him than his own father, who he needed to stay?

He hoped this wasn't selfish. He hoped that his father's spirit didn't feel trapped or confined by him. Because he... he couldn't let go. He felt a bit better about it when Claude assured him that Father could have his body for as long as he wanted. Dimitri wasn't certain that was wise, but... but he was so selfish. He just wanted his father to stay. To have the chance to have his own thoughts and emotions again, uninfluenced by Dimitri's soul. That was easier to accomplish when he had a body. And so he shook his head.

"Claude says you may remain in his body for as long as you wish. It... it only heals while it has a soul inside of it. He says that if you're willing to endure the pain of his recovery, you're free to remain. It's a fair trade in his eyes," he explained. 

From the other side of the blankets, he heard Seteth clear his throat. Understandably, the man didn't think that was a good idea. Dimitri wasn't sure if it was a good idea, either. 

"I don't know if i-it's wise, though. Lady Rhea would be the one to ask, but... but I'm afraid," he confessed. This, both to his father and to Seteth. "An ability like mine... the church isn't going to like this. And Faerghus is already in such dire straits, I-I can't do anything to jeopardize our relationship with the church, everything will fall apart if I do and Faerghus is so weak right now, the last thing it needs is, is a King that everyone thinks is mad," he whispered.

'Claude’. Lambert remembered that name. Dimitri's friend. Judging by the fact that Dimitri apparently spoke to Claude, and that Lambert couldn't sense anyone else in this body with him, he could only assume Claude's soul was with Dimitri. Strange, but so was everything else about this. 

Even with Claude being okay with this for now, he didn't intend to wear out his welcome. He would remain like this until Dimitri was comforted and satisfied. Both by choice and because he wasn't sure how to get out, exactly. 

He flinched when Dimitri said Faerghus was so weak. It made sense. Who was there to rule in his stead? ...Oh, Goddess. It was Rufus, wasn't it? Oh, his poor brother. No wonder Rufus had looked so horribly stressed. Rufus didn't have a head for politics at all; didn't have a lick of training either.

He would need to visit his brother again and check in on him. But not until Dimitri was settled, however long that took.

Seteth clicked his tongue. "If you fear the church will find you mad, then have no fear. You already displayed your ability with Claude and Kiros." There was a low, happy chirping sound. "For that, I am unendingly grateful. I can't see Rhea having an issue either. I wouldn't recommend broadcasting your ability for all to hear, obviously. But you need not fret about external politics right now, Dimitri."

Lambert didn't think Seteth liked him being where he was, despite what the man said. It was in the tone. "I won't take Claude's body for too much longer. It isn't right, no matter what he says." 

(Within Dimitri, Claude whined and squished against his boyfriend's warm core, not wanting to trade his comfortable spot for a far less comfy body). 

Lambert squeezed Dimitri's shirt, briefly expecting the fabric to rip. It did not. This was not his body, after all. "But I can stay for a little longer, son. Whatever you need from me."

"He might need Rhea's help to get out," Kiros spoke up quietly from nearby. Dimitri didn't peek out from the blankets to look at the two Nabataeans sitting with him. Seteth's words were... were reassuring. Dimitri had proven himself to be honest and useful to Rhea's agenda, whatever it was, by helping with the Claudes. That meant she was less likely to find issue with him going about as he had been before. (He wondered what she had thought about Idgrod. ...He wondered if he could talk to Idgrod herself and find out.) 

"The first time I left Claude's body, Rhea had to drag me from it,” Kiros continued. “And she also had to coach me on how to do it myself safely so I wouldn't just... fall, again.” Kiros cleared his throat. “So, King Lambert, I think it would be safest for you to stay where you are until the archbishop is here to assist you in leaving. My brother's body is weak and damaged right now. Putting any more stress on it isn't something I'd like, and I don't think he'd like it either." 

"Very well," Dimitri said, realizing that Kiros was right and they had very little choice in the matter. There was no keeping this from the archbishop. "You won't try to leave before then, Father?" he asked, just to confirm. 

He was incredibly stressed about all of this even still. He was worried about Claude, worried about his father, worried what Rhea was going to say or do about this... She hadn't liked this professed ability that his ancestor had, if the records of her had been destroyed because of it. 

But even more concerning than that was a thought that Dimitri had niggling in the back of his mind. Rhea brought Kiros back from the dead. From what he knew of Rhea's people, most of them were dead. And he could talk to the dead. Even channel them through his own body. He worried about what sort of ideas the Archbishop might have, now that she would find out that his gift didn't just apply to Claude-related mysteries. He was uneasy. Hoping that things would just be fine had never worked out for him.

Lambert hummed. The other person — Kiros, from the sounds of it — was Claude's brother. The voice certainly fit. Though, it was concerning that somehow Kiros had also been 'stuck' in Claude too. Perhaps the pair had an ability in inverse to Dimitri's? That was his best guess, and he was still too out of his depth to ask for more details. 

"I won't leave," Lambert assured Dimitri. "I'm not sure how to, in truth. Assistance will be much appreciated." 

It had been a long time since he last saw Lady Rhea. He did trust her with this, though. She had been a staunch ally of his when it came to promoting peace. There was a reason why eastern Faerghus was more inclined to observe the central church rather than the more local western branch. For him, he appreciated Lady Rhea's care for all life. Though she did have her reservations about extending communications beyond Fodlan's continent, she had been an important ally overall. 

His son fretted. He could feel it like a sixth sense. Whether that was due to his ghostly state or simply a father's intuition, he couldn't say. All he knew was that his son was upset and worried. "All will be well, son," he said, wrapping his arms around Dimitri. It was funny, in a way. Strange for sure. He never expected to be smaller than his son, nor did he ever expect to feel so small in general. Claude wasn't that much smaller than Dimitri, he supposed. It was just so different from what he was used to. 

Speaking of different... his chest started to... vibrate? At first, he thought it was how he was breathing. It kept getting louder, though. It didn't hurt. It didn't seem bad. The louder it got, the more it made him think of a cat's purr. 

"Ah... Is this normal?" was all he could think to say. Hopefully he wasn't harming Claude's body by being here.

His father was purring at him. It almost made Dimitri laugh. He would have, if he wasn't still so busy crying. He was relieved he was at least able to control his voice enough to be understandable while his chest felt so tight and tears rained from his eyes.

“For Claude, it is,” he said, clinging to his purring father. Hah... So recently, his father was a wailing spirit demanding vengeance. Now... now there were purrs.

Chapter Text

Dimitri nuzzled the side of his face against his father’s. His father. It was a strange sensation, feeling a ghostly beard alongside Claude’s braid.

Father was still purring. The purring was good, as much as it was absurd. His… his father was here, with him. In his boyfriend’s body. Purring.

He exhaled, trying to catch his breath. It kept choking in his throat. The purring wasn't bad. It meant either his father was happy (possible, but he doubted it was happiness making him purr) or that he was trying to comfort him (which was absolutely true). 

"It's all right. It's all right..." 

He was saying this more to himself than to his father. His mind was still whirring with questions. Wondering if he should be telling his dad about all that had befallen Faerghus and Duscur since his death. He didn't think it was right to keep it from him, certainly. But talking about it now was yet another thing Dimitri didn't know if he was ready to do.

Guilt prompted his lips to move regardless of how ready he felt. His heart twisted in his chest and he sniffled. 

"F-Father... y-you asked me if there was a war," he recalled. "I-I—...there was worse. D-Duscur is gone, Father. Save for a few scattered communities, it's—" 

A hand touched his back. "Shh," Kiros said softly. After a moment, he felt Kiros' body cuddle up against his back and then there was more purring. "It's okay not to talk about it. You don't... you don't have to do it all at once, Dimitri. It's okay... it's okay." 

Kiros probably knew what he was talking about. Who else would understand all the torture he put himself through for things which had happened that he couldn't stop? Of course it was Kiros.  

"Shh, just shh. You don't have to do this now. Let yourself breathe... you don't have to do this now. It's okay. It's okay to not keep forcing yourself forward. It's okay..."

Lambert's heart (Claude's heart ) twisted. Duscur. That was... that was where it all happened. It wasn't just him and his men who died that day. He remembered innocent Duscan villagers falling in the crossfire too. All of it, though? He didn't know what that meant. He had a horrible hunch, but he didn't know for sure and, frankly, didn't want to know for sure.

Gone. Only scattered communities. His people used him as an excuse to slaughter entire towns. He remembered the faces of the nobles who sneered about the Duscur people, only to turn bright and smiley when he went on his diplomatic mission. He brought extra soldiers just in case. It hadn't been enough. 

He was a fool. 

He hurt. Not Claude's body. Something deeper. It must be his very soul that hurt for what happened because of his choices. He could do nothing for Faerghus now. He had never been one to dwell on regrets. With what he knew, the mission to Duscur had been the best choice. He just hadn't known his own court would conspire to assassinate him. And his ignorance was paid in full by the innocent Duscur people. 

Kiros comforted Dimitri, purring just like Claude could. His chest no longer purred. His people... his duty... He could do nothing for them now. Agonizing over it was pointless. He had his son, who he could comfort and help. Still, a quiet grief squeezed his soul with a burning hand. 

His son hadn't meant to, but the knowledge was like the strike of a lash. He was dead. He didn't want to know more. What use was that knowledge but to cause pain? It wouldn't help him and wouldn't help Dimitri. Kiros was telling Dimitri all the right things. Lambert breathed out the grief in his chest, or as much as he could. 

Dimitri. Focus on his son. "Stay in the present, my son. Stay here with me and with Kiros. Breathe deep."

Dimitri didn't want to just breathe. He wanted to apologize again. To tell his father that he was sorry he hadn't been able to stop the genocide. He had been too small, too weak, too quiet. (He had screamed. He had screamed at anyone, at everyone, that it wasn't Duscur to blame. He had tried.) He hadn't been able to stop them. He hadn't been able to save Duscur. 

He did save one person, though. It wasn't nearly enough. But... at least he hadn't done nothing. He would hate himself so much more than he already did if he didn't have Dedue at his side. Of course, he didn't save Dedue just to make himself feel better, and he knew it wasn't enough to absolve him of his guilt. But Dedue reminded him almost daily that what Dimitri had done for him was something he could not assign value to. Dimitri had failed to save so many lives. He had saved Dedue's life, though. And of course, to Dedue, that was no small thing. Even if Dimitri thought it wasn't enough, Dedue reminded him constantly that he had not done nothing.  

"Dedue is still here," he told his father. "I, I couldn't stop the soldiers from leaving. But I f-followed them. I didn't let them kill Dedue. I-I couldn't save anyone else, but—but—"

Kiros' purrs got loud. Dimitri whimpered. He couldn't save everyone. From what he knew of the future Claude's timeline, Kiros knew exactly how that felt. He once again wished that Kiros had gone back further. Turned the hands of time back to before the Tragedy, to before his father had died and Duscur was burned to ashes. 

If he had been the one to learn that spell, he would have performed it in a heartbeat. Would have gladly given up the innocence of his younger self if so many lives would have been saved because of it. His younger self didn't deserve that, but... the innocent boy would have thanked him, if he knew what was to come if he didn't intervene. Just like what his Claude thought towards Future Claude. 

He knew it wasn't possible, though. He doubted Kiros would ever teach the spell to anyone. And at the risk of so much that could possibly go wrong, he knew it would never happen. He couldn't fix what had already been done. But at least, at least, at least he had his father back. At long last, he had his father to hold him again.  

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered. Kiros and his father hugged him and purred. His Claude purred from inside his chest. He was surrounded by comfort. "I'm sorry, I—" 

He cut himself off as the door to the terrace creaked open and footsteps came nearer. He was glad that his face was covered and hidden under the blanket tent. He didn't want Rhea to see him like this. Faerghus was already in such a weak position. He didn't want the Archbishop to think it'd be even weaker when he was on the throne. So he didn't want her to see him cry. Because a strong king — or even a prince — did not cry.

It hurt. Lambert didn't say a word or let it out, though. He didn't want Dimitri to know that simply speaking of Duscur felt like a burning brand against his unreal flesh. He didn't know that Dimitri could see his soul.

"Dedue. He's the one who made us tea." He winced as it occurred to him why exactly Dedue had not reacted to him before. But it seemed Dimitri had someone to trust with this ghost business, and for that he was grateful. He was grateful that Dimitri had trusted people on his side. He would need those people when ascending the throne... 

He didn't want to think about the throne. It was selfish. It was indulgence, one he never allowed himself in life. But there was nothing he could do for his country now. In life, he served. Now in death... he loved his son. A king was meant to love his country above all else, and Lambert failed at that from the moment his son was born. He had always loved his son more than his country (and his brother, and Rodrigue… Faerghus had always been third or fourth on his list). A secret that he always planned to take to the grave, ironically, was that he would rather live a simple, domestic life with his family than be king. He had known it would never be in the cards for him, of course. He felt too much duty for his people. If he had a choice in who he was born as, though, he would have never chosen to be king. 

He didn't want to hear about Faerghus. He didn't want to dwell. He didn't want Dimitri to dwell in the past either. Not when the grief was so potent, nipping at his son's every thought. "You have nothing to apologize for, my son." 

He didn't get a chance to say anything more before someone else entered the terrace. Being under the blanket still, he didn't know who it was. He shut his mouth, wondering if he could pull off an impression of the young man whose body he inhabited. ...Perhaps if he pretended to sleep? That seemed an easy way to preserve his son's secret.

"Oh my." Lady Rhea's voice trickled through the thin barrier of the blanket wall. Dimitri tensed up. What must the Archbishop be seeing right now? Kiros making sad eyes at her, probably. And two of her students hiding under a blanket. 

As of right now, before she saw his face, their hiding could have been blamed on Claude and his condition. But Dimitri knew that he couldn't keep hiding forever. He couldn't even hide for long, not if Claude was going to get his body back. They needed Rhea's help in getting his father's wayward soul out of Claude's body so Claude could go back to it. Dimitri just... had no idea how to broach that subject. 

"Whatever is going on out here?" Rhea asked, and Dimitri let out an unintentional whimper. Rhea's hand appeared on his shoulder, resting against him from the other side of the blankets. He managed to avoid flinching. "Is all well?" she asked, and Dimitri knew she was asking about Claude. Claude was the one who was in concerning condition right now. 

Although... Dimitri was in concerning condition, too. He was stressed, and distressed, and absolutely unwilling to let go of his dad. He could see Father's soul and it was glowing brighter right now. The burns on his skin had suddenly appeared once more and they looked angry. Dimitri didn't know what to do but he understood that talking about Duscur must have brought them back. 

He was scared. He knew that his father couldn't stay in Claude's body. But he was scared that yanking him out of it would destabilize him and... and he'd turn into a screaming wraith again. He could see the manifestations of his father's pain and anger. Father said he had nothing to apologize for but that wasn't true.

"Loog," Kiros said. "Where's Loog the Lion?" 

A second or so later, Flayn's hand appeared under the blankets, clutching Loog in offering. Dimitri stared at his lion silently for a moment. Then he reached out and took him and laid him against his father's chest where they could both cuddle the plush. Loog-sandwich. 

"Please..." he whispered. He didn't even know what he was pleading for. He shouldn't have spoken about Duscur. His father hadn't needed to know about the genocide! Why on earth had he brought that up? Stupid, stupid, he was so stupid, and now he had upset his father's spirit once again, and this time he didn't think breathing exercises would make the hurt go away.

Lady Rhea. Lambert recognized the voice. He supposed he didn't need to pretend to be asleep, then... 

Lambert stifled a groan as he felt Dimitri's grip on his soul tighten. It didn't hurt, but it was strange and uncomfortable. He really wasn't going anywhere until his son let him go. 

Kiros asked for Loog, reminding him that he had the plush sent. ...How had Rufus seen him? Well, that was a mystery for another time. Dimitri took the old lion and placed it atop his chest. Oh, his son. It tore at him to see Dimitri in such a distressed state. Especially when the distress was over him. 

"Please..." He couldn't tell his son that everything would be okay. He detested lying. He hoped everything would be okay. But who was to say? Faerghus was unstable and he was dead, leaving Dimitri to pick up the pieces. He carded his hand through Dimitri's hair, just like when Dimitri was a boy. 'I'm here,' was his silent plea. 'For as long as you need me.'  

Deep rumbles filled Claude's chest as he focused on comforting his son. Focus on Dimitri, not the pain.

The burns across his father's body slowly faded after a time. A time during which Seteth spoke up. "Rhea? A word, if you would.” Dimitri heard the man stand up and step away. A rustle of fabric and clicking of heels told him that Rhea had done the same. Seteth lowered his voice to speak, but he didn't go far. That meant Dimitri was able to overhear bits and pieces here and there. Things like 'Prince Dimitri' and 'other spirit' and 'King Lambert', the last of which made Rhea inhale loudly enough for him to hear. She said something back to Seteth. Something that Dimitri didn't pick up on. Then the footsteps came back and Rhea's hand returned to his shoulder. 

Things were quiet for a long moment. Dimitri was relieved. And so grateful for Seteth. So grateful that he didn't have to explain what was going on here, and that Seteth just did that for him. The man was a good father, and he cared deeply about the students here. That shone through to Dimitri now more than ever.

"King Lambert," Lady Rhea began when she decided to speak. "It has been quite some time. I did not expect to have the opportunity to speak with you again.” Dimitri sniffled and held his father close. "May I ask, your Majesty, are you aware of where you are?" 

"He knows," Dimitri said. "He knows."

"King Lambert." Rhea's voice was soft, as he expected it to be.

"I would say I did not expect the opportunity either, but I can't say I expected much of anything until recently." Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and pushed against the blanket. He grunted as sunlight stabbed his sensitive eyes. After a few pained blinks, it was tolerable. He sat up, not willing to speak to the archbishop from under a blanket. Dimitri sat up with him, unwilling to let him go even slightly. He understood. 

"I'm aware of where I am, and what I am now." His poor, poor son. His heart ached at how desperately he was held. "I didn't know until I found myself in this body, however. I refuse to take this young man's body for my own, though I admit I am not sure how to leave. I was told you may be able to assist." Dimitri sniffled and held him tightly. "...Perhaps not right away, if you will grant me this." 

His arm snaked around Dimitri's head to give his son pets. He didn't know the next time — if ever — that he would be able to touch his son. Closing his eyes, he leaned against Dimitri's jaw, not wanting to part either.

"Little fingers, my son," he murmured. Don't squeeze me too tightly. He wasn't sure if Dimitri realized how tightly he was clutching his soul. It didn't hurt, thankfully. 

"Claude says that he may stay as long as he likes," Dimitri assured Rhea. "His spirit is, well, it's inside of me right now. He... slipped in when he saw how stressed I was. Which was what I assume summoned my father again, and... he accidentally fell into Claude's empty body," he explained to the Archbishop. "Claude knows he won't heal unless there's a soul inside of his body, and he says that if Father is willing to endure that pain for him, then he's more than willing to consider it a fair trade to keep using his body for a while!" But he knew that that probably wasn't a good idea. 

He was pretty sure his fingers were leaving bruises on Claude's arms, even after his dad told him to use little fingers. His heart clenched at the reminder. Those were words he hadn't heard in a long time. At least it seemed like his father didn't want to go right away. His father, in Claude's body, leaned forward and nuzzled him, not wanting to part. Dimitri sniffled again and hoped it wasn't too obvious that he had been crying. He didn't want the Archbishop of the Central Church to see him like this.

Rhea watched the father-son pair. She understood. Oh, she understood, even better than Prince Dimitri understood. In his eyes, she saw a mirror. No, it wasn't exactly the same. Her mother was more than just her mother. Mother was the creator, the key to salvation. But more than that, Sothis was her mother. Her own grief was reflected in the young prince's eyes. A longing for a parent. They were more alike than Dimitri knew, it seemed. 

Her mother wore a different body too, though Byleth had yet to concede to Sothis' memories. Watching Dimitri and Lambert gave her hope that she would have the same opportunity soon. 

She couldn't help but wonder how and why Lambert was here, though. Who was more the cause? Dimitri or Claude? Claude's body had been soaked in such an intense concoction of magic that all sorts of unpredictable effects were possible. Yet Blaiddyds had something of a... penchant for ghosts. One she thought was gone from the bloodline. It seemed she was wrong about that. 

She and Dimitri would need a talk. Not now, though. Not while Lambert was still here, not while Dimitri had his father back (however short that may last). 

"So long as Claude consents, I leave the choice to you when you wish to depart," she told Lambert. Whether that would be to the afterlife or not, she was unsure.

Dimitri relaxed more as soon as Rhea gave her consent to let Father stay. He was fairly confident that she wouldn't let anything bad happen to Claude. Even if Claude's value to her was probably because of Kiros, she would not have let anything happen to Kiros' twin because she knew how deeply that would affect the youngest Nabataean. If it was unsafe for his father to continue possessing Claude's body, then she would have said so. But she said nothing of the sort, and so it must be safe. At least, safe enough to be sustainable for a while. Claude's body had a lot of experience with being possessed. 

"Thank you, Lady Rhea," he said. He could see the look in her eyes. The one that said she had questions. But he couldn't handle questions right now. Kiros must have seen the look, too. Because he immediately set to doing something about it. The tactic he decided to employ was distraction. And he accomplished that by transforming in a little burst of light, grabbing his deer plushie in his mouth, and carrying it over to sit on Rhea's lap to play with it.

Lambert startled when the man who must have been Kiros transformed. Into… something. Something very small. He blinked at the cute little thing, wondering if he had forgotten parts of the world after years of being dead. That... wasn't normal, was it? He would still know if that was normal, surely. It wasn't that he had a problem with it. He was just... confused. Very confused. 

He couldn't find the words to ask about the phenomenon politely. It didn't matter, he supposed, so there was no need to ask. The little creature toddled over to Rhea's lap, a little deer plush in his mouth, and took to playing with it. Rhea cooed, her attention totally stolen by the little thing. After a glance at his son, he determined that it wasn't anything for him to worry about. 

It wasn't until he heard the little beast purring that he recognized his own purring chest. Could Claude do... that? Transform? Strange. He couldn't deny a curiosity about the whole thing, but it didn't feel right to ask about. (Claude's innate curiosity, it seemed, could not outweigh Lambert's innate politeness.) 

He turned his attention back to his son, who he continued to pet. Someday, Dimitri would have to let him go. But that day did not have to be today, or even any day soon. Many parents would have taken their child's comfort object long before this age, yet Lambert never dared take Loog away. He even encouraged his son to keep Loog, not seeing it as anything shameful in the slightest. The same could be said for himself now. If he could provide support, then he would do so for his son.

Dimitri watched Kiros distract Rhea for a few seconds — about the same amount of time as his father watched, actually. But when Father returned to petting his hair, Dimitri returned his full attention to him. It was... shameful, what he did next. But he didn't want to be exposed to so many eyes while he was just trying to have time with his dad. So he pulled the blanket tent back up over them and laid down to snuggle. 

"This won't be the last time we see one another," he promised. "Even when you leave Claude's body. I have seen you nearly every day since the Tragedy," he whispered. "And... and now that you know, I believe that you will be... more cognizant. I think... I think you will be better able to remember. And, and I won't have to be afraid of your specter anymore.” A fresh round of tears welled from his eyes, along with a spike of guilt. He hated to confess that he had been scared of his dad's ghost. But he had been. He had been so terribly afraid of him and his wrath and pain.

Lambert didn't mind going back under the blanket. He didn't find it shameful in the slightest. "This won't be the last time," he agreed. He knew that down to his marrow (er, down to Claude's marrow...?). Dimitri, whether his boy knew it or not, wouldn't allow him to slip away. And he had no plans on laying his spirit to rest yet either. His son still needed him. 

His chest clenched. Dimitri had been afraid of him. He knew it was true, painfully true. He clutched his son tighter, with all the meager strength his current body could manage. Was it better or worse that he did not remember it? 

"You don't have to fear anymore," he murmured, briefly indulging in a wish to go back in time. That was impossible, though, so he dashed the thought. If wishes were fishes, they'd all cast nets. Wishing things were different did nothing. He had his son to focus on. 

He shifted, tilting Dimitri so they were both on their sides. It wasn't as comfortable for Claude's body, but it was the closest he could get to what Dimitri needed. Gently, he guided Dimitri's face against the crook of his neck, petting his son and humming softly. Just like when Dimitri was a boy... plus some purring.

Dimitri let out a shaking breath as his father laid him down and began petting his hair. (Thank the Goddess that he saw Father's ghost even still, overlaid above Claude's body. Because cuddling up to his boyfriend and crying like this and calling him 'father', even though it was true, would have felt really weird. But that's not what he was doing. Not to his eyes. He could still see his father's ghost. Still feel his hand, not Claude's hand. He could even clutch the fur on his cloak that remained just as he remembered it. His father had loved that cloak. Possibly because Dimitri had loved cuddling up to it so much.) 

"This won't be the last time," he parroted once again. "It won't be. I'll still be able to talk to you... even still be able to touch you, and you'll be able to touch me. I—...my ability is strong enough to grant that." It was now, at least, after working with Claude and Kiros for it. He nuzzled against his father. 

"...You didn't ever see spirits, did you, father...?" he asked. "I have heard that one of our ancestors did. But not until recently. I, I thought I was alone with this," he whispered. "But... Uncle saw you too. Didn't he?"

"I never saw spirits, no." Dimitri spoke of an ancestor with the ability, but Lambert wasn't aware of any. Then again, he supposed most would choose to cover up an ability like this, lest they be called mad. 

...Like Rufus must have. "Rufus did see me, yes." He hadn't the time to really think about it, not when a more pressing matter was in his arms. It didn't occur to him that this ability may be passed through their bloodline. "He never spoke of such things to me. But... he always was afraid of shadows. When we were young, he often startled for seemingly no reason." 

Their father had been hard on Rufus for that. 'A prince cannot be so timid! Be more like your brother!' It hadn't taken long for their father to pass the throne to him, so he had been told. For as long as he could remember, he had been the crown prince. Unlike what most people thought, though, it wasn't entirely based on their Crests or lack thereof. Rufus always had been held to an unfair standard... 

Focus. "It seems you are not alone, my son. Perhaps I should speak with Rufus again. Ah... more gently, this time?" He winced, unsure how he could communicate with his brother without scaring the daylights out of him. "Not yet, though." Dimitri needed him more.

"I sent him a letter about it. A vague one," Dimitri said, adding the last part as reassurance against the thought that someone might intercept the letter and find out that the Prince-Regent and the Crown Prince had something strange going on inside their heads. Except it most certainly wasn't inside their heads. Dimitri had more than enough proof now — and more than enough witnesses — to show that he wasn't mad. This was real.  

He was still worried what Rhea might think of it. Apparently the Church had not liked his ancestor, Queen Idgrod. But perhaps Rhea hadn't known that what she was able to do wasn't madness. It wasn't. Dimitri was honestly relieved to know that for a fact, now. Part of him had always wondered if what he had was a result of what he'd seen in Duscur. Previously, his only comfort was the fact that he had seen his mother's ghost for long before that. Now he knew it was real. And... it wasn't as frightening as he'd once believed. 

"...Oh. Actually, you wrote to him, too, Father," he remembered. So perhaps that letter wasn't as 'vague' as he'd hoped it was. "You took control of my hand for it. But the writing was yours."

Lambert had to think about it. "Ah... I suppose I did." He didn't remember exactly what he said. Hopefully nothing too awkward (or upsetting). "I should write to Rodrigue... no, wait, awful idea." He cringed at the thought of how upsetting that would be. 

Oh, poor Rodrigue. Short of Dimitri, he expected that no one took his death harder than Rodrigue. He wanted to speak to Rodrigue. Somehow. Of course his son was his priority. Rodrigue would press on no matter what. But he wanted to, to... give his old lover closure, he supposed. Maybe... a chance to say goodbye. And a chance to say he lov—...no. What would be the point in that but to needlessly harm his once-lover? 

His eyelids drooped. Before he knew it, he nearly purred himself to sleep. Jerking, he tried to wake himself up. He couldn't sleep! This was likely the last time he would be alive (or be in a living body). It seemed Claude's body was exhausted, though. He didn't want to harm Claude, but selfishly he pushed himself to stay awake. Just a bit longer. He couldn't bear to leave his son so soon.

Of course Dimitri noticed that his father's energy was waning. Truth be told... Dimitri was feeling quite tired, too. He assumed it was emotional exhaustion. 

"You're tired, father," he quietly said. "It's all right. I'm tired, too. We can... we can take a rest right here. It's fine. Here is safe... we have Loog..." 

He wondered… if he fell asleep with Claude's spirit inside of him, would he have a dream like Kiros and Claude usually had? If he did... perhaps he could convince his father to trade places with Claude. And then, maybe, finally, he could have dreams about his dad that weren't filled with flames.

Claude felt Dimitri succumbing to sleep. All the rumbles and crying would do that to anyone. 

The deeper Dimitri fell asleep, the more solid Claude began to feel. Before long, he was solid enough to be cuddled in Dimitri's arms, purring up a storm. As soon as he felt real enough for it, he was nuzzling all over. Nipping in a few spots. Utterly cuddly and snuggly. Dimitri needed the cuddles after all the stress today! 

"He can have my body now and then," he told Dimitri. "Your dad. He can have my body sometimes. Probably not often. But I'm willing to share a little with your father for your sake. I know how important it can be to live a little in order to stay grounded. He'll probably be fine without it, but it's just, it's just nice to have a body now and then. So I don't mind. Especially when you're so cozy, prrm." 

He jutted his forehead against Dimitri's jaw, purring up a peaceful rumbling storm. "How do you feel?" He reached out to pet Dimitri. Not like Lambert did — that wasn't his intent. He just knew it felt nice to be petted.

Dimitri closed his eyes. Even in the dream, they still sort of felt sore. And a little puffy. He sniffled. "I... I think I'm... I'm okay," he replied to Claude. His boyfriend's hand slid through his hair and he let out a tiny whine. He felt pathetic. "I'm sorry. H-Haven't... haven't cried in a really long time." 

He couldn't even wipe his own tears. He was too scared of punching himself in the face. (He didn't need to be worried about that here. Not really. This was just a dream. But he didn't really process that.) He hiccupped. Pathetic.  

Thinking that thought made him want to cry more. Which was just more pathetic. But now that he had unlocked the ability to cry again, it just seemed like he couldn't stop.

"It's okay. I'd be a hypocrite to judge you, heh." He almost licked Dimitri's tears. Almost. (Maybe just for half a second.) "No sorries. Crying is good. It's a long time coming." 

He wished he could do more. Comforting himself by saying the tears were good didn't make him feel better when Dimitri whimpered and clearly felt so awful. All he could do was cuddle, purr, and nuzzle. That, and seep as many positive vibes from soul to soul. 

"Your dad is here. He isn't going anywhere. He's here and he loves you and he'll be there when you wake up. Even after he leaves my body, he'll still be here. Still be your dad." 

For a fleeting moment, he ached for his dad. As busy of a man as Rustam was, he adored his dad and always felt adored in return. He never felt like he got enough time with his dad as a kid, but, well. It was what it was, and no use feeling sorry over it. Seeing Kiros with Seteth and Dimitri with Lambert made him ache nonetheless. He missed his dad, his family. He was terribly homesick, not that he would ever admit it.

The moment passed. He didn't notice that he now wore his childhood headwrap, nor that he wore a more nostalgic Almyran outfit. Those weren't his focus. His focus was Dimitri, and cuddling, and sending good vibes.

Dimitri might have dissolved into hysterics at some point, just working himself up by thinking too many thoughts, if Claude wasn't here. But Claude was here, and was giving him so much love and attention and affection that he couldn't help but be comforted. The warmth surrounded him, oozing from his boyfriend in waves. 

"Your dad is here. He isn't going anywhere. He's here and he loves you and he'll be there when you wake up. Even after he leaves my body, he'll still be here. Still be your dad."  

"Y-Yes," Dimitri whispered back with a tiny nod. Yes, he knew. His father was here to stay. As long as he was needed here. And Dimitri needed him so, so much. "Maybe, once he leaves your body, he'll... he'll trade places with you.” Maybe he could cuddle with his father like he was cuddling with Claude now. In sleep, where no one could bother them or hurt them. He would like that.

"I-If you don't mind sharing, that is." He didn't think Claude did. Hell, Claude was giving up his own body right now, of course he didn't mind sharing!

"Hehe. No, I don't mind sharing. No more than I mind sharing Kiros with Seteth." He intended to nuzzle Dimitri's neck. Instead, he chomped down and chomped hard. Just shy of drawing blood (or the dream equivalent). Mark! Needed a mark!

"Sorry," he said as soon as he was able to pull back. Even though he didn't mean to do that, he stared at the oh so pretty mark on Dimitri's neck. Prrrrrrr! He nuzzled it gently, lapping at the marks. He wasn't quite being territorial. Not with Lambert. Just... he wanted the mark there. Pretty mark.  

"So long as I don't have to share my boyfriend with anyone, I'm fine. That part of you is exclusive with me." Rumbling, he felt more than said 'Love you love you.'  

"Lambert can have his son, and I'll have my boyfriend. But I bet he'll be comfy in here with you. It's, mmm, really nice." He nuzzled not Dimitri, exactly, but that oh so warm core within his boyfriend.

Dimitri flinched slightly at the bite, but mostly just held still and accepted it. The sting of the mark was sort of... nice. He liked it. As soon as Claude lifted his head, he pressed a little kiss to his boyfriend's lips. 

"Heh, of course I'm exclusively yours in that regard," he promised, even managing to crack a small smile. He was so happy to have his Claude. He never would have figured out even half of how his ability worked if it wasn't for his boyfriend... "Mm, it's good to know he'll be comfortable," Dimitri added as Claude nuzzled him again. "I doubt he has been. For a long time." Not until recently when he was anything like himself, and even then he had been confused and disoriented and probably uncomfortable. But this way, his father would be able to stay close. Be there with him whenever he needed. And he needed his dad so much. 

"...Thank you," he said suddenly, though quietly. "For helping me figure this out. If it weren't for you and Big Claude, I don't think I ever would have."

"Probably hasn't felt much of anything," he murmured. Dimitri seemed to think he had been torturing his dad. Claude wasn't so sure, though he understood why Dimitri might think that. "Maybe confusion or a worried sense of urgency, I guess." 

Dimitri thanked him. Smiling against Dimitri's neck, he nodded. "Me too. I mean, thank you. And thank Big Claude too. Without him..." He shuddered. "Without him... without you... I don't want to think about it. Without him, I would be him. And without you..." He nibbled, squeezing tightly. 'Don't go.'  

"I don't know what I would have done without you. Gone insane, probably." Or just suffered. It was different for him, he was pretty sure. Similar to Lambert, but also different. He wasn't dead. And there were some things that the living were not meant to be without. "Heh. Maybe we'll just call it even between us, all right? No need for us to all owe each other a debt."

"That's going to be a difficult sell to a man raised under the knightly code of Faerghus," Dimitri informed his beloved, but at least he was self-aware. They took their debts very seriously in the Kingdom. Claude probably should have figured that out by now. And Dimitri especially would not forget all Claude had done for him. It was easy to give of himself and so, so difficult for him to ask for help with anything. Now, how much of that was being raised under the tenets of chivalry and how much of that was just Dimitri was difficult to tell. But it didn't seem like he was going to force the issue. Just, 

"If there is anything I can ever do, for your comfort or happiness or anything, please just let me know," he insisted. Then he tilted his head slightly and leaned in to give Claude another kiss. 

He loved him. He loved him so, so much, and was so grateful to him... and to Big Claude. Without him, none of this would have ever been uncovered. And Dimitri was glad — terrified, but also glad — that these parts of him he thought he was meant to hide forever were allowed to glimpse the light of day. Not with everyone. Only with those he could trust. But it was so much better than bearing the burden on his own.

"Well, at least you're self aware." He smiled. "I'll be sure to communicate my want—mmmss..." Mmmmm, kiss. "You're already doing such a good job." With that said, he went in for a second kiss. What more could he want? Well, Dimitri guilt-free was a want. But that was more of a goal than anything, and for Dimitri's sake and not his. 

They spent a Time cuddling, kissing, and snuggling. The more Time that passed, though, the more floaty Claude began to feel. Dimitri grew sluggish and sleepy. 

"Rest, my sweet lion," he murmured, feathering a touch to close Dimitri's eyes. "You're tired. Sleep deep. I'll be there when you wake, and so will your father." 

Meanwhile, in the waking world, Seteth was fretting. He was inclined to do so, after all. Thankfully, he wasn't fretting over his son, who took turns playing with his stuffed deer and taking micro naps with the stuffed deer. Utterly adorable, on par with Flayn when she was a baby.

It was his other son who he worried about. Though his instincts did not see Claude as a direct son, he was taking steps to mentally think of the boy that way. Claude was Kiros' other half. One could not be happy without the other. Oh, how he worried about his son two or three centuries from now. Claude might age slower than a normal human, but he was still mortal.

And so, he fretted. Fretted about all the unknowns. Fretted about the fact that he hadn't been fretting about this. He had known Dimitri could see Kiros' ghost this whole time, but hadn't thought to question it much. It seemed this went beyond Kiros. What did it all mean?  

Rhea was hiding something. She knew more than she was letting on. Nothing dangerous, he didn't think. She was genuine in what she told Dimitri, mostly. But she was holding something back, something she had yet to even tell him.

After a while of play, Kiros once again decided he was done being a baby dragon. He was glad that he had figured out how to shift forms on his own. Seteth was right; it was pretty easy once his instincts figured out what he was doing. A few times swapping back and forth with his father's help was enough for him to get it down. 

Even once he was in human form again, though, he picked up his deer plush (with his hand this time) and came over to sit next to his father. He cuddled up next to him with a little purr and a quiet sigh. 

"It's starting to get a little chilly out here tonight," he remarked, looking at Dimitri and Claude and how they slept curled so close to one another. He honestly didn't know if it was because it was chilly outside, or if Dimitri was clinging to his little brother so much because it was Lambert in there right now, and not his little brother. It could be either. Or it could be both. "Should we bring them inside?" he asked. Seteth would probably have to do most of the carrying, if so. But maybe Rhea could carry his twin. His twin was still very small.

Seteth nodded. "A good plan." The last thing they needed was for Claude to fall ill. "Rhea?" She nodded. 

"Of course." Kneeling beside the pair, she spent a long beat staring down at them. What she was thinking, Seteth had no idea. Eventually she bobbed a small nod. "He is blessed indeed to have a chance like this..." 

Carefully, she picked both Dimitri and Claude up at the same time. Seteth went on ahead and held the doors open for her. It seemed they would be nesting in Rhea's room again for convenience, not that she would mind. It was on Rhea's own bed that she placed the pair. He cleared his throat before she could go. "Will you be staying tonight, Rhea?" 

In an instant, he clocked that she did not plan on it. "There is much work to be done," she told him Church work, or... 'other' work? She smiled at Kiros and gave the boy a scritch behind the ears, then a kiss to the forehead. "You have been a very good boy for your father. I will see you around dinner, dear one." She took her leave.

Kiros had the exact same thought as Seteth at the exact same time. Unlike Seteth, he didn't keep it inside of his head. He waited for Rhea to leave, then turned to his father and sister. "Did she mean Church work, or... something else?" he asked, feeling a spike of worry for Dimitri and for Lambert. Neither his parent or sibling had an answer for him, though, so he just let out a little sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed. 

It wasn't quite big enough for three grown humans. So, once again, he took to his dragon form. He climbed up to roost on Dimitri's side and started purring, wondering if his twin could hear him from in there or at least sense his presence. In the morning, Lambert would have to leave Little Claude's body. But that was the morning. For now... All safe. All cozy. I'll keep watch.

Chapter Text

Lambert slept deeply and did not dream. When he woke, he could almost forget everything. He almost fooled himself into thinking he had merely been injured on the road to Duscur, and that he was now waking with the soreness of the aftermath. Rodrigue would step forth to scold him any moment now.

There was no Rodrigue. Instead, his eyes fell upon his grown son, and he knew he did not dream anything.

He was dead.

This wasn't his body.

His son had been agonizing over his death for years.  

"Good morning, Your Majesty." 

He startled at the sound of Rhea's voice. She sat on the edge of the bed, petting the snoozing reptile in her lap. Kiros. 

"Ahem. You need not call me by any titles, Your Grace." He was dead, after all. One was not a ruler in death.  

"I would tell you the same, then." Despite whispering, their chatter was rousing Dimitri. 

"Good morning, Son," he said softly, reaching out to card through Dimitri's hair. Savor the feeling. This may be the last time he ever touched his son's hair.

Dimitri woke up feeling more tired than when he had gone to sleep. He blamed it on the grief and sadness and tears, though. He hadn't felt sorrow this strong since that scorched night. But he was also... relieved. Relieved that his father was finally here. That he finally knew what was going on. That they could be together, and he could know his dad wasn't in any pain, and that he was safe, and just wanted to look out for him. All of that was a relief. 

Of course he was still anxious his father's spirit would fade at any time. But right now, it didn't seem like that was likely to happen. Not with how concerned his father's expression still appeared when it looked down at him and ran his fingers through his hair while he blinked awake. 

"Father..." he murmured in greeting, leaning closer to nuzzle against his dad's chest. "How did you sleep?" he asked before realizing they weren't alone in the room. It was Kiros' purring that gave it away. He turned to look over his shoulder and startled a little when he saw Rhea sitting there. 

"Oh—Lady Rhea. Where..." he glanced around and realized that he and his father were sleeping in the archbishop's bed. He cleared his throat before sitting up. "You did not need to sacrifice your bed for us.”

Rhea said nothing on the matter of bedding, merely waving her hand as though it was of no concern. Lambert did see a bundle of blankets in the corner holding both Seteth and Flayn, though it didn't look big enough for the archbishop (nor could he envision her curled up like that). 

"I do hate to cut this reunion short." She did sound genuinely sorry. "Claude should be returned to his own body sooner rather than later." 

Nodding, Lambert turned back to his son. "I won't be going anywhere," he promised, bringing their foreheads together. "I won't — can't — leave you, my son. I love you. Always and forever." 

He let Dimitri say his goodbyes in return. They weren't really goodbyes, though. 

Turning back to Rhea, he nodded. "I am ready." 

It was strange. It didn't hurt. It was like she took him by the arm and guided him down the street instead of yanking his soul from a living body. It was gentle. The world didn't go 'grey', exactly, but the colors didn't register the same. He felt nothing. Nothing but a yawning absence. Staring down at his own hands, he saw the bedding through them. 

Claude's body jerked. The young man whimpered, throwing an arm across his eyes. Rhea let go of him. The final anchor to sensation vanished. Everything except... except Dimitri, who radiated a welcoming warmth in a void of temperature. 

"I'm still here, my son." Any fears of Dimitri being unable to see or hear him were unfounded. Dimitri stared right at him.

"I know you are," Dimitri replied, reaching out for his father. He took his dad's hand, feeling little but a seeping cold. Even feeling that through the armor of his gauntlets was extreme, but he took it as that his father was directly touching his skin, sinking through his clothing to interact with him directly. 

His father startled a little at the touch and Dimitri smiled weakly. He knew it wasn't the same. But they could still interact with one another. Dimitri's other hand went to sit on the bed near Claude. He didn't touch his boyfriend, not  while he was still getting used to being in his body again. But Dimitri was there for him all the same. Ready to touch and hold and comfort as soon as Claude, too, was ready for it. For now, though, most of his attention was on his father. 

"I... am uncertain of where you go when you aren't with me," he said quietly. He didn't think his father knew, either. And that was a scary thing. "So... so I have an idea, Father. Claude says that my body is a very comfortable place for a spirit to hide in. If you would like... you can take the place he was resting last night. In here," he said, guiding his father's hand towards his chest. "It's all right. It's safe. Doesn't hurt me a bit."

Just as Lambert was getting used to the lack of sensation, he felt. Dimitri touched him. Touched him, bringing a breath of life and warmth to his soul. 

"I think... I believe I understand." He couldn't help but look at his son with awe. "You are... warm. More than warm, but that is how I can best describe it. You feel like... like life itself." There was a certain gravity about Dimitri. It would be so easy to simply slip forward. "You are sure it won't hurt you?" Part of him feared that there must be some cost to this, this... life-giving sensation. 

"I'm certain, Father." 

"Very well, then." It was easy. So, so easy to lean forward and feel the embrace of his son's warmth. Though he lost his sense of form, he gained a radiating feeling of warmth, life, and love. 

“Comfortable, Father?” Dimitri whispered, hand on his heart.

"Comfortable. Yes, very much so." He settled in like one might settle into a hot spring. "And you, my son? All is well?"

Aside from the fact he once again had tears in his eyes, "Yes, Father. Yes, I'm, I'm fine," Dimitri promised. He was holding his hand over his heart as the tears dripped down. His father was here. Safe. With him. There was no more confusion or pain or fear for either of them now. No screaming or wailing. All was... it was well. 

He sniffled and moved his hand to cover his eyes so that no one would be able to see the tears falling. Especially Lady Rhea. He was still stressed and embarrassed about crying in front of her. "I'm fine. I'm just, just relieved," he sniffled. "You're here..." 

"Mmmmgnnmitri..."

He had to lift his head from his hands as he heard Claude call his name (or at least an approximation of it; he understood). He turned towards his boyfriend and held out a hand for him. 

"Claude? Are you all right, as well?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice low.

"Mmmmrhm. 'M good." Could have stood to have Lambert stay in his weak body a little longer. But he was fine. "Psspspspps..." 

Kiros woke in an instant, zeroing in on him and chirping. Zooming off Rhea's lap (hopefully she wasn't upset about that), Kiros hit him like an arrow. A blunted, adorable arrow. 

"Oof! Missed'oo too." Purring, he wiggled so he could nuzzle Dimitri's hip while also cuddling Kiros.

Dimitri gave a weak little laugh as Kiros immediately woke up and barreled straight into his twin's chest. "Remind me to tell you about Claude and Kiros later, Father," he said. "They've quite a tale. And, ah, without them, I don't believe that I ever would have truly been able to speak with you." 

It terrified him that his father's spirit might have remained a screaming wraith warped by his own trauma for forever. If not for Kiros, then, then… he would have been torturing his father for the rest of his life. He surely had done just that in Kiros’ timeline…

Kiros was happily nibbling and suckling on Claude's braid. Taking that as indication enough his boyfriend was all right with touch, he reached out to run his fingers through his dark hair. 

"Would you like it if I went and got breakfast for you two?" he asked. Rhea cleared her throat and Dimitri glanced up at her. The smile she offered him was a curious one. 

"I regret to inform you that the breakfast hour has passed, Prince Dimitri," she told him. "It is nearly lunch now." 

"Nearly...?" he echoed, his eyes going wide. Oh. Oh, oops. When had he last slept this late?! Never, possibly, unless he was ill or injured. And he had fallen asleep so early last night, too, even before sundown! He hadn't even eaten dinner, and now it was nearly lunch! In that regard, he was more worried about Claude than about himself. But maybe not eating did explain while he felt so shaky right now. 

"Ah—then, Claude, how about I go fetch lunch? ...Though there's a chance that if I go to the dining hall, Dedue may try to detain me." Sylvain, too, after what had happened yesterday. And, after what had happened yesterday, he wasn't certain he'd be able to escape their concern.

Claude was a little reluctant to let Dimitri go. It was hard to pin it down, but... Dimitri looked really tired. Extra tired. He glanced at Seteth and Flayn. The pair were napping soundly in the corner. Glancing at Rhea... Ah. She was already getting up. In fact, she gave Kiros a goodbye kiss and him a head pat, then left. Which meant if they wanted food, it was on Dimitri. 

Hmph. Rhea could have offered! Yes, she was a busy archbishop, but still. 

Huffing, he turned back to Dimitri. "If you want. Or we can wake Seteth." He flopped back onto Rhea's feather pillows. "Wish I could go myself. Soon." He might just skip lunch entirely if not for that. He had to get better. He would only fix his stick-limbs by eating.

"Then it will be done," Dimitri promised. "Although... if I am not back in a reasonable amount of time, then you should feel free to wake Seteth and have him fetch something for you. Sometimes my friends can be quite insistent about me staying in the dining hall to eat.” He looked over at Kiros and smiled. "You'll make sure my Claude eats, won't you?"

The little dragonling purred and chirped at him and rolled over to show his golden belly, which Dimitri took as agreement. He chuckled lightly, then located Loog and offered him to Claude. "Protect him for me again today?"

"Of course I will!" Claude replied, taking the little lion and holding him close. Dimitri leaned down to give his boyfriend a kiss on the brow. Then he stood up. 

Woah, he was lightheaded. Perhaps he did need to eat something. "I'll do my best to be back soon," he repeated once more before heading for the door. 

He got out into the hallway and to the stairs before carefully making his way down. Luckily, most of the dizziness had passed, and he felt in no danger of falling by holding on to the rail. But the faint lightheadedness still remained. He was fine. Just needed to eat a little something.

Lambert settled. It was strange, here. Comfortable, as he was told it would be. Warm. Though... perhaps he was simply adjusting, but the warmth seemed to be draining. 

There was a sort of orb at the center of Dimitri. 'Orb' wasn't quite right. It didn't have shape, nor was it any more real than he was. It was simply a point of which the warmth revolved, catching his spirit with it. 

He wished he had answers to give his son about this. Unfortunately, he was even more in the dark about it than Dimitri. All he could do was support his son as best he could. 

The warmth pulsed cold, briefly. Was that supposed to happen? It was only for a moment. 

"How are you, Son? Feeling well?" It was a father's job to fret. He was feeling very fretful. Call it instinct. Something seemed off about this.

Dimitri had paused at the bottom of the stairs to lean back against the wall and close his eyes for a moment to bask in the sunshine. He knew what Claude said about him being warm. Apparently it made him a spirit-magnet. He was glad for that. Glad that his father felt comfortable and safe enough to stay with him like this. But as for Dimitri himself, he felt a chill he couldn't quite shake. 

The sunlight helped. Eating would probably help, too. He just needed a moment to catch his breath and get moving to the dining hall once again. 

"How are you, Son? Feeling well?" he heard his father ask, and he blinked his eyes back open. Claude said he couldn't see out from inside unless he made an effort to poke his head onto the outside of Dimitri's body. But when he looked down, he didn't see his father's face. He didn't know, therefore, how his father knew he had taken a break. He decided just to play it off for now. 

"I'm fine. A little hungry, that's all," he explained, lifting himself off the wall and heading towards the refectory. "Heh, Dedue will be pleased. I do doubt he'll let me out of his sight before I eat, though.” 

Poor Claude. But if his boyfriend got too hungry, then Seteth was right there. Seteth would surely handle it if Dimitri was slow.

Dedue was worried about His Highness, of course. He hadn't been terribly worried though, when Dimitri failed to show up for class. Just normal worried. Hopefully, Dimitri just spent the night with Claude and overslept. 

He just arrived at the dining hall, prepared to keep walking and search for the missing prince, when he saw Dimitri walk into the hall. Relief filled his chest. 

"Your Highness. I was—are you well?" Cutting himself off, he couldn't hide his naked worry. He placed a hand on Dimitri's forehead. Instead of the fever he feared, Dimitri felt abnormally chilled. Dimitri was pale. Paler than he should be, with massive bags under his eyes. The prince stood with a subtle sway.

"Let us take a seat," he said hastily, not wanting His Highness to fall and strike his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sylvain's sharp gaze. No matter. Dimitri was more important than whatever Sylvain wanted to think.

It was one thing for his father to ask if he was all right. And normally, it was one thing for Dedue to ask if he was all right. In life, Father had always fretted over him. Not every little bruise and scrape, but he always made sure to check in whenever he could and make sure he was okay. Dedue was the same — in many ways, Dedue had sort of replaced his father when it came to the 'looking out for Dimitri' department. No one else really did that anymore, save Dedue. 

So he wasn't surprised by Dedue's question. He'd heard it many times before. What came coupled with the question, though — that expression of alarm and true concern, rather than just a gentle inquiry and a creased brow — was not ordinary at all. 

"I'm fine," he repeated, just as he had to his father little more than a minute ago. "A little hungry. That's all." 

Dedue didn't look like he believed him and immediately led him over to the nearest table to sit down. Dimitri didn't realize how much he had been swaying until the world was suddenly still as he took a seat. Woah. Okay. "My blood sugar must be low. I... missed dinner last night," he confessed. It wasn't the longest he had ever gone without eating. But combined with his emotional outburst, it must have taken more of a toll than he realized.

"I see." Dedue wasn't so sure, but he didn't push the matter. All he pushed was his own plate of food in front of Dimitri. He had yet to touch it, and Dimitri looked like he needed to eat immediately. That, and actually rest. "You should not attend class today, Your Highness. You should rest. Whether in your room or in the infirmary." He didn't list Claude’s room, both because they were in public and because he worried Claude was part of the reason why Dimitri didn't sleep last night.

"Hey, Your Highness. How's it going?" Dedue leveled a flat look at Sylvain. Unfortunately, Sylvain was immune. "Feeling all right? You're looking a bit pale."

"The infirmary?" Dimitri repeated with surprise. He didn't look that bad, did he? This was just a case of Dedue worrying too much, surely. 

...Then again, he supposed he hadn't really looked in a mirror this morning. He hadn't done anything with his hair, though he rarely did. Still, it could look a mess. And he had no idea what his post-crying face looked like. So that could be the explanation. 

He was trying to figure out how he was supposed to tell Dedue that he was fine now, and just had a big cry yesterday, when Sylvain interrupted them with a blithe greeting. Dedue wasn't the only one who gave Sylvain a flat look. After what had happened yesterday? 

Well, actually. If he looked as horrible as Dedue was making it sound he looked, he supposed Sylvain might be worried that he had caused it, somehow. That seemed low on the list of possibilities given how little Sylvain cared about the consequences of his actions, but perhaps some benefit of the doubt was warranted in this case. 

"...I admit, yesterday was... stressful," he said, choosing his words carefully as they were in public. "But I am well now, I assure you. I simply neglected to freshen up when I realized how late to class I was. Perhaps I'll go have a bath. ...After I finish eating, of course," he said when he could feel Dedue's stare boring into the side of his face. He turned to the plate and picked up his fork and looked down. Salad and some sort of stew. He could stomach this.

Sylvain winced, well aware that he held a lot of the blame in how stressed Dimitri had been. Honestly? As good as it was to see Dimitri actually eat a meal without being prodded, it sort of worried him. Stress didn't usually drive Dimitri to eat. 

Sharing a glance with Dedue (well, Dedue shared a glare with him, which was fair), it was clear that they were both worried. Obviously they didn't want to interrupt, so they said nothing. Sylvain even wandered away from the table after giving Dimitri a pat on the back. He was keeping his eye on the prince, but hovering wouldn't help. 

He ate his own meal, keeping a close eye until Dimitri got up and left (having actually finished his food for once). 

"We're going to go check on him, right?" he asked Dedue. "Make sure he doesn't drown or something."

"Naturally I am," Dedue said. "Though I believe I can handle it on my own." 

Much to his surprise, Sylvain protested the notion. That made him lift his brow. Ah... it seemed like, for once, Sylvain was concerned with the consequences of his actions. If that was the case, then Dedue decided he would not bar Sylvain from seeing the prince. It might actually help to alleviate some of the prince's fears, to see that his friend did care about making sure he was all right. 

Dimitri's friends were all mostly good people. Dedue did trust Dimitri's safety with them. But he knew that the prince often felt disconnected from them these days. Yes; having Sylvain come along would be good. 

"I suppose I may need an extra pair of hands on deck. Or someone else to convince him to take a break from classes today. Perhaps the two of us can manage it," he agreed, and headed towards the bathhouse. 

In the bathhouse, Dimitri had just started to get undressed when Dedue and Sylvain left the dining hall. He only had a few minutes' head start on them, and honestly? He expected at least Dedue to show up. He saw the look in his retainer's eyes. He knew that look. Dedue didn't want to leave him alone. 

He understood that. Dedue, more than anyone else, knew of his penchant for getting... tangled up in his own mind, that was how he had referred to it before. Sometimes when he got tired, though, the ghosts got louder. The visions more vivid. And sometimes he would just get... lost. Times like that were times he needed Dedue. Dedue must think this was one of those times. 

But it wasn't! He would just have to convince Dedue when he showed up here, since it would be safer to talk about when it was just the two of them. He wasn't having terrible visions. He just had sobbed his heart out yesterday and—

The ground was suddenly quite close to his face.

Lambert was yanked from the cooling core of his son and into something very painful. 

Spasming, he clutched at his face and nearly poked his eye out. This wasn't Claude's body. The gauntlets made that obvious: he was in his son's body this time. Dimitri's stomach dropped. 

He was alone, at least. No one he needed to pretend to be Dimitri for was around.

"Dimitri?" he whispered. No reply. Okay. Something happened. Perhaps Dimitri just fell asleep? But, no. Dimitri would not have ‘fallen asleep’ standing up. He should go to Lady Rhea, or someone more knowledgeable. 

First though, he had to peel himself off the ground. 

"Oh, son," he murmured, able to feel just how crummy Dimitri had been feeling. Not as bad as Claude's aches had been, thankfully, but certainly… neglected, in certain areas of self care.

It seemed he was in the bathhouse. Might as well splash some water on his face to see if that could wake his son. 

Stripping the gauntlets, he froze. With just one off, he didn't find the hands he remembered. These ones were scarred. Burns. Terrible, old burns. He didn't have to take the other glove off to know it was just as burnt. He slumped back down, starting at his son's hands. Oh, Dimitri… 

Dedue and Sylvain entered the bathhouse just shy of hearing Dimitri's body smack against the ground. As they approached the door to the men's side of the bathhouse, Dedue let out a little hum. He didn't hear the water running yet. Hopefully His Highness was doing all right. Or perhaps His Highness was struggling to get off a piece of his uniform. That would be excellent for Dedue. It would give him the perfect excuse to walk right inside and offer his aid. 

To start with, though, he just knocked on the door. "Your Highness?" he called through, completely unaware of the swap in pilot of Dimitri's body, and of Lambert's pained revelations about what his son looked and felt like right now. Dedue kept his caution as measured as ever as he spoke, hoping that by doing so Dimitri would not tell him to 'quit worrying' and send him away. "Would you like assistance in preparing for the bath?"

He didn't mention Sylvain. He had a feeling Sylvain would probably announce himself at some point. The man never could keep his mouth shut, after all.

Blast. Lambert startled, dropping one of the gauntlets and making a loud noise. "I'm quite all right, lad," he called out, terribly distracted. By sensation, by his son's hands, by his worry. His son's silence had him sweating.

'Dimitri?' he mentally called again, to no avail. Taking off his other glove, he stared at the warped flesh. Goddess, his poor son.

...Lad? That one gave Dedue a good amount of pause. That was definitely Dimitri's voice calling back to him from in there. But definitely not a thing he expected Dimitri to say. 

He cleared his throat again. "Your Highness. Are you certain you are all right?"

"Sounds like you knocked something over, Prince Dimitri. Need help picking something up? You know I can't stand a mess laying around," Sylvain added. 

There was another clatter from inside and the pair glanced at one another. 

"I am coming inside, Your Highness," Dedue announced before he pushed open the door. He gave it an extra little shove to keep it open for Sylvain to follow him inside.

Therein, they found Dimitri. Sitting down on one of the long benches, still mostly clothed, with only his gauntlets lying on the floor. 

Dedue's brow creased. Dimitri was normally more careful with these. He knelt to pick them up. "Allow me," he said, placing them and the gloves on the bench properly. He looked into Dimitri's eyes then, seeing a level of distress that he was not used to. Dimitri was usually better at masking his anxieties than this. 

Carefully, he reached out and covered one of Dimitri's hands with his own. "What is it, Dimitri?" he asked, dropping the title this time. It was rare that he did so. Only when he was most concerned about his prince.

"Ah, you needn't concern yourself with me." Lambert was sweating. "I appreciate the concern, Dedue. I am..." ...Dimitri wasn't all right. That was the problem. While he didn't want anyone to think Dimitri was mad, his son needed some sort of help. "Perhaps I am not fine." 

Sylvain whistled. "Need us to carry you?" 

"No no, there's no need for that, Sylvain. Your concern is appreciated, truly. I can walk, though." 

Dedue was staring at him. Had he said something wrong? "Is this related to our little chat yesterday?" Sylvain hedged. 

...Right. Dimitri had been upset with Sylvain eavesdropping. About ghosts. At the reminder, Dedue's eyes flickered around the room. 

"We're alone here," he was quick to reassure. Then wince. "Which is part of the problem..." No Dimitri. "Ahem. I suppose I should put my gloves back on." Glancing back down at the burned skin was another wound to the heart. If only he survived.

They were alone... which was part of the problem? Dedue didn't understand. And that was very, very concerning. Usually he followed Dimitri's tells well, and was able to sense when the prince was going into one of his... states. This was not like that. This was not like anything Dedue had ever seen before. 

"Dimitri, if we are alone here, then you may speak plainly," Dedue insisted. "...Or would you rather speak to only one of us?" He assumed that, perhaps, the prince wanted Sylvain to leave. But perhaps he was wrong, and this was something he wanted to keep from Dedue. Hopefully, neither was the case. 

"If we don't know what's wrong, we can't help, Your Highness," Sylvain added, crossing his arms. "I get that I'm not the most reliable guy, but... hey, careful!" 

Dimitri ripped his glove trying to put it back on. Which was not at all uncommon. But it was another sign of the prince's stress.

"Ah... My apologies." Dimitri's hands could barely feel. The burn scars left his son's hands nearly numb. Oh, Dimitri. Placing his hands on his lap to avoid further destruction, he looked between the two young men. 

Dimitri trusted Dedue, and Lambert trusted Sylvain. Dimitri needed aid. He did not know to lend that aid. Thus, he needed help.

"...I am not Dimitri," he admitted, wincing. "I have been with him all day, at his invitation. In an, ahem, unseen manner. Then he collapsed and I was the one to awaken. He needs help, perhaps from Lady Rhea. Claude may know what to do."

It took Dedue a moment to realize what had happened. What this... not -Dimitri was referring to. Yesterday, he would not have understood. Yesterday, he would have perhaps even panicked to hear that there was someone else wearing the prince's skin. Today, he was still terrified to hear that. But at least he understood. 

"Wait, woah, wait—wait—what do you mean you're not Dimitri?" Sylvain demanded. Dedue knew he wasn't slow on the uptake. Likely he was just in shock. "Who are you, then?" 

Dedue didn't need to ask that question. Not after hearing what else the spirit had said. That had to be what this was: a spirit. And in context of who Dimitri had been talking about only yesterday…

"...King Lambert?" he asked.

"I'm not much of a king anymore," was his response.

Sylvain's eyes bugged wide and he made a sound not unlike being stabbed in the back. A sharp inhale, a choking gasp.

"Circumstances aside, it is good to see you again, Sylvain. You have grown into a fine young man and a loyal friend." Though Dimitri had been upset with Sylvain yesterday, he believed Sylvain had good intentions. Intentions that, hopefully, paid off now. 

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He felt the way air went in and out, through the living lungs of his son. Calm. He was doing his best to stop the shaking in his son’s hands.

"I have only recently come to understand my current... ahem, state of being. Dimitri assured me that this would be safe for him, but given I am here and he is not, I am having doubts about that." He paused when Sylvain and Dedue paled. "He is still here!” He tapped his chest. "He isn't gone. Goddess forbid. He is... sleeping, or something of the like. I am not familiar enough with my situation to know how to, ahem, 'leave'. Lady Rhea had to assist me this morning." 

"This has happened before?" Sylvain choked out. 

"Not with Dimitri. It, ah, is rather complicated. There was another—but, that is not my story to tell."

Okay. Okay. So Prince Dimitri's body was currently being possessed by the ghost of his dead father, oooor Dimitri had really gone off the deep end this time. Cool cool cool. Honestly, Sylvain wasn't sure which was the more likely. Dimitri had always been kinda... off, after the Tragedy. Of course, there was no blaming him for that! Anyone would be messed up after that sort of thing. Still, this seemed extreme. But when the alternative was to accept the fact that ghosts were real and they were sentient and could possess Prince Dimitri's body (hopefully not randomly; hopefully only by permission), he wasn't sure which was more of a stretch. Either Dimitri had gone absolutely crazy, or ghosts were real.  

Either way... fuck. 

"If you could please describe Dimitri's condition to us, that would be of great help," Dedue said. "How does he — do you — feel, physically?"

Sylvain was still having a mental short-circuit. He could probably be more useful right now. Come on, Sylvain, do something! Say something! Help out! This was important!

"I can, uh, I can go get Lady Rhea," he offered, since that was the only doable, sane thing that had been proposed in the last minute.

Lambert took stock of himself. He felt decent, honestly. That said, the only reference he had in the past... hm… er, in the recent past was Claude's ill body. In comparison, Dimitri felt great. But only by that comparison. 

He searched a little deeper. "Fatigued," he decided. "He feels fatigued, though not so badly as I would expect for him to faint." 

Sylvain offered to get Lady Rhea. 

He shook his head. "I can walk. Summoning the archbishop to the bathhouse is liable to cause more troublesome gossip than it's worth." He nearly went to pull the gloves back on, but thought better of it. "May I ask for your assistance with this, Dedue? I do not wish to rip the fabric further." 

Dedue did just that in silence. Lambert couldn't help but fret in the silence too, worried about his son. Dimitri was still with him, he could tell. But... sleeping. Quiet. Cold. The warmth of Dimitri's body — not the physical warmth, but the spiritual one — was gone. Used up?  

He got to his feet on his own. Though years had passed since his death, it didn't feel that way to him. Just yesterday he was walking, as far as his mind was concerned.

"Yeah, he looks fatigued," was all the helpful input Sylvain had to give. When he heard that Lambert planned to go to the archbishop, though, he at last thought of something he could do. "At this time of day, I think she's usually in the cathedral," he said. "I'll go ahead of you. See what I can do about distracting anyone you might run into on the way. Heh, even nuns can't resist a cute guy like me," he said.

He expected to see Dimitri frown at him. He got confused blinking instead. And then he realized what he had just said in front of Dimitri's father.

“Still putting your charm to good use, I see,” was the weird thing Lambert (fucking King Lambert) had to say to him. “Thank you, Sylvain.”

He cleared his throat and saw himself out of the room quickly. Clear the path for Dedue and Lambert so that they could talk to Rhea in privacy. Not the easiest mission in the world, but one he would see done. Honestly, when he was still pretty sure that the way he'd stressed out Dimitri yesterday was a major contributing factor in this... whatever that was going on, it was the least he could do.

Lambert watched Sylvain leave in a rush. He was grateful to see that Dimitri and Sylvain were still such good friends even after all these years, and even after the fight they had… yesterday? Whenever that was. 

"Let me know if you feel unsteady," Dedue said. "I will assist you, if it is needed."

"For now, I feel steady. If that changes, I will inform you." Perhaps a better plan would have been to return to the third floor and have Seteth summon Rhea. Too late for that now, though. 

Between the distraction of lunch and of Sylvain, they ran into no one until the bridge. It seemed there was still one force that Sylvain could not beat: the combined might of Ingrid and Felix.

"Come on, you can scold me all you want! At the training grounds though. That's why you're pissed at me, right Felix?"

Ingrid swatted Sylvain's head. "You're so irresponsible! We're—oh! Your Highness, there you are. Feeling better?" Ingrid rushed over to him, looking him up and down. "You look steadier." 

"Just let the boar wear himself out. It's the only way to keep a beast like him from breaking everything."

His jaw fell open. Sylvain and Ingrid were like the children he remembered. Felix? Felix was like Glenn but even more abrasive. Boar? Beast? "Felix," he said softly, forgetting himself for a moment. Dimitri would have called his tone the 'shocked and gently disappointed dad voice'.

"What?" Felix snapped when Dimitri said his name like that. Goddess, but he hated that tone. That was the tone his dad used with him! The boar must have picked it up from the old man at some point. 

Damned tone. The blasted boar really pissed him off sometimes.

"You have something to say to me, boar? You know how we talk. Weapons, not words.” He turned on his heel to march off towards the training grounds. "I'll be waiting for you. If you feel like whatever you have to tell me is important enough to get a beating over."

Sylvain watched as Dimitri's mouth opened to say something else. "Eeh, I'd let it go if I were you, Your Highness," he interjected. "Felix is just being Felix." 

"He's being Felix, but he shouldn't get away with disrespecting our future king like that," Ingrid said with a frown. She also looked towards the training grounds, then back to Dimitri. "No one would blame you for taking him up on that fight." Behind her, Sylvain made a desperate 'cut it out!' motion across his neck. The last thing they needed was Lambert-possessed-Dimitri to get in a fight!

"Prince Dimitri is busy at present. Any spar with Felix will have to wait," Dedue said. It earned him a venomous glare from Ingrid, but the man weathered it. By some miracle, she made no comment about him infringing on the prince's personal life in a position that should have been held by his 'true friends'. Yeah, Sylvain knew how she felt on that matter. …Damn, now he was wondering if Lambert would judge him for that if it came to light. He rubbed the back of his neck, reeeally not liking the squirming in his gut. Thankfully, instead of saying something shitty to Dedue, she just sighed.

"Well, then I suppose someone else will have to handle him, then. Come on, Sylvain," she said, reaching up to grab him by the collar of his shirt. "You've been slacking on your training recently. This should get you back into shape." 

"Aww, Ingrid!" he whined, but unfortunately he didn't really see an out for him on this one. He mouthed a 'good luck!' to Dedue and Lambert as he was hauled off. Well... at least the path was clear, now.

Lambert didn't understand. That was Felix? He watched Dimitri's childhood friends leave.

"I don't understand," he murmured. "Felix is Dimitri's best friend." He watched the young man stomp off. It was like staring at Glenn, but a crueler, twisted Glenn. He never imagined Felix growing up to be like... like this. He turned to Dedue, both stunned and distraught. "How long has he been like, like this? He used to be such a sweet boy."

Dedue let out a quiet hum before any other response he could think to make. He knew he should choose his words carefully. He did not know what Dimitri wanted revealed to his father and what he didn't. He wasn't even entirely sure what Lambert already knew and what hadn't been told to him. It seemed like he understood the circumstances of his own death. Talking about that — about why Felix had changed — was all tangled up with the Tragedy.

He didn't know what to say to the king.

(There was also the smaller matter that Dedue did not like thinking about the Tragedy, either. He would endure any discomfort for the sake of Dimitri, of course. So it was a matter of figuring out what Dimitri wanted his father to know. Not of what Dedue thought he himself could tolerate speaking about.)

This was just... it was not a happy tale. The former king probably knew that already. But he had asked, and Dedue thought Dimitri would probably like him to answer.

"I did not know Prince Dimitri, or any of his friends, before the Tragedy," Dedue began, which was probably obvious to Lambert, seeing as they had never met in life. "And for that first year afterwards, His Highness was... extremely isolated. His uncle had no interest in him, and even Duke Fraldarius came by only once before the anniversary of your death. I was his only companion for quite some time. That first year was... difficult. He was visited more often by healers than anyone he knew before. So in those months, he grew distant from his friends. They began to come by for visits every so often after that first year, but even I as an outsider could tell that things were tense. They did not seem to know what to do with him, nor he with them. But I believe the turning point happened a little more than a year ago.”

Last year. To think, it was only a year ago…

"There was a rebellion in the western part of Faerghus. Prince Regent Rufus decided it would be a wise plan to send Prince Dimitri out to quell it, despite him only being sixteen. Felix was also sent on the campaign. ...I went along, as well. And... when we reached the front, most things were already ablaze. I believe it took His Highness back to that night in Duscur. He fought like a man possessed. He rushed the enemy so quickly that I lost sight of him, but Felix was at his side. Whatever happened during that fight, Felix never looked at him the same way again.” Pausing, he heaved a sigh. "His Highness told me afterwards that he believed he slew some of the people he had seen on the night of the attack that ended your life. He was... happy, to have been able to kill them. I do not think Felix understood." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before saying what he did next.

"I, however, do."

He would have been happy to see Dimitri kill them, as well. But he had missed that part, and only afterwards had he been able to hear about it.

Lambert stood and listened as Dedue told him a horrible story. He hadn't wanted to know more about Duscur and the aftermath. What good would it do, other than burden him with guilt he could never fix?

That was a coward's thought, though. He was here to support Dimitri, and Dimitri was directly affected by what happened. So he listened.

He needed to pay Rufus a visit, for one thing. He didn't want to believe that his older brother was the kind of man to send his nephew out to battle to die. There had to be more under the surface. He didn't see Rufus as a man who even wanted power.

He bowed his head as Dedue continued. His son. Goddess, had his boy not suffered enough already? To be sent to the front lines of a battle... Against his own people, no less!

"I see." He stared down at his—at Dimitri's feet. So Felix became... this, feeling betrayed by Dimitri's actions. He didn't entirely understand it even still. (It did not yet occur to him that Glenn must have perished too at Duscur.) Lambert had never been a man of revenge. He never saw the point. But he could not judge his son for enjoying the death of those who killed him. Certainly never hate his son, as Felix seemed to. He couldn't place himself in Dimitri's shoes. But he didn't need to. It wasn't his place to judge his son. (Maybe this was why he had been assassinated. He believed too strongly in reconciliation and forgiveness. A sterner man would have dealt with the snakes in his court.)

Bonds of childhood friendship meant little for adults, it seemed. It broke his heart anew to see how thoroughly shattered Dimitri's friendship was with Felix. Once, those two had been nigh inseparable. Now.... Well. Now was now and the past was past.

"Thank you for telling me." It would have been easy for Dedue to say it was a long story and leave it at that. "And thank you. Deeply, I thank you. For being there for my son. For being his friend."

He glanced around to ensure they were alone. Not for his sake, but because he didn't want to cause any rumors for Dimitri. Then, when he was sure, he knelt on one knee and bowed his head to Dedue. He may no longer be a king, but there were few he had bowed to in his life. "From the depths of my soul, I thank you, Dedue." He wished he could offer something. Anything but words. He wished, well... that he could offer the equality and peace he sought with Duscur. Instead, his attempts slew the innocents of the land. If Dedue hated him for that, regardless of his intentions, he understood. And he commended the young man for staying by Dimitri's side nonetheless.

Dedue was not a man who often let his emotions show on his face. Dimitri called him stoic. There were also those who called him inhuman. But those who said that often said the same about Dimitri — the whispers that the prince had been warped and made into a young man without the ability to feel anything were not ones they were oblivious to. The pair of them had decided they didn't care. In many ways — although Dedue knew he was not Dimitri's equal, and he could not afford to be the prince's friend because of how it would look — there were many times where it felt like it was just him and the Prince against the world. Dedue would do whatever it took to keep the world from beating Dimitri down even more than it already had. He would be Dimitri's shield (now that his future Shield of Faerghus had abandoned him). He was his protector, his companion, his retainer. No matter what the world threw at them; of course he would be at Dimitri's side. Through anything. Through everything. He didn't expect or even want praise for it.

So when Lambert, in Dimitri's body, bowed to him, he didn't know how to handle it. Even his normally impassive face cracked with a look of shock. He even took a small step backwards. If they had been on the bridge, there was possibly a very real risk that he would have toppled over the side of it.

"There is no need for thanks," he said. He glanced around them and made sure no one was watching while he quickly made a motion with his hand for Lambert to get back up. "His Highness saved my life. That I would stay by his side is a given. It is not a cause for commendation. It simply... is," he insisted. He'd never been very good with gratitude. Not on this scale.

"I am not thanking you for doing a duty, Dedue. I am thanking you for caring." Anyone could serve the Prince of Faerghus. Anyone could work to repay a life debt. But to care? When Lambert could not? Dedue may have a life debt to Dimitri. Lambert, in that case, had something of a death debt to Dedue then. This man had been there for his son when no one else was there. Even Felix, who he thought would never leave Dimitri's side no matter the storm, had left. But not Dedue. Dedue, who had no reason to care for the prince of a nation that... that did terrible things to Duscur, from his understanding. No reason but a life debt, and life debts did not demand care. Merely servitude. Whatever Dedue thought of himself, Lambert knew that Dimitri saw the young man as a dear friend.

He stood, not wanting Dedue to feel any more uncomfortable. "I do not know what I can offer aside from my gratitude. But if that ever changes, you need only ask it of me. Or, ahem, ask it of Dimitri to ask of me, I suppose." He would not dwell on this much longer, but he refused to let this thread pass without Dedue understanding how important his friendship was. And how grateful this fallen father was. "Now, I suppose we ought to find the archbishop."

Before they could take a step across the bridge, footsteps came from behind. Turning, he recognized the man. Seteth. An unhappy Seteth.

"There you are. I failed to find you when I fetched lunch for Claude and—" the man glanced at Dedue — "Flayn, ahem. Claude and Flayn. They are worried about you." Lambert wasn't sure if Seteth was also worried about Dimitri, or if the man simply didn't like seeing Claude and Kiros fret. Regardless, this was a good opportunity.

"I am in need of Lady Rhea's assistance once more. There has been an, ah... incident. Similar to yesterday's." Dedue was staring a hole into his head, but asked no questions.

Seteth's eyes, on the other hand, went wide. "Oh... oh dear. Yes. Return to the room — I will fetch Rhea posthaste."

"I will accompany you, your Highness," Dedue said just as Seteth was passing them. Seteth didn't turn. He didn't even break stride. But he did let out a hiss as soon as Dedue said those words. He wasn't quite sure if Seteth was even conscious of the fact that he had done it. "I will accompany you up the stairs, at the very least." To make sure Dimitri's body didn't falter and fall. "Let us go."

He didn't dwell on the hiss. Just like he didn't dwell on what Lambert had said to him. He was good at minding his own business, and in this case... he was not going to dismiss the way that his late Majesty felt. But Lambert could not possibly have the full picture, not in so short a time. Dedue knew that he and Dimitri could not be friends, though. For the prince to call someone like him a friend would do nothing but damage his reputation. To have a man of Duscur as a servant was one thing. But to call him 'friend,' when still most of Faerghus thought it was his people who had murdered Lambert? He and Dimitri knew the truth. But until Dimitri was on the throne and things had changed, it was not safe for him to be Dimitri's friend. It'd do nothing but put his Highness at risk. Of course he cared deeply about Dimitri. And he knew Dimitri cared deeply about him. But as far as the rest of the world was concerned, Dedue served Dimitri only out of duty. Anything else was... not something the world was ready for.

That was too much to explain to Lambert. And he had a feeling that the late king did not want to hear it regardless. What purpose did the words serve to someone who could do nothing about the situation? Only cause pain. Dedue had only told him about the relationship status of Dimitri's friends because the king had directly asked, and even then Lambert did not seem pleased with the answer. So he would say nothing more unless directly asked. For now, he just kept a hand on Dimitri's back as they climbed the stairs towards the third floor.

Lambert fully intended to bring Dedue with him. It didn't occur to him that the baby dragon was, perhaps, a secret the man did not yet know. Nor was it a secret that was his to reveal. Dimitri needed his friend, though, and Dedue was that friend. Deep down, in a part of him that must have been a core part of Dimitri, he trusted Dedue implicitly. The fact that he felt it too spoke volumes of Dimitri's trust. Thus, he didn't think twice about his escort.

He did wince when Claude and the little reptile (and a young girl) froze at the sight of Dedue. 

"Claude," he greeted with a nod, cutting right to the chase. "Have you ever accidentally possessed Dimitri? He fainted earlier, and ever since, I have been stuck in control." 

Claude blinked a few times, picking up on the situation swiftly. The boy hardly spared a glance at Dedue. Perhaps so much proximity to Dimitri's core had a bit of that deep trust rubbing off on him too. Dedue was trustworthy, he knew that. 

"I've slipped into Dimitri by accident. Er, fairly frequently, to be honest. But I've never possessed him." Biting his lip, Claude's brow scrunched together. "I knew he didn't look right this morning..."

Part of being so close to the royal family was knowing when to keep one's mouth shut. Dedue was privy to many secrets of the Blaiddyd household. Such as how much of the monthly budget (what little was left after the handouts made to other nobles by doormat Rufus) was spent on alcohol. Among many other secrets, now counting Dimitri's ghostly powers. He could keep quiet about the strange, winged reptile in Rhea's room. Even when that reptile suddenly transformed into a green Claude. 

"Oh, dear," the man said, with Claude's voice. Dedue stared. He stared at the one-armed, green Claude. He couldn't help it. He was staring at a shapeshifting doppelganger. What else was he supposed to do?

Look at Dimitri. Make sure Dimitri was okay. He managed to pull his gaze away, though not for long when the green Claude just came over to Dimitri's side anyway. 

"...I might be able to do this," the man continued, reaching out to put his hand on Dimitri's chest. Dedue's shoulders went tight. It was one thing to have Lady Rhea assist the late king. Dedue was fairly certain of her good intentions towards his prince. But this stranger was an unknown quantity and he was touching Dimitri. "I've had the spell performed on me enough times to have a feel for it. It's not difficult. If you'd just like to sit down first... or lay down, first, that'd probably be a good idea." 

"Uhm!" Flayn chirped from nearby, and when green Claude turned to her, she pointed at him. Dedue. Green Claude looked at him and then swiftly retracted his hand from Dimitri. 

"Oh. Hey, Dedue. Wow, you could kill a man with that glare."

"Perhaps we ought to wait for Lady Rhea. Seteth is already on route to bring her." Lambert glanced between Dedue and Kiros. Did the two have a history...? Blast, there was so much he simply didn't know. He didn't even know why Kiros could do what he could do... or why Claude's body had been empty yesterday. Or who the young girl was. It was a little distressing to be reminded just how blind he was to the world around him. It had moved on without him in the past... past years, however long that was. Just look at Felix. For all he knew, Ingrid turned into a vegetarian. At least Sylvain was as dependable as ever (and still pretending not to be). 

"I will take a seat for now," he decided, sitting on the bed. Dedue sat beside him, still watching Kiros like a hawk. "...I apologize for my ignorance. Do you two share a history that I should be aware of?"

"We don't," green Claude said at the same time Dedue shook his head. "Which, ah, I imagine is the problem." 

Dedue gave a small nod. "Forgive me. I do not know who you are. And generally, I try to keep strangers away from touching his Highness," he said. "...Although you do not have the face of a stranger. Which I only find all the more concerning." 

The green Claude's eyes darted over to regular Claude. Dedue followed his gaze and felt his chest clench a little at the sight of the Golden Deer's House Leader. There was clearly something going on here, something which he did not fully understand. Claude looked terrible. No wonder Dimitri had requested for him to make a special, hearty meal a few days ago. It must have been for Claude. He wondered what had happened. Who this stranger was and if he had anything to do with Claude's current condition. But as ever, he did not pry. Unless there was an active threat posed to his Prince by whatever was happening here, it was not his business. 

So for now, all he did was keep a vigilant eye, and make sure that there was no threat here. Green Claude was staring hard at his twin. If Dedue didn't know any better, he would think the two were speaking to one another within their minds. 

(They were doing that exact thing. Kiros was asking Claude how much he thought they should say. Kiros' heart was racing. This was frightening to him. He had only meant to offer help, but was now quickly realizing that it would have probably been safer for him to stay in his whelp form.)

"...We can trust him," Claude eventually said aloud. He thought hard about it. Something in his gut urged him to trust Dedue, and he wasn't prone to ignoring his gut. "Dedue, this is Kiros, my twin, born from my mother on the same day as myself." Technically true, heh. Scooting over to said twin, he pressed against Kiros' side and cuddled close for comfort. "As for the rest of the circumstances... They're complicated. And a touch difficult to believe."

Dedue stared at him with that stony face of his. "His Highness is currently possessed by his father." 

He briefly debated whether or not that was more surreal than his own circumstances. Though he was inclined to trust Dedue, some of the secrets weren't his to give. Such as that of the Nabataeans. Even the detail about Kiros being from the future was something that Kiros should tell. Not him. A low purr built in his chest to better comfort Kiros. It was only when Dedue's eyebrow rose that he noticed. "...I purr now. Don't worry about it."

Kiros knew it wasn't like his brother to trust randomly. The fact that this felt random, then, was weird. He still accepted the cuddles and the purrs and even sat down on the same bed as Dedue, though with Claude as a buffer between them. Even began to purr back at his twin. Claude told Dedue to ignore it. And if there was one thing Kiros was assured of, it was that Dedue was good at ignoring things — or, at least, staying quiet about them. One would have to be, to be so trusted by a prince.

...What he wouldn't have given to have a retainer like Dedue when he was a kid. He had Nader, which was almost as good. But he didn't tell even Nader everything. Dedue and Dimitri seemed like they had no secrets between them. He didn't even have that with his own twin. But that was mostly because the secrets Kiros held onto would probably do nothing but hurt Claude for no reason. Especially if they were building up to a future where they wouldn't matter, anyway.

"...Very well. I am not worrying about it," was all Dedue said by the end of Claude's explanation.

It seemed there was nothing to do but awkwardly wait. "How are you holding up, Your Majesty?" 

"Just Lambert is fine, Claude. I feel fine, other than my concern for Dimitri." Claude bobbed his head, also worried. This hadn't happened before. Was it because Lambert was his dad? Or was something else at play? Not knowing was killing him. "And yourself, lad?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine. Aching, but nothing overt. Getting better every day." 

"Good to hear." ...With nothing better to do, he flopped back against the pillows, dragging Kiros with him. He'd been waiting for Dimitri to get back to share a nap with even though Seteth reminded him that Dimitri would have classes to attend. Seteth already brought them food (which they had promptly devoured), only searching for Dimitri at his (and Kiros') coaxing. 

"Lady Rhea better not take too long." This was already awkward enough. Plus he was worried about Dimitri. That too, of course.

Chapter Text

Dimitri didn't know where he was. In fact, he didn't know... what he was. Not for a long while of drifting. It felt like he was caught in the realm between Sleep and Not-Sleep, teetering right on the edge where it felt like things ceased to exist. He was still here. He still existed. But... he lost track of himself. So very easily, he lost track of himself.

It was dark, wherever he was. Dark and cold and he couldn't hear or see or feel anything. It felt like he had been plunged into an icy ocean and left there to freeze to death slowly. But he couldn't feel fear. He couldn't feel anything. Only... only cold.

He was aware of nothing that had happened. Couldn't even think about reality. He didn't recall collapsing in the bathhouse, or offering his body as a vessel for his dead father, or even being able to speak with his father the day previous. Time stopped. Reality stopped. There was only ice. Ice and the void and... 

Was he dead...? 

Dedue perked up as he heard footsteps approaching the door. Ah, finally. Lady Rhea was almost here. She would set this right. She would help, and Dimitri and Lambert would both be well. They had to be. Anything else would... would utterly destroy Dimitri. To lose his father again after only just establishing contact with him from beyond the grave would send him spiraling like Dedue had not seen since the tragedy itself. He would do anything to make sure that didn't happen. 

Up to and including offering himself as Lambert's new vessel, if that was required.

Seteth bared his teeth when he found a stranger so close to his hatchling. Dedue wasn't a stranger. But the man wasn't one he knew well enough to trust with his Kiros. Rushing to the bed, he clicked his teeth and called for Kiros to come close (preferably in his smaller, easier to protect body). Earlier, Dedue glared at Kiros for getting too close to Dimitri. Now it was Seteth who glared at Dedue to being too close to Kiros. 

"Ignore him, he fusses," Claude said with a wave of a hand. This was a perfectly reasonable fuss! He barely restrained a hiss as he clutched his baby. 

"Hello again, Lambert," Rhea greeted with a nod, settling on the bed beside Lambert. Good. She was a buffer between him and Dedue. Who had not been invited to the nest! (By him.)  

Pleasantries were short and swift. Rhea placed a glowing hand on Dimitri's chest, humming to herself. 

"Is he okay?" Lambert asked, expression twisting with worry. 

"Ah... I see the problem." She withdrew her hand. "Dimitri cannot house your spirit permanently, Lambert. That goes for you as well, Claude." She touched Dimitri's chest again, frowning. "Though I am not familiar with the specifics of his ability, I sense a transfer of energy within him. By remaining within his body, Lambert, you are draining him." 

Dimitri's face went white. "This is my fault," Claude choked, clutching his hair. "I slept in him all night last night."

"He cannot be drained to the point of death. But it seems he has fallen dormant in his low-energy state while still attempting to provide for you." 

"Then get me out!" Lambert was quick to blurt. She nodded, closing her eyes to concentrate. Then, as she pulled away, the outline of King Lambert was pulled from Dimitri's limp body. Dimitri jerked once, his eyes snapping wide. 

"Dimitri!" Lambert called, pulling against Rhea's hold to get close. "Dimitri, are you oka..." As the spirit pulled away from Rhea, he faded from view. Without Rhea holding on, only Dimitri could see Lambert.

"Your Highness!" Dedue cried at the same time as Lambert. Both of them lunged for the prince as he toppled. There was no way of telling who had gotten to Dimitri first. None of them could see Lambert once he darted away from Rhea. But Dedue knew he was there. So when he caught Dimitri and pulled him against his chest and shoulder for support, he left one side of the prince still open for the King to access.

Dimitri's breathing was shallow and his pallor was ashen. He seemed to have no energy in him at all, nor did he seem to be aware of where he was. He just collapsed against Dedue, listless and panting and pale. Dedue held him protectively. 

"Dimitri," he called quietly. "Can you speak?" 

It took Dimitri nearly a minute to respond. And when he did, it was only after Dedue watched the prince's hair be moved by a strange, unseen hand. He saw the path of the king's fingers as they ran through Dimitri's hair. But he could see nothing else of Lambert. Dimitri could still see him, though. That was made immediately obvious by the way the prince's eyes focused on the empty spot of the bed and he smiled weakly. "Father..."

Lambert didn't dare touch Dimitri more than he already did. Even the small touches — just the pads of his fingers — seemed too much. His fingers felt subtle warmth as they touched Dimitri. And now he feared he was leeching that warmth away. 

"I'm here, my son. I'm here." He shivered as Rhea's hand passed through him. Now that he was out of Dimitri, it seemed she couldn't pinpoint where he was. Golden light pressed into Dimitri's chest. To everyone's distress, it didn't seem to help much. Rhea sat back. 

"Rest will see you well, Prince Dimitri." She was speaking more towards Dedue and Claude than Dimitri himself. "You must avoid using your ability for the time being." 

"I'll sit on him if I have to," Claude promised, looking just as distraught as Lambert felt.

"I can carry him back to his chambers," Dedue gently offered. But even before he finished the sentence, he was more than able to tell that he would not be carrying Dimitri out of this room. The look Claude shot him was one of utter desperation. "...Or he shall remain here to rest," he swiftly corrected himself. "As long as I am also permitted to stay." Because he wasn't going to be leaving Dimitri's side. Not when the prince was like this. 

Dimitri didn't even seem to hear anything any of them were saying. Rhea told them all that he should rest, but Dimitri's eyes were still staring at nothing — at his father's face, presumably. Dedue watched the prince mouth around the word 'here' before his eyelids began to slide shut. It was concerning, how out of it Dimitri appeared to be. When Dedue had seen him yesterday, all appeared to be well! To see him go from that, to this, was distressing. He had seen Dimitri at some of his lowest points. But never had he seen the downturn happen so quickly. 

He held onto Dimitri tightly. Then, he turned to look at the others in the room. At Kiros, who was now a tiny winged reptile resting in Seteth's arms. At Seteth and Flayn. At Rhea. And then finally at Claude. 

"One of you... please. Tell me what is going on," he pleaded. "I have known of Prince Dimitri's visions for a long time. But they have never been like... like this. I need to understand what has happened," he begged. "For the prince's safety. I must know what has happened differently this time."

"It's my fault." Claude hung his head. Dedue was going to hate him for this. But he took a deep breath and pressed forward. 'May I tell him?' he asked Kiros, staring at his twin. Kiros warbled, escaping Seteth's arms to come cuddle. Rhea patted Dimitri, said some things like 'if he gets worse come get me' blah blah, Claude wasn't paying much attention. She left, which was what he cared about. Dedue was still in the dark. 

He fidgeted, though not because he distrusted Dedue. He felt like this wasn't his story to tell. But Dedue deserved to know. And he trusted Dedue. When Kiros didn't squall at him, he began the story.

He told Dedue. He told Dedue everything shy of Seteth and Flayn’s true identities. He explained how his older self went back in time, landing in his body. Explained how Kiros came from the future and how they had to share his body until recently. He explained how Dimitri was the only one who could see their separate souls. About how Dimitri helped his spirit.

“Dimitri has this draw about him,” he explained. “He’s warm. Like the sun. As a disembodied spirit, it’s… incredible, being able to feel anything, let alone sunshine. I couldn’t help but get close. Sometimes too close…”

He explained how his soul sometimes settled within Dimitri, especially while Kiros was getting his new body. How they connected, soul-to-soul. He hadn’t realized it was hurting Dimitri! Dimitri never said a word about it. He wasn’t convinced Dimitri even realized it could hurt him.

“Dimitri was upset yesterday. I didn't really mean to leave my body, but once I was there, I knew I could comfort him better from within. And then I figured I might as well spend the night with Dimitri, since that was when Lambert accidentally stumbled into my empty body and had living awareness for the first time since his death. I wanted him to have that as long as possible. So I spent the night in Dimitri." He hung his head and sighed. "He was tired this morning, but he said he was fine. Guess we should have questioned that a bit more."

Slowly, he peered up at Dedue. He understood how crazy his tale must sound. But he trusted Dedue. Hopefully Dedue could trust him back, at least a little.

"I think that catches you up to everything important." He left out the Nabataeans, but Dedue didn't need to know about that.

Dedue was staring at him, wide-eyed. He gulped.

"We've been exploring Dimitri's ghost abilities a bit as we go,” he mumbled sheepishly.
“A little too much, apparently. He can do more than just see them. He can interact with ghosts. Influence them." He glanced at where Lambert was floating beside Dimitri. Could the others see the king’s ghost, or just him? "Dimitri can bolster spirits. Turns out this amazing ability has limits though. Who would have guessed that Dimitri would overdo it? ...Maybe I should have seen this coming." He mumbled that last bit to himself.

What Claude told him... it sure was a lot to take in. And it certainly didn't answer all of his questions. But it told Dedue enough to make him understand, which was all he needed. The reason green Claude looked so much like Claude was because he apparently was Claude. That was a lot to unpack, there. And much of it didn't seem like his business. He was not going to ask about how this Claude from the future got here, or why, or what he was now doing with his own body. That was Claude's business, and seemed to be only adjacent to what was going on with Dimitri, not a direct cause of it. Aside from the fact that Claude had learned how to leave his body when it was shared before, and that was how he had figured out that Dimitri could house a spirit inside of his own. 

He did wonder, briefly, how long this had been going on. Everyone around the school knew that something was happening with Claude. Thus far, Dimitri's name had not been attached to those rumors because Dedue had kept quiet the fact that his prince was spending more time with Claude. But he heard that the school's best archer had suddenly and inexplicably lost the ability to fire a bow, taking up magic instead. He saw Kiros' missing arm and he put the pieces together. So, yes — he did believe Claude. He believed that Kiros and Claude had been sharing a body. Up until very recently, it seemed. He filed that knowledge away for later, in case it ever came up again.

Claude said that Dimitri's body was like a ghost magnet. That he drew spirits in like a moth to a flame — quite literally, it seemed, as Claude described the warmth he got just from being near His Highness. Dimitri was a source of interaction for ghosts who could not interact with the world in any other way. Even now, Dedue could tell that Lambert could make contact with Dimitri when other things seemed to be beyond his ability to reach. The fingers were still running through Dimitri's hair, at least until the point when Dimitri closed his eyes. Then the unseen hand was gone.

Dedue wondered if that meant Lambert was also gone for now. There was no way of telling. That was a later concern. The immediate concern was just how much being a ghost magnet had affected Dimitri this time. 

"He has told me that he has always seen spirits," Dedue said. "But not until recently has he tried interacting with them. I... I do not think he knew it would affect him this much," he said as Dimitri drifted off in his arms. But it was certainly not out of character for his prince to overdo it, as Claude said. "I do not blame you, Claude. Nor you, Your Majesty." It was important to say, if Lambert was still here to hear it. "There was no way of knowing this would happen. And if all it takes is some rest for him to be made better... well. His Highness does not take enough breaks as it is. This will be good for him to have some time to relax."

Sylvain stumbled back under the force of Felix's blow. Unfortunately, Felix wasn't very sportsmanlike, and kept up the assault. Before he knew it he was on the ground, his training sword flung aside. "Get up. Again." 

"Feeeelix," he whined, doing his best pathetic-puddle impression. "You already killed me three times. Can't you kill Ingrid this time?" 

"Excuse me?" Ingrid nudged his ribs with the toe of her boot. "I should spar with you for that comment." 

"Nooo. Have mercy." He rolled away. Ugh, now his clothes were dusty.

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "Fine. You can have a break, Sylvain. If I hear the training door open in the slightest, you'll be sparring against me and Felix at the same time next. Got it?" 

"Yeah, whatever. Don't be so touchy." He settled on the side-lines, resting his chin in his palm as Ingrid and Felix went at it. 

'Felix.' That was all Lambert had to say, in that tone , and now Felix was pissed off. More than usual. And Ingrid was just pissed at him because that was her normal state of being. But at least he got them away from Lambert. (Which just made Felix even more pissed, because of course Felix wanted to spar with Dimitri). 

He hung his head between his legs. Honestly? He still sort of felt like throwing up. (Getting knocked around wasn't helping). 

King Lambert. King fucking Lambert, back from the afterlife to haunt Prince Dimitri. And possess him! Fuck . Dimitri had been acting weird recently, but not this fucking weird. There were implications here. Big ones. Dimitri could see ghosts and get possessed by them. Beyond just being a national security nightmare (could just any ghost that held a grudge against Dimitri show up?), this was... he didn't even know. If only there was more information on Queen Idgrod. From what little he read, she had been able to actually summon ghosts for others to see. Was that in Dimitri's future, if he wanted?

...It would be hilarious if Dimitri summoned Lambert in the middle of court and pretended like nothing ever happened. Traumatizing too, but hysterical. 

A sword clattered next to him. "That could have hit me," he said, not lifting his head. 

"That's the point. Get up." Lifting his head, meeting Felix's scowl head-on, another thought occurred to him. Glenn. Sylvain was the opposite of Dedue when it came to minding his own business. He'd known for ages that Dimitri's mind might not be the, er, soundest. 'Father' 'Mother' 'Glenn' were all common for Dimitri to fervently whisper (or howl) in the middle of the night, and their walls weren't exactly thick. Dimitri talked to them, though rarely were the conversations 'healthy'. Was Glenn haunting Dimitri too? What about the queen?

"Sylvain?" Ingrid's tone wasn't as sharp. Was that a hint of concern? For him? Awww. Shit. Genuine worry? No thanks. He waved a hand. 

"Fine, fiiine. One more spar. Then can I go?" Ingrid's brow furrowed. She wasn't nearly as perceptive as she thought she was. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't blind either. She didn't say anything yet, though. Yet.

Several floors up, Dedue was having some of the same thoughts as Sylvain. Perhaps not using all of the exact same terminology as Sylvain used in his own internal dialogue, but some of the same thoughts. Mainly, the thoughts about all the implications of Dimitri's 'newly discovered' 'gift'. 

(It wasn't new. Dimitri had known about it since he was very small, apparently, but it had not truly been acknowledged until now, so it was new enough. And as for it being a gift... that was still yet to be seen. Dedue knew Dimitri was tormented by the past, and seeing the ghosts of the departed must have only contributed to that. The tone of his visions seemed to have recently changed thanks to a new understanding of his ability, but who was to say if it was a gift or still a curse upon the prince's soul?) 

Dimitri could be possessed by spirits. He could give his body up as a vessel to be commanded and controlled by a departed ghost. Of course that was of high concern to Dedue. All it would take was one malevolent ghost to take control of Dimitri's body and then his prince's life would be in danger. From what he gathered in talking to Claude, Lambert had entered by Dimitri's permission but Claude had not, or at least had not needed permission to enter Dimitri. It had just... happened. And that was frightening.

Claude had never been able to fully possess Dimitri's body, however. That had only happened this time, when he had apparently been exposed to the ghosts for too long and his own spirit had been drained in supporting them. Then Lambert had taken control. And that was the most concerning thing. If any spirit could enter Dimitri's body at any time, could the prince willingly force them out, or was he trapped with them inside of him? Could his energy be drained intentionally? These were all new dangers, dangers which Dedue had no idea how to protect His Highness from. The only thing he could think to do was... help Dimitri build some kind of defense. Or search for something that could bolster his soul in the case that he was possessed again and could not (or would not, because Dedue had a feeling Dimitri would not want to stop being a vessel for his father) get the ghost out. White magic had not worked — Rhea had tried that. But perhaps the woman knew of some other kind of magic that could help them? 

That was wishful thinking and he knew it. If only he had been aware of the late Queen Idgrod and the connection all of this had to her! He could have spent much time in Fhirdiad digging up those records that might help Dimitri now. Sylvain said it was unlikely there was anything at the Academy, since she'd not had the favor of the church. So his only alternative now was to... to try and convince Prince Rufus to go digging for those records. Gods knew that Rufus was not the person he wanted to rely on.

Claude was slow as he shuffled over to Dimitri's other side, giving Lambert time to get out of the way. He knew how surreal it could be for someone to move through his spirit. When he was in place, he plastered himself to Dimitri's side, Kiros and Loog and the little deer bundled between them. Rumbling for Dimitri's sleeping comfort, he got as comfortable as he could despite the guilt clawing at him. He kept a space open for Lambert, though. 

They had one more person in the know. Dimitri, Hilda, and now Dedue. At least this way, Dedue could cover for Dimitri without worrying over where the prince was. 

He was sleepy too. Guilty.

'Are you okay too?' he asked Kiros, nosing against his tiny brother. It was a lot to trust Dedue with mostly everything. Especially for his brother. He felt a stress-nap coming on soon. Combined with his breakfast, he shouldn't be surprised.

"Prrm." 'Am okay.' Kiros was curled up in as close to a ball shape as he could get, tucked under his twin's chin. His eyes, however, did not leave Dedue. He wondered: was it really the right move to trust the man like this? He didn't remember much about Dedue from his own timeline. Never heard what happened to him in the end, after Edelgard won the war. Nor what had happened to Duscur. In many ways, Dedue was an unknown quantity, and those were always dangerous. 

But in other ways, Dedue did remind him of himself. Even at the Academy, he remembered being intrigued by the man. An outsider, just like him. An outsider who lost everyone he loved, just like him. One thing he did know about Dedue was that Dimitri trusted him without equal. That trust was what was carrying him through this. They trusted Dimitri; Dimitri trusted Dedue. That should be good enough. 

It wasn't. It really wasn't. But... but he'd be okay. He had lots of protectors now. Lots of people to look after him and take care of him. It wasn't going to be like the first time when he had to fend for himself. If Dedue betrayed them all, then he'd still be safe. It was okay. He knew that Dedue was unlikely to betray them. But for a mind that had been trained from the cradle to look out for threats and to trust no one, this was exceptionally difficult for him to accept. 

But it was done now. No taking it back.

Lambert watched as the children began to sleep. Mostly just Claude and Dimitri. Maybe Kiros too, though he couldn't see the little creature. Dedue stayed awake, holding Dimitri close. It didn't take long for Seteth to curl up against Claude's back, arm wrapped around Claude's front near where Kiros was. 

For now, Lambert kept his touch to himself. Dimitri was unwell because of him. Not his fault, as none of them knew. But it was because of him that Dimitri became so weak. 

His melancholy remained. It was strange, not having a body. Technically, this had been his state of being for years. He didn't remember much of it, though. It felt as though he had one extremely long and horrible day. Not... not years. He was beginning to understand, though. His emotions weren't changing. He left Dimitri feeling worried and melancholic, and thus he stayed that way without any external stimulus. Was that why? Was that why Dimitri thought him little more than a tormented spirit all these years? Trapped in his final moments of panic and fear... 

No use dwelling. He took a deep br—... he did not take a deep breath. Being dead was an adjustment. 

He sat on the bed and kept watch. Perhaps he should do something. Anything. He could... go to Rufus. Speak to his brother. But that would involve leaving his son. He couldn't. He—well, he could, now. Dimitri's 'grip' on him was weak enough that, if he wanted, he could leave. But he did not want that. He stayed. Of course he stayed.

Dimitri slept for a while. All the way through dinner, and then past sunset. Dedue, of course, remained at His Highness’ side as much as possible, though he did get up with some coaxing to eat dinner. They all did — but only after ascertaining that Dimitri wasn't being left alone. None of them could see Lambert (as far as Dedue knew). Someone living was left with Dimitri at all times.

Hilda came by for dinner, as well. She was surprised to find him there, but not too surprised once she saw Prince Dimitri's state. She hopped up onto the bed and helped Claude eat, and offered to go get the prince's pajamas to bring up here. It was… thoughtful of the oft-lazy woman. Dedue considered it — ordinarily, it would be his task to go do such a thing. At the moment, though, he didn't want to leave Dimitri's side. But Dimitri had other good people with him. And this would not take long. 

"I will fetch them myself," he said. "As long as he is allowed to stay and sleep here." Seteth assured him that that would be fine and Dedue left for the dorms. It took him less than five minutes to get the prince's pajamas and return. The others averted their eyes as he changed the clothes on Dimitri's unconscious body. Most eyes, anyway. He didn't know about Lambert's. He should have thought to speak a warning, perhaps, about the state of Dimitri's body. But by the time he thought to do so, he had already removed the prince's gloves. At least Lambert had seen these before. 

"There are scars," he quietly said, in case Lambert was looking and listening. "Avert your eyes if you do not wish to see."

"I know," Lambert said softly even though no one could hear him. He closed his eyes anyway. "I know." His poor son. He longed to reach out and hold his boy. To do so may harm Dimitri, though. So... he stayed where he was, perched on the bed as close as he could get without interfering. 

Lady Rhea entered the room not long after Dedue changed Dimitri. It was strange that she could manipulate his spirit, yet didn't seem able to see him like this. She spoke to Seteth, and coaxed Kiros out and onto her lap for pets. Claude's future self. He wasn't sure which of them was here under more convoluted circumstances. But now, at least, he knew why Claude's body had been empty for him to inhabit yesterday. 

Time passed. It passed strangely without a body, he was coming to realize. Years had passed in what felt like the span of a day for him. Even now, after getting briefly distracted, it was noticeably darker outside. Rhea stood and, after checking up on Dimitri one more time, bid everyone a goodnight. Seteth said something to her, but he didn't quite catch it. She left.

He maintained his vigilant watch over his son. What else was he to do, after all?

The moon rose. And, at long last, so too did Dimitri. Lambert was likely the first one to notice. But after him was Claude. And as no one could hear Lambert if he tried to alert them to the fact that Dimitri's eyelids were fluttering, it was Claude's little call of "Dimitri?" that had Dedue hastening over to his prince's side. 

"Your Highness. You are safe," Dedue said, as he did when Dimitri woke from a nightmare (which was often). "We are in the Archbishop's chambers. Claude is here. I am here." He didn't mention Lambert, because he didn't know if the ghost was still here or not. If it was possible, Lambert would be here. But he had no idea what might have happened to the spirit after Dimitri lost consciousness. Right now, he just needed to let Dimitri know that he was safe and that all was well. "How do you feel?"

Dimitri blinked at him slowly. His face was still so pale, but not as pale as it had been before. He shivered before anything else, and hunkered his way under the blankets a little more. "...Cold..." the prince answered. "...What happened?"

Lambert was oh so gentle as he petted Dimitri's hair, careful to touch as little as possible. Dimitri was cold and his hands had to feel frigid. "I'm here too, my son," he said softly, sure that would be Dimitri's first concern once his son was a little more awake. 

"It seems that holding a spirit drains you, Dima," Claude answered, tone dripping with guilt. "You fainted." 

"You collapsed," Lambert added. "And I was the one to awaken within your body." He nodded to Dedue. "Your friend guided me here so that the archbishop could separate us. You have been sleeping ever since." 

Noticing how much Dimitri was shivering, he attempted to pull another blanket up. The fabric pretended to heed his touch for half a moment, then fell through his ghostly fingers. ...He still wasn't used to that. Claude noticed the movement, and evidently put together Lambert's attempt. (He almost thought Claude looked at him, but surely that wasn’t possible). The boy pulled the blanket up where Lambert could not.

A cold set of fingers raked through his hair, prompting Dimitri to shiver again. But then he heard, "I'm here too, my son," and a smile reflexively yanked his lips upwards.

"Father," he greeted, letting Father know that he could still see and hear him just the same as always. Dedue shifted slightly away from the spot where Dimitri was looking to make room for Father. The very first thing Dimitri did was lift one hand towards his dad in invitation. 'Want you back. With me. Why'd you leave?' were things he didn't have time to say before Claude derailed that train of thought entirely. 

"It seems that holding a spirit drains you, Dima. You fainted."  

"I... what?" he questioned, allowing his hand to drop back to the mattress as he looked at Claude. He turned to look at his father as he spoke next, telling him what exactly had happened. He had collapsed... in the bathhouse? Last he remembered, he was in the bathhouse. But he didn't remember even pulling off his gauntlets before his memory went blank. Apparently he had collapsed, and his father's spirit had taken control. "...Oh," he exhaled, unsure what else there was to say. 'Oh, dear,' perhaps. 

His father tried to pull another blanket over him and failed. Claude picked up where Father's hands left off and dragged the duvet up to his chin. The added warmth helped, but so did the weight of the blanket, even if it was only a little. Both sensations grounded him. 

"...I did not know that would happen," he said quietly. "I'm... I'm sorry." It didn't take a genius to figure out that he had worried everyone with this. And for that, he apologized.

"No apologies. None of us knew," Lambert was quick to reassure. "I wasn't hurt. Only you, my son. So if you wish to apologize to yourself, I suppose I can't stop you." Mindful of his 'chill', he bent down to kiss Dimitri's forehead. 

He watched as Claude made a strange rumbling sound; not quite a purr, but something close to it. The boy oozed close to Dimitri, then gingerly nipped Dimitri’s neck. “Dedue?” Claude softly called, patting the other side of the blankets. “He will be warmer with you on his other side.”

Lambert hung his head, reminded of the years when Dimitri was a boy. Winters in Fhirdiad were harsh; and for that, Dimitri had adored those nights. The winter chill meant they shared his bed together so he might keep the cold from harming his son. With his boy shivering so hard under the blankets, he wished he could do as he had done for so many years — slip below the sheets and wrap his son in all the warmth and love a man of his size could produce. 

He no longer had any warmth to share. 

No one was hurt. That was good. But Dimitri was still struggling to figure out what had gone wrong. He had held Claude plenty of times before this! But never for more than an hour or two at a time, he didn't think. Last night... he'd held Claude all night. Then immediately woken up and offered the space to his father, without even heeding the fact that he felt more tired when he woke up than when he fell asleep. 

"I thought... I thought it was because I cried yesterday," he confessed. Dedue stared at him in shock. Yes, he knew. Dedue had never seen him cry. Not for a long while. To hear that he had was probably appalling. "I figured that... it had been so long, and I felt so much... that was why I felt so drained. I didn't realize.” Perhaps that was stupid of him. Feeling tired was likely normal. But he had also been cold and lightheaded, even after eating. That was decidedly not normal. 

"Would you like me beside you, Your Highness?" Dedue asked. Dimitri did not give much pause before he nodded. This would not be the first time he slept curled up to Dedue. It happened much less often than it used to. But he felt like he was fighting off an illness. The chill wouldn't go away. It couldn't be because his father's spirit was still so near to him, could it? He didn't even float that idea to the others. He didn't want his father to leave. 

"You can lay on that side of me," he agreed with Claude, and scooted to be more in the center of the bed. "Are you all right where you are, Father?"

"I am, yes." Though Dimitri didn't say it aloud, Lambert worried along the same lines. Was being so near to Dimitri still draining his son?

...There was something. A pull from Dimitri. Or perhaps 'pull' was too strong of a word. A connection. A low warmth, like standing in the sun. He worried. If this warmth was like the sun, in that Dimitri was radiating the energy anyway, then it was fine. But if the energy was being pulled out purely by his presence? He couldn't leave even if he wanted to. Not while Dimitri was awake. Beyond the faint sunshine, there was a grip on his soul. Dimitri was terrified of him leaving again. ...Perhaps that was what was draining his son.

He watched as Dedue dressed down as much as he could, slipping under the blankets to wrap around Dimitri's other side. Claude's purrs grew louder. He drifted back a few paces and stopped touching Dimitri's hair. He didn't get far before Dimitri's eyes went wide and a steel cinch tightened around his chest. Don't go. "I'm not leaving, my little cub," he said, fighting against the instinct to rush as close as possible to Dimitri. Dimitri wanted him close. Wanted him back within. He could not, though. Not without harming his son.

"Where are you going?" Dimitri couldn't help but ask. Watching his father drift away from him... No. Dimitri couldn't handle it. For so long, he had been afraid of his father's ghost. Even wished that, at times, it would leave him alone. He didn't deserve to be left alone and he knew that. He deserved to be screamed and howled at by the suffering dead. But it hadn't been constant. Not like it was now. 

"Your Highness. All is well," Dedue said, reaching up to brush his fingers through his hair. Dedue's hands were much warmer than his father's. But he wanted his father's hands! He whined, and Dedue's fingers paused for a second. But only a second. "Dimitri," he quietly said. "Let your father's spirit rest." 

"Don't want him to go," Dimitri protested. 

Dedue's fingers scritched his scalp. "I know. But I am concerned. You did not see the spirits constantly before. You had breaks. Did you not?"

Hesitantly, Dimitri nodded. 

"You need a break once again, Your Highness. I worry that you will not recover otherwise. Your father will return. He always does." 

"No," he still protested. "Don't go. Don't go."  

Dedue sighed and looked in the direction Dimitri was looking. He was not going to be able to convince the prince, but he was certain that the drain was still happening. For Dimitri to have rested this long and still appear only a little better? Something was not right. None of them knew where Lambert went when he wasn't in Dimitri's presence. And that was probably frightening both for Dimitri and his father. But Dimitri needed a break.

Lambert winced as he realized what needed to be done. Dedue was right. He needed to... to rest. Whatever that meant for a dead soul. It was a terrifying prospect. Yes, he was dead. It hadn't fully sunk in, though. Not what it meant to be dead. This felt more like losing a limb. He was still alive in the sense that he still thought and existed. He was still 'alive' to Dimitri in the ways that mattered. To let go of that was... it was terrifying. It was human nature to seek to survive even in the face of death. Lambert did not want to cease.  

He had to, though. For his son. He would die a thousand deaths for Dimitri if he had a thousand lives to give. 

Dimitri, of course, would prefer he die no death. And right now, Dimitri was the one in control. Lambert could no more leave this place than he could take a real breath of air. Dimitri's grip was tight, tugging him ever closer even as he sought to fight it. The more Dimitri protested, the closer he was dragged. If this continued, he would be pulled back into Dimitri. As much as he loved his son and wanted to be close, he couldn't bear to hurt him like that. 

"Dimitri." His voice was soft but stern. "I must rest too. You must let me go, if only for a little bit." He was right in front of his son, unable to pull back any further. His hand rested on his son's cheek. "My beloved son. This is not goodbye. It is simply goodnight. I will be back. I will be, and I will retain my sense of self. Perhaps I will need to be reminded. But you will remind me, and I will be here with you once more." He pressed a kiss to Dimitri's forehead, aching at the way his son shivered. "I love you. Please, you must release me. I cannot bear to keep harming you." His voice broke for a moment. In the form of a ghost, he had no barrier to keep the distress from his expression.

He didn't want his father to go. Not again. He didn't want to. He didn't want to. It was like losing him all over again. And that thought, that thought was killing Dimitri. "No," he said, reaching up for his dad and grasping the front of his shirt. He could still touch him. Still feel him. And Dimitri knew that, if he yanked, his father's spirit wouldn't be able to resist him. He could draw him back in and never let go of him. He could keep him. Forever and ever. 

Even as he had that thought that he could do it, he knew at the same time that he couldn't. Of course he knew that his father was right. That Dedue was right. This was too much for his body to handle. None of them knew how this power of his worked. If he overdid it, what might happen? Was this something that he needed to exercise to make it grow stronger? Or was he burning himself out? And if he burned himself out, what would happen? Was it possible for him to lose this ability? That thought had him loosening his grip. That, and the look of sheer and utter distress on his father's face. Lambert's voice cracked and shook. "I cannot bear to keep harming you."  

"You aren't hurting me," he said, even as he slowly, slowly, slowly forced himself to let go of his father for now. "...I'm the one that's doing it. Dedue can tell you. I've always been the worst when it comes to... to causing myself grief." 

"Shh," was how Dedue decided to respond to that for now. "You must rest, Your Highness." He didn't want to. But for fear of all the terrible unknowns that might happen if he didn't, Dimitri conceded. 

"...Good night, Father," he whispered, finally releasing his grip and letting the spirit go. "I love you."

"I love you too, little cub." The grip on his chest was finally released. Still, he didn't leave. Not yet. "I won't be gone forever. This is just goodnight." 

He petted his son and began to hum. "Go to sleep my little lion. Go to sleep my little love. Come morning, I'll be waiting, waiting for your little eyes to open. I'll be here my little lion. I'll be here my little cub. While you're sleeping, when you need me, I'll be right here, my little love..."  

By the end of his song, Dimitri was already asleep. He withdrew his hand. "Take care of him for me. Please." The others couldn't hear him, but he said it anyway. 

He withdrew. It was so hard to leave his son. Ever since his death, all he had done was try to go to his son. And now he was leaving? But this was just goodnight. Not goodbye. He would be back. 

He left, unsure where he would turn up (if anywhere at all). Part of him expected to fade away into nothingness. His thoughts lingered on his son, of course. Perhaps there was something he could do in the meantime. ...What could a ghost do? Dimitri was the only one who— 

...No. There was someone else.

Chapter Text

When Lambert next opened his eyes, he was in a familiar room. His brother's room in the castle. Rufus faced away from him, slumped on the couch in front of the fireplace. A bottle hung in his brother's hand, though it seemed Rufus had yet to start his binge tonight. Rufus was silent, lost in thought, staring at the fireplace. 

If Dimitri had suffered in the aftermath of his death, then Rufus was dying. His brother's cheeks were hollowed, his hair thin and brittle, his face pale and gaunt. The eye bags on Rufus were worse than Dimitri's. For all the Dimitri had been alone… his son had Dedue.

His brother was utterly alone.

"...When was the last good meal you had, Rufus?" 

Rufus startled, whirling around and throwing the bottle at him. He winced, tried to catch it, and failed. It struck the ground with a crash. 

"Alcohol doesn't count as a good meal," he added, because how else was he supposed to break the ice? Rufus already broke the glass… hah. Blast, that wasn’t funny at all…

Rufus stared at him, haunted. (Literally.) "...I'll drink if I want to, dammit," Rufus muttered, looking away from him. 

"Rufus, you're running yourself into the ground." They couldn't have a chat if Rufus killed himself. Er. Maybe they could. Still! He did not want his brother to be dead.

"You've got no one to blame but yourself." 

"I suppose I deserve that one.” Sighing, he took a 'seat' on the other end of the couch. He was there specifically because he couldn’t be with Dimitri without endangering his son. While he was here, though, there was something he needed answers for. “Rufus, why did you send Dimitri to put down a rebellion?" He stared into his brother's eyes, seeking out the once-kind, meek older brother that their father so despised (and he had so adored). "Please tell me you wouldn't do what it looks like you did." Anyone who didn’t know Rufus would surely assume the prince-regent was attempting to get rid of the crown prince. Lambert could not possibly see that being the truth.

Rufus had known he was growing up in a haunted castle since he was about ten years old. It was around that time when their old head cook had died, and it was with the old cook that he had discovered that... the dead didn't exactly always depart. 

It was rare for him to actually see a ghost. But after their cook died, he started to experience weird things. Nothing immediately and directly affected him (which was a relief, because even after all these years of knowing that they were probably real, he was still terrified of ghosts). But he began to smell the old cook. He used to wake up early in the mornings with a growling stomach and smell food waiting for him in his chambers, or sometimes in the evenings he would smell feasts ready in the dining hall that weren't there. Which was weird, but not too unsettling. He didn't pay much attention to it, figuring his mind was playing tricks on him, until he was twelve. Which was when the old cook's cat died. Now, the nose was easily tricked. Smelling food in places that it wasn't, that was explainable. He was just catching a whiff of whatever was being prepared in the kitchens, or something like that. Scents were easy to explain away. Waking up to the feeling of a cat jumping on his bed, or licking his face, or twining around his ankles as he walked was less so. But he... he hadn't minded the cat so much. It had been a... a nice replacement, for the cat his father told him he was never allowed to have. 

And then their father died. It was a devastating time all around Faerghus. The king was dead, of course it would be! Rufus had been in his late twenties, Lambert in the early ones. Rufus had grown up knowing the castle was haunted. And the day his father died, he prayed hard that his spirit wouldn't be back.

Prayers didn't work, though. That night, he woke up to the smell of the wine that his father had loved so much in life. The smell of wine, and a ghost standing at the foot of his bed. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been a nightmare, even though he couldn't really remember what had happened after that. He was sure that his old man had told him something, but he couldn't recall what it was. He hadn’t slept the rest of the night, that was for sure. And as soon as it was socially acceptable, he packed his bags and moved away to Itha. Visits to the castle became infrequent. He'd smelled wine like it was there to greet him for years whenever he visited home.

...Until one day he hadn't. His brother had asked him why he looked so disturbed when he stepped into the castle on the day of his wedding to Tiffin. "Oh, just worried about rain," he had said, or something like that. When really, his stomach was in knots over the fact that their old man finally saw fit to move on the day that the good son was getting himself a queen.

The queen, of course, ended up being the next spirit he encountered. It was a shame, what had happened to her. Such a sudden and tragic death, leaving Lambert and baby Dimitri all alone. If ever there was a time for Rufus to come forward and tell his brother about all of this, it probably would have been then. The scent of the queen's perfume took years to fade from the halls of the castle. He should have said something. Maybe he had, but it was something vague, like "I'm sure she's still watching over you." Empty reassurances. 

He really should have said something on Dimitri's first-month anniversary when he showed up with a gift that Tiffin herself had told him to bring her baby. Goddess knew Rufus didn't know what to give an infant, but Lambert had adored the new swaddle he brought so his brother could keep Dimitri with him at all times. It'd made a lot of people in the court frown. But it was one thing that Rufus really felt like he had gotten right, and he couldn't even take the credit for it. 

Tiffin's spirit did eventually fade around the time of Lambert's second marriage. And Itha had no ghosts, not ones that Rufus could detect. (He didn't really know that he put out so many ‘stay away from me I'm scared’ vibes after his father's death that only determined ghosts could haunt him.)

And then his brother had gone and died, and Dimitri smelled constantly of smoke and ash.

He knew that there were ghosts haunting his nephew. Not that Dimitri was aware of them. But Rufus knew that they were there, clinging to the young prince like he was a magnet, because he knew Dimitri shouldn't smell like Duscur even years down the road from it. So he had stayed as far from Dimitri as possible. Both because he didn't know what to do and he was terrified of doing something to damage the boy further, and because he was terrified of the boy himself, and the things he carried around with him. 

He knew that Lambert still had to be here. But Lambert was affixed to Dimitri, and as long as Rufus stayed away from Dimitri then his brother wouldn't notice him. 

…Was what he thought until about a week ago. When a spirit actually showed itself before him, it usually meant that it wanted something. Lambert's request to send Dimitri his stuffed lion to school was rather benign, but he hadn't been able to get it out of his head. (Goddess. Lambert. He looked just like Rufus remembered, except covered in soot.) He didn't know why his brother had suddenly decided to leave Dimitri, or why he thought Dimitri wanted that little plush, but he didn't question it, just did what the spirit wanted and hoped that that would be it. He'd done the thing. Now leave him alone.  

Didn't work, of course. Praying never did.

Lambert was back. Creeping up on him from behind like the specter he was and Rufus didn't manage to scare him away with that bottle-toss. Damn it. Damn it, his brother wanted something else. It could be any number of things. So many things. If Lambert was aware of how he was running Faerghus into the ground, if he was aware of how distant he kept himself from Dimitri, if he was aware of what he had stood back and watched happen after his death... oh, Lambert could be here for so many reasons. He had so many reasons to be angry with him. And Rufus expected one of them was going to come up this time. 

This didn't seem like a visit about a stuffed lion as Lambert came over to the couch and fucking sat down beside him like he was still alive. Rufus braced himself. Whatever his brother had to say, he doubted he would remember in the morning. He was going to drink until he forgot about it, because the surely justified wrath of the dead was not something he could handle.  

"Why did you send Dimitri to put down a rebellion? Please tell me you wouldn't do what it looks like you did."  

That... wasn't the question he expected. Rufus managed to lift his head and look up at the ash-coated figure of his brother. "...That wasn't my idea," he said honestly. Which he didn't think would be a shocker. According to the court, it was rare that he had an original idea. "R-Rodrigue said we should send Felix and Dimitri to handle it. I was gonna write the church.” Which probably wouldn’t have worked, because he doubted the church liked him at all. “But Rodrigue said to send the boys. They were old enough. 'S what he said," he mumbled the last part, and the next. "I thought he knew what he was talking about..."

"R...Rodrigue?" His jaw went slack. Rufus was awful at lying, so that thought didn't even cross his mind. Rodrigue suggested it. Why? Why in the Goddess' name would Rodrigue do that? Rodrigue knew battle and war. They both bore the scars of Sreng. Perhaps there had been a miscommunication. Or perhaps it was done through a forged letter. Or... or perhaps Rodrigue knew something he didn't. No, no, there was no 'perhaps'. Lambert had been dead for years. Rodrigue certainly knew more than he did. There must have been a good reason.

"I see." Rufus looked ready to crawl out of his own skin, so it was best he avoid staring off into space and zoning out. "You needn't look at me so fearfully, brother." He sighed, staring down at his lap. "I'm not here to haunt you or anything so drab. If I have scared you in the past, then I apologize. I only regained my wits yesterday." He kept his eyes low, hoping to pique Rufus' well-hidden spark of curiosity. "What do you know of this ability, Rufus? This ability to see spirits?" 

He looked up into his brother's eyes, hoping he was properly beseeching. Hopefully he didn't look as dead as he actually was. "Dimitri... Dimitri has it too, Rufus. If you know anything, then please. He hurt himself today and I can't bear to see him do it again. Not for my sake."

"Don't—don't look at me like that," was the first thing that came out of Rufus' mouth when his brother looked at him like that. Beseeching. Pleading. Like he was supposed to have answers! No one looked to Rufus for answers, ever. Lambert was the only person who ever had, and that hadn't lasted past the time they were teens and Lambert became old enough to go look up things for himself. 

Rufus wasn't smart. He didn't have a head for... for anything, not study, not politics, not anything. There'd been a time, a long time ago, where he thought he could become something. He was a prince, so he was definitely supposed to become something even if it wasn't a king. He could read and write, which was a lot more than most people, so he figured that might qualify him to become some kind of scholar or something. When he'd said something like that to his father, all his father had done was point to the court scribe and ask him if he wanted to be a secretary while staring down his nose at him, and it was around then that Rufus had realized he was going to grow up to be a nothing. He'd just ride his title to the grave because he didn't have anything else, and he didn't want anything else. The stuff he did want wasn't good enough. So he just quit wanting it.

There had been a time that he was curious, though. That he had wanted things. Wanted to learn. Wanted to grow as a person. And after he started realizing that not everyone knew about Cookie the Ghost-Cat, he had... he had done a little bit of poking around. It was before his father had taught him not to strive for anything. So he'd actually gone and done just a little bit of research. It was, regrettably, only a little. And not much more than the fact that he wasn't the only one in their family who had this ability. He'd just wanted to know if it was real or if he was crazy, and that was enough to tell him that either it was real or his family had a penchant for crazies, which was what he thought his father would conclude if it ever came up. So he didn't do anything beyond that. 

Now Lambert was here. Asking him for help. Asking him for advice. Because of Dimitri. His nephew had the ability, too. The lad mentioned that in his letter, but even then, Rufus was not as surprised by it as he thought he would be. 

"...I... I don't..." he began to say, and a look of pain and worry and fear like he had never seen before appeared on Lambert's face. He put up his hands quickly. "Don't look at me like that! I don't know!" he yelped. "I don't know much of anything about anything, Lambert, you know that. You were the one that always knew what to do." 

But now his brother didn't know what to do. Furthermore, his brother didn't have any way of finding out what he should do. Because his brother was a ghost. And that meant his brother couldn't do much besides talk to him. And, apparently, Dimitri.

"...I see," Lambert said, and his form flickered a little. Rufus' heart surged into his throat. Lambert looked so upset. It wasn't the first time his brother was upset with him. But, as kids... Lambert was the only person that Rufus had ever been able to impress. He had wanted to be someone his little brother could look up to, once upon a time. Wanted to be a 'cool older brother' who knew stuff and did things. Of course his brother had stopped looking to him for that as they grew older, but some of that desire was still there, buried deep. 

So before his brother could vanish, he stood up. Lambert stared at him, still sitting. Rufus stared back, numb. Then he gestured towards the door. "I might... I might know where to look, though," he choked out. He hadn't read Queen Idgrod's journals when he found them at thirteen. Not beyond the first few pages. But he knew where they were. And if anything was going to have answers, it was going to be those.

Lambert feared, at first, that Rufus was another dead end (hah. Dead. Like him). He worried that Dimitri really would have to go through this all blindly, painfully, trial by error. If Rufus didn't know anything, then... 

"I don't know much of anything about anything, Lambert, you know that. You were the one that always knew what to do."  

"And look where that got me," he muttered before he could stop himself. Rufus was the opposite of Dimitri. With Dimitri, there was a pull tugging him closer. Rufus? Rufus was uncomfortable. Bordering on painfully uncomfortable to be around. It was just shy of an actual force pushing him away. More than anything though, there was a deep sense that Rufus did not want him here. If it wasn't for Dimitri and the information he needed, he would not, in fact, be here. 

But if Rufus couldn't help... then his ability to resist the push was fading. Rufus wanted him gone. That... that actually hurt. It shouldn't. He was a ghost, something Rufus was notoriously afraid of. He did miss his brother, though. Not in the way Dimitri missed him, no. But — despite what Rufus seemed to think — Lambert had always appreciated having his brother around. Especially when Dimitri was tiny, though it had been hard to get Rufus anywhere near the baby. He had only allowed three people to hold his baby son. The wet-nurse, Rodrigue, and Rufus. He stood by that decision even now. Rufus had been innately good at holding Dimitri, despite his brother's fears. 

Just when he thought the push was going to overwhelm him, it ceased. Rufus stood up. He blinked, staring at Rufus. What? The change was jarring. 

Rufus said he might have a lead. Just as important, he wasn't banishing Lambert. He smiled at his brother, relieved. "Thank you. I understand why I am likely... painful to look at. But thank you for not forcing me away."

Forcing him away? Was that possible? Rufus hadn't thought so. He figured ghosts went wherever they wanted and did what they damn well pleased. The fact that he was scared of 'em was probably something they could sense and the polite ones stayed away. (In his experience, most ghosts were polite. Of course, who could ever call a cat's ghost rude?) He didn't think he had any agency in this thing. 

But with one sentence, Lambert told him that he might have just been wrong about that. He hadn't seen Cookie for a long, long time. He wondered if... 

Bah. He didn't want to think about that right now. "You don't look bad," was all he said instead as he moved towards the door. "You smell like you've been too close to a fire. But you look... better than some ghosts I've seen." Tiffin had been a kind ghost. She'd also often been covered in blood from the waist down. She didn’t even die in childbirth! She died a few days after the fact, relapsing into plague… 

“Sometimes I feel a little burnt,” his brother said casually with a shrug of all things. “Not at the moment, though.”

He wasn't going to look that gift horse in the mouth. His brother more resembled the man he was in life than anything he might have been in his final moments. He wondered if Dimitri had anything to do with that. Now that he thought about it... Tiffin had stopped being bloody around the time Dimitri was five, or at least that was when Rufus had been around to notice it. He'd come for the lad's birthday and the little prince had insisted on a tea party. There had been an empty seat for his mother that didn't look empty to Rufus. That had been the happiest he'd ever seen her, and she'd been wearing her powder-blue dress and clinging to Lambert's arm even though his brother couldn't feel it. Lambert had complimented him on how good he was at playing pretend for Dimitri.

Goddess, why hadn't he realized then that Dimitri wasn't playing pretend, either? Probably because he hadn't realized what was happening with himself until he was thirteen. Dimitri had been so much younger.

"Dammit, I should have noticed," he muttered aloud to... Lambert. Not himself, because Lambert was following him down the hall towards the archives. Rufus thought aloud often, but usually only when he was drunk. It was only 'often' because of how often he was drunk these days. This time, he managed to hold his tongue. Mostly because he heard footsteps coming towards them as soon as he had spoken. 

A servant appeared from around the corner, looking at Rufus wandering the halls with confusion in his eyes. "Your Highness? Is there something I can get for you?" the lad asked. "An escort back to your room?" 

Rufus' lips pulled downwards. The lad probably thought he was so drunk that he'd gotten lost in his own castle. "I don't need a nanny, boy. I know where I'm going," he insisted. "Have a bottle of wine sent up to my room. I'm gonna need that later," he added, but kept going in the direction he'd promised to go. For his brother. For his nephew. He hoped they appreciated it. This was the most effort he'd put in for anyone in years. He hoped even more that it wasn't wasted effort. Last thing he wanted was to try and fail again. Those journals better have something for them, otherwise he'd just be a disappointment once more.

Now that Rufus wasn't repelling him, Lambert noticed a similar warmth like Dimitri's coming from his brother. It wasn't exactly the same, nor was it nearly so strong. He was fairly certain that meant he was welcome, at least a little. He was a bit worried about Rufus' comment about seeing ghosts worse than him. Did that mean Dimitri saw them too...? Goddess, how did he never notice? 

...Tiffin. Dimitri used to speak of Tiffin now and then, though not by her name. He never knew what to do about his son’s ‘imaginary friend’, so he had done nothing, more or less. Rufus had had an imaginary friend for years too, and Cookie had helped his brother cope with… with everything. He recalled hoping that Dimitri didn’t need an imaginary friend. He never discouraged it, though. Not even when his son invited… the imaginary friend… to his fifth birthday.

"Dammit, I should have noticed."  

"I was just thinking the same thing," he murmured back, wondering how many signs he missed from both his older brother and his son. 

He shook himself a few beats later. There was a servant boy in front of Rufus now. Lambert wasn't sure why the servant offered Rufus an escort. Rufus grew up here, he knew this place better than most. 

Rufus brushed past the young man. Lambert kept pace. He nearly apologized. For dying. For leaving this all on Rufus and Dimitri. He couldn't help but see all the stress on his brother's body. "Is there anything I can do to help, Rufus?" he blurted out. "It was all dropped on you, wasn't it? You deserve better than that, I wish... No, no dwelling…" He shook his head as he trailed off. Being a ghost made for jumbled thought-soup. "I didn't even leave you any notes. I could now, but—well, my notes are out of date. It's been years." He considered Dimitri and how his son had grown. "At least two. Three years? Four?" He was more speaking to himself at this point, and would start speaking to himself soon if Rufus didn't draw his attention.

"Four and a half," Rufus cut off his brother's speculation with the answer. "It's been four and a half years." And yet it felt like, in that time, he had aged an entire decade. Maybe even two. He wasn't meant to have the crown. Not anytime after Lambert had been born with a Crest was that crown ever supposed to be on his head. He bet his father was relieved back then. If only he'd known how things would end up. The old man was probably rolling in his grave now. If he was around to see what the kingdom had become under Rufus, he would have haunted him incessantly over it. Thank the Goddess that Thierry was gone. There had been times in his twenties and early thirties when he thought he'd never escape that judgmental eye. 

Not that it mattered anymore. There were judgmental eyes all around him all the time. Who cared if he was judged by both the living and the dead? He probably deserved it, after all the people that had died under his watch. There hadn't been anything he could do to stop what had happened after his brother died. People were up in arms and he had been grieving too much (and too much a coward) to put his foot down and tell Kleiman to stick to his territory and leave the Duscans alone. What had happened had just... happened, and he'd had little agency in it. He'd had little agency at all since taking the throne. He didn’t know what to do! He’d never been trained for any of this! Goddess, he hoped Lambert wasn't aware of that. Rufus sure didn't plan on telling him. 

His brother asked if there was anything he could do to help. There probably was. There were probably a lot of things Lambert could do for him. But right now, Rufus couldn't think of any that would actually help. Especially not if only he and Dimitri could see and hear (and smell) Lambert. Any fantasies he had about asking his brother to run court for him for just one day were out.

"Doubt it," was the only answer he gave for now. Pessimistic as always. They were nearing the library now, so they'd mercifully have something else to talk about soon. He thought about changing the subject to mention the lion he’d sent to Dimitri. That just reminded him of the letter he got in return, filled to the brim with his brother’s own handwriting. 

Four and a half years. Lambert ached at the thought. "It feels like I was alive days ago, yet it's been over four years..." He shook his head as though he could physically shake the melancholy. 

…His eyes drifted to his brother. Melancholy. Not an emotion he often had to deal with. But Rufus… was Rufus’ mood affecting him? As he understood it, Dimitri’s perception had influenced him significantly. To the point where he didn’t remember the last—the last four and a half years. If Rufus’ mood turned dour enough, would he even be able to do anything about it? 

He tried to swallow his concerns and take a deep breath. He could do neither of those things. Because he was dead.

He feigned taking a deep breath anyway. Things were changing for him, and they were changing for the better. Even if this road ahead was filled with bumps and potholes, he refused to drop his optimism. He was present again. He could help, both his son and his brother. 

He couldn’t bear for anything but that to be the truth. He couldn’t bear to be rendered helpless like how he had been so helpless when he died.

The library. They were in the library now. "What exactly are we looking for?" Rufus had yet to tell him. A book, no doubt.

"There are some journals," Rufus answered, heading to one of the dusty corners of the family archives. "...I was thirteen last time I was here. That was when I noticed that what I had was... different. From what I remember reading, the little that I read, she also 'came into her gift' at thirteen. Er, Queen Idgrod. Her journal, that’s what we’re looking for." 

He paused as he found the shelf, his eyes scanning the spines of the books until a realization hit him. Thirteen. That was how old Dimitri had been when the Tragedy happened. If that was the age when their family members really became able to access their 'gift,' then... Goddess. Poor Dimitri. (Did it mean anything that Dimitri had been seeing the ghost of his mother even earlier than that?)

He didn't dwell. Instead, he just grabbed the collection of six faded leather-bound journals and brought them over to the table. "Here they are," he said, spreading them out in front of his brother. "The journals of Queen Idgrod. So called 'Spirit-Speaker Queen' of Faerghus." He stared down at them for a moment. "There were probably more of 'em at some point, but these are all the ones we have. I read part of this one," he said, opening the first and flipping until he landed on the page where she talked about her thirteenth birthday and the ghost she had talked to that night. "Here it is. This is as far as I got before I decided I didn't need to know anything else. Figured either this thing was in the family, or we were all a bunch of crazies. I thought our father would assume the latter if I ever brought it up."

Lambert's jaw dropped open. "This is—Rufus, this is perfect!" He grinned brightly at his brother, his emotions expressed without any filters of flesh. Six volumes! He reached out to open one. His smile fell when, predictably, his hand passed through the cover. "...Ah. Right." 

Dimitri would want to read these. He was anxious about just mailing them, though. These were likely the only sources of information about this ability. If something were to happen to the books en route to Dimitri and he hadn't read them when he had the chance, he would never forgive himself. He didn't want to force Rufus to spend all night flipping pages for him, though. There was probably paperwork that needed to be done. Or, er... a bottle of wine to be drunk... 

His eyes skimmed the page about their ancestor speaking to a ghost. So far, nothing he didn't already know. Taking a deep fake-breath and focusing, he tried to move the page again. This time, he put more force behind the action. More thought and will. The page wiggled. Yes! Maybe he could turn this after all. He focused harder, this time soaking up the heat Rufus naturally put off. He didn't think that would wear Rufus out anymore than soaking up sunshine wore out the sun. His attempt paid off. His fingers, warm and buzzing, managed to turn the page. It was a lot of effort for a single page. But it was doable.  

"We need to search for anything in here about her powers beyond just seeing ghosts," he told Rufus. Wiggling his fingers, he looked up at his brother. That warmth could dry up at any moment if Rufus so chose. "You and Dimitri have more control over us than you know." It was dangerous for him to admit, but he didn't fear his brother. "You can bolster spirits or banish them. Dimitri could hold a spirit within him for over a day. What else is there?" He bit his lip. "I won't have him hurting himself again. Not if I can do anything about it."

Rufus' eyes went wide as he watched his brother try, and struggle, and eventually succeed in turning the page of the journal. It was almost humorous, in a way. His brother, who had been so strong that he could lift boulders in his life, now strained to turn a flimsy page. But in a way, that was probably a good thing. Meant that Lambert wouldn't be accidentally ripping this book apart any time soon. He had the same thought as his brother, too. Tangential to what he'd just thought — these books probably should not leave Fhirdiad. Not only was there the chance that something could happen to them on the road, but they were old and fragile things. Know what Dimitri was bad at handling? Old and fragile things. These journals were probably not going to end up in his nephew's hands for safety reasons alone. But that didn't mean the knowledge inside was off limits to him. It'd just... it'd have to come from him and Lambert. 

His brother told him that he had more control than he knew. They could bolster or banish spirits at will, apparently. Which was definitely not something Rufus knew. He got what his brother was asking for, though. Bolster. That was the only way Lambert was going to be strong enough to interact with these journals. He reached out his hand. The only ghost he'd ever touched was the cat. And that had been years ago. When he reached out to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder, it sort of... sank through a little. Lambert shuddered and Rufus felt like he dunked his hand in ice water. But his intention must have worked, because his brother's ghost became a little more opaque. Stronger, as Rufus passed over a bit of his energy.

"...Did that help?" he asked. The bright grin on his brother's face told him that it most certainly had. Taking a deep breath first, Rufus mustered a weary smile for his little brother. He sat down at the table and grabbed the third journal for himself. "Well... might as well get to reading.” He didn't have anything better to do. Going back to his room and drinking an entire bottle of wine didn't seem doable when he knew that he'd left his brother's ghost all alone in the library. And, truth be told... Lambert had done what he intended. Lit that faint spark of curiosity in him once more. 

He opened the journal and started thumbing through. Perhaps he should have looked into this years ago. But it wasn't too late now. Hopefully, by morning... they'd have some kind of answer about all of this that his brother could take back to Dimitri.

Lambert shuddered as energy rushed through him. Stronger. He inhaled sharply. It felt almost like he could actually breathe again. After a moment of wide-eyed staring, he tried to touch a book. He was able to do one better and lift the book. "I'd say that helped a great deal." He felt more alive than he had since dying (aside from when he was inhabiting a living body). Clenching his fist, he was awed at how energized he felt. "And you're all right?" He eyed Rufus. If anything, Rufus looked better than before. There was a spark in his eye, filled with purpose now. (He smiled softly at that. His brother lost that spark a long time ago). 

Rufus plopped down to get reading. "You should eat after this," he commented, pulling out a chair for himself. "Eat, drink water, and get a good night's sleep. That felt like a lot of energy." Yet on Rufus' end, it didn't look like it took nearly as much effort as how much energy Lambert felt. Was Rufus' ability stronger than Dimitri's? ...Or perhaps it wasn't worn so thin.

"I'm all right," Rufus affirmed. It honestly hadn't felt like that much energy. It felt like hardly any energy at all, in fact. It was more that he'd had the thought. The intention to try and make his brother's ghost more powerful, at least for long enough to go through these journals with him. And there! It had happened. He'd done it! ...Wow. He'd actually done something. Without messing up. And Lambert looked happy about it. 

"We'll just have to see if it hits me later. Then again, I am getting old," Rufus said. "Might run out of steam just from sitting here. Who knows?" he scoffed. Damn, he hated getting old. Especially getting old too fast. Running the country had aged him more than it should have. He wasn't going to let that distract him right now. He had to get to reading! Lambert and Dimitri were counting on him! ...Which was terrifying. But he could do this. Just stay up late and read a few books and answer any questions he knew how to answer for his brother. Yeah. That wasn't hard.

"We'll be old men before we know it," he said with a chuckle that he turned into a cough. Rufus might. Lambert was done aging. 

He plucked one of the journals at random and got reading. The journals weren't just about ghosts, unfortunately. Politics from centuries ago did them little good. However, it didn't take long for him to find an entry involving a ghost. 

'Victor has been visiting with increasing frequency. As far as suitors go, he had my favor before he went and got himself slain in a foolish duel. Being that he is dead, and can thus provide no heirs, he is out of the running. Good thing too. This man is too dense to rule. He is convinced he still has a chance and refuses to leave me be. I hesitate to banish him. He was kind in life. I have browbeaten more stubborn nobles than he.'  

Flipping the page, it seemed that the situation had not been resolved so easily. 

'Wretched dastards! Damn the church, all of them! And damn Victor too, which I have done, to the eternal flames. It is as he deserves for abusing my generosity. Oh, he whinged and whined to remain close to me. I should have banished him. Instead, he lunged when I was tired and jammed himself within me, becoming naught but a life-sucking parasite. I would have shaken him eventually. The church chose to take matters into their own hands, those wretches! Nearly banished my soul along with Victor. That was their intent, after all. I shall have no more of their ilk in my court.'

…Oh. That was… what he had done to Dimitri, was it not? He covered his mouth with his hand. Thank goodness the church had been more kind in their exorcising of him than had been done with this ‘Victor’. The despair Dimitri would have felt…

Rufus was, he had to admit, feeling a little odd about flipping through a young woman's journal. That was sort of the reason he had quit reading these as a lad, too; that, and the fact that he was pretty sure he'd get hit for reading these when he was a boy. His father would have assumed all the wrong reasons, for sure. And it still felt weird — perhaps even weirder now that he was a fifty year old man, skimming the pages of what a young woman wrote when she was in her teens. Yes, yes, he knew that this woman was his ancestor and all that, and he was doing perfectly respectable research. He still worried what it'd look like, which was doing a hell of a lot to distract him as he skimmed the pages looking for the word 'ghost' or 'spirit' or anything similar. 

He got through probably thirty pages, just scanning them and moving on, before he realized his brother had been stuck on the same one for quite a long time. "Need help turning the page?" he asked, straightening up and glancing down at what his ghostly brother was looking at. Lambert's eyes were fixed on a passage that Rufus read as quickly as he could manage. When he finished, it was with a grimace. 

"Sothis' tits. I didn't even consider that," he muttered. It had not ever once crossed his mind what the church would think of something like this. He'd always been far too concerned with what his father would think of it to worry about anything outside that sphere. And he was a professional worrier! "...Is Dimitri safe at the Academy?" he asked, his gaze flicking up to Lambert. He hadn't thought about this at all. But now... now he was worried.

"Yes. He is safe. It was Lady Rhea who assisted in, ah, retrieving my spirit from Dimitri and Claude. I haven't quite figured out how to do it myself yet." Which meant he had to be extra careful not to slip into Rufus. He thought about it. "Both Rhea and Seteth have been helpful. Though I suppose there are some other circumstances at play... Perhaps this was carried out by the Western Church,” he speculated, tapping at the page. The Western Church was, typically, stricter than the Central Church. 

It warmed his unbeating heart that Rufus was worried about Dimitri, though. It worried him that a spirit could take over Dimitri (or Rufus, though Rufus seemed to know how to keep ghosts away). He could see it happening so easily too. He could have stayed in Dimitri if he had been malicious. Dimitri had been too weak to do anything. "All right. What next?" He frowned at the journals, then reached out for the last one. He needed to know where the power could go and what it was capable of.

Okay. If Lambert was sure Dimitri was safe, then it was probably fine. Rufus tried to put that worry to bed. Then he remembered what happened the last time his brother thought their family would be safe outside of Fhirdiad, and all that worry came rushing right on back. But what was he supposed to do about it? Write a letter to Dimitri? Try to talk his brother out of his confidence? Neither of those seemed very smart considering how delicate the situation was. He was certain that if he did anything like take initiative on something, he'd botch the job immediately. Sitting in the library and reading some books in the middle of the night was harmless. Anything like the stuff he was thinking about — anything involving the church — was getting international politics into play and of course he would fuck that up. 

"Let me see that," he said instead, taking the journal from Lambert and looking through the relevant pages. If he could just confirm that it was the Western Church that had done this, that'd make him feel a lot better. He found the name of the bishop that had performed the exorcism a couple pages away. But not which church he was from. Damn it. If he was going to find that out, he'd need to dig out records on old bishops of the Western and Central Churches and cross-reference, and that... that sounded like a lot of work for this time of night. He wasn't even sure they had records like that here in Fhirdiad, he'd probably have to write the archbishop for them. Which looped him back around to his first problem. Getting involved in international politics. Which he couldn't do. He thought himself in circles — stressed little circles — as he tried to remember if he had ever heard of a Bishop Clementine in his history lessons. But he was coming up with a lot of nothing. 

"...You find anything interesting over there?" he asked, because he was pretty sure he'd been staring at this page for something like ten minutes at this point.

"Not particularly." Lambert’s plan to look at later entries was a bit of a bust. Whenever ghosts came up, the queen felt no need to explain anything. Hopefully that meant there was more discovery written in the prior books. After a quick flip through the sixth tome though, he was convinced it was a dead end. 

There was... it was almost like a sort of buzzing. Turning back to Rufus made it obvious where the 'buzz' came from. "...You're stressed." Being a spirit gave him all sorts of new sixth senses, especially pertaining to Dimitri and Rufus. Coming closer, he gently closed the book Rufus had been reading. "It's late. Perhaps we—er, you, should rest. You look tired, Brother." He squeezed Rufus' shoulder gently. 

"Bishop Clementine," Rufus murmured, rubbing his temples. "Don't suppose you remember if they were central or western?" 

He thought back to his history lessons. "I would lean towards western, though I can't say for sure. I can check the record. You should get some rest. You have bags forming under your bags."

"There are always bags there," Rufus protested. He'd ask how his brother knew he was stressed, but it was probably rather obvious. Stress was etched on pretty much every inch of him. He wondered what time it was. Of course he could get away with sleeping in — the court didn't need him to function and people were rarely happy when he showed up in the first place. But he was pretty sure that the Big Important Nobles were coming to court soon. Was that tomorrow? Or next week? Blast, he really should probably care about that. If only to remember if he needed to show up. If he didn't go to court on a day when Rodrigue was there, he never heard the end of it until the man left. And sometimes there were follow-up letters, too. Not to mention the fact that he now knew his brother could pop in at any time and see what a shit job he was doing... 

Lambert's spirit flickered and stumbled back like he'd been pushed and Rufus immediately went on alert. Having his brother's hand on his shoulder for that moment had been nice. He didn't know why he'd pulled away like that—oh. Lambert probably hadn't done that. From the look on his ghostly face, it had been Rufus who pushed him. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean that," he quietly said as he got up. His brother still looked hurt, so he figured the best way to make it better was to just do as he was told and go to bed. But before he walked away, he stopped and reached out his hand for Lambert again. He didn't actually want Lambert to go. He was just ashamed of letting him see the utter wreck he'd become.

For a moment, Lambert was worried he overstayed his welcome. Once, Rufus had shouted at him for 'nagging'. "I'm your older brother, dammit, not an invalid! I can take care of myself!" He did his best not to overstep, but that line was not an easy one for him to see. Not until he tripped over it. 

Rufus apologized though, and then there was the pull. Much lighter than Dimitri's, but it was the very same pull. 'Don't go.'  

He would search for the records of Bishop Clementine tomorrow. That, or he could just ask Seteth or Rhea through Dimitri when he saw them next. Seemed like the sort of thing they would know. Come to think of it, he made for an excellent messenger between Dimitri and Rufus. Transportation in the blink of an eye... 

Rufus reached out for him. He didn’t really think as he slung his arm around his brother’s shoulders. Not until he felt a flinch. "Inform me if I am too cold or uncomfortable. I'm not sure whether or not my touch is draining." He could sense that he was wanted, though. 

There was a time when Rufus hadn't liked it when Lambert put his arm around him. That stemmed back to the time when Lambert was seven and Rufus was twelve and his little brother had accidentally broken his arm. Ever since then, he'd been skittish about being touched by his brother. As they grew older, he learned how to accept it again without flinching, or at least without flinching obviously.  

Right now? Well... Lambert could barely handle a book. It dawned on him quickly enough that he didn't think he had anything to fear from his brother's touch (even if Lambert would never hurt him on purpose) anymore. So he let the arm stay around his shoulders. It was cold, and brought the smell of ash close to his face. But it wasn't too bad. Especially considering that no one had given Rufus a friendly touch in years. 

(If he really wanted friendly touch, he could bring one of his old lovers to the palace for a night. But the court already hated him enough as it was. He already hated himself enough as it was. He didn't need to make things worse by looking like a whore of a man. He didn't even want sex. Just... touch. Touch was nice.) 

They walked through the halls together. At this hour, they came across no one. It wasn't until they made it back to Rufus' room that Lambert remembered their chat about a hearty meal. 

"I'll be back in a moment." For a moment, he didn't think Rufus would let him go. Reluctantly though, that grip on his chest faded. Nodding to Rufus, he turned and wandered the halls searching for the nearest servant. 

Now, Lambert wasn't oblivious to the effects that being dead seemed to have on him. His expressions were harder to cover. He was more free with his emotions, and was finally free to care for his family above the kingdom. He was also, well... a little bit scatterbrained, compared to when he was alive. In this particular instance, he forgot, to start, that he should be invisible. When the first servant he stumbled across did, in fact, see him, he remembered that detail. Rufus' strength bolstered him a great deal, it seemed.

He also forgot that he was the dead king. Which, understandably, terrified the poor servant. "Y-Y-Your M-M-Majesty...?"  

...Whoops. "Ah. No. I just, ahem. Share a striking resemblance?" He tried to smile. ...In life, he wasn't known for being a good liar. Or even a decent one. In death, this remained true. Especially when he realized he was standing in the portrait hall, right in front of his very own portrait. The poor servant was quivering in his boots. "Please, have the kitchens send a hearty meal to Rufus' room. No alcohol. Send..." he paused, recalling an old childhood memory. "Sparkling water, if we have that. The kitchens should have that..." Rufus enjoyed sparkling water, though their father never liked the beverage.

"I, ah, y-yes y-your Majesty? A-anything for you?" As soon as the servant asked, they cringed. 

"I appreciate the offer, but there is no need for that. Thank you." He offered a shallow nod. "Apologies for the fright." With that, the servant rushed off to obey. He should probably get back to Rufus' room before anyone else saw him. One servant claiming to see the dead king could be played off as hallucinations in the dead of night.

Lambert excused himself once they got back to his room. Rufus figured it was because Lambert didn't want to hang around to watch him change. So he did that in his brother's absence, and also noted that a servant had been in here since he left. The shattered bottle of alcohol had been cleaned from the floor and there was his requested bottle of wine on the table. He didn't much care for wine, in all honesty. But it was the easiest distraction to give a servant. So it'd do.

He was in his pajamas and pouring himself a small glass when his brother came back. Just sort of... appeared in the room. That made him jump and spill a little on the tablecloth. That was fine. Someone would pick up after him, he was sure. 

"Well, Lambert, I think I'll soon be turning in," he said, taking a sip of his drink. A glass before bed would send him off. He needed it. Drinking himself to sleep was the only way to turn the anxious thoughts off.

Lambert tutted at himself for spooking his brother. He hadn't meant to teleport, exactly. It just sort of happened. "Stay awake a little longer. I sent for a meal for you." He cleared his throat, averting his eyes sheepishly. "Apologies if you hear rumors of me roaming the castle at the dead of night. It seems you strengthened me enough that I'm visible to the layman, at least for now. But! On the bright side, I'm certain that servant will bring the requested meal post-haste. And you really should eat before turning in." 

Dimitri's condition still left him fretful. The only way he could take care of Dimitri was to stay away, at least for now. Which meant, well... Rufus was getting the brunt of his fussing. Dimitri hadn't done half of what Rufus did for him, so he was worried that the drain would hit his brother like a carriage. Eating properly should help, though. He hoped. 

His eye did linger on the bottle of wine, though he did his best to hold his tongue. He never had been a fan of alcohol, despite how often he was forced to partake. After his father passed, he very, very rarely drank. Never did like what it did to people, himself included. Never did like how Rufus turned to the bottle as a coping mechanism. He knew better than to say anything, though. Rufus never liked— 

"I've always hated wine," slipped past his lips before he could think better of it. "What good has wine done anyone?" Another issue with his state: it was harder to keep his thoughts to himself.

Oh. Oh, good. Someone else had seen Lambert's ghost. Well... at least there would be one person who wouldn't think he was totally crazy if it ever slipped out that he'd seen his dead brother, too. Not that people could think any less of him anyways, incapable drunkard that he was. If he said he'd seen Lambert someone would probably think it was an alcohol-induced delusion. At least he was going to get a meal out of it. He didn't really know what to say to his brother's confession, so he bought time by taking another sip of his dri— 

"I've always hated wine. What good has wine done anyone?"  

He slowly lowered his glass, holding his mouthful of wine on his tongue like a dog that had been caught stealing scraps and someone was yelling at him to spit them out. He couldn't very well do that, though. And he couldn't talk with wine in his mouth. So he swallowed it down, but it tasted even more bitter than usual. "I can't sleep without it," he admitted. He definitely hadn't drunk enough for this conversation. But he couldn't stand how his brother was looking at him. 

(Lambert got pushed again.) 

He didn't know why he chose to be honest. Vulnerable. Weak. Perhaps because Lambert couldn't tell anybody else about this. Oh, wait, yes he could. He could tell Dimitri. Not that that would change his nephew's impression of him at all. "I... I can't sleep without it," he repeated. He didn't want his brother to think he was wrecking his liver and his brother's entire kingdom on purpose. He just... wasn't any good. And drinking was the only thing that could make him forget that long enough to get some sleep.

Lambert cringed as he felt the blow he dealt to Rufus. He saw the guilt and shame in Rufus' gaze. "That wasn't a judgment," he said softly, dropping his gaze. "I've just never liked it. Father was... well, you know. We don't talk about it." And it was true. They never did talk about it. They usually didn't talk about not talking about it either. 

"I find myself blurting out my thoughts left and right. Must be a ghost-thing." Shaking his hand, he looked away and bid Rufus to keep drinking, if he pleased. "Don't let me stop you. That wasn't my intention." His shoulders slumped a little. Couldn't sleep without drinking. That had to be Lambert's fault. He left so much on Rufus' plate with nary a support system in place. At least when Father died, Lambert was ready (as he could ever be). At least Lambert knew who to trust in his court, who to distrust, and who to keep an eye on (though he failed to keep a close enough eye on them in the end). Rufus and Rodrigue never really got along, but he wished his old friend had been there for Rufus too. That was surely asking too much, though. Rodrigue had his own dukedom to run. And... it sounded like the one time Rodrigue gave Rufus advice, it was to send Dimitri and Felix to a war zone. He needed to see Rodrigue again.

A gentle knock signaled that the food arrived. He had spaced out, though he didn't know for how long. He didn't look to see if Rufus drank more wine or not. Instead, he slipped out of sight so the servant could bring the food in.

Ah, yes. Their father. The man who drank himself into an early grave. Rufus wondered if that was how he was going to go out, too. Seemed like he was on that track. At least he only had to make it five more months before Dimitri was old enough to take the throne... then he could move back to Itha and hopefully he wouldn't have to drink as much anymore. 

He thought about that night again. The night their father passed and he'd woken up with the man looming over the foot of his bed. He topped off his glass and drank it all down in one go. He still had nightmares about that. Thank the Goddess that Thierry wasn't here anymore.

A knock came to his door. Rufus waited for Lambert to hide himself before he called to tell the servant to come in. "What are you doing here?" he remembered to ask, because he wasn't supposed to know he had food on the way. The servant stumbled all over themselves trying to explain, but Rufus cut them off with a wave of his hand. "Doesn't matter. You must have just read my mind.” 

The tray was brought over to him, as well as the drink. Sparkling water. Lambert remembered that. The servant all but ran from the room and Rufus just stared down at the tray. Slowly, he shifted his grip from his wine glass to the cup of water. He brought it to his lips and took a sip. It fizzled on his tongue and bubbled on the way down his throat. 

"I didn't know we still kept this stuff here," he said, which was the sad remark that invited Lambert back into the conversation.

"I wasn't sure it was still here either," Lambert replied, glad that it was. "I always tried to keep some on hand, just in case you visited. Though I suppose I never followed through..." The last time he brought it out was for Dimitri's fifth birthday. Rufus had remarked that it was a 'sissy's drink'. "Didn't want you to think I was patronizing you," softly slipped out, an admission he otherwise would have kept to himself if he had that power. 

The truth was: he never really stopped looking up to his brother. It changed, of course. Between the two of them, Rufus wasn't the achiever. "I've always felt guilty about it," he murmured, staring down at the carpet. "What was it you used to say? I got all the good and you got all the bad." He'd never known what to say to that. Unfair as it was, to an extent it was true. Lambert was the one who was, by all accounts, born to rule. He was naturally good at it (rather, he had been). He had the right temperament, the right charisma, the right wisdom. Rufus... hadn't. It wasn't just about Crests. Lambert had more, was simply born better when it came to what mattered for statecraft. 

It wasn't fair. Never had been. Why should Rufus be ignored or scoffed at simply because he was good at different things? Growing up, before the spark had been ground out of Rufus' soul, he had wanted his brother by his side. An advisor, or someone to bounce ideas off of, or... anything to have his brother by his side. 

Childhood dreams. He still believed though, that if Rufus hadn't been so thoroughly crushed, that there would have been somewhere that Rufus fit in court. Somewhere that was fulfilling for his brother, that his brother was good at. Because his brother was good, and he refused to believe otherwise. Even now, even in death, "Father was always so wrong about you," he muttered to himself, words coated in malice.

Father never seemed to see him as a person. Just as an inanimate heir. It hurt, when he was young, but he had been a strange child regardless. Never had been good at expressing himself in those days, so… he had accepted Father’s cold distance. But what Father did to Rufus? It was unforgivable. Lambert was not a man of hate, but if there was one man he hated, it had always been his father. 

He was lost in his own swirling thoughts. He'd never felt like he could reach out to Rufus without it looking like he was patronizing his brother, or looking down on his 'lesser' sibling. If it was just what others thought, then so be it. But he cared about what Rufus thought, and he couldn't stand for his brother to think he thought less of him. The sparkling water was just one example of many. Something thoughtful that he never acted on, fearful that it would just be another blow to his brother's pride. It kept him locked in place, hardly able to act around his brother without doubting himself.

If dying and leaving Dimitri alone was his greatest regret, his inability to reach out to his big brother was his second greatest regret.

"Father was always so wrong about you," Lambert said, and Rufus nearly choked on his drink. He had to whack himself on the sternum several times just to catch his breath. He didn't think Lambert even noticed. "Unforgivable. What he did. ...I cared. I cared. He didn't. ...He hated. I hate him back,” Lambert mumbled. …Did Lambert even realize he was speaking out loud?

Lambert hated their father? Rufus agreed with the sentiment. Wholeheartedly, he did. He just never expected to hear words like this from Lambert. Lambert, who was the perfect child. Who was full of goodness and forgiveness and kindness and couldn't hate anybody. That Lambert, that Lambert hated their father as much as Rufus did. Probably more than Rufus did. Because Rufus feared more than hated their father, even after all this time. 

Their father hadn't had a Crest. One might think that would have made him more understanding of what it was like to be Rufus. But it didn't matter once he had a Crested son to pile all the expectations onto. And a worthless son to pile all his hatred onto. Rufus used to wonder if his father saw anything of himself in him. And if that could have been part of the reason the man hated him so much. If he was reminded of his own faults and shortcomings when he looked at his eldest son and hated him because of that. Thierry was such a hateful man. Rufus didn't doubt for a second that Thierry had probably hated himself, too. But that didn't matter as long as he could hate other people more. 

Their father hadn't had a Crest. Which Rufus was glad for. Even if he sometimes wondered if a Crest would have made his father feel more secure, he didn't know that for sure. So he was glad his father didn't have one, because even though only an insecure man would beat his child, an insecure man with the Crest of Blaiddyd probably would have killed his child.

"I didn't want to hurt you, too. He made you feel like nothing. I didn't want to make you feel like nothing. Didn't know what I could do that wouldn't seem patronizing. And I didn't do anything. Too late now..." 

"That's—that's enough, Lambert," Rufus said, staring down at his tray of food. His stomach was churning. So sweet of his brother to get this meal for him. Too bad he wouldn't be able to eat even a bite of it. Not with—with all of this. It was so much to happen all in one night. Too much. Far too much. 

Especially when his brother responded to the call of his name. Looked right up at him. And then said, "I always loved you, Rufus. I always have." 

Too much. It was too much. So Rufus did the only thing he ever did when someone tried to be kind to him. He flinched. He doubted it. And he withdrew. "You can go now," he said. Lambert stumbled back a step. Then another. Rufus' shoulders curled upwards and he hunched in on himself. "Go on. Get. Go."

Lambert didn't realize how much he said aloud. One moment, he was lost in his thoughts. The next, his brother was shoving him. He watched his brother's crumbled expression and that was how he knew he must have said something. 

"You can go now." His chest clenched, practically crumpling under the force of Rufus' shove. Rufus' shoulders curled upwards and his brother hunched in on himself. "Go on. Get." Another wave shoved at him. Was this what it felt like to resist Blaiddyd strength? He tried, but he might as well be fighting the sea. "Go."  

The command seared deep. The strength Rufus gave him earlier was stripped away. He was nothing but a shade, after all. Go. Rufus commanded him to go, forcing his spirit away. Rufus banished him. The last thing Rufus saw of him was his half-burnt face and wide eyes, lips parted in shock and pain, as he was forced far, far away. 

Lambert didn't know where he was. His head felt scattered, though he was still himself. Still aware. Aware enough that, hunched in on himself, he managed a bitter chuckle all the same. His brother didn't mean to hurt him. But that was the Blaiddyd way, wasn't it? With their blood, it was so easy to hurt their loved ones. He hoped Rufus wasn't too upset. Next time they saw each other (he prayed this wasn't a permanent banishment), he would just play this off as payback for when he accidentally broke Rufus' arm.

Oh, Goddess. Goddess.  

Rufus reached for the bottle of wine as soon as his brother disappeared. Forget the glass. Pouring the drink wouldn't be fast enough. He needed it right now. Even popping off the cork again felt like it was taking too long. He slung it across the room and practically shoved the neck of the bottle past his lips so he could take a huge swig. And even that didn't seem like enough. He swallowed down the swig of wine then started gagging. He held the bottle up to his nose and inhaled deeply but it was no good. 

The stench of charred flesh had flooded his room and lingered even still despite Lambert being gone. He wasn't sure which made him want to vomit more — that stench, or the hurt look on his brother's burned face that was now seared into his memory. 

Goddess, he messed up. He messed up again.  

He couldn't stay here. Not tonight. He wouldn't sleep a wink if he did. So he took his bottle of wine with him and all but fled the room. He didn't know where he was going. He just needed a new corner to curl up in so he could drink himself into oblivion.

Chapter Text

"...Your Highness?" 

Someone was poking his shoulder. Rufus groaned and shuffled away from the touch. It felt like he had fallen down a flight of stairs and then taken a blow to the head on top of it. Damn wine. It always gave him the worst hangovers. 

"Get off me," he grumbled to the servant who was trying to wake him. He must have found himself a corner somewhere. He didn't open his eyes to see where. 

"But Your Highness, Duke Fraldarius needs this guest room!" 

He hissed. "If Duke Fraldarius needs the room, Duke Fraldarius can move me himself," he spat. 

"Please let me escort you back to your chambers, Your Highness." 

"No." Curled up tight like an angry feral cat, he refused to move. (There was a pillow under his head. Either he had made it to a bed or the servant had shoved one under it. Comfy.) "Shh. Dismissed."

The servant left, and Rufus laid there, in pain, trying to go back to sleep and forget about why he hurt so much this morning. 

Garreg Mach and Fhirdiad woke at around the same hour. So just as Rufus was unsuccessfully being pulled from sleep by his worried servant, a sunbeam was slanting into the room where the large dragon nest and all its occupants rested, landing on the scaly back of a baby dragon who just wanted to stay a baby dragon. Kiros wanted to stay a baby dragon because being anything else made him turn into a tangle of stress and anxiety and fear. Baby dragon was easier. Baby dragon was too smol for stress and anxiety and fear! 

"Reeeeeeh..." he protested as the sun fell into his eyes that morning, squirming around until he wiggled his way under his brother's shirt. Brother also squirmed at the feeling of him wiggling around so close, so he chomped his collarbone and let out a whine that smoothed out into a purr. No! No awake! Still sleepies for the babies! (And his brother was even younger than him, so of course they were both babies.)

Claude was sleeping soundly. Right until a pair of small yet sharp teeth chomped into his flesh. "Rehhhh," he whined, papping Kiros' face. No bites...! Sleepy time...!  

Kiros agreed, settling into a soothing rumble. Better. Except the sun had other ideas. He groaned when the sunshine poked his eyes, prying its way past his eyelid defense. 

Warbling, he opened his eyes reluctantly. Across from him, Dedue was awake and looking very bored. He peeped a sleepy greeting, nuzzling his portion of the dimipillow. 

Speaking of Dimitri, his boyfriend was looking much better this morning. Still a little pale, but that could just be Dimitri's natural skin tone. As he slowly roused, his purrs grew. Kiros purred too, but they were smaller purrs. Unthinkingly mimicking his twin, he nibbled Dimitri's neck affectionately. Dimitri didn't rouse, both because Claude was being very careful and because the prince was sleeping very deeply.

Claude started moving around, purring louder as he woke up. Kiros tried to send him back to sleep with sleepy-time purrs, but it wasn't really working. The day was getting started whether he wanted it to or not. 

Eventually, he poked his head up through the collar of his brother's shirt and blinked around, investigating who else was awake. Not Dimitri. Though the prince was looking better than he had the day before. That was a relief. None of them had expected him to end up so drained from holding a spirit inside of him. He knew his twin blamed himself, at least in part, for the way Dimitri had ended up, but they didn't know! Kiros had never ended up exhausted from holding Claude within himself, but there was probably a pretty major difference there. Being that their souls were twins and probably didn't register the other as foreign. Dimitri's body had known the souls inside of him were foreign. And then he had gotten sick, like his body was trying to fight off a foreign invader or something. 

He didn't know if his line of thinking — that spirits were like viruses Dimitri could catch — was correct or not. It just seemed like a fitting analogy. Well... maybe they were less like viruses and more like parasites. Claude's body hadn't reacted this extremely to holding two souls because they were the same soul. Yes, there were side effects, like it being crowded inside for his twin. But nothing like what had happened to Dimitri. The Prince of Faerghus wasn't a vessel like Claude's body had been for him. Seemed more like Dimitri's body was a host, or even a target, for spirits who had nowhere else to go. And when the Prince opened himself up to that, he suffered. 

All of these were just theories in the end, though. None of them knew anything about what this was really like except for Dimitri himself. And he couldn't tell them about it until— 

Kiros' ears pricked forward and a little 'alert!' warble left him. Dimitri's eyelids fluttered. He was waking up!

From Lambert's perspective, it had only been moments ago that Rufus banished him. Maybe minutes. It didn't feel like long, was the point. He felt a tug, though, and he knew it was Dimitri. 

He expected it to be night. He expected that his son must have woken from a bad dream, or perhaps somehow knew about what happened with Rufus. He didn't expect sunlight and daytime. 

"Mrr," was the little sleepy sound his son made, eyelids only just fluttering open. Thank the Goddess, his son looked much better than yesterday. Dimitri made another sleepy grumble, this time followed by a potent tug. 

"I'm here, son." 

Dimitri's lips curled into a tired smile. "Mmm..." 

“Prrp?” Was Claude looking at him? The boy was certainly looking in his direction… Head cocked, his son’s boyfriend was squinting at him. Was it because he spent time in the lad’s body? It didn’t seem like Claude could see him well.

Petting his son's hair, he let Dimitri wake as slowly as he pleased. Claude (and Kiros) were a little less patient. Combined, the brothers were purring loud enough to wake the dead (hah). Claude was nibbling a couple of marks on Dimitri's neck, his hands settling into a kneading motion. 

"Mm... mornm," Dimitri finally said, fully opening his eyes. 

"Good morning, son. Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning, Your Highness. Shall I fetch breakfast for you?" It wasn't until after Dedue spoke that Lambert noticed one of Dimitri's arms curled around Dedue, trapping the man in bed.

Dimitri sucked in a big breath of air to wake himself up a little more. This usually worked well in Fhirdiad, where the air was pretty much always cold. A good breath of chilly air inside his lungs always woke him up. It was less effective here, though. Everything about this room was warm. It was summer, and despite it being summer in the mountains, it was still warm. In fact, with all the people (and dragons) cuddled around him, Dimitri felt downright hot.  

He shifted around until he was able to shove his feet out from under the blankets. The chill that had seeped down to his core was gone, and now he was even feeling on the verge of breaking into a sweat. It even smelled like a fire had been burning in here all nigh— 

Oh. No. That wasn't a fire. 

Dimitri's opened eyes went wide and he snapped to full consciousness as soon as he got a look at his father. Burned. Father was all burned up this morning, his clothing blackened and his flesh charred. Dedue grunted as Dimitri's grip on him tightened out of fear and concern. His breaths became sharp and Dedue rolled onto his side to pet Dimitri's hair. 

"Easy, your Highness. You're all right, Dimitri."

"Father—" he choked out. "What—what happened?!" This was because he sent his father away last night, wasn't it? This was his fault.

Lambert flinched when Dimitri's fear lashed out. It was only then that he noticed he was—he, parts of his hand were so burnt that his charred flesh was flaking off into Dimitri's hair. 

He jerked back, aware that it must be more than his hand. It didn't hurt, at least, but he didn't want Dimitri to see him like this. All burnt up and dead.  

He tried to withdraw to spare his son the sight. Just as he was powerless last night to stay when Rufus banished him, he was powerless to leave in Dimitri's tight grip. 

"It wasn't you. It was just a mistake, Dimitri. I'm okay. It doesn't hurt,” he hastened to explain. It did a little bit now that he was aware of the burns, but nothing agonizing. 

Dimitri's expression cracked.

"I visited Rufus last night." He didn't want Dimitri thinking Rufus hurt him, but he couldn't stand Dimitri blaming himself. "It was a good visit. But I... I brought up some poor memories. He didn't mean to do this to me. It just happened." Close enough to the truth. He cracked a little smile, hoping it looked okay on his burnt face. "Blaiddyd accident-prone tradition." 

Though he was putting on a brave face for Dimitri, he wished he could turn around. Or put something between them. Dimitri deserved better than to be haunted by the burnt visage of his father. Being haunted by the unburnt visage of his father was much better.

Rufus. Uncle Rufus had done this? That wasn't hard for Dimitri to believe. His uncle messed stuff up all the time. Messed up an entire kingdom in his father's absence. 

The most unbelievable part about it was that Rufus had been able to affect Father so much. Just further conclusive proof that he really wasn't alone in this, but now he wished he was. Rufus had hurt his father. That made him angry.  

Any sentiment that had begun to well towards his uncle for heeding his father's request and sending Loog to him withered away (just like Father's burnt skin). He wasn't surprised. He and his uncle weren't close. Most days, his uncle ignored his existence as much as possible. (It hurt. It hurt badly. He remembered a long time ago that he had liked his uncle as a child. But when Dimitri had needed him — when Rufus became the only family he had left — Rufus withheld love and affection and care from him. He'd been alone. If it hadn't been for Dedue, he would have been all alone.) 

Now his uncle had gone and hurt his father, too. Dimitri's expression warred between anger and grief and settled on pain.  

"Bastard," he growled out, "I hate him." And he did. Right now, he did. Most of the time, he couldn't bring himself to care too much about his uncle either way. He usually just felt embarrassment when he thought of the man. But right now, looking at his injured father — injured to the point of dying — and hearing that it was Rufus' fault, that made him feel rage.

"Ah! " 

Now Lambert was in pain. Dimitri's rage was like fire. Too hot to touch, and it was coming for him. The flame began to lick at his unreal flesh and it took everything he had to not scream at the pain. The pain and the rage.   Dimitri's fury was contagious. It hissed at him that Rufus did this, that Rufus caused his pain. He cried out, clutching his head as the false thoughts tried to drill their way into his soul. 

No! No, no! It was his own fault, not Rufus! He could no more blame his brother than he could blame Dimitri! His love for his brother was at war with Dimitri's deluge of hate, twisting and tearing within him. He had to retreat. He had to flee. This had happened before. Dimitri wouldn't allow him to leave, but he could cast the majority of his soul away. Even in his agony though, he realized what that would do. Dimitri would be left with nothing but a burning wraith echoing his son's wrath. 

If he did that, he wouldn’t be himself anymore. He would be the wraith that terrorized Dimitri for years, with no knowledge of how long that would last. He couldn’t bear to hurt his boy like that. But he couldn’t bear to hate his brother, either.

He was being torn apart. Drawn and quartered. Only a few seconds had passed, but even in that scant time, he was dying all over again. He loved his brother. He wouldn't hate him. He refused, he wasn't his father! He writhed with his son's subconscious demands and the depths of his soul's conviction, collapsed on the floor in a burning heap.

He couldn’t flee. He couldn’t hate. He couldn’t not hate. All he could do was smolder as the pressure mounted. Could his soul be destroyed like this? He... he couldn't... bear the thought...

It was only a few seconds. No more than three. But three seconds was all it took for Dimitri's hurt and anger to lash out of him like fire and wrap itself all around his father's ghostly body. 

Father held back his screams, but he couldn't hold them back forever. (It was only a few seconds. A few eternal seconds.) He shrieked, and Dimitri flinched and his breath hitched and his anger transformed into fear at once. It wasn't Rufus. At the very least, it wasn't Rufus now. Right now, it was him. It was Dimitri. Dimitri was hurting his father. Like he always had. Those tortured screams... 

"—itri. Dimitri!" His name was being said urgently into his own ear. It took effort to listen over the sound of his father's howling. But Claude was insistent. "Shh, breathe, Dimitri. You need to breathe. Come on, come here—!" Hands grabbed his head and his face was yanked against a warm chest. He heard Claude's beating heart and felt each breath he took. "With me, Dimitri. Breathe with me." 

"I'm hurting him," he croaked miserably, shaking all over. "I'm hurting him again!" He hated this. He hated his uncle for making his father appear to him like this. But he hated himself more for causing the agonizing screams that he didn't know how to stop. Dedue had gotten up and was reaching out blindly, like he was trying to supply comfort to Father, but Dedue didn't know what he was doing. Dedue couldn't help. Dedue couldn't even see Father. The only one who could help his father now was him, and he was just making things worse!

Dimitri's self loathing, unfortunately, was not helping either. Lambert loved both Rufus and Dimitri. To hate either — to be compelled to hate them — was antithetical to his very being. The self loathing was less demanding though, which sent the flames to more of a simmer. He took what little comfort he could that, collapsed, he was out of Dimitri's line of sight. His flesh burnt and peeled away, sloughing from his frame in chunks. He did his best to keep from screaming, and after a few more cries, he mostly succeeded. A few moans did escape, though.

"Y...your will," he managed to choke out. "Y-you, nmngh, have the power to w-will this to stop." It took everything he had to speak rather than scream. This was worse than dying. At least with dying, it ended. "N-no more hate, argh. I can't, I can't bear to hate you or my b-brother. I, I w-won't." He felt it. Felt what Dimitri's ability urged him to do. It urged him to spew sheer hatred at his son. To reflect all the self loathing Dimitri felt. He wouldn't. He refused. If that meant being burnt to cinders, then he was destined to be ash in the wind.

"I-I—" Dimitri stammered out, unable to speak. All he could do was hiccup little cries. And—and he was crying again. That was probably why Dedue looked so panicked as he searched around the bed for Father’s ghost. Dimitri didn't know what Dedue was hoping to accomplish. 

(Dedue was hoping to accomplish absorbing Lambert into himself so that all of this hurting would stop. He didn't care if he ended up forced to sleep like Dimitri had been yesterday. He would do that. For his prince, he would do that. But he couldn't find Lambert.) 

Claude was trying to calm him down. It wasn't working well. He was panicking. He didn't know what to do. 

"Y...your will. Y-you, nmngh, have the power to w-will this to stop." Dimitri shook at the words his father said. He could make this stop? He didn't know how! If he knew how, he would have already done it! "N-no more hate, argh. I can't, I can't bear to hate you or my b-brother. I, I w-won't."  

Hate. This was happening because he hated himself. It had started because he got angry and hated his uncle. But he could let that anger go — he could will himself back into indifference about Rufus. Done. All he had to do was stop caring so much, accept that his uncle had just fucked up again, and move on. Which was all he had been doing for four years. His uncle wasn't a catalyst for the horrible things that happened (like the genocide of Dedue's people), he was a doormat. There were people who held far more blame in what had happened than his uncle did, and Dimitri was disappointed in his uncle, but he hated those other people more. He could will himself to stop being angry at Rufus. 

Asking him to stop hating himself was much harder. Especially when he knew that he was hurting his father. Right now. "I-I can't," he whimpered, covering both of his ears and shaking his head. "I can't—"

Claude watched as the hazy outline of Lambert burst into flames and collapsed to the floor, screaming and then whimpering. Of course Dimitri was hysterical! Claude could only barely see Lambert and it was horrific. He had to calm Dimitri. That was the only way to stop the current horrible cycle.

Claude tried traditional methods. He tried to get his boyfriend to breathe. To listen to his heartbeat. Dimitri was panicking, and hurting his dad all the while. Traditional methods were not working. 

Claude didn't say anything to anyone. He just went limp. Dimitri needed some outside help. He slipped into Dimitri's body. This time, he had a plan. For once, he didn't suck up the heat around Dimitri's core, or cuddle close. That would just wear Dimitri out. Instead, he reached out. He did this once before... 

He yanked Dimitri down into the core too. Dimitri needed the reset.

To say that things calmed down in the room when Claude and Dimitri both near-simultaneously passed out would not be correct in the slightest. Dimitri's hyperventilating breaths evened out, all right, but both Kiros and Dedue were now on high alert. 

"Your Highness!" 

"Wheeeg!"  

But at least for Lambert, the deluge of emotion stopped. The fire ceased. He was able to come back to himself and... whatever the equivalent of taking a deep breath was, for a ghost. 

Peace.  

Oh, his poor son…

Lambert lay in a heap on the carpet. Despite a vague sense of familiarity with this process, he had never been hurt like this as a ghost. Not in his memory, and not so thoroughly. Even though the fires stopped, he didn't feel human (because he wasn't). He was literally a burnt heap. Only half his flesh remained on the bone, and what was there was unrecognizable.

Dimitri couldn't see him like this. It would traumatize his poor son even more. But... He didn't know how to fix this on his own. He couldn't go to Rufus for a fix, that would traumatize his brother! He tried to will himself back to normal. Attempting to move just spiked agony. 

He faded away. It was the only way. Dimitri would call for him soon enough. He could only hope he managed to pull himself together in the meantime. Somehow.

"C-Claude!" Dimitri gasped out as he was pulled, pulled, somewhere, squirming and thrashing in all directions. He felt so horribly out of control. First his mind had been spiraling and now his consciousness was falling down into a void where he could see nothing but was still aware of his existence. It wasn't like a dream. Not quite. It also wasn't like whatever had happened to him when he had collapsed before. 

He knew that Claude was here, that he was close, and that he had done this. Dimitri struggled to get his bearings, feeling around until he found Claude and latched onto him tightly. There... there he was... an anchor in the storm. Claude would keep him safe...

"I'm here, I'm here." Claude rumbled as Dimitri glommed onto him. "I have you. Shhh, it's okay..." 

"Weeeeehg..." Kiros made sad, sad sounds as he sat atop his brother's limp body, guarding it like it was an egg to protect. Everyone was still freaking out except him at this point. Father was petting a hand down his shivering little wings while he whined. Dedue was trying his best to coax Dimitri back to consciousness. Kiros knew that wasn't going to work. Kiros knew what had happened. He could sense that his brother's soul was with Dimitri's right now, inside Dimitri's body. And he was worried. And the worry was too big for his little body. He felt like he was going to cry. 

Morning was ruined. Everything was stress and sad. Ruined ruined ruined! 

With a whine and a tiny whimper, he slinked off of his brother and further down the bed. Father followed him, making little coaxing noises and trying to pick him up. Father failed to scoop him before he turned back into his human form. 

"...Too many emotions," he mumbled face down into the blankets. Too much stress on his little baby brain. In this form, he could at least contextualize the pain and calm himself down from it. Contextualizing hurt for him sometimes (most times). Because he had a lot of hurt he'd still yet to sort through and it was easy to ignore that in his tinier form. But in his tinier form, he couldn't regulate what he was feeling. Not yet. And right now, that was worse than Understanding the hurt and stress. 

"Claude's gone inside his body again," he said for Dedue's benefit. "Yanked him down in there, too. Probably to calm him down. They're both fine. They should be back as soon as Dimitri calms down."

"Is that safe?" Dedue asked, worried that Dimitri was harming himself further. 

"A short period should not harm Dimitri," Seteth surmised. "Certainly no more than the alternative." 

Dedue glanced back at the foot of the bed, where Dimitri had been hysterical towards. Was Lambert still there? His fumbling had not helped. Nothing helped. Nothing but Claude knocking the prince out. 

He got out of bed. Now that Dimitri was limp (he did not like that), he wasn't being held in place. "Tea," he decided. A pot of chamomile would (hopefully) help. At least not hinder. 

He winced as his bruised hip ached. It was nothing of note, and he honestly had expected to wake with more bruises. He hadn't woke with any, in truth, not until Dimitri panicked. Which was surprising, given he woke up being hugged like a stuffed plush.

True to Kiros' estimate, it did not take long for Dimitri and Claude to come back to consciousness. It was, maybe, five minutes. To the pair of them, it probably felt like a lot longer. But Dedue was just getting done warming the water for the tea when Dimitri's blue eyes cracked open, followed quickly by Claude's eyelids fluttering as well. 

Dimitri stared at the ceiling before slowly tilting his head towards Claude. Kiros was there, cupping his brother’s cheek and chattering worried sounds.

He lolled his head to the other side when Dedue approached. "Are you well, Your Highness?" Dimitri grimaced and didn't meet Dedue's gaze. He really didn't want to be 'Your Highness'ed' right now, but he understood why he was. Seteth was in the room. 

"I... I am calmer," he affirmed. Claude had been able to take him out of his body at least long enough for all the stress and fear to clear out of his brain. His body had been forced into calm by the sudden unconsciousness. Which... probably wasn't healthy in the long term, but hopefully Claude would not have to do this often.

'Sorrysorry,' Claude said to his twin, nuzzling back. He should have warned his brother. It had been spur of the moment. He did what needed to be done, purring within Dimitri until the distress settled. It was still there, but settled now. 

He wrapped his arms around his twin. His side pressed against Dimitri still, he turned his attention to his distressed brother. Watching him fall unconscious like that couldn't be fun. The fact that Kiros was big now was proof. Lil Kiros must have been too upset to handle the emotions. 

'How long did we sleep?'

Kiros gave a little shake of his head in response to the apologies. He knew that his twin only did what needed to be done. But... he really didn't like that. Watching that happen. Limp bodies. Reminded him too much of things he had seen in a timeline that wasn't going to happen but was real to him nonetheless. 

'Not more than five minutes. Dedue decided to make tea and the water only just boiled,' he answered. He hoped that his anxiety and trauma didn't rub off onto Little Claude now of all times. Claude was just trying to help his boyfriend, and obviously he had done the right thing. The way Dimitri could actually breathe right now was proof of that. He just... really hadn't liked seeing his brother's body go limp. Would have been worse if it was one of the Deer, though. So he took that blessing for what it was.

Dimitri didn't like the times when Dedue had to help him with every small thing. He didn't like when he felt like he was incapable or some kind of invalid. But he liked even less when he broke things or spilled them or tore them. That only made Dedue's job harder, when he had to pick up after his prince's destruction and misery. So it was just easier to let Dedue bring the cup of tea to his lips and help him drink. Dimitri's fingers were shaking in the aftershocks of the intense panic he had been feeling before, and Dedue liked to help. Dimitri knew his friend didn't think he was incapable. He just wanted to help. That made it easier to accept. 

The tea was chamomile, a scent which always helped to calm him down. The temperature was warm and soothing. And Dedue even kept his hand on the back of Dimitri's head even once he pulled the teacup away. Just a reassuring, silent 'I'm here.' That alone helped far more than his friend probably knew. Claude's purring also helped. And his boyfriend was purring, loudly. He glanced around the bed until he found Loog and pulled the plush into his arms and hugged him and that helped too. Burying his face in the lion's mane, he took a deep breath. 

"I apologize," he said softly. "I didn't mean to cry in front of you, Dedue." He'd never done that before. And he doubted it made Dedue feel any better about the situation that had just occurred. He could tell Dedue was worried — more worried than he had ever been, probably. And the prince concluded it was probably because of his tears.

"There is no need to apologize, Your Highness." The tears did worry Dedue. Dimitri stated he cried two days ago, and then cried this morning too. He hadn't been able to picture it before. Even in the throes of suffering, his Highness never once shed a tear. 

Interacting with his dead father was causing a great deal of stress for the prince. More than usual, despite King Lambert's newly lucid state. Along with the bad came good, though. That seemed to rake up old wounds worse than ever. There was no blocking it out. To do so would block out the very father Dimitri loved. Dedue was worried, yes. But all that could be done was to continue. He would support his Highness no matter what. He... he cared, as Lambert correctly identified. He cared a great deal. 

Dedue wasn't good at providing comfort. A stalwart presence? He could do that. Comfort though, it was not his strong suit. Hopefully Claude could cover what he could not with his purrs and nuzzles and kneading. He petted Dimitri's hair once the tea was done. That was the only thing he could think to do to comfort Dimitri's raw and open state.

Dimitri knew that that was what Dedue was going to say even before he apologized. Dedue always told him his apologies weren't needed. That didn't stop Dimitri from saying them, though. He hoped they weren't annoying, at the very least. And... he was sorry for causing his retainer so much stress. He knew that his mood deeply affected those around him. Those who cared about him and were attuned to this sort of thing. For a long time, that had been exclusively Dedue. Now, it was Claude, too. By extension, Kiros. And... and his father, most of all. It had been his hatred and self-loathing that hurt his father. He understood that. His father's words rang in his ears. 

"He said he couldn't bear to hate me or Uncle," he whispered to the others. "I... I was angry. And it affected him. Badly. It, it made him tear himself apart," he whispered. 

Claude had been the one to tell him that his mood influenced what his father felt. He'd felt so much anger and hatred and it had been forced onto his father. His good and kind father who couldn't hate anyone. It was so antithetical to his being that it had torn his father’s soul to shreds.

How could he do anything but hate himself in the aftermath of that?

Claude chomped Dimitri's neck in his own way of comfort. 'Don't dwell. It's over now. Stay here with me.' Here in the warm comfortable nest, with Dedue and Kiros and himself and Loog. And Seteth too, who was churring a comforting noise. All in a heap together, half of them purring and rumbling. Lambert would forgive Dimitri. Probably already had. The problem was with Dimitri forgiving Dimitri.

Lambert had, in fact, forgiven Dimitri. He never blamed his son in the first place. As he floated in the dark, he did everything in his power to renew his body. He knew he must look ghastly. It didn't hurt anymore, but he wasn't in the right shape. Peeks of bone showed from his left forearm. His right arm wasn't even recognizable as an arm. He couldn't let Dimitri see him like this. He couldn't hurt his son like that. 

He wasn't sure he had the ability to fix himself. 

He didn't want Rufus to see him like this either. Both his brother and his son had suffered enough. But... Rufus seemed to have more control over the ability. On the other hand, he didn't want to surprise Rufus like this. Like a half destroyed corpse. How would he explain that? Then Rufus would either blame himself, or Lambert would admit it was Dimitri and then the same problem would happen! 

He didn't know who to go to or what to do. He was simply gripped with the pressing need to do something. He had to go to someone, and it couldn’t be his son.

Please forgive me, Brother… Please, help me…

Chapter Text

Rufus clutched his head and squinted with his eyes barely open on his way back to his own room. 'Well, at least I don't have to show up to court this morning,' was the silver lining to the brow-beating he'd just taken from Rodrigue. The prim and proper Duke Fraldarius had not exactly been happy to find his guest room (which had been Rodrigue's guest room since his brother and Rodrigue became a thing) occupied by one hungover prince-regent. There were some sharp words and sharper glares aimed at him when he rolled out of Rodrigue's bed with a groan and a grumble. 

"The servant told me that if I wanted you to move, I would have to, in your words, 'move you myself.' Well, I am here, and I am moving you."  

That had been about all Rufus listened to before he just let the pounding in his skull take over his ears. He didn't even know if those had been Rodrigue's exact words or if that was just what he derived from the glare. But with Rodrigue knowing he was hungover, he had a perfectly valid excuse not to go sit in this morning's meetings. Maybe he could get out of this afternoon's meetings, too. He knew he couldn't ignore the visiting lords for forever (and there was more than just Rodrigue here), but he could put them off for at least a little bit.

He sort of needed to, after last night. Goddess, had that been real? He poked his head into the library before heading back to his room just to make sure. When he saw the journals still out where he and his brother left them the night before, he knew it was. So he stumbled back to his room in a stupor of guilt and shame. 

He'd shoved Lambert away last night. In all fairness, the things his brother said were too much for him. Too much to process on top of the fact that Lambert was there. Shoving him away still hadn't felt good. It was quite the accomplishment for someone without a backbone. But enforcing his will on his brother felt no better than getting himself blind drunk. He always regretted it later. 

He shuffled into his room and closed the door behind him. He peeked open his eyes, feeling safe enough to do so, because he always kept the curtains drawn in here. Someone had cleared away his tray from last night. Damn. He could have really used a sip of that sparkling water right now. Of course, he could always send for some. But that'd just make him think of his brother— 

Ash. Smoke. Fire. Charred flesh.  

Rufus couldn't do anything to stop himself from vomiting when the powerful and terrible stench suddenly filled his room. His head had already been hurting horribly. And now, now that putrid smell assaulted him and he didn't even have time to double over before all the wine from last night came rushing back up his throat. Fuck. Fuck. He didn't know if he'd summoned him by thinking about him. But Rufus did know this, through the blind agony of his hurting head and his churning stomach: his brother was coming back.

While Lambert wanted to spare both his son and brother the sight of him, he didn't think Dimitri could fix this. He had faith in his brother, though. Sometimes it felt like he was the only one who had faith in Rufus.

Rufus was vomiting.

"I'm so sorry," he blurted, frozen in place. Rufus no doubt downed the whole bottle of wine last night. He almost moved to aid Rufus. But what could he even do, other than flake bits of charred flesh into Rufus' hair?

He stepped behind a partition before Rufus looked up. He was ghastly. He was horrific like this. Though no mirror showed his visage, he was sure he looked like a charred revenant, barely resembling himself. His ribcage didn't sit right, as though it was made of wire and had been twisted by a child's hand. None of his limbs felt right, and he was missing flesh all over. He didn’t want to know what his face must look like. He... Goddess. No one should see this.

"I'm sorry," he repeated softly when the retching stopped (which took a while). "Dimitri can't fix me. I can't stand to torment him looking like this. And I hate to torment you as well." He sat down, wrapping his arms around his shin bones to look as small as possible. "You're the only one I can come to, though. Dimitri... he can't do it. I only hurt us both when he tried."

Rufus was on his knees by the time his stomach emptied itself. It was still rebelling, making him dry heave at the terrible scent that was flooding his room (which was only made worse by the stench of vomit). His head was killing him. Killing him worse than anything. Or not. Because the pain and guilt in his brother's apology also killed him.

"'S all right," he groaned, hands on his knees as he leaned over the puddle of his sick. He took deep breaths (through his mouth) and tried to pull himself together. Because, dammit, his brother needed him right now, and he'd failed him last night, and he... he just wanted to do one thing right. (That was what made him finish the bottle off. The thought that he couldn't even help someone who was dead. What use was he?) "Where are you?" he asked, peeling his eyes open and looking around. 

He quickly regretted asking. Because when he saw the blackened thing that peeked from around his divider, it made his blood run cold.

Thank the stars it was only a hand. His brother at least had the good sense not to expose himself fully to Rufus as he looked right now. If he had seen Lambert's face peek around the corner looking so blackened and twisted, it'd scar him for life. This was already scarring. Even though he had seen a burnt up corpse that they thought was his brother's once. He never wanted to see it again. 

"Oh, Goddess," he choked out. Lambert's hand darted back behind the divider and Rufus shook. "S-Stay where you are," he begged. He couldn't get up. He couldn't look at his brother like that. He had no plans of getting up and going to have a peek for himself and Lambert had better stay right where he was. Goddess. Lambert's spirit was—was hurt, badly hurt, and, and his brother wanted him to fix it? When he was probably the one that had caused it in the first place? 

'Damn it, Rufus. You fucked up again.' He hadn't known it was possible to make things worse for someone who was dead. Of course he found a way.

"I know," he said softly, hunching in on himself as much as he could. He wasn’t going to move away from his spot. “I’m sorry.” 

He listened to Rufus’ rough breathing for a few moments, and waited for the current bout of dry-heaving to resolve.

"I was a bit burnt when Dimitri woke up,” he quietly explained. “He panicked. That... did not mesh well." It wasn't you. It wasn't either of you. It just happened, please don't blame yourself.  

He didn't care about the hurt to his own soul. What tore at him the most was the fact that he was harming his loved ones just by his appearance. He was already so limited in what he could do. Avoiding Dimitri (and Rufus to an extent) wasn't possible. He was still here because Dimitri needed him. Dimitri needed a father. Not a burnt corpse. He kept his back towards Rufus and faced the wall, hunching his head down low. Eventually Rufus would come see him. He hoped to hide the worst of it, which surely was on his face. 

"I'm sorry," he repeated, voice small. More than the burns, it hurt to know how much distress he was causing. "If there was anyone else, I would spare you the sight of me like this." Eventually Rufus would come over and recoil. Closing his eyes and hunkering as much as he could, he prayed Rufus wouldn't burn him too. If Rufus couldn't keep a cool enough head to fix him, he didn't know what he would do.

Rufus dragged himself away from his puddle of vomit after a few more minutes of silence. He didn't go towards the divider. He didn't think he could, knowing what was behind it. He pulled himself up onto his couch instead and flopped there with an arm over his eyes and a hand pinching his nose shut. 

Goddess, but what was he supposed to do for Lambert now? When he appeared before, it hadn't been like this. Only after Rufus had banished him and Dimitri panicked. Before that, Lambert had been... he'd been fine. A little sooty, but fine! He didn't know how that had happened in the first place, so how was he supposed to make it happen again? As far as he could tell, it must have been something Dimitri had done. 

What had his brother said Dimitri had done in the first place? "You and Dimitri have more control over us than you know. You can bolster spirits or banish them. Dimitri could hold a spirit within him for over a day." ...Was that it? Was that the answer? 

Lowering his hand from his eyes, he glanced towards the divider once more. Lambert was still back there. He could sense him. In his hour of need, his brother had come to him. Sure, there were extremely limited options for Lambert. But right now, his little brother was coming to him. Counting on him. He really didn't want to let him down. Not when he had done that very thing so many times before, half of which Lambert didn't even know because he'd been dead. So he really hoped this worked. He covered his eyes again. 

"Come out here," he croaked. "You said Dimitri housed you inside of him. I'll... I can. I can do that." He'd never done it before. It was just a guess, really. But he had nothing else to go on. 

"Are you sure that's wise?" Lambert asked him quietly. No, was the honest answer.

"Best I can figure, you need your, er, 'body' to look like a body again. R-Right?" He wasn't going to peek open his eyes to check. "Maybe it. It needs a model. I... I can do that." What was the harm in trying? They had nothing else to go on.

He heard some rustling across the room. "I don't know if I can get out on my own," his brother said. 

"I doubt I'll have much trouble pushing you out. Didn't have trouble last night..." he muttered the second part, still feeling his guilt. "Just. Just a gentler push. I can do it." He had no reason to feel confident. And he didn't. He was just desperate to try something to help his brother. He was as terrified as he was determined. "Just come out here and... do it," he said. "I can handle it." 

There was more shuffling. Goddess he was terrified. Closer. What if this didn't work? Closer. What if he was wrong? If he couldn't handle it? If this didn't make anything better? He always made everything worse no matter what he did. Why did he think this would work, this was a terrible idea!  

The shuffling stopped. Rufus tensed and braced himself. But whatever he expected to happen — and he didn't know what to expect — didn't happen. 

"Rufus. You... you have to let me closer."

Ah. Even now, his insecurity and doubt and fear was keeping the spirits away from him. Even the one he had invited. Lambert couldn't approach. Rufus was too scared of him. But he didn't know what else to do. He took a deep breath and firmed his resolve as much as he could. His brother. His little brother needed his help. Goddess, he wanted to help so badly.  

He reached a hand out blindly. It collided with something more solid than air and he knew it was Lambert. Close, but couldn't get any closer. Not unless Rufus allowed it. He curled his hand in the dense air and yanked. Fuck it. Fuck it all. Fuck his fear, fuck his anxiety, fuck fuck fuck fuck—  

He was going to help his brother.

Rufus was terrified of him. Fair enough. It hurt, more than the burns, but he understood. His brother was so brave. As much guilt and aching as he felt, he was proud of his brother. Grateful.  

He was yanked into Rufus. It was a rough ride. But as soon as he was within, the territory was familiar. Warmth. Soothing warmth. Not burning. 

"Ah..." The little noise escaped without a thought, as though he slipped into a hot spring instead of his brother. Rufus had a core just like Dimitri. It shook. It trembled in place, terrified and giving off mixed messages, both trying to push him out and keep him in. 

He reached out. He was formless like this, but his soul reached out regardless. "You're okay. I'm okay. We're okay, Ruu. All is well." He petted the mass of warmth, as best as he could like this. 

Rufus was stronger than Dimitri. Or, at the very least, was stronger than Dimitri had been in his experience. Perhaps Dimitri was more powerful and had been too drained for it to be noticed. Regardless of who was stronger than who, both were powerful. As he peered into the tight orb of warmth within Rufus, he couldn’t begin to fathom how deep it truly went. He couldn't stay here forever. He needed to recharge, rebuild, and then exit. The last thing he wanted was to drain Rufus. Goddess, the font of energy seemed endless, though. He knew it wasn't from experience with his son. But Rufus clearly had plenty to spare for now. 

The fear began to abate. Rufus stopped shaking. Lambert did his best to spread his sense of calm and peace to his anxious brother, layering gratitude on top. The orb of energy replied. He didn't know if Rufus did this intentionally or not. The energy surged and began to soak deep into his soul. Instead of warming his skin in sunlight, this was returning his ability to heat himself, pumping blood through his body, returning life. That was what it felt like. He was still dead. But it felt... Good. It felt really good.

His brother soaked him with the energy he needed, reshaping him to how he was supposed to look. He had little to offer, but he offered it nonetheless; he hugged Rufus. His soul pressed against Rufus' body and mimicked a hug. 

"I think that's enough," he said softly, knowing he couldn't bask forever. 

A gentle shove pushed him. He chuckled, because there was a much tighter hand holding him in place. Rufus didn't want him to go. 

"I won't go far, Brother. You have to let go of me first to let me out." 

It took a few more fumbles. Eventually, Rufus did it. His body congealed back into the real world, feeling stronger than ever. No burns. Not one.  

"I knew you could do it," he said softly, genuinely, into Rufus' neck. Now on the outside, he had materialized with his arms around his brother.

For the first few seconds after Lambert's spirit disappeared within him, Rufus was shaking. Both inside and out. He had no idea if what he was doing was smart. He had no idea if this was going to be safe for either of them, or even if it would work. He just, he didn't know what else to do. But he began to feel, just a little bit, like he had done the right thing when he felt the reception from his brother. It was a strange feeling. Hearing Lambert inside of his own head. Feeling him like a presence beating right alongside his heart, like something extra had been put in there. It was definitely foreign and his body Felt It. But it wasn't uncomfortable. Just, just odd.  

Lambert, on the other hand, seemed very comfortable. That sigh! That sigh he released as he settled down! It sounded content. Like an ache was being relieved. Pain was going away. Good! That was good! And it was even better when the next thing his brother did was reach out to him and tell him that it was all okay. Lambert was okay. Ruu was okay. (When was the last time his brother called him that? His soul shook for a different reason for a few seconds.) 

Slowly, he started to calm. He had Lambert. He was holding him. Safe. Safe and comfortable and... and happy. His brother was happy, calm, peaceful, grateful. Those feelings spread out from him and into Rufus and the internal trembling eased. Safe. They were safe.

The external trembling was a little harder to deal with. He'd just puked all over the entryway of his room. He had a hangover, he hadn't eaten, and he felt horrible and it had nothing to do with Lambert now. He laid on the couch for probably another five minutes while his brother got settled. Then he slowly pushed himself up.

He shuffled his way to the door, around the vomit, and pushed it open. He called a servant to come clean up the mess for him and then bring him some breakfast. "Just a couple slices of bread," he requested, because he didn't feel like much more. He wasn't even hungry, just knew he needed to eat something to try and soak up any alcohol left in him. "And... sparkling water," he added. 

The servant did as he asked, cleaning up the mess while Rufus changed shirts and flopped into his bed. 'Breakfast' came and went without any fanfare, save for the fact that he sipped on the sparkling water for a long time. Then, he just laid in bed, doing what he could to make Lambert comfortable and to put him back together. Obviously, he had no idea what he was doing. Maybe that was why it took so long. But several hours later, the sound of his brother's voice coaxed him up from the almost-sleep he'd fallen into. 

"I think that's enough."  

It took some shuffling and straining. Honestly, Rufus almost made himself puke again by clenching up his body too hard trying to push Lambert out of him. (He quickly realized that was the wrong kind of push. It was more intent than anything physical.) It took some trying. But after a few minutes, his brother tumbled out onto the bed beside him. The blankets wrinkled beneath his form. "I knew you could do it," Lambert said, hugging him. His arms almost felt real. 

"I... I did do it," was Rufus' hushed reply. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment. Shaking. He missed hugs. Missed contact. Missed positive touch. But he wasn't sure he would be able to hug his brother back. Lambert felt so real, though. Real enough that Rufus decided to try it. And when he wrapped his arms around his sibling's torso and squeezed, he... Goddess. It was like he had never died at all.

He grinned as Rufus hugged him back. He felt it. It was a numb sort of feeling, but it was something! "Incredible. You're incredible, Ruu." He hugged back. He squeezed back, because he could! He couldn't hurt Rufus, not 'physically'. He had never been able to give a squeezing hug in his life. Death offered him that opportunity as he clung to his big brother. He felt good. Fresh. Almost alive. 

...He felt Dimitri, off in the distance. His son was okay. Not happy, but okay. He felt Rufus too now. That was new. To Dimitri he had always carried a tether, and a strong one at that. It seemed like, after that soak, he had a lighter tether with Rufus too. It wasn't as strong or thick, and he couldn't sense how Rufus was doing, but it was just as binding. He couldn't leave this plane until both Dimitri and Rufus were ready to let him go. That was fine with him. He wasn't done yet. Dead, yes, but he had unfinished business. Unfinished business with Dimitri and Rufus. Hopefully his son wouldn't feel jealous.

Rufus shook in his hold. He held tightly to his brother. I'm here. I'm still here. When was the last time Rufus had been hugged? Tiffin hugged Rufus once. She told him that Rufus looked like he needed a hug, was all. He’d agreed, but knew better than to offer one from his own dangerous arms. He wasn't sure Rufus had a genuine hug since then. His spirit was free to express all the affection he had to bottle up in life. He didn't have much of a filter, so of course he just kept hugging his brother. He was happy. And he missed Rufus. He missed his big brother, the peeks of which he was seeing for the first time in decades.

Rufus couldn't help how he instinctively inhaled a sharp gasp the first time Lambert squeezed him. His brother never dared do that in life. It would have snapped him in half. It was pure survival instinct to think pain was coming from a tight hug. (A younger Rufus had thought it was pure survival instinct to think pain was coming from any touch. It took him four different lovers to realize he didn't have to flinch every time a hand came at him. Four different lovers to fill that void in his life. Even he wasn't sure if it was actually helping him or if he was just coping. It at least taught him not to flinch.) 

There was nothing to fear here, though. Lambert couldn't hurt him. Even if he tried, Rufus didn't think he could. He had far more control over Lambert's spirit than he thought he did. He was starting to grasp what that truly meant now. And it was terrifying, to have this much responsibility. He was shit at having responsibility, just look at the kingdom! But the kingdom didn't tell him what it needed from him. Didn't show gratitude when he did something right. Didn't hug him. Didn't love him. So it was a stupid comparison to make. 

Looking out for his brother — that was something he had always tried to do, until Lambert got old enough to not need looking-out-for anymore. That had all changed, now. For the first time in decades, Rufus didn't feel like (just) a miserable failure. He felt like a big brother. 

"I missed you," slipped past his lips before he could stop it. He didn't just mean after Lambert's death, though of course he meant that at least a little. But they'd been growing apart for years before that. And all because he was a coward. Lambert would probably just assume the 'missed you since you died' part, though. Which was good. Because he didn't know how to articulate that he had been feeling guilt and shame for running away from the palace for years until he had no choice but to be stuck here.

"I missed you too." For Lambert, it didn't feel like he had been dead for long. He had missed his brother years before that. Years and years. Rufus rarely visited the castle. Rarely visited him. He never pushed it, understanding why the castle was such a painful place for Rufus to exist in. He thought, at first, that Rufus would come around more after Father died. Things weren't so simple, though.  "I missed it. Being a little brother." His father told him he couldn't be a 'little' anything, not if he was to become king. He had learned not to listen to anything his father said (except in the 'right' company). Unfortunately, it didn't matter if he ignored his father or not. Rufus never had the ability to simply ignore Father when they were children. Father took so much away from him. Like his big brother.

He held his brother tight for the first time. There was much to be grateful for. Yet he couldn't help but note how unfair it was that all this happened after his death. Why couldn't they have been close in their adult lives? He knew why. It just... it hadn't worked. The power imbalance was too much, Father's words too poisonous. The wounds lingered even now. He held Rufus and Rufus held him. 

"Father's gone. Maybe someday, all his poison will be gone too."

Rufus didn’t want to talk about their father. Last night, it had been enough to make him banish his brother. Just having Lambert bring it up. Talk about how Father had been wrong about him, and especially that Lambert hated their father, and that it was so unfair that Rufus had gotten such a short end of the stick... it had been too much. Especially because he was still getting the short end of the stick, stuck onto a throne he never wanted and mocked daily for his inability to wear the crown like his brother had. 

It... it hurt. Even now that Lambert was gone, people were still comparing them. And Lambert was still the perfect son, while Rufus was the bad one. He hadn't been ready to hear that last night. He still wasn't ready to hear it now. But that wasn't how it came up this time. Lambert wasn't comparing them, or bringing up the lens that their father had always used to compare them. He just... he had missed being a little brother. Something that their father took away from them both by both insisting that Lambert be independent on his shining pedestal and utterly stripping Rufus of any confidence or strength he had that made him think he could be a good anything, let alone a brother. 

Lambert was right. The wounds did linger. Acknowledging them was easier right now, though. Right now when he was being hugged by a brother that loved him and didn't want to let him go. 

"...Father didn't leave as soon as you think he did," Rufus confessed against Lambert's shoulder. "I never planned to permanently move away to Itha so soon after the funeral. But I couldn't stay here. He wouldn't let me sleep."

He never knew. Of course not. Why would Rufus ever tell him? He didn't blame Rufus for never telling him. He just wished he could have been more supportive (somehow). 

"Always wanted you to rule with me." Of course he rarely admitted that. Other nobles would assume he was joking, as though that was all his brother was. A joke. "I... I was ready enough, when father passed. The tradeoff was worth it. I thought we might finally be able to have a relationship again." He burrowed his face against Rufus' neck, savoring the faint scent he could perceive. "I always figured you left because of him. Still haunting you from beyond the grave. Just far more literally than I knew. I'm glad you got away from him." He paused. "You did get away from him, right? He didn't follow you? He's not still here?" He didn't think their father roamed the halls. Then again, he hadn't exactly seen any other ghosts yet. Perhaps ghosts couldn't perceive each other. 

His brother looked choked up. Rufus nodded for him nonetheless. Good. Father was gone for good.

"I'm sorry this ability has caused you grief. I'm glad you have it, though. Selfish as that is, I'm so glad, Ruu. You and Dimitri both. I... I don't know what I would have done otherwise." Remain dead in spirit. Never find closure. Remain out of reach of his family.

“Your Highness,” called a voice from the hall.

He froze. Rufus froze.

"Is that...?" His voice was quiet. It couldn't be. Right?

"Your Highness. A hangover is not a proper excuse." 

Rodrigue. That was "Rodrigue." Unlike Rufus and Dimitri, Rodrigue wouldn't be able to hear or see him. Even still, he longed to see his once-lover and best friend.

"Fucking hell," Rufus muttered, slapping a hand over his face. "He's here to drag me away and you're goddamned swooning." 

"I'm not swooning." Rufus didn't know what he was talking about. 

"I know you are in here, Your Highness." With that, the door opened. Lambert released Rufus. The partition was between them and the door, giving him a moment to dart away and hide. Which he immediately felt foolish for doing. He was dead! Rodrigue couldn't see him.

Rodrigue stepped into his line of sight, and oh, he had missed the man. Rodrigue looked so similar to when they last saw one another. It was hard to remember that it had been four years.

"You're awake." Rodrigue's voice was flat as he looked down at Rufus. Lambert didn't like that. Rufus and Rodrigue never got along, but Rodrigue had never disparaged Rufus like this.

"When did he start speaking to you like that?" he muttered, not expecting a reply. 

Rodrigue flinched, wide eyes flying away from Rufus and to him, at the foot of the bed. For a beat, he dumbly glanced behind him. As though there was anything else that could make Rodrigue turn so pale. "...Oh," he said softly, recognizing his chance. He could speak to Rodrigue. He could— 

Rodrigue pulled a blade and pointed it at him. Oh. His shoulders slumped.

"King Lambert is dead. Prince Rufus, what in the Goddess' name—" 

"Rodrigue." His voice was full of emotion, enough to stop Rodrigue short. "I'm still dead. It's... complicated." 

The sword remained in place. "Silence, doppelganger. Whatever you are, you are not my king. Prince Rufus may be foolish enough to fall for your disguise, but I am not." 

"It's no disguise, 'Rigue." He stepped forward. The sword met no resistance as he walked into it.

There were about five things that Rufus wanted to say, and all of them were at war on which was going to come out of his mouth before his brother stood up and just walked his way up Rodrigue's blade. Among them were 'I'm not foolish,' 'put away that sword before you hurt someone,' 'now you've done it' (Lambert), 'now you've done it' (Rufus), and just 'fucking hell'. 

"Fucking hell," was the one that won. 

He and his brother had been having a moment. Of course it had to end at some point, but why did it have to be Rodrigue that did it? All he had been able to do was nod when his brother asked if he had gotten away from their father. Then shake his head. No, he wasn't followed. No, he wasn't still here. He was trying to figure out if he should tell his brother that their father left on the day he got married to Tiffin. He didn't know what the harm would be in that, except for the fact that it would be bringing up Tiffin, who had also been a ghost he'd seen more than once after she was supposed to be gone. 

They didn't get to that topic. Because Rodrigue thought that showing up to his personal chambers to drag him to a meeting was what he wanted to do with this afternoon. Well, served Rodrigue right to get scared out of his skin for it! The man never knew when to leave well enough alone!

But now he had to deal with this. Rodrigue went white as a sheet as Lambert approached him. He wiggled his sword around like it was going to do some kind of damage even though being apparently impaled had obviously not hurt Lambert at all. 

The duke dropped his sword and took a step back. His wide blue eyes darted to Rufus. Hah. Probably to see if he was shaken up by this. To be fair, he had reacted about the same as Rodrigue, the first time he saw his brother. Might have even screamed over it. But as of right now, Fodlan's biggest coward just stared at Rodrigue and sighed. "You're going to want to sit down before you faint, Duke Fraldarius," he said. His gaze flicked back to his brother briefly, then returned to Rodrigue. "Or are you still worried about being late to a meeting?"

Lambert. First, seeing his king was like a shot to the heart. Then he was angry and terrified. How dare this, this, shape shifter steal Lambert's form! All to influence Rufus! He knew of the reports, the rumors, the hushed talk of nightmares. Nobles shifting personality on a dime, as though they had been replaced by someone entirely different. 

Those rumors never said anything about intangibility. When not-Lambert approached him, he wavered. Even the sight of his beloved friend was enough to rattle him. That wasn't Lambert. Couldn't be. The... the apparition walked through his blade. His hand shook as he dropped the useless sword. 

Weapons failed, but he had magic too. A Nosferatu might be able to strike this, this thing. But what if this was Lambert's ghost? He didn't believe in ghosts. The possibility that he might smite his king was too much of a risk to take. He glanced at Rufus. 

Fodlan's biggest coward just sighed. "You're going to want to sit down before you faint, Duke Fraldarius. Or are you still worried about being late to a meeting?" 

"What...?" He didn't know what to even think. "That can't be Lambert." 

Not-Lambert winced in a very-Lambert fashion. Goddess, he missed Lambert. "You really should sit down. However you want me to prove my identity, I will do it. Preferably without your skull striking the floor. We have enough ghosts in this room already." 

He just. Stared. "Lambert, you're dead." 

"Regrettably so. Dead as the day I died. Well. To an extent." Lambert just shrugged. "Much of the ghost-ness is new, you see." 

"By the Goddess." Instead of a chair, he slumped onto the floor. "No one could be so blasé about this but you. You're ali—you're... here. You're here." A lump formed in his throat. Staring at Lambert hurt. His king. His best friend. His boyhood lover. He couldn't bear to look away lest this apparition vanish.

"Hello, Rodrigue," Lambert said with that soft smile of his. The one he thought lost forever. "It's good to see you again. I'm... I'm sorry." The smile fell. 

This was Lambert. Who else was like this? He reeled. He didn't know what to say. What to do. Lambert was here and all he could manage was to gape like a fish. 

In a moment of insanity, he surged to his feet and grabbed Lambert. The ghost was somewhat solid. It was as though if he gripped too hard, his hand would slide right through Lambert. But he held Lambert. Cold Lambert. Dead Lambert. Lambert who was here.  

He kissed Lambert hard. A kiss for all he missed. A kiss filled with grief and mourning and all the things in his chest that refused to die with his king. He kissed Lambert hard, and Lambert kissed him back. There was no doubt in his mind: this was Lambert.

"Ugh."

The noise Rufus made as Rodrigue leapt off the ground and surged to kiss his brother right in front of him was entirely involuntary. Rufus wasn't even aware that he made it. Which probably would have been fine if both Rodrigue and Lambert were still alive. Those two had always been so wrapped up in each other that they never noticed the outside world, even when someone should have been paying attention. The amount of times Rufus had to close doors behind them! ...It was only two times, but twice was still more than enough! They never used to notice anything happening outside themselves when they were like this. 

The fact that Lambert's eyes immediately opened just to stare at him had everything to do with the new connection between the two of them, a connection that wouldn't exist if Lambert wasn't a ghost. It still took the pair about three seconds to stop kissing. For Lambert to look at him fully, blushing like he was a maiden in love for the first time. Rodrigue also seemed to be realizing what he had just done in front of Lambert's brother. The duke didn't turn around — he couldn't take his eyes off of Lambert's ghost — but Rufus saw that Rodrigue’s ears had gone all ruddy. 

"Er, Rufus. I can explain," Lambert said. 

Rufus lifted one eyebrow. "Explain what?" When Lambert glanced back down to Rodrigue, he just shook his head. "Oh, as if I haven't known about this since you were eighteen.” Lambert whirled to stare at him with wide eyes. "What? You two weren't nearly as sneaky as you thought you were that year after you returned from the academy. Did you really think it was the goddamn wind that closed the door behind you when you decided to get frisky in the library?" He rolled his eyes. 

"...You aren't discreet, Rufus," Rodrigue accused him. 

Rufus huffed. "I do have my share of secrets—" you uptight priss, he would have said if not for Lambert, "—Rodrigue.” Lambert had been one of them, up until about two minutes ago.

"Far more than I ever gave you credit for," Lambert said, incredulous. First the ghosts. Now this? To think Rufus knew. His gaze softened, eyes filled with familial love. Rufus could have thrown his life into chaos by telling Father. Some brothers, the sort that jockeyed for power, would have leapt at the chance. Not Rufus though. His brother never even told him, allowing him to think his secret was safe. Well... It was safe. Rufus proved that. 

Rodrigue looked at him, at Rufus, back to him, and finished the cycle once more. "On the subject of secrets, what... Lambert, what is going on?" Rodrigue pressed a hand to his temple. "I'm terrified I'll wake any moment." 

"This is real, Rodrigue. A definition of real, at least." He flexed his ghostly fingers. He didn't think as he reached out for Rodrigue again, pulling his love into his arms and squeezing just as he had with Rufus. "I have missed you." 

What a wretched thing to say. He missed the relationship they once shared. Rodrigue simply missed him. He could see it in his eyes. Rodrigue, after a moment, hugged him back nearly as tightly. 

"How long?" 

How long indeed? Time was hard for him. He had to manually go through his memories. He supposed... "Two days." Two days ago he accidentally possessed Claude and regained his wits. Two days since he learned he was dead. Two nighttime sleeps for Dimitri.

"Two days," Rodrigue whispered, fingers clenching the ghostly fabric he wore. "Two days more than I thought I would have. I would spend every second with you, if you will have me." 

He frowned. His mind wasn't quite as sharp as when he lived. What did...? 

"He can last longer than two days," Rufus corrected with an eye roll. "Stop being so dramatic. Fraldarius', I swear. He'll stick around as long as he wants to stick around, or something like that. So don't rush to get your snogging out right now. Save some for when I'm not here." 

“Oh, I see. I have been back—er, well, lucid, for roughly two days.” He nodded, glad to clear that up. "As for how long I'll be here... it seems indefinitely." Or, for so long as Dimitri lived.

"I-Indefinitely?" Rodrigue's jaw fell open. "This is— how? How did this even happen, Lambert?"

"It's not my secret to share," he said. "I had unfinished business. Recently, circumstances have aligned to grant me my living wits. Plus a little extra now and then." He squeezed Rodrigue’s bicep, reveling in the ability to touch.

And a little less, now and then, Rufus definitely did not say. He didn't feel any burning need to protect Rodrigue from the information that Lambert had shown up to him this morning a charred corpse. He simply didn't want to think about it, himself. So he didn't even bring it up. 

With a groan (he was such an old man) he pushed himself to his feet and got out of bed. His hangover was much less intense than it had been this morning, but still lingered. Getting himself something to drink would probably help that. ...Water, he meant. Not another drink. There had been times he tried to chase away a hangover by using the hair-of-the-dog method, but today wasn't a day he was going to binge. 

There was a pitcher of water in his room kept around for the purposes of sobering up, and he poured himself a cup and drank it down all in one. He expected, any moment now, for Rodrigue to ask him if he had anything to do with this. But after a few minutes passed with the man just clinging to Lambert, he realized that the question wasn't coming. And why should it? Why should anyone think Rufus had anything to do with this miracle? Fuck-up Rufus? Of course not. He just happened to be here. (Which was true in some ways. It wasn't like he had intentionally summoned Lambert any of the times he showed up. But he was the one who had bolstered him enough for this reunion. It occurred to him that he could take this away, too. But of course he would never do that to his little brother. Lambert was happy right now, and Rufus was not going to ruin that, dammit.) 

It stung a little that Rodrigue didn't even consider him a factor. But he was used to being overlooked. Father told him that he didn't have any gifts, anyway. Everyone else seemed to agree, all his life. Including Rufus, until maybe about ten minutes ago when he realized his ability had actually helped his brother.

Rodrigue was still in shock. He floated between extremes of elation, disbelief, shock, and bafflement. How was one meant to react to the knowledge that their dead king and best friend was a physical ghost who could be spoken to? Goddess! He didn't know what to do about this! Other than keep holding Lambert, or course. 

"...We must be careful about this," he eventually said. "Even out of the nobles who supported you in life, there will be those who will want your spirit exorcised." He would not allow it. "We must be careful that you aren't seen." 

Lambert seemed to find that funny for some reason. "That won't be a problem. I'm usually not visible." Lambert's expression fell. "I'm not sure how often you will be able to see and hear me." Lambert glanced at Rufus with his classic ‘fussing mode’ expression firmly in place.

Rufus listened idly to the conversation, mostly simmering in his own thoughts until Rodrigue mentioned an exorcism. After what they'd read about last night, the very idea was terrifying to him. Both for Lambert's sake and his own (and Dimitri's as well, though apparently he should not be worried about that according to his brother). 

Because that was when he checked back into the conversation, he looked up just in time to see his brother glance at him. Rodrigue didn't follow his gaze. Rufus' stomach twisted a little and he didn't know what it was. Jealousy, probably. Even though he loved his brother and knew that Lambert could do no wrong (he was the bad one, he was the one who did things wrong) he had always been jealous of his brother. How well loved he was. How he shone in the sunlight while Rufus was relegated to the background shadows. Some of that old hurt was probably what prompted him to speak up now. 

"I can deliver messages for anyone who can't see you.” He poured himself another glass of water. "Don't worry about my reputation taking a hit because I suddenly start talking about ghosts. Most people can't think any less of me, I'm sure. Right, Rodrigue?"

Tug. Tug tug. This time it wasn't just his eyes that moved to Rufus, but his whole head. Lambert felt the tug tug tug and it was coming from Rufus.

"Well. You aren't wrong about that," Rodrigue replied. Lambert's (fake) stomach twisted. Rodrigue shouldn't agree to that! Obviously he knew his brother did not have the best reputation. He bristled nonetheless. Rodrigue didn’t notice, still frowning at Rufus. "But why would Lambert communicate through you?" 'Why not through me?' Rodrigue was saying.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he bit out, sharper than he intended. He shook his head, doing his best to settle the spike of old hurt. “Rufus and Dimitri are the only ones who can regularly hear and see me.” And touch. Reaching past Rodrigue, he squeezed his brother's shoulder. It really did not feel like he had been dead for long. Still, part of him was starved for touch. 

Tug tug tug.   Rufus He wanted to be close. Rufus looked... lonely. He didn't want to let go of Rodrigue — not after reuniting, not when he didn't know the next time they would see and feel each other — but he wanted Rufus too. He was sure Rufus wanted him back, judging by the sad little tugs he felt. He patted his other side, coaxing Rufus closer. He had much affection to give. Surely he could give it to both. 

Rodrigue still frowned at him. "So you have no other choice. I see." 

"No. Rufus is my brother, who I love, and you would do well to remember that." He wasn't going to make Rodrigue respect Rufus as prince-regent. But damn him if he didn't make sure Rodrigue respected Rufus as his family.

No other choice. That bit Rufus deep. Because Rodrigue was correct. Lambert came to him because he had no other choice, because his other choice was to traumatize his own son further and he couldn't bring himself to do that. In that case, Rufus was just the lesser of two evils. He only had two people to pick from, and he'd chosen his brother in his hour of need. But was it because he thought he could depend on Rufus? Likely not. He just had no other choice. Just like how Faerghus had no other choice but to prop him up onto the throne. Surely they wanted someone else. Anyone else. They probably would have taken Dimitri over him if the poor lad hadn't been so traumatized that he couldn't function. Between him and Dimitri, at least back then, he'd been once again the lesser of two evils for Faerghus. He wasn't someone anyone really wanted. No one ever wanted Rufus for anything. There was just no other choice. 

"No. Rufus is my brother, who I love, and you would do well to remember that."  

That made Rufus look back up from where he had been glaring sadly into his empty cup. Lambert and Rodrigue had sat themselves down on the edge of the bed and Lambert was patting the spot beside him. Lambert wanted him to come. Lambert wanted him.  

Oh, he had such a low bar for affection. It was so low that even just being invited like this made his heart beat double and his chest feel tight. He came over. Of course he did. And he sat down on Lambert's other side, doing his best to ignore Rodrigue and his words. It was easy, when his brain was still so fixated just on being wanted.  

"...Thank you, Lambert," he said. He smiled a little and reached up to ruffle his brother's hair like he used to do when they were kids. Words of love didn't pass between them often. They were sissy words. But the feeling was there. He hoped his brother knew.

His Majesty had always been quicker than most to use the word 'love'. Mostly pertaining to Prince Dimitri, who Lambert was never shy about openly adoring. Still, it wasn't something to be said casually among men of Faerghus. Lambert had always been somewhat of an exception in that regard.

This was Lambert. This was undeniably Lambert. Yet... a sinking feeling in his gut told Rodrigue that Lambert was different. Hell, they were all different! Lambert's death carved holes in all of them, in all of Faerghus. Of course Lambert's death would affect Lambert. It just wasn't how he would have expected. 

Lambert laced their fingers together. Always so touchy in life. For all that Rodrigue complained at the academy, he had loved it too. And in Sreng, they all needed what comfort they could get. But once king, Lambert had to be more conservative. Sometimes they brushed arms, or Lambert would spare him an extra smile. They both got married. There was decorum to worry about. Dimitri was the sole exception.

Now, Lambert held his hand like they were young again, leaning against his side. Lambert openly said he loved Rufus. In life, Lambert rarely had a bad thing to say about Rufus, so he was inclined to believe it. It was just... so open. After a beat of hesitation, Rufus ruffled Lambert's hair. Lambert smiled, grateful. Lambert's other arm wrapped around Rufus' shoulder and brought the man in close. It was all so affectionate. How could he blame Lambert after four years of being dead? It was just... strange. 

"I apologize," he said to Lambert. "I let my frustration get the better of me." Because frustration was Rufus incarnate. That man couldn't run a household, let alone a kingdom. He wondered if Lambert would be so affectionate after seeing what happened under Rufus' rule. He didn't want to ruin the mood, though. Not when he still feared he would wake from a dream.

Lambert wrapped his arm around Rufus and brought him in close and, for a second, Rufus forgot that Rodrigue was in the room. He was just... oh, it was pathetic how happy he was. Like an old, abused hound getting affection for the first time. But it was his first time, at least in years! And it was affection he didn't have any reason to doubt. Lambert wasn't a person who made a habit of lying for no reason. And he didn't think his brother would do it just to spare his feelings. Lambert had made it known before that he was disappointed in him. He never said it outright, but Rufus did believe that oftentimes his brother was ashamed of him. But... he didn't think he'd ever worried about Lambert hating him. Lambert just couldn't hate anybody (except their father, apparently). Lambert could be disappointed and ashamed of him and still love him. On his brother's face right now, though, there was only love. And Rufus basked in it. 

"I apologize," Rodrigue said, reminding Rufus that he was in the room. For a second, he was shocked. Then he looked over to the man and realized that he was apologizing to Lambert. Not to him. ...That made sense. Rodrigue would probably keel over dead, leaving Rufus with another ghost to deal with, if he had to swallow his damn pride and apologize to the wreck that was Rufus. His holier-than-thou attitude was so massive that he would choke on it for sure. Apologizing to Lambert, though? Only natural for someone who was always ready to be on his knees for his brother.

"Bah," he grumbled aloud, frustrated with his own phrasing and what that thought brought to mind. Ugh. Did these two really think they had been sneaky when they were kids goofing around? He shook himself and sighed. 

He remembered that there was a meeting he was supposed to be at, but like hell he was going to bring that up. Then he'd have to deal with a conflicted Rodrigue making puppy eyes and Lambert not wanting to part from him, torn between his love and his duty... and he did not want to deal with that sappiness. 

"It's lunchtime, isn't it?" he said instead. "I'm sending for a tray from the kitchens. Am I sending for two, Duke Fraldarius?" He didn't particularly want to have lunch with Rodrigue. But there was no way he was getting rid of the man now. Not unless he banished Lambert again, and he wasn't going to do that.

Lunch. Blast. The meeting! "We have a meeting to attend, Your Highness." Rodrigue's eyes flickered to Lambert. He couldn't blow this off right in front of his king. Faerghus was struggling, but let the Goddess know he was doing everything in his power to keep her afloat. Same couldn't be said about Rufus. 

The puppy eyes that Rufus dreaded were well in place as he looked between Lambert and the door. The meeting was important. But Lambert. How could he leave Lambert? 

"What kind of meeting?" Lambert asked. 

"Funding." Which was why Rufus needed to be there. Certain treasury related tasks had to have the head of state present. It was supposed to prevent greedy nobles from just taking what they wanted. Doormat Rufus completely foiled the purpose. Still, it was a requirement. Which meant until Rufus showed up, nothing could be done. 

"In that case, there is time enough for a hearty meal. They will not proceed without you both." Lambert's eyes followed Rufus closely. "You really do need a good meal, Ruu. I'll start worrying about you otherwise." 

Rodrigue bit back a comment. Regardless of the truth, Lambert didn't want to hear anything about Rufus at the moment. "I will also have a meal, then." With Lambert's blessing, how could he not blow the meeting off? Just for a bit.

Rufus actually looked smug when his brother agreed with him. Which he knew was an expression Rodrigue wasn't going to like at all, so he wiped it away as soon as he realized he was making it. Hopefully the duke didn't see it before Rufus turned away and got up to go to the door. Rodrigue probably didn't. The man only had eyes for Lambert right now. 

"You needn't look so pleased, your Highness," Rodrigue said. Rufus sighed through his nose. He'd been caught, then. And Rodrigue was saying his title in that way that made it sound more like a reminder than like it carried any weight. You're a Highness, remember? So why don't you act like one? was the constant vibe that Fraldarius gave off. "You are still going to the meeting. You're not getting out of this one." 

"You know damn well that it barely makes a difference if I'm there or not," he said, shoving open his door. "Gunther!" he shouted into the hall. When the man appeared, he nodded to Rodrigue. "Two lunch trays," he said. He almost asked for another bottle of something harder. He only didn't because his brother was watching him.

"It would make a difference if you actually did anything. You're the one who allows everyone to walk all over you,” Rodrigue called out to Rufus.

"The one time I tried, you scolded me for a week,” Rufus snapped back. 

"Because that was a terrible idea that never would have worked." 

Rufus threw up his hands. Lambert saw the problem immediately. Rufus always had struggled to sort good advisors from bad. And Rufus knew that about himself. Which made for a difficult situation... Lambert couldn't even suggest Rufus simply listen to Rodrigue. He still didn't know the context, but apparently Rodrigue told Rufus to send Dimitri and Felix to the front lines. As desperate as he was to understand that, he didn't dare ruin the mood so thoroughly by asking. He just... he just wanted peace with two men he cared for deeply. Two men who missed him dearly. 

"I could go with you," he offered. It wasn't a feasible solution long-term, as he both needed to be around Dimitri and didn't think Rufus' body would do well being possessed often (if Dimitri was any indicator). But this once, if it was an important meeting... 

"Lambert, as wonderful as that sounds, you can't be seen,” Rodrigue said.

"And I won't be seen. I can, well. 'Possess' is too strong of a word." In this instance, at least. "I can hide within Rufus. Or perhaps he can help me fade back out of sight." He gripped Rodrigue's hand tightly. "Not yet, though." 

He opened his free arm in invitation for his big brother to return. The lonely tug was still present. He felt the compulsion to follow his brother around, to be as close as possible. It was only Rodrigue's hand that kept him in place, waiting on the bed for Rufus to return.

Rufus turned around to find his brother with one arm reaching out for him and the other gripping Rodrigue's tightly. The suggestion he had was... well. It was perfect. Rufus couldn't see a thing wrong with it. He'd still been able to hear his brother while he was hidden inside of him. That option seemed safer than trying to make Lambert weak enough to fade from sight again. Rufus figured he'd find a way to mess that up. But they already knew that letting himself be a vessel for his brother was, was okay. As long as Lambert could still hear what was going on outside of his body, it'd be perfect. And if he couldn't, well... at least he'd be moral support. Something which Rufus decidedly lacked in his life. 

But, "Not yet," he agreed. His brother was desperate to remain corporeal for as long as possible. It had to be mostly because of Rodrigue. Not entirely, he didn't think. Not with the way his brother reached for him. But Lambert could come visit him any time now, apparently. So the time with Rodrigue was bound to mean more to his brother right now. Jealous. He was jealous of that. But he quietly accepted it. Sitting back down at his brother's side and being immediately pulled back into his hold made him feel better, though. Lambert squeezed him extra-tight this time. ...Could his brother sense his melancholy? 

"Rodrigue, you get the trays and bring ‘em in here when my servant gets back. He can't come in here while he's visible." It was rare the times when he tried to order anyone that wasn't a direct servant under him about. Rodrigue was probably not going to like it. Let the man fuss at him if he didn't like it, though! His turn to stay against Lambert's side! Rodrigue would have plenty of time to moon over his brother while they ate. Hopefully it'd make Rodrigue eat slower. He really wasn't looking forward to the meeting. Lambert would be there to support him... but also to see all his mistakes. To see just how poorly the country had been run in his absence. ...Maybe he shouldn't bring his brother to the meeting after all. Thinking about it like that...

If not for Lambert, Rodrigue would have had something to say about the order. "Very well," was all he said though. Because Lambert was here. Lambert.  

Goddess. It kept hitting him in waves. Just when he would acclimate, it came back. Lambert. Goddess, Lambert. When Lambert died, there had been so many things he wanted to say to his best friend. So many words left unsaid. They might not be youthful anymore, but they weren't old. He had thought... thought they would have so many more years together. They survived Sreng, after all. 

He had so much to say to Lambert. It felt like he did, at least. Now that Lambert was here, he... he didn't know what to say. Anything that he did want to say, he couldn't say in front of Rufus of all people. 'Could you hear me, all these years? I spoke to you often, when I was at my worst. Did you hear me?' 'I've missed you terribly. Not a day goes by where I don't think of you. Sometimes I still pull out stationary to pen you a letter, only to remember you are gone once the ink is wet.' 'Rufus is leading all your work to ruin. People are dying because of him. How can you smile and wrap your arm around him? He has done nothing but wave in a parade to piss all over your legacy.' 'When you and Glenn died, you took the color of the world with you. How could you leave me behind? I should have been there. I should have seen the trap for what it was. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just want you back.' 

He laid his head against Lambert's shoulder, unsure what to say (if anything at all). His throat was tight. That would pass (and then it would come back).

"I'll see you again, won't I?" was what he finally asked, his voice small. His mind was already racing ahead to the future, once more bereft of his love, once more devoid of color and warmth. His heart grieved all over again (his heart never stopped grieving in the first place). "I have missed you terribly." To his shame, his voice cracked.

Neither Rufus nor Lambert got to answer that question. They'd all been sitting in silence for a while, each to their own thoughts — though perhaps his brother just didn't realize the passage of time. He'd said it felt like he was alive only yesterday, that he hadn't noticed being dead for four years. But Rufus and Rodrigue both felt that time like a sharp knife to the chest. That was never more obvious than with how the duke's voice cracked when he confessed to missing Lambert so much. Rodrigue asked if he would see Lambert again. Rufus was the one that had to answer that. He was the one who had control over the situation. And for as much as he didn't like Rodrigue, he knew he couldn't rightly prevent his brother from reaching out. It just, it wouldn't be right. Rodrigue or not, Lambert deserved to speak to whoever he wanted to speak to. 

His lips parted to say something to that effect when there was a knock on the door. Ah. That would be lunch. Despite having just ordered Rodrigue to go get the trays, it was Rufus who stood up at the sound. He felt terribly awkward as soon as he did. Rodrigue was staring at him. He just— damn it, this was worse than Lambert's funeral. Listening to Rodrigue say over and over how good of a man Lambert was to anyone who approached him. Hearing him fawn all over his brother once again while he was sitting right there, it was annoying. Worse, it made him feel bad for Rodrigue. Which was the worst feeling. 

He went and got the trays. Goddess damn it. He really didn't have a backbone, did he?

"You will see me again," Lambert eventually promised Rodrigue, squeezing his hand. Through Rufus or through Dimitri, it would happen. "Perhaps we ought to take up writing to one another, for the times I cannot be present." It wasn't the same, he knew it wasn't. But it was something. And Goddess, he was desperate to do anything to alleviate the heartbreak in Rodrigue's eyes. 

He blinked. Rodrigue was looking at Rufus, who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Did he miss something? Rufus had the lunch trays now, so he must have missed a little bit. He winced, feeling awkward in his own right. It wasn't like him to miss the nuances in a room. Tunnel vision had never been a problem before he died. Reminders like this, that he was dead and changed... Well. He needed to be grateful for what he had, at least, which was leagues more than most ghosts got. 

He glanced at the lunch trays. "Meatloaf. That's good. You really ought to eat, Rufus." He stood and approached his brother, moving to take the trays before thinking better of it. He shook his head. "Don't want to risk dropping them..." He hadn't lifted anything heavy yet, so he wasn't sure how well his form would hold up. 

He ushered Rufus over to the table to sit. After not eating last night or this morning, and after seeing what became of his son without self care while ghost-tending, he wasn't going to let Rufus slip into the same pitfall because of him. 

"You're still feeling all right?" he checked. "Hangover excluded." They all wanted him to stay for the meeting. But if Rufus' situation was like Dimitri's, then he would have to give his brother space for the sake of his health. 

Tunnel vision again. He turned and beckoned Rodrigue too, just to show he didn't forget about his best friend (for long). "Knowing you, I'm sure you skipped breakfast. You need to eat too, my friend."

Rufus got to the table and pushed out a chair with his foot for Lambert to sit in it. Rodrigue, naturally, sat down on the other side of that chair so that Lambert was between them. Lunch was meatloaf, which certainly wasn't Rufus' favorite meal but he liked it well enough. Enough to eat it before going to a meeting, though? He wasn't sure. Anxiety was twisting his gut into knots. 

"You're still feeling all right?" Lambert asked him, and Rufus nodded as he sat down. 

"No worse than usual after an entire bottle of wine.” He thought so, at least. It was hard to distinguish what was hangover, what was anxiety, and what was... whatever Lambert was worried about. He really didn't have enough of the picture to understand just why his brother was so concerned. 

He caught Rodrigue frowning at him from the corner of his eye and he huffed. "I'll drink if I damn well please, Duke Fraldarius," he said, which was the exact same thing he'd said to Lambert the night before.

"Were our situations reversed, I would have been the one draining a bottle," Lambert offered, which was only a slight stretch. If he was the living one, had his dead brother come to him, and then dealt with... everything that Rufus did last night, he probably would have had a drink. For him to drink willingly, that was essentially the same as Rufus drinking a whole bottle. 

"Be that as it may, you would not make it into a habit, Lambert." 

"Please just eat the meatloaf, Rodrigue." Rodrigue flinched. Lambert bit back would have bit back a sigh if he was still alive. It came out regardless of whether he wanted it or not. He nearly said 'at least try to get along, please'. The problem was, he was pretty sure this was them trying. 

Rufus was frowning down at the meatloaf. It was a bit of a heavy meal for an anxious stomach, he supposed. But Rufus needed to eat. Dimitri had assured him that he was fine too, right up until his son passed out and then he was the one in control. Perhaps they should call for some bread instead? He couldn't, as much as he ached to provide and help. 

"Perhaps some bread?" he said aloud, unable to stop himself from trying to problem-solve. 

"You can stop nannying me," Rufus grumbled. 

"I know, I know. I'm fussing. I just don't want you to hurt yourself for my sake like Dimitri did."

"You've yet to tell me what happened to the lad," Rufus said bluntly. "I know you're worried, but I don't know what you're worried about. Don't know what I'm supposed to be looking out for.” 

He picked up his fork and cut off a bit of the meatloaf to at least hold on the tines to make it look like he was going to eat. Rodrigue obeyed his king and started eating. But Rufus couldn't even feel any satisfaction about watching the duke get scolded by his brother for once again comparing the two of them. 

Lambert was as perfect on his pedestal as ever — probably had only gotten more perfect in Rodrigue's eyes, since death tended to make people forget the departed's faults more often than not — and so Rufus looked only worse by comparison. It didn't help that he was still so stressed about the meeting, still had a headache lingering behind his eyes, and had to put up with Rodrigue. Of course he didn't feel great, but he never did. He didn't think it was because of Lambert at all. Not due to him being a ghost, at least.

"It doesn't help that I don't entirely know myself," Lambert began to explain. "There were enough factors that I can't say for sure what the breaking point was. He held his boyfriend's soul within him for most of the day and the whole night, which contributed." 

He paused, realizing how that must sound. 

"...It makes sense in context. Claude is living, for the record. He just has a loose soul. Very nice lad. Ah... where was I? Right. You see, the only reason I regained my sense of self was due to accidentally stumbling into Claude's empty body. It was what I needed to 'wake up', so to speak. It was agreed upon that I could stay there for the night for Dimitri's sake. In the morning, Dimitri worried that if I did not have somewhere to stay, that my mental state would degrade once more. So he took me into himself. I noticed that he seemed tired, but he did have a very emotional day." He stared down at his clasped hands. "He kept telling me he was fine. Then he collapsed, and it was left to me to get him whatever help we could find. Even after I was extricated and Dimitri eventually woke, just my very presence was draining him. So I left." 

He glanced at Rufus. "And it was here that I showed up. Given I have been around you for a while, and you have had to give me energy from yourself, I simply worry that you are pushing yourself. I have hurt my loved ones enough already." That last bit was mumbled, but his audience of two could hear him.

Rufus listened to his brother's explanation of what had happened to Dimitri with a frown. "...Idgrod wrote that the ghost that possessed her was like a leech," he recalled. Then shuddered at what he remembered reading after that. "And that the exorcism to get him out damn near killed her. Well. At least we know I can get you out of me without needing a priest.”

It sounded like Dimitri wasn't able to do that, or simply didn't because he hadn't wanted to let go of his father. Rufus didn't know which was the more likely. He didn't know his nephew very well, aside from the fact that he missed his parents quite a lot. "I don't feel like I'm on the brink of collapsing," he said, finally putting the bite of meatloaf into his mouth. "Don't feel any more tired than usual, either." But that wasn't a high bar.  Still, he thought he'd notice if it was drastically different than normal. It did worry him, but even just going based off of the timeline, he was... pretty sure he was okay. Dimitri had apparently only collapsed after, what, twelve or fourteen hours of being directly possessed? Lambert had been possessing him for two, maybe three. It wouldn't be more than four after the meeting, he was fairly certain of that. So he'd be fine, right?

Lambert nodded. "I'm glad to hear it, then. Let's do our best to keep it that way."

Rodrigue was staring at the ceiling. Today was a day for processing a lot of things, it seemed. After the knowledge that Lambert's spirit was here and present, everything else paled in comparison. Dimitri had a boyfriend? All right. Said boyfriend had a 'loose soul'? Sure. Said boyfriend was Claude, almost certainly Claude von Riegan of the Leicester Alliance? Why not. Lambert inadvertently caused his son to collapse and then accidentally possessed the boy? Might as well happen. He was still processing the fact that ghosts were real, honestly. 

At some point, it would all click into place. 

There was one thing that Lambert said that was bothering him. “The only reason I regained my sense of self was due to accidentally stumbling into Claude's empty body. It was what I needed to 'wake up’.”

“What did you mean by ‘wake up’?” he quietly asked. “You said you needed to regain your ‘sense of self’.”

Lambert nodded. “I haven’t been lucid for long. These past four and a half years, I have lingered as a ghost. But I haven’t lingered as myself.” His chest clenched as he watched Lambert roll his shoulders in a manner that meant he was uneasy. “All I recall is an endless night, desperately searching through the flames for my son.” Lambert shivered, and his eyes stared off sightlessly. “Dimitri has seen me frequently. But not as myself. He has seen my form howling for revenge, spewing hatred…”

“That… does not sound like you at all,” he offered.

Lambert nodded with a wry, half-hearted attempt at a smile. “No. It does not. He reminds me of you, Rodrigue. After Sreng.”

“Survivor's guilt,” he said softly, having seen the very same in the boy himself. But he wasn’t sure how that was related.

“Mm. He saw my spirit as he believed he deserved to see.”

Rodrigue’s heart plummeted. Oh. He wished he could have helped the prince, but he never entirely got over his own… survivor’s guilt. There were times even all these decades later when he woke up from a nightmare of his fellow knights screaming at him for not saving their lives.

“Things are better now,” Lambert said, his smile slightly less strained.

He'd eaten part of the meatloaf. He wasn't hungry. He would only keep eating if his king ordered him to. He had missed taking orders from his king. Fuck, he just missed Lambert so much.

Maybe it said something about Rufus that he didn't even bat an eye at Dimitri having a boyfriend. The thing it looked like it said was that Rufus didn't care that Dimitri had a boyfriend. The sadder truth, though, was that he didn't particularly care that Dimitri had a boyfriend. It took him a second to realize that he probably shouldn't be so uninvested in his nephew — but that ship had sailed long ago. He could at least pretend to be invested for his brother's sake, but Dimitri would probably let him know the truth. He was just worried about himself. Making sure that what happened to Dimitri didn't happen to him. Just another sign that he was a coward, really. So there was nothing new about that. 

At least Lambert didn't seem to notice. 

He really did not like hearing about what Lambert had been ‘up to’ in the past four years. Or how Dimitri was apparently involved with that. Or what Dimitri’s power — the same power he had — did to his brother. 

At least Lambert didn’t remember much of it.

He ate two more bites of his meatloaf. Lambert stared at him, so he ate the roll of bread that had come with it. The meal felt like it congealed into one unpleasant lump in his stomach. Great. Now he was going to have to deal with that through the meeting. But more importantly... 

"Are you sure you want to come to the meeting?" he asked his brother, glancing over to look him in the eyes. He immediately looked away, anticipating the shame his brother was going to have in him as soon as he saw how Rufus 'managed' the country. Which was that he didn't in the slightest. Lambert looked so determined, though, he knew he wasn't going to talk his brother out of it.

"I am." As much as he no longer felt so much duty towards Faerghus, he still felt some duty. He especially felt duty towards his son, who would be inheriting whatever mess was left in his absence. 

Lambert wasn't expecting much from Rufus. He loved his brother, but Rufus never had the head for politics. Not even slightly, and that was before all the trauma from their father and the trauma from his death. Lambert knew that court was going to be a mess today. He didn't blame Rufus any more than he would blame a one-armed blacksmith for a shoddy product. If Rufus had a choice in the matter, his brother would be as far away from the throne as possible. How could he blame his brother for being bad at what he was simply bad at? Rufus' talents laid elsewhere. 

Well, perhaps that was his overly forgiving nature speaking. Perhaps Rufus could be doing more. He didn't want to blame his brother though. His brother, who continually got the short end of the stick in life. If he could take any of the burden off Rufus' shoulders, then he was prepared to do so. 

Rodrigue sighed. "If we are finished with lunch, then we should make our way to the meeting." Rodrigue's eyes latched on to him and stayed there. 

He smiled. "We will see each other again. This is not goodbye. Not this time." He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Rodrigue's lips. He lingered, their foreheads connected. 

Time moved along its merry way though, so he had to part eventually. Turning to Rufus, he nodded. "Whenever you are ready, Brother." He needed to be welcomed first.

Rodrigue had barely eaten any more lunch than Rufus had, which probably indicated something. It indicated something that Rufus couldn't read, though, because he was shit at reading people. He just noticed it and didn't remark. What would he even say? Anything would make a hypocrite out of him. And he didn't want to give Rodrigue another bit of fodder to sass at him with. Not when his mind was churning towards the next Big Problem: the meeting coming up very shortly. 

They were going to arrive late. Which was only going to make the mood more sour. Yes, Lambert had endorsed it, but to everyone else it would just look like Rufus slacking off or shirking again. They probably expected him to show up drunk. He was seriously considering getting his flask and taking a swig just to take the edge of his nerves when Lambert turned to him. "Whenever you are ready, Brother."  

He wasn't ready. Not for the meeting. Not in the slightest. His palms were already sweating (he used to wear gloves to these meetings, but that only seemed to make the sweating worse. Now he just avoided touching anything, especially other people. It was a good thing that as prince-regent, people rarely tried to touch him). He was still in his pajamas and almost forgot!

"Er, just a couple minutes," he said, glancing down at himself. Though people hardly would have batted an eye at him showing up like this, he didn't want to do it on purpose.  

He put himself together as quickly as possible. (He was pretty sure he didn't end up with matching socks on. That was fine, no one could see those.) He pulled his hair back (so he looked less like his brother, people always tended to glare harder at him when he wore his hair down) and splashed water on his face (which made him feel better about his sweaty palms, if only for a few seconds) and grabbed a hat for his head (which was all the effort he put into looking fashionable anymore). With all that done, he came back around from behind the partition, flattening his palms against his trousers and taking a deep breath. Lambert was waiting for him, a reassuring look on his face as he held out his hand. 

Rufus suddenly remembered just how much... calmer, he had been, once his brother was inside of him. Lambert's affection and love and reassurance had ebbed throughout his entire body. Maybe that would help him take the edge off as good as any drink, if his brother was able to do that for him again. So he took a deep breath and reached out his hand in return. 

"You are welcome, brother," he said, taking hold of Lambert's hand. Last time, he had just sort of... yanked his brother in. This time, he hoped it was a smoother transition as Lambert faded from sight and Rufus felt that second presence appear inside his chest.

While Rufus changed, Lambert had a few minutes near-alone with Rodrigue. He still had questions. Questions about the rebellion. Questions about... about the past four years. But now was not the time. He refused to let this be the last time he spoke to Rodrigue. So while Rufus was changing, he embraced his dearest friend. 

"Forgive me," he said softly into the shell of Rodrigue's ear, "for dying. For leaving. I'm back now, and I don't plan to leave any time soon. But I know this isn't the same." He was dead, after all. The fact that Rufus could make him physical was a miracle, but one that could not last. He was a ghost now, for all that entailed. One tethered mostly to Dimitri, and somewhat to Rufus. 

He held Rodrigue tight simply because he could. He couldn't break anyone anymore. Not physically. Goddess, he prayed Dimitri was okay. Tilting Rodrigue's chin, he kissed his once-lover. Though he had loved both his wives, he never once stopped loving Rodrigue. He had missed his best friend in more ways than one. They would never know each other as they had in their youth, though that was already something he knew. (He doubted Rodrigue would be willing to try anything with a ghost even if the opportunity came up. And that was a big if.) 

Rodrigue melted into his kiss. It was desperate from Rodrigue, filled with so much grief that Lambert could taste it. They pulled apart just before Rufus returned. His brother extended a hand. He gave Rodrigue one last squeeze, one last smile (for now). "This is not goodbye. You'll see me again. And... even the times you do not see me, I will be around. Probably around Dimitri more often than not. But here too, with Rufus." 

He turned back to his brother and took the hand. It was gentler this time. Oh, Ruu. His brother's core shook and shook. "I'm here," he whispered, settling his soul around the core not unlike a cat curling up around a warm object. "You aren't alone. I'm here."

Chapter Text

Meeting time now. Meeting. That Rufus had to go to. Even though he desperately would rather do anything else.

He might not be drunk, but at least he had his brother. Hopefully that would be enough. Hopefully his brother would be utterly ashamed of him...

Rufus inhaled a deep breath as Lambert got settled. He felt his brother curl up and relax, safe and comfortable inside of him. At least, as comfortable as he could be. Rufus could only imagine his insides as how they felt to him right now, which was all twisted up with nerves. He hoped his brother wasn't getting twisted up alongside all that. 

But Lambert seemed fine. "I'm here," his brother whispered to him, his voice so warm and soothing that Rufus couldn't help but feel a blanket of calm descend over him. "You aren't alone, I'm here."  

Blessedly, Rodrigue didn't say anything for at least thirty seconds after Lambert disappeared, giving them both time to adjust. But after that point, the duke did speak up. 

"Is he all right?" Rodrigue asked. 

"Yup. He's fine." I am too, thanks for asking. "Just getting settled. ...Which I think is done. We can go now." They headed out of the room, Lambert's love and affection and reassurance filling him from within. By the time they got two hallways over, Rufus' hands weren't shaking anymore. Or, at least, not as badly as they usually did.

It was hard to watch his king vanish. Of course Rodrigue knew to expect it. There was nothing spectacular about it. One moment Lambert was there, and then... Lambert faded away. 

Rodrigue's heart clenched. Not gone. Not forever. It was still so hard. Lambert's lips were cold now, but he kissed Lambert again. They hadn't... not since Sreng. Even all these years later, sometimes he woke in his cold bed with the taste of Lambert still lingering from his dreams. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Not goodbye. It hadn't been goodbye last time either. Lambert just never came back.

It was hard to focus on anything else as they left. The nobles were sure to be furious, though also confused. Rodrigue never took this long to get Rufus. He almost did a double-take when he glanced at Rufus. The man was always either a jittering mess of nerves or a drunken slob, no in-between. Right now though, there was... 'confidence' was too strong a word. But Rufus' nerves, miraculously, seemed settled. As settled as they could be. 

They walked in silence. Then, the council chambers stood before them. The guards didn't even need a signal to open the door and allow them entrance. 

"Incredible. The prince-regent made even Duke Fraldarius late. I'm impressed." 

He rolled his eyes. He had already been here and Duke Rowe knew it. "For once, His Highness had a legitimate reason to be late. Now that it is resolved, we may begin."

They stepped into the meeting hall. As expected, Rufus got slammed with all the anxiety he always did when all those harsh, judgmental gazes turned his way. 'Just like the old man. No escaping it.'  

This was the look he'd been subjected to his entire life. Disappointment, disdain, and disparaging looks were a constant. One would think he'd get used to them after some time. He didn't. Never failed to make him want to shrivel up and turn invisible. Alcohol blunted the effect, but never tuned it out entirely. His supposition about Lambert having some of the same effect as a strong drink turned out to be true, though. The anxiety was blunted. Still there. But he didn't feel the urgent need to hide behind his chair.

"A legitimate reason?" someone said as he got settled. "And what would that reason be?"

"None of your damn business, that's what," he responded, because what else was he supposed to say? Rodrigue could have made up a lie for him. And maybe he should have let Rodrigue do that, because opening his mouth had made everybody look at him again. "Let's just get this over with. Who's asking for what today?" he asked, and thus the meeting began.

Lambert ached when he felt more than heard the thought. Just like the old man. No escaping it. Their father's ghost may have passed on, but he was still haunting Rufus all these years later. He swelled around Rufus, puffing up with as much comfort and reassurance as he could muster. He might not be able to see, but he could hear. In fact, when he focused, he had a vague sense of Rufus' surroundings. It was more distinct than when he was in Dimitri. Today, Rufus would have an advisor, and a close one at that. 

He heard the first noble clear their throat. "My case is the most important you will hear all year, Your Highness." Where did he know that voice from, again? Perhaps he would not be as sound of an advisor as he hoped. Not only did he have no access to notes or research, but he was four years out of date. And also dead, which messed with his mental facilities. He should know that voice... 

"Get on with it, Kleiman."

Kleiman. His soul stiffened, as though he could form a shield to protect his brother. Kleiman was one of the men complicit in his death, however personally or distantly it was. 

"The Duscur mutts are causing a ruckus again. We need more funding to put the lot of them down. Obviously, this is of utmost security for your place on the throne. Why, I hear tell of Duscur assassins. But not to worry, Your Highness. We will protect the kingdom." 

"No," he told Rufus, horrified. He knew what Dedue and Dimitri told him about Duscur. Knives of guilt struck him deeply. "The people of Duscur are innocent. They've suffered enough because of me, you cannot fund this."

Rufus had no way of knowing who was to blame for his brother's death. Not at the time that it happened. There was Dimitri, and Dimitri's claims, but Dimitri was only a child. A heavily traumatized one at that. His word couldn't be trusted because obviously he couldn't have really known what was going on; that was what Rufus had been told by the angry court, anyway. And people had been so angry. Angry, and power hungry. Kleiman had led the charge against the people of Duscur, and for his valiance in battle it was a massacre he was rewarded with a new title and new land because t he others said it was the proper thing to do. Dimitri had barely ever looked at him with affection before, but after what had happened to Duscur, he knew the boy never looked at him the same way again. But that didn't matter. Sooner or later Dimitri would have found out his uncle was a fuck-up. It might as well have happened that fast. 

So he had done nothing when Duscur burned. Stood back and watched. He tried to comfort himself with that knowledge. Inaction was better than malice. Wasn't it? At least he didn't try to make things worse. Someone like Kleiman in his position would have surely abused the power. Rufus didn't do that. He couldn't abuse power that he didn't have. Which basically made him a puppet king with no spine to tell anyone— 

“No.”

The word left his lips before he had even fully formed the thought to say it. Lambert's horror and sheer desperation shot through him like a bolt of lightning and he barely had a choice in saying the word. Everyone at the table looked shocked. Including Rufus himself. 

He cleared his throat and looked away from Kleiman. "What's next?" he asked optimistically, hoping Kleiman wouldn't insist. But Kleiman always insisted. He knew this wasn't going to be glossed over no matter how much he wished it would be.

Everyone, Kleiman included, was ready to move on. Entirely because no one expected any objections. Which was how Rufus very nearly got away with it. Rodrigue was almost impressed.

The viscount did a double and triple take.

"Excuse me? 'No?' Allow me to repeat this in words you understand, Your Highness. These are rabid beasts that all want your head on a platter. You like living, mm? Then you ought to reconsider." 

Rodrigue's lips pressed together. This was the real test here. Contrary to belief, Rufus did occasionally say no. Once. When pressed, that resistance always faltered like wet paper. Perhaps this time, Lambert's presence would make a difference. Judging by the shocked look on even Rufus' face, Lambert had influenced that sharp 'no'. Rodrigue knew he had to hold his tongue for now. He only really had power if a noble grew too belligerent. Otherwise his support could undermine Rufus.

Rufus hated this.

This was how they always got their way, these nobles. Talking down to him, demeaning him, making him feel like nothing, making him feel like his life was in danger. His father had done all those things, too. He saw the man's shadow everywhere. Maybe that was why his specter hadn't returned. He didn't need to. It'd just be a lot of work for someone who was getting the job done by others already. 

'I hate this. I hate this. I'm scared I hate this.'  

He didn't know what to do. He was the one with the title and the one that was supposed to have the power but in truth he was completely powerless. People said his title like it was an insult to his face. Made him feel like it didn't matter what he said anyway, so he might as well just agree. He was an idiot and everyone else knew better than him. He was never meant to rule, so why should he even try? It was at this point when he normally would have withered and folded. Given up. He was told to reconsider. That meant change your mind now or else, you idiot. He stared at his own hands where they rested on the table. Surprisingly steady. 

"I understood you the first time," he said. "Seems like you're the one that didn't understand me. I said, no. What's next?" 'Please let it work this time. Please don't let it become yelling. I hate yelling.'

Lambert heard Rufus. He felt Rufus quiver and shake. Goddess, this was worse than he realized. Rufus wasn't bad at this. Rufus was terrified. His soul pressed against Rufus' core, doing his best to bolster his brother. "You're doing well. I'm here. I have you." 

"Excuse me?!" The shout had Rufus' core flinching and shrinking. He flooded his shaking brother with as much support as he could muster. "Think again. You may not care for Faerghus, but I do. If you think I'm leaving this place without your approval, then—" 

"That is enough, Viscount Kleiman,” commanded Rodrigue. Viscount? Since when? Actually, he could take an educated guess. "His Highness made his voice clear. You will respect the prince-regent's refusal just as you respect his acceptance." Thank Rodrigue. 

Kleiman scoffed. "I respect His Highness when he makes the correct choice. I do not cede the floor. His Highness is deranged." 

"Seems you will have to call the guards on him," Lambert suggested, holding his shaking brother as much as he could. "That is part of their duty, after all." He had to do that himself a few times. Never enjoyable, since it meant smoothing plenty of ruffled feathers afterwards (because that was just who he was). But necessary. Kleiman shouted something else. Lambert, though he didn't exactly have a shape or form, solidified around his brother's core to protect him, as though he could muffle the shouts. If nothing else, he hoped his support helped.

The only reason Rufus was still breathing, he was pretty sure, was because of the embrace Lambert was giving him. Kleiman stood up with his shout, towering over Rufus as he sat in his chair and of course Rufus flinched and shrank back from him. The man slammed his fist on the table and he jumped like he was shocked. He wasn't just anxious or afraid. It was terror he was feeling right now. Complete and utter terror. If it wasn't for Lambert, he probably would have been doing his best to pretend he wasn't hyperventilating while hyperventilating like mad. 

"Seems you will have to call the guards on him. That is part of their duty, after all."  

Rufus shook his head. 'Like the guards would help me!' He knew it was their job. But they were probably on Kleiman's side. Everyone was probably on Kleiman's side, because Kleiman's side wasn't Rufus' side and no one chose Rufus if they had to. The fact that Rodrigue was doing it wasn't because of Rufus. It was because of his title. A title that Rodrigue respected. But not the person who held it. That was abundantly clear. But the man's sense of duty usually kept him from being too aggressive with Rufus. Most of the other lords didn't feel the same. Or they certainly didn't act like it at least. 

"Since His Majesty's death, I have done nothing but fight to protect Faerghus from the threat that killed him. I have protected us from those savages, and protected you most of all!" Kleiman bellowed. "If not for me, those barbarians would have found a way into the castle to kill you by now. Mark my words, something unfortunate will happen to you if you don't fund my soldiers!"

That threat was direct, and it was terrifying.  

The guards didn't respond on Rufus' first call. Mostly because he barely got it out of himself, just a choked little whisper. "Guards!" he called for a second time. When the doors of the room opened, Rufus just pointed at Kleiman. If they needed clearer directions than that... well, hopefully Rodrigue would give them, because Rufus didn't think he could speak.

The guards had their duties. When called upon, they acted as they were instructed. Luckily for Rufus, his instructions were clear as they needed to be. Rufus saying 'no' was already off enough. In all his time 'ruling', the man had never called the guards on anyone. This wasn't the first time Rufus had been borderline (or outright) threatened, even. Rufus simply caved before reaching the point of needing the guards. 

"Don't touch me," Kleiman hissed at the guards, stomping out of the room before they could act. And they would have acted, it was clear. Reluctantly, perhaps, but Kleiman wasn't exactly popular either (at least, not with the guards, who were what mattered at the moment). Lambert hadn't heard Kleiman's threat, too focused on comforting Rufus. 

Rodrigue did, however. Whatever spite there was between the duke and prince-regent, Rodrigue knew a threat to the crown when he saw one. There was a time when he thought, maybe, having Rufus croak would be the better alternative. He would never endorse a threat to the throne, not even against Rufus. But if the man happened to have a heart attack, he wouldn't have been sad. 

Things were different now. Not just because of Lambert's presence back in his life. The fact that Rufus said no and had a backbone (artificial as it was) said that maybe, just maybe, there was hope so long as Lambert could steer from behind the scenes. 

He kept his eye on Kleiman as the man left. He would be keeping a close eye in the future too. He refused to lose Lambert again. 

"Next?" He called, aware that they couldn't just end the meeting despite Rufus' quivering, pale self. The sooner they got through this, the better.

A woman stepped forward after a beat of hesitation. "Well! What an uncouth showing." Whether that referred to Kleiman or Rufus remained unsaid. "Fear not, Prince Rufus, I come not to drain the royal family's coffers. I simply ask to rearrange a few matters. You see, the, eck, 'sewer' budget is overfunded in this city. I propose a reassignment of those excess funds to something more important. We all need better trade. Thus, I propose a wedding fund for the city. How better to bring in new blood and more coin?" 

Rodrigue silently seethed. The sewage system in Fhirdiad was a masterwork and one of Lambert's few untouched legacies. It did require upkeep, yes, but the results spoke for themselves. The system was not 'overfunded' as the woman claimed. And to replace it with a foolish 'wedding' fund! If he recalled correctly, the noble was soon to be married herself. Her family had more than enough for whatever garish wedding she pleased. There was no need to seek handouts. For once, he withheld his anger. Because for once, he actually believed Rufus might be half smart about this (due to Lambert's help).

Rufus was a pale, quivering mess. Rodrigue was right about that. In fact, Rufus had already decided he was going to agree to everything else today, because saying 'no' more than once was going to be too hard for him. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't make decisions like these. It was impossible for him. 

When the next noble stood up to make her proposal, it didn't even sound that ridiculous at first. Rearrange the budget. Rufus didn't know enough about the budget to understand what could be moved and what couldn't be, but she wasn't just asking for more money on top of what they already spent. Which was good. 

But then she asked about redirecting funds into a 'wedding' budget. Rufus blinked. 

"Prince Dimitri's not getting married yet. As far as I know. I think that's... that's the only wedding I'll be paying for. Or I guess he will." Dimitri would probably be king by the time he got married. He couldn't help the way he glanced over to Rodrigue. That was correct, wasn't it? A wedding fund made... no sense. Right? Or was he wrong again? Just how much were they paying for the sewers? He didn't know. He should, but he didn't. Which was why the crown was basically flat broke at this point...

Lambert had gotten a little distracted. He didn't hear the woman's proposal, so busy guarding Rufus. Instead, he caught snippets from Rufus. 'Wedding fund... no sense... How much were they paying for the sewers...?'  

"The sewer system is a necessity that benefits common folk and noble alike." That was a line he had to say often in life. "Since its implementation, there hasn't been a single plague sweeping through Fhirdiad." Rufus would remember those. Every half decade or so, huge chunks of the city would get sick. Commoners and nobles alike. Even his family had been struck, just shortly before Dimitri was born. His wife lived long enough to have Dimitri, and then her illness swept back and took her away.

The sewers were important. When he had it planned out originally, he set aside a little more than he and Cornelia thought necessary. That ended up being wise, as it gave the fund room for when things broke or disasters occurred. The budget was not 'over-funded'. It had not been at the time of his death and he didn't see anyone adding more funds to it in the interim. It was a modest amount, and essentially pennies compared to some of the more 'luxury' funds that had to be in place to keep the nobility appeased. The only reason someone would be trying to divert funds from it was if they had no understanding of its purpose, or other projects were so underfunded that they had to scrape the bottom of the barrel. 

He didn't realize he wasn't saying this out loud. As his soul curled around and around Rufus' core, his understanding of the situation was what seeped into Rufus, rather than words.

"No wedding fund," Rufus reiterated. Goddess, how calm he felt for having just thrown a man out of the room a minute ago! It had to be his brother. It had to be. All the reassurance that Lambert constantly poured over him, he was completely saturated with it. He even managed to... to sit up a little bit more. 

"The sewers aren't over funded. The budget has wiggle room in case something goes wrong. Which has happened before. Besides, they're a benefit to everyone. There hasn't been a plague in near twenty years in the city, and it's because of those," he said. "My brother set aside those funds. I'm not touching 'em. We can all agree that he knew what he was doing. The sewer fund stays as it is." 

Everyone was looking at him again like they had when he'd said no to Kleiman. Like he had grown a third arm or something. He glanced down at himself just to make sure. But no, he couldn't see anything wrong with his appearance. It was just... him. And the stuff that was coming out of his mouth. People had to be wondering what had come over him. Rodrigue wouldn't be, but only because he knew what had come over Rufus. Even Rodrigue stared at him, shocked. Not as much as the others, but enough to blend in with them, anyway. 

"Was there anything else?" he asked. His eyes darted around the room. That surely couldn't be it. Everyone always wanted something from him. But instead of another demand, there was silence. Prince-Regent Rufus said no. And twice in one day! If he had known that would get them to shut up faster, maybe he would have started doing this sooner. (Of course he wouldn't have. He wasn't able to. Only Lambert made it possible.)

"Yes." 

Lambert had to snap back to attention at the sound of Matthias' voice. He'd lost focus there. ...Did the wedding thing get resolved? Blast, he wasn't as much help as hoped. It was too easy to get distracted and lost in his own thoughts. 

"We need more funding on the Sreng border,” Matthias said, loud and clear. “For an actual threat, not just half-dead rebels." 

Ah. This was not something Lambert could help with. He had no idea what the Sreng situation looked like. Matthias wasn't the sort to try and trick Rufus, which was good, but that didn't mean the man was correct. He caught the sound of papers. Good. Numbers always helped. 

...No one else brought papers, he realized. What, did they just expect Rufus to take them on their word? ...They probably did. 

"Matthias won't be trying to trick you," he told Rufus, in case his brother hadn't picked up on that. "Problem is, he isn't always right. Rodrigue should know what the situation looks like, though. Consult him, if you can."