[Being back in Fhirdiad after all this time is strange, to say the least. Save for briefly returning to oust Cornelia's forces and free the city, Dimitri hasn't been home for five years — and even then, he was cooped up in a dungeon, awaiting execution for a crime he didn't commit. In reality, he hasn't spent any significant amount of time in Fhirdiad proper since before he started attending the officer's academy.
And he hasn't seen Benvolio for even longer than that. The last time they spoke Dimitri was essentially unresponsive, still shell-shocked by the trauma of losing his father and the only mother he'd ever known. His uncle used that against him, isolating him from his allies in the capital by allowing them all to see him once and then saying that he "wasn't well" if they asked after him again. Only Rodrigue continued to insist on visiting him when he could manage, and even that tapered off after the disaster that was his maiden battle and Felix's reaction to it.
Still, it's good to be back even if it is jarring. How strange it is, sitting here in his father's study, his shoulders resting perfectly against that chair with the broad back that always seemed so massive when he was a child. How surreal, wearing the signet ring that once looked ridiculously large in his small hands. The passage of time has never felt as viscerally real to him as it does right now, finally back in his childhood home as an adult. He wonders if Benvolio will have changed just as much. People used to coo over them looking like twins, after all, and Dimitri is practically unrecognizeable these days.
A servant raps politely on the door twice, and Dimitri stands to open it even if he knows he's expected to just imperiously say "enter" and remain where he is. He can't help it, he's a little excited to see an old friend again... if nervous that things might have soured between them.
The man on the other side of the door is not at all what he expected. He's even smaller than Felix, with a face that still has a hint of youthful roundness to it. True, Benvolio never was trained in combat, but even so! Dimitri has the grace to only look surprised for a moment before reaching out to clasp Benvolio's shoulder.]
It has been too long, cousin. Please, come in.
[Dimitri shifts his gaze briefly to the servant that escorted him, nodding politely by way of thanks. The bow that results is low enough to make him feel a little uncomfortable, but he supposes he'll just have to get used to it.]
The assassination of King Rufus, the effective annexation of Faerghus into the Adrestian Empire, Cornelia's temper, Cornelia's moods — in the midst of all of this, Benvolio has only been concerned with how to survive. He was fifteen when Rufus was killed and everything began; he is only twenty now, a recent graduate of Fhirdiad's school of sorcery, having taken up an entirely useless post as a court adviser to whom no one ever listened. His father was tried and killed for treason against the Empire some two years ago; he himself was spared only by testifying that he knew nothing of his father's actions, and he has maintained a front of being loyal to Cornelia ever since. It has been a convincing front, too. He was always good at acting.
In truth, Benvolio is glad that Dimitri is alive, and the likely new king — but it has been so long since they last spoke that he doesn't know what to expect. Oh, he remembers the old days. The banquets where their relatives would line them up next to each other, laughing and tittering at how the two golden-haired boys looked like twins, sweet and angelic as painted cherubs. He also knows that it would be easy to write him off as an Adrestian sympathizer, and though Dimitri may be Faerghus's rightful king, it was widely rumored that he was a monster on the battlefield, a man not to be crossed. Benvolio isn't even sure why he's been summoned. If Dimitri's first act as regent is going to be a purge, this might be his last day alive.
Well, they may have been twins once, but now they are nothing of the sort. Standing in the doorway, Benvolio looks to be half Dimitri's size, and though he's a good actor, he's not acting now. He can't hide the momentary fear that seizes him when Dimitri clasps his shoulder — blue eyes go wide and startled for a moment as his arms tense, pressing the large book he always carries deeper against his side.]
[The fear and tension is plain to see, even if it's schooled quickly. This isn't the first time Dimitri's received this reaction, and he's certain it won't be the last. He knows that he's a fright to behold now, though all his battle scars aren't half as frightening as his reputation. People say he's a beast craving blood, a mad prince, the tempestuous Tempest King. It can't be helped. This is a direct consequence of him losing himself, and he'll just have to deal with it.
Dimitri slowly draws his hand back, not wanting to startle him further.]
Of course. How could I forget?
[At this point, Benvolio is the only family member he has any substantial connection to that's still alive. Perhaps he shouldn't let that make him too soft, but after losing Edelgard... he just doesn't want to lose anyone else.]
I expected you to have forgotten. It was all so long ago. And the last time we spoke, you were... you were so...
[Like dolls, their relatives would always say about the two of them together, but Dimitri had been a doll in the worst of ways. Glassy-eyed, mute — unresponsive even when Benvolio had secretly reached beneath the table to squeeze his fingers. Then Lord Montague had pulled him away, and he would never see Dimitri again.
Or so he thought. The man standing before him is a far cry from the scared and shaken boy that was once like Benvolio's brother in appearance if not in fact. Now Benvolio is the scared and shaken one, admittedly, but...
Despite the soft and sorrowful expression on his face, a small, sheepish laugh escapes Benvolio as he suddenly realizes how far he has to crane his neck to look up at the new king.]
["Small" is such a polite way to refer to Dimitri's state back then. He was doing so poorly that he barely even remembers that last visit. He gives a small smile in response to that laugh, not wanting Benvolio to feel too awkward.]
We certainly could not pass for twins any longer. I can even wear my father's armor, now.
[And isn't that wild? Lambert in his memories seems impossibly big. Shaking his head with a fond expression, Dimitri turns away to remove the blankets from the pair of armchairs near the fireplace.]
Please, sit down. I would not want you to end up with a crick in your neck.
[Still smiling, though it does not quite reach his eyes, Benvolio sits as he is bid, politely resting his tome in his lap, his hands above its gilded cover. For all his jesting, it's clear that his tension has yet to leave him, but he seems more comfortable than when he entered the room if nothing else. He looks at the crackling fireplace for a moment, eyes falling upon the stonework more so than the too-bright orange flames.]
...Your Majesty, I —
[His curling fingers pull the leather of his gloves taut over his knuckles. The long breath he takes sounds too much like a sigh.]
We may as well address this before all else. Do you intend to kill me?
[After unbuckling his cloak and draping it over the back of the chair (the fire is far too hot to be wearing furs if he's this close!), Dimitri sits as well. He's mentally searching for a neutral topic to ease into when Benvolio just leaps in with both feet. It's uncharacteristically bold of him. Just how likely does he think it is that Dimitri would decide to kill him without even speaking to him? The thought of having to do that makes bile rise in his throat.]
Kill you? Goddess, no!
[Dimitri shakes his head vehemently, leaning over and reaching out to place his bare hand over Benvolio's gloved ones.]
Even if you truly were working with that woman I have no intention to harm you. We have all lost more than enough these past few years.
[That always was his advantage at court: few people expected sweet-faced, obsequious Benvolio to be bold, which enabled him to act swiftly and often unseen on the rare occasion he had to defend himself or move quickly to another location to avoid overly telegraphed assassination attempts. But he was never on the offensive. If he did not escape the war unscathed, he at least escaped it with bloodless hands.]
...It would be politically expedient. I never counseled Cornelia, no — or rather she never had need of my counsel — [a bitter laugh punctuates that remark] — but she asked me to make certain public appearances with her. I am likely unpopular with the people as a result. Moreover, assuming you do not marry soon, any future claims to the throne may very well come from me or utilize me as a pawn in some scheme.
[He stares with some mild surprise at the hand over his knuckles. Dimitri's hand is large, and comfortingly so; it reminds Benvolio of his father, not in the declining years before he was executed, but in the halcyon days when King Lambert sat upon the throne. After a pause, the court advisor lifts his right hand, shyly wrapping his index finger and thumb loosely around Dimitri's thumb, as if too shy or too childish to ask for more. His fingers are small and slender — almost brittle.]
It would be convenient. It would be — you would have every right.
[Benvolio always seemed a little fragile, especially compared to a boy with the crest of Blaiddyd. Now it feels as if Dimitri could just snap his fingers like twigs, and he wrestles with the flashfire compulsion to yank his hand back before he hurts him on accident. Once he quells his anxiety, he lightly squeezes with his thumb in an attempt at reassurance.]
Perhaps it is naive of me, but I do not wish to christen my reign by killing people because it is convenient. My hands are stained with blood as it is.
[It's that imagery that gets him to pull his hand back. Dimitri takes a deep breath, straightening up and pressing his back against his chair to keep his shoulders squared.]
I will not kill you, Benvolio. If that sends me to an early grave later, then so be it. I will not murder the only family I have left.
[Benvolio lets out a breath he did not realize he was holding, matching Dimitri in posture as he too leans back in his armchair. The effect is rather less relaxing than it might be for Dimitri, however; Benvolio, being perched more anxiously on the edge of his seat, has to slide farther back, and so he appears half-slumped in his chair. Tired. He is plainly tired.
Dimitri's cousin is young, and his face is youthful; he lacks the signs of wear and tear that Dimitri himself once bore. The bedraggled hair and the bags under his eyes — Benvolio never had to carry such things. He has slept every night of his life in a feather bed and tied his hair up with gilded scarves. But all of this upheaval has not been kind to him, either, and it shows in the way the stray locks of hair from his ponytail fall over his face.]
We really are the only ones left after everything that has happened. I...
[I am grateful, he means to say, but that's not it, either. I am glad that you are alive. I had lost all hope. I thought for sure that they would kill you. I never thought that you would be here again. I thought that you might kill me. I did not think that you would even remember me. There are a thousand different things that he could say to Dimitri in this instant, and the boys that they once were are only faded memories now. And yet, even so, the only right thing to say seems to be this:]
...I missed you.
[He doesn't mean it — not literally. But he missed something that he feels now in Dimitri's presence. Comfort. Safety. Familial intimacy, maybe.]
[Much is left unsaid with that "I missed you", packed tightly beneath it to the point of overflowing. A smile flickers over Dimitri's features, warming his demeanor like an unsteady flame.]
Is that so? Then I shall have to make time for us to catch up. I had intended to do so today, but... you seem like you would benefit from a good night's sleep. Feel free to make yourself at home in the guest wing. You have my word that no harm will befall you.
[Benvolio's first instinct is to protest — he isn't tired, he's certain of that, he just hasn't had time to rest (neither of them have had time to rest) — but he thinks better of it in the next instant. Going to bed isn't a bad idea. There are a thousand things they'll need to do in order to rebuild the Kingdom, but as long as reform is on their shoulders, they'll need to get a good night's sleep and tackle their problems in the morning.]
But I have my own quarters near the dungeons. That is, it was once another cell, but they refurnished it with a proper bed and some shelves —
[...He really did mean that in earnest, but he's at least smart enough to realize the moment he says it that Dimitri is likely going to take that as one more reason he shouldn't let Benvolio go back to "his quarters." Embarrassed despite the fact that Dimitri hasn't said anything yet, Benvolio half-buries his face in one hand.]
[Dimitri is very much not amused to hear that Cornelia saw fit to keep Benvolio in a refurbished dungeon cell. She probably took great pleasure out of it, too — goddess knows she wasn't shy about gloating at Dimitri during the six months he was her captive. What a disgusting woman...]
She was keeping you in the dungeon? Unacceptable. Come and take the evening meal with me. I will see that your things are moved to more appropriate quarters in the meantime.
[Typically, Dimitri would prefer to give the choice on whether or not to move directly to Benvolio. Even if he were in the servant's quarters he would have at least asked first. But the dungeon? No. He has a keen hatred of the place after his own imprisonment, and the thought of his only living family staying there would keep him up all night.]
I-It really wasn't so bad! Her men did oft bring me proper meals...
[Benvolio does understand, instinctively, that Dimitri's dislike of the dungeons is due to his own imprisonment — he himself had not been made Cornelia's pet until after Dimitri's escape, so they had never crossed paths — but his chief concern is for his cousin's well-being rather than for his own.
Shyly, the young advisor leans forward and places a hand on Dimitri's forearm, half as reassurance and half as a plea. There's no need to be angry. I'm here now.]
But I would... nevertheless greatly enjoy taking dinner with you. Do you still enjoy sweets? Or perhaps we ought to have something more hearty, like a stew...
[The touch, as small as it is, does a great deal toward improving Dimitri's mood. He's quick to soften again, though his smile is bittersweet when Benvolio asks if he still likes sweets. Truthfully, he doesn't know — it's possible he may have grown out of a love for sugar at this point. In the absence of taste, though, he does still have a preference for pastries and the variety of textures often involved.
Save for one thing:]
I do still enjoy sweets, but perhaps not for dinner. Dedue is quite good at preparing a variety of foods, and I am sure he will not mind making two portions.
[If eating food a man of Duscur has prepared doesn't bother Benvolio, at least. Dimitri watches him quietly, evaluating his reaction.]
Dedue... Ah! The very tall man who is always by your side, no?
[...Well, tall is certainly a first impression of Dedue that is rather understandable to have, but it seems remarkable that Benvolio does not immediately remember him as "that Duscur warrior" or some such.
He is of course more than aware of the Tragedy of Duscur and the resulting fallout for the people there; having lived in the capital all his life, Benvolio is more than well aware that most in Fhirdiad bear a great resentment for the people of Duscur. He himself, however, has led such a sheltered life keeping to himself in the school of sorcery, and then being kept on a short leash by Cordelia, that... well, he actually just doesn't have much of a personal impression of people from Duscur at all. He's at least well-schooled enough to have come to the conclusion, independently, that it makes very little sense to judge people based on their place of birth.]
He seemed strong and reliable. Is he a skilled chef as well? I would love to eat something of his making. He probably cooks food more interesting than the dull meals the palace chefs turn out.
[...It seems more likely that Benvolio was fed the bare minimum rather than that the palace chefs were unskilled, but...]
[Though it's a fairly neutral response, Dimitri reacts as if it were a glowing endorsement. For the first thing someone in Fhirdiad notices about Dedue to be "he's tall" speaks well. Dimitri beams, nodding.]
He is quite talented! Cooking, gardening, combat — he has an impressive repertoire of skills.
[Dimitri doesn't recall the palace chefs being bad, though. It's more likely that Benvolio's been fed whatever the scullery maids can scrounge up...]
If you would like to try something a little more exotic, I can ask him to prepare something from his homeland. He would be thrilled.
Truly? Would he? It would be both an honor and a delight!
[ Priavately, Benvolio wonders if it would not bring up bad memories, but it isn't his place to comment; Dimitri surely knows Dedue better than he does, after all. More importantly, the way Dimitri is beaming with pride, suddenly sweet and boyish in spite of his grizzled looks and his missing eye — it makes Benvolio's heart ache, but in a good way, and he finds himself smiling back. ]
...So you can still smile like that, Dimitri. And you're beautiful when you do. You... You really are incredible.
[ Benvolio himself — he isn't capable of being the radiant boy he once was anymore. He smiles politely, and all the time, but it's rather subdued. He's rather subdued. ]
[Beautiful? It's certainly not a word Dimitri would apply to himself any longer, even if he can see where people might have thought that once. He's a disaster and he knows it, but... it's still nice to hear. He ducks his head shyly with a nervous laugh.]
If anyone is incredible it is the professor — the up and coming archbishop. I would have driven myself to an early grave without them.
[But they reached out their hand for him, and it was the spider's thread he needed to crawl out of hell. If he can do even a fraction as much for someone else, he'd be thrilled. Still, receiving that sort of compliment when he still sees himself as monstrous is awkward. So Dimitri stands, clearing his throat.]
A moment, please. I will speak with Dedue.
[He lightly pats Benvolio's shoulder as he passes, moving to poke his head out the door and wave Dedue down. The man is rarely far off, even if Dimitri encourages him to pursue his own interests.
Since his primary interest is Dimitri, that's met with limited success.]
[ Benvolio doesn't quite know where he should stand while Dimitri speaks with Dedue, but as is so often the case — and what he has grown accustomed to doing — he hovers behind the new regent, either waiting to be introduced or happy to remain silent while others speak for him. (It's hardly all that different from what he used to do when Cornelia was around.)
Nevertheless... regardless of what conversation Dedue and Dimitri have between themselves, Benvolio does at least manage to direct a very shy, timid smile at Dedue from just a little ways behind Dimitri. Sure, the man has intimidating features, but if Dimitri likes him, he must not be a bad person... ]
[Benvolio won't have to wonder where to stand for long. After exchanging embarrassingly tender smiles with Dedue, Dimitri takes a step to the side, placing his hand on Benvolio's shoulder with a warm squeeze.]
This is my cousin, Benvolio. He will be joining me for dinner. Benvolio, this is my dear friend Dedue.
[Poor Dedue's brow bone makes it look like he's frowning, but the smile he directs at Benvolio is genuine despite looking rather awkward. Meeting his eyes will show the truth of his intentions — they're gentle, almost serene. Not wanting to speak out of turn, Dedue bows politely and waits to give Benvolio a chance to speak first.]
[Erroneously, Benvolio does assume that Dedue perhaps simply doesn't like him — what could he have done to earn such a pronounced frown, when he just smiled at Dimitri so warmly? — but it's quite simply not his first time meeting someone who doesn't like him, so he takes it with the impossible stride of someone who is practically a master of the art of being hated.
The gentle squeeze to his shoulder does help. Smiling a bit more broadly than he means to — the effect is almost as though he means to charm Dedue, though he's really just giddy over the fact that Dimitri remembers him — Benvolio tips his head to one side, his mannerisms just a little girlish, then bows politely.]
It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you, Dedue.
[Surely, as a member of the royal family, he needn't bow to Dedue, but... Benvolio does so all the same, so accustomed to flattery that he doesn't give it a second thought. At the very least, there is some pride to it: it is more of a courtier's bow than the wheedling, subservient bow of a prince who has been made a slave.]
Anyone who can call himself Dimitri's friend is also a friend of mine.
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And he hasn't seen Benvolio for even longer than that. The last time they spoke Dimitri was essentially unresponsive, still shell-shocked by the trauma of losing his father and the only mother he'd ever known. His uncle used that against him, isolating him from his allies in the capital by allowing them all to see him once and then saying that he "wasn't well" if they asked after him again. Only Rodrigue continued to insist on visiting him when he could manage, and even that tapered off after the disaster that was his maiden battle and Felix's reaction to it.
Still, it's good to be back even if it is jarring. How strange it is, sitting here in his father's study, his shoulders resting perfectly against that chair with the broad back that always seemed so massive when he was a child. How surreal, wearing the signet ring that once looked ridiculously large in his small hands. The passage of time has never felt as viscerally real to him as it does right now, finally back in his childhood home as an adult. He wonders if Benvolio will have changed just as much. People used to coo over them looking like twins, after all, and Dimitri is practically unrecognizeable these days.
A servant raps politely on the door twice, and Dimitri stands to open it even if he knows he's expected to just imperiously say "enter" and remain where he is. He can't help it, he's a little excited to see an old friend again... if nervous that things might have soured between them.
The man on the other side of the door is not at all what he expected. He's even smaller than Felix, with a face that still has a hint of youthful roundness to it. True, Benvolio never was trained in combat, but even so! Dimitri has the grace to only look surprised for a moment before reaching out to clasp Benvolio's shoulder.]
It has been too long, cousin. Please, come in.
[Dimitri shifts his gaze briefly to the servant that escorted him, nodding politely by way of thanks. The bow that results is low enough to make him feel a little uncomfortable, but he supposes he'll just have to get used to it.]
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The assassination of King Rufus, the effective annexation of Faerghus into the Adrestian Empire, Cornelia's temper, Cornelia's moods — in the midst of all of this, Benvolio has only been concerned with how to survive. He was fifteen when Rufus was killed and everything began; he is only twenty now, a recent graduate of Fhirdiad's school of sorcery, having taken up an entirely useless post as a court adviser to whom no one ever listened. His father was tried and killed for treason against the Empire some two years ago; he himself was spared only by testifying that he knew nothing of his father's actions, and he has maintained a front of being loyal to Cornelia ever since. It has been a convincing front, too. He was always good at acting.
In truth, Benvolio is glad that Dimitri is alive, and the likely new king — but it has been so long since they last spoke that he doesn't know what to expect. Oh, he remembers the old days. The banquets where their relatives would line them up next to each other, laughing and tittering at how the two golden-haired boys looked like twins, sweet and angelic as painted cherubs. He also knows that it would be easy to write him off as an Adrestian sympathizer, and though Dimitri may be Faerghus's rightful king, it was widely rumored that he was a monster on the battlefield, a man not to be crossed. Benvolio isn't even sure why he's been summoned. If Dimitri's first act as regent is going to be a purge, this might be his last day alive.
Well, they may have been twins once, but now they are nothing of the sort. Standing in the doorway, Benvolio looks to be half Dimitri's size, and though he's a good actor, he's not acting now. He can't hide the momentary fear that seizes him when Dimitri clasps his shoulder — blue eyes go wide and startled for a moment as his arms tense, pressing the large book he always carries deeper against his side.]
...You remember me, Your Majesty?
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Dimitri slowly draws his hand back, not wanting to startle him further.]
Of course. How could I forget?
[At this point, Benvolio is the only family member he has any substantial connection to that's still alive. Perhaps he shouldn't let that make him too soft, but after losing Edelgard... he just doesn't want to lose anyone else.]
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[Like dolls, their relatives would always say about the two of them together, but Dimitri had been a doll in the worst of ways. Glassy-eyed, mute — unresponsive even when Benvolio had secretly reached beneath the table to squeeze his fingers. Then Lord Montague had pulled him away, and he would never see Dimitri again.
Or so he thought. The man standing before him is a far cry from the scared and shaken boy that was once like Benvolio's brother in appearance if not in fact. Now Benvolio is the scared and shaken one, admittedly, but...
Despite the soft and sorrowful expression on his face, a small, sheepish laugh escapes Benvolio as he suddenly realizes how far he has to crane his neck to look up at the new king.]
...You were so small. Now look at the two of us!
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We certainly could not pass for twins any longer. I can even wear my father's armor, now.
[And isn't that wild? Lambert in his memories seems impossibly big. Shaking his head with a fond expression, Dimitri turns away to remove the blankets from the pair of armchairs near the fireplace.]
Please, sit down. I would not want you to end up with a crick in your neck.
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...Your Majesty, I —
[His curling fingers pull the leather of his gloves taut over his knuckles. The long breath he takes sounds too much like a sigh.]
We may as well address this before all else. Do you intend to kill me?
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Kill you? Goddess, no!
[Dimitri shakes his head vehemently, leaning over and reaching out to place his bare hand over Benvolio's gloved ones.]
Even if you truly were working with that woman I have no intention to harm you. We have all lost more than enough these past few years.
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...It would be politically expedient. I never counseled Cornelia, no — or rather she never had need of my counsel — [a bitter laugh punctuates that remark] — but she asked me to make certain public appearances with her. I am likely unpopular with the people as a result. Moreover, assuming you do not marry soon, any future claims to the throne may very well come from me or utilize me as a pawn in some scheme.
[He stares with some mild surprise at the hand over his knuckles. Dimitri's hand is large, and comfortingly so; it reminds Benvolio of his father, not in the declining years before he was executed, but in the halcyon days when King Lambert sat upon the throne. After a pause, the court advisor lifts his right hand, shyly wrapping his index finger and thumb loosely around Dimitri's thumb, as if too shy or too childish to ask for more. His fingers are small and slender — almost brittle.]
It would be convenient. It would be — you would have every right.
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Once he quells his anxiety, he lightly squeezes with his thumb in an attempt at reassurance.]
Perhaps it is naive of me, but I do not wish to christen my reign by killing people because it is convenient. My hands are stained with blood as it is.
[It's that imagery that gets him to pull his hand back. Dimitri takes a deep breath, straightening up and pressing his back against his chair to keep his shoulders squared.]
I will not kill you, Benvolio. If that sends me to an early grave later, then so be it. I will not murder the only family I have left.
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[Benvolio lets out a breath he did not realize he was holding, matching Dimitri in posture as he too leans back in his armchair. The effect is rather less relaxing than it might be for Dimitri, however; Benvolio, being perched more anxiously on the edge of his seat, has to slide farther back, and so he appears half-slumped in his chair. Tired. He is plainly tired.
Dimitri's cousin is young, and his face is youthful; he lacks the signs of wear and tear that Dimitri himself once bore. The bedraggled hair and the bags under his eyes — Benvolio never had to carry such things. He has slept every night of his life in a feather bed and tied his hair up with gilded scarves. But all of this upheaval has not been kind to him, either, and it shows in the way the stray locks of hair from his ponytail fall over his face.]
We really are the only ones left after everything that has happened. I...
[I am grateful, he means to say, but that's not it, either. I am glad that you are alive. I had lost all hope. I thought for sure that they would kill you. I never thought that you would be here again. I thought that you might kill me. I did not think that you would even remember me. There are a thousand different things that he could say to Dimitri in this instant, and the boys that they once were are only faded memories now. And yet, even so, the only right thing to say seems to be this:]
...I missed you.
[He doesn't mean it — not literally. But he missed something that he feels now in Dimitri's presence. Comfort. Safety. Familial intimacy, maybe.]
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Is that so? Then I shall have to make time for us to catch up. I had intended to do so today, but... you seem like you would benefit from a good night's sleep. Feel free to make yourself at home in the guest wing. You have my word that no harm will befall you.
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[Benvolio's first instinct is to protest — he isn't tired, he's certain of that, he just hasn't had time to rest (neither of them have had time to rest) — but he thinks better of it in the next instant. Going to bed isn't a bad idea. There are a thousand things they'll need to do in order to rebuild the Kingdom, but as long as reform is on their shoulders, they'll need to get a good night's sleep and tackle their problems in the morning.]
But I have my own quarters near the dungeons. That is, it was once another cell, but they refurnished it with a proper bed and some shelves —
[...He really did mean that in earnest, but he's at least smart enough to realize the moment he says it that Dimitri is likely going to take that as one more reason he shouldn't let Benvolio go back to "his quarters." Embarrassed despite the fact that Dimitri hasn't said anything yet, Benvolio half-buries his face in one hand.]
...Never mind. You're right. I'll stay here.
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She was keeping you in the dungeon? Unacceptable. Come and take the evening meal with me. I will see that your things are moved to more appropriate quarters in the meantime.
[Typically, Dimitri would prefer to give the choice on whether or not to move directly to Benvolio. Even if he were in the servant's quarters he would have at least asked first. But the dungeon? No. He has a keen hatred of the place after his own imprisonment, and the thought of his only living family staying there would keep him up all night.]
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[Benvolio does understand, instinctively, that Dimitri's dislike of the dungeons is due to his own imprisonment — he himself had not been made Cornelia's pet until after Dimitri's escape, so they had never crossed paths — but his chief concern is for his cousin's well-being rather than for his own.
Shyly, the young advisor leans forward and places a hand on Dimitri's forearm, half as reassurance and half as a plea. There's no need to be angry. I'm here now.]
But I would... nevertheless greatly enjoy taking dinner with you. Do you still enjoy sweets? Or perhaps we ought to have something more hearty, like a stew...
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Save for one thing:]
I do still enjoy sweets, but perhaps not for dinner. Dedue is quite good at preparing a variety of foods, and I am sure he will not mind making two portions.
[If eating food a man of Duscur has prepared doesn't bother Benvolio, at least. Dimitri watches him quietly, evaluating his reaction.]
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[...Well, tall is certainly a first impression of Dedue that is rather understandable to have, but it seems remarkable that Benvolio does not immediately remember him as "that Duscur warrior" or some such.
He is of course more than aware of the Tragedy of Duscur and the resulting fallout for the people there; having lived in the capital all his life, Benvolio is more than well aware that most in Fhirdiad bear a great resentment for the people of Duscur. He himself, however, has led such a sheltered life keeping to himself in the school of sorcery, and then being kept on a short leash by Cordelia, that... well, he actually just doesn't have much of a personal impression of people from Duscur at all. He's at least well-schooled enough to have come to the conclusion, independently, that it makes very little sense to judge people based on their place of birth.]
He seemed strong and reliable. Is he a skilled chef as well? I would love to eat something of his making. He probably cooks food more interesting than the dull meals the palace chefs turn out.
[...It seems more likely that Benvolio was fed the bare minimum rather than that the palace chefs were unskilled, but...]
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He is quite talented! Cooking, gardening, combat — he has an impressive repertoire of skills.
[Dimitri doesn't recall the palace chefs being bad, though. It's more likely that Benvolio's been fed whatever the scullery maids can scrounge up...]
If you would like to try something a little more exotic, I can ask him to prepare something from his homeland. He would be thrilled.
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[ Priavately, Benvolio wonders if it would not bring up bad memories, but it isn't his place to comment; Dimitri surely knows Dedue better than he does, after all. More importantly, the way Dimitri is beaming with pride, suddenly sweet and boyish in spite of his grizzled looks and his missing eye — it makes Benvolio's heart ache, but in a good way, and he finds himself smiling back. ]
...So you can still smile like that, Dimitri. And you're beautiful when you do. You... You really are incredible.
[ Benvolio himself — he isn't capable of being the radiant boy he once was anymore. He smiles politely, and all the time, but it's rather subdued. He's rather subdued. ]
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If anyone is incredible it is the professor — the up and coming archbishop. I would have driven myself to an early grave without them.
[But they reached out their hand for him, and it was the spider's thread he needed to crawl out of hell. If he can do even a fraction as much for someone else, he'd be thrilled. Still, receiving that sort of compliment when he still sees himself as monstrous is awkward. So Dimitri stands, clearing his throat.]
A moment, please. I will speak with Dedue.
[He lightly pats Benvolio's shoulder as he passes, moving to poke his head out the door and wave Dedue down. The man is rarely far off, even if Dimitri encourages him to pursue his own interests.
Since his primary interest is Dimitri, that's met with limited success.]
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Nevertheless... regardless of what conversation Dedue and Dimitri have between themselves, Benvolio does at least manage to direct a very shy, timid smile at Dedue from just a little ways behind Dimitri. Sure, the man has intimidating features, but if Dimitri likes him, he must not be a bad person... ]
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This is my cousin, Benvolio. He will be joining me for dinner. Benvolio, this is my dear friend Dedue.
[Poor Dedue's brow bone makes it look like he's frowning, but the smile he directs at Benvolio is genuine despite looking rather awkward. Meeting his eyes will show the truth of his intentions — they're gentle, almost serene. Not wanting to speak out of turn, Dedue bows politely and waits to give Benvolio a chance to speak first.]
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The gentle squeeze to his shoulder does help. Smiling a bit more broadly than he means to — the effect is almost as though he means to charm Dedue, though he's really just giddy over the fact that Dimitri remembers him — Benvolio tips his head to one side, his mannerisms just a little girlish, then bows politely.]
It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you, Dedue.
[Surely, as a member of the royal family, he needn't bow to Dedue, but... Benvolio does so all the same, so accustomed to flattery that he doesn't give it a second thought. At the very least, there is some pride to it: it is more of a courtier's bow than the wheedling, subservient bow of a prince who has been made a slave.]
Anyone who can call himself Dimitri's friend is also a friend of mine.