092 » i can see the sands on the horizon

[defender]

[seteth had more questions to ask her once they were alone — so many more questions about byleth and sothis and the sword of the creator — but rhea sidestepped all of them. she offered reassurances, gave him platitudes. she put one hand upon his arm and asked him to trust her judgment. just this once and one more time, cichol, she'd said, and just like that, he'd given in.

seteth isn't stupid, of course, and rhea knows that very well. she would never dream of manipulating him, of trying to play him like all the others. more than anything, she wants to trust him, but she really can't tell him why she's given the sword of the creator to byleth. even she knows that this, of all her misdeeds, is the worst of all of them.

sitri wasn't just another human, after all. but it couldn't be helped. in the end, rhea only did what sitri herself begged the archbishop to do.]

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[defender]

[Anyway, there are other things to worry about, for the time being. Normal, ordinary, mundane things. The Blue Lions performed so well in defending the Holy Tomb that it seemed only proper to reward them with a private feast. Perhaps there were better rewards to have given them — Rhea herself has little attachment to food and drink, and does not see the appeal — but she has learned, by now, that such things make mortals happy. Besides, it's easy enough to preach about how they should use the time given them to celebrate their camaraderie and forge stronger bonds. She wonders, sometimes, if others can see how many regrets she holds behind her tongue every time she speaks.

They don't have dinner in the students' dining hall, but in a private room of the cathedral that is ordinarily reserved to host foreign dignitaries. The Church of Seiros has coffers full enough to provide its guests the best of everything: plump pheasants, thickly seared steaks, rich creams and delicate desserts. The wine is pure and sweet and undiluted. Even Sylvain, so accustomed to staying out late in town and nursing illicit hard liquors in the local pubs, takes one sip and can't help but remark: "Damn, the cardinals really know how to pick their drinks, huh? ...Uh — apologies for the language, Lady Rhea."

Rhea only smiles. "Everything in moderation," she says before she leans against the wall in a way that is not very ecclesiastical at all.

By the time they're about an hour into the dinner, she's beginning to think that it was a mistake. In truth, she wanted to use the banquet as an excuse to spend more time with Byleth, wanted to ply the young man (her mother's vessel — she will return, it is only a matter of time — and if she is displeased by that body, I will provide her with another one) with the too-rich wine and have him speak to her about his dreams and old memories — but the mercenary-turned-professor spends most of dinner at Dimitri's side, and Rhea isn't cruel enough to insert herself between them. Nursing her drink in a corner of the room, notably absent her personal guard, she suddenly wonders if this is how Manuela feels: old and unwanted.

Acutely, and in a way she hasn't had to think about in centuries, Rhea realizes the limitations of her position; she may wield impressive powers, but those very powers prevent her from sitting down with the students and speaking with them as equals. She thinks about excusing herself to take a quiet stroll, but it seems too much like admitting defeat, so, stubbornly, she stays. After a while, it is almost possible to ignore her and the strangely lonely figure she casts along the wall.

Given the events of the day, it's already late at night by the time they begin, so it's even later by the time they've finished. When the last scraps of vegetables are finally gone and even Ingrid is stretching in her seat — "It was all so delicious, but I really can't eat anymore!" — someone, maybe Annette, suggests taking an evening walk to clear their heads. ("I feel so warm and light-headed... Mercie, let's go outside and look at the stars! I bet the evening air feels great right about now!")

Felix is the first to get up, claiming that he was planning to take a walk anyway; for some reason, this prompts Ashe to get up and say I'll go too! though Felix did not ask for escort. Byleth is the next to assent, nodding in his usual clear-eyed way. Thus, one by one, the Blue Lions all decide to take an evening walk as a group before they head back to their dormitory rooms to sleep...

...Everyone, that is, except for Dimitri, who seems inclined to linger by his strangely half-used plate, and Dedue, who appears to be concerned for him.

Rhea wonders if she should say anything, but it's Mercedes who turns around in the doorway, cocking her head. "Aren't the two of you coming?" she asks softly, casting her gentle gaze at her house leader, then his faithful retainer — and then the archbishop, whom she seems almost to have forgotten about.

Rhea only smiles in return, inclines her head, and takes a final sip from her chalice.]

...There will be few opportunities to make so merry in the future. You should join your friends while you can.

[boarprince]

[As much as Dimitri appreciates the gesture the archbishop is making for the class as a whole, for him personally, it falls a little flat. He can't taste any of the fine food — not the meat that gets Felix and Ingrid drooling, not the wine Sylvain is so impressed by, nor the desserts Mercedes and Annette are so taken with. Still, it is a treat seeing everyone so happy. Dimitri spends the first half of the evening content to drink the wine and nibble at the bare minimum he's filled his plate with while he just watches everyone, idly chatting with the professor all the while.

It would just make everyone uncomfortable if he joined in, anyway. He's too stiff for this sort of atmosphere, and they'd feel like they have to mind their manners if he were to interject into the conversation too much.

That line of thought leads to Dimitri realizing how quiet the archbishop is. He finds himself sneaking glances her way when he gets the chance. Her smile as she watches over them is kind, but it's also terribly lonely, melancholy in the way his mother used to get sometimes. As if she longs for someone she loves so dearly that she cannot fully exist in this moment without them because her heart remains with them always. For his mother, that person had been Edelgard. Who is it that Rhea longs for, he wonders? Or is he just seeing someone that he yearns for reflected in her distant gaze?

Regardless of the true meaning of her smile, there's no question in Dimitri's mind that Rhea is keeping herself apart from everyone, just the same as he is. The more wine he politely sips, the more that bothers him. By the time everyone starts to filter out, it prickles in his chest uncomfortably. But he still smiles when Mercedes voices her concern, turning his head to look at Dedue.]

I will remain a while longer to finish this. Please, go ahead, Dedue. Thinking of you idling here bored just to look after me is... unpleasant.

["Your Highness," Dedue begins to protest, though he starts ever so slightly when Mercedes places a hand on his forearm.

"It is a little hard to eat with someone watching you. Dimitri is safe here, so you should both try to relax," she says.

Dedue still seems reluctant, but he's not inclined to quarrel with Mercedes and Dimitri in front of the archbishop. He allows himself to be herded off, though not without looking back at Dimitri a couple of times. Only once he's gone does Dimitri make direct eye contact with Rhea, offering a small smile of his own.]

Thank you again for the celebration, Lady Rhea. I imagine we will all be rolling to class tomorrow afternoon.

[defender]

[Indeed, that strangely lonely air around Rhea doesn't dissipate after the others have left. Rhea's detached gaze follows Dedue and Mercedes long after they have walked away — perhaps because she is lonely, or else merely that she is looking past the two of them towards someone who will never return.

In either case, however, she soon seems to draw herself back together. To her credit, the archbishop seems good-natured enough to laugh at Dimitri's polite joke, hiding a girlish giggle behind one hand.]

Surely one large meal is nothing that a training exercise from your wonderful professor won't fix?

[Her eyes soon fall upon the half-eaten plate of food that is still in front of him. Admittedly, she hadn't paid Dimitri any particular attention despite that Byleth's attention was on the house leader for most of the evening, but she notices now: compared to Felix's plate, which currently sits flooded in various sauces, Dimitri's is mostly clean, as though he only pecked at an assortment of offerings.]

You don't seem to have eaten very much, child. Was there anything wrong with the food?

[boarprince]

Oh —

[Dimitri glances down at his plate, looking sheepish.]

No, of course not. I just do not have much of an appetite. I simply cannot stop thinking about those people that attacked the Holy Mausoleum. There was something strange about them. As if...

[Dimitri trails off, those blue eyes of his icing over. It was as if they were the same as those monsters that attacked in Duscur. With that stale, almost rotten scent, too-pale hands peeking out from the cloaks they concealed themselves with.

He shouldn't be here. He should be investigating them, should be pursuing the first lead he's had in a long while, should be training so that he'll be strong enough to protect everyone if they show up again. But the voices of the dead seem quiet now, and Dimitri is reluctant to give up a moment of peace. Whether that silence is due to the alcohol or the holy presence of the archbishop, it's something he sorely needs.

But there won't be any true peace until he separates their filthy heads from their necks.

Dimitri doesn't realize he's squeezing his chalice until the metal crumples in his fist. It's quite the jarring return to reality. He startles, quickly reaching for a napkin to soak up what wine was left inside it. Since his gloves are sticky now, he removes them and wraps them in that same napkin once he's finished, cheeks flushed.]

My apologies, archbishop. That was boorish of me.

[defender]

[The sound and sight of crumpling metal makes Rhea's eyes widen subtly, but she's not shocked, not the way someone might be if they had never seen the Blaiddyd Crest at work before. Recomposing herself in due time, she presses her lips into a firmer line, then crosses the room to move closer to Dimitri's side of the table.

That icy look in his eyes — yes, she knows that well. She knows that feeling well. It won't do her any good to admit to it, however, and she doesn't need him thinking too deeply about the kinds of people who might attack the Holy Mausoleum — not at this stage of this particular game.

Soon, Lady Rhea has set her empty golden goblet upon the table, picking up Dimitri's silver chalice in its stead. She neither accepts his apology nor chastises him for the damage. Instead, she turns the broken drinking-vessel this way and that in her hands, thoughtfully assessing the twisted metal.]

You are troubled, Dimitri. Some manner of hatred drives you.

[There is nothing like judgment in the tone of her voice. She is observing, nothing more. If he wants to speak, then he will volunteer it himself, and if he does not wish to explain himself, well... She's no stranger to sidestepping conversations.]

[boarprince]

[With most people, Dimitri would do his best to shift the conversation away from this particular topic. A king-to-be being consumed with hatred the way he is isn't a good look, and he feels like he shouldn't burden the people he's meant to rule with his worries. But he's more than a little tipsy, and Rhea isn't someone he'll be ruling over — if anything, she's above him, especially while he's a student in the monastery. Would talking about it with her be burdening her, or would it just be confessing his sins?]

...I still hear their screams, [he finally says, voice soft.]

If I close my eyes, I am in that moment again. In Duscur, with the flames searing my face and blood filling the streets. The dead cry for vengeance, but they can no longer wield a blade. That duty falls to me. If there is a way to embrace that duty without hatred, I do not know it.

[defender]

[Rhea is quiet for a moment.

Yes — the Tragedy of Duscur. Less a tragedy and more an atrocity, really. To Rhea, and in the eyes of the Church, that entire incident was most probably a grab for power by Faerghus's current regent, Rufus (she has thus far not suspected other involvement), but even if she personally did not approve of the obvious scapegoating of the people of Duscur, there was little she could authorize within the boundaries of the Kingdom. It wouldn't do, after all, to instigate a conflict between religious and sovereign authorities. Still, it was cruel. She remembers thinking that it was cruel. And yet — she had almost forgotten that Dimitri had survived it.

How could I be expected to remember? she thinks, bitterly, to herself. It was just another tragedy among many, really. Just another instance of human callousness and human greed.

Even so — looking at Dimitri, Rhea feels more than just a twinge of sympathy. She wishes, for a moment, that she could be a comfort. She knows it well, what it is like to emerge from a sea of blood and stare at the corpses littered at one's feet. To swear vengeance. To feel hatred.

And so she resolves, just this once, to let him know a handful of her secrets.

The first of her lessons cracks in the air. The sound of metal unfolding. She has taken one part of the crumpled chalice and popped it back out, and she makes it look easy. Her delicate, effeminate hands re-shape the folded metal, smooth out the cup once more, pull out its stem, all as easily as if it were made of paper. And, no, it doesn't look the way it did before Dimitri crushed it — it now bears a sort of systematically indented surface, and looks a bit as though the crumpling is entirely intentional, a facet of the design rather than a flaw, and at the very least, Lady Rhea has saved the drinking-vessel a trip to the blacksmith's to be melted and reforged.

The thought that the soft-featured, sweet-voiced archbishop of the Church of Seiros bears the same monstrous strength that Dimitri does seems almost absurd. And yet, quietly, she puts the now-fixed silver chalice down beside her golden goblet. Then she rests her hand atop his head, and when she absently brushes his hair out of his eyes, her fingers are impossibly gentle.

That is the first of her lessons: that control over power will come more easily with age.

The second of her lessons is this:]

It is not a sin to feel emotion. In the right hands, hatred can be a powerful thing. Who among us has not felt the desire to revenge our fallen allies? Who would not risk death and retribution to slay a sworn adversary?

[She shakes her head.]

But we must not allow that enmity to consume us, or to build walls around those who would save and support us when we need it most. When the hunter is driven only by the hunt, he risks losing himself in the pursuit.

[Goddess knows she's lost herself a half-dozen times before.]

[novenuary]

[Already poised to excuse himself and vacate what promises to be a very uncomfortable conversation (especially with his judgement so compromised), Dimitri freezes halfway out of his chair when he hears the sound of metal giving way. His eyes widen, locked onto Rhea's hands effortlessly reshaping the chalice. They look so graceful, so delicate; it seems an impossibility for her hands to be capable of such a thing. His awe fully distracts him from his embarrassment.

And then that same hand reaches out for him, soothing him in a manner he hasn't experienced since Rodrigue attempted to comfort him after the tragedy. His uncle kept him as isolated as possible during his recovery at Cornelia's advisement, leaving him with only Dedue the vast majority of the time. They clung to each other in those days, and Dimitri felt like he had to stay strong for him.

Dimitri doesn't even realize tears are welling up in his eyes until they tumble down his cheeks. He starts, lifting one hand to touch the wet trail, seeming utterly baffled by them. When was the last time he cried while awake? He can't even remember.]

[defender]

Dimitri...?

[Even Rhea needs a moment to process what is happening right now. The fact of the matter is, it really has been years since she's last seen someone cry, at least in a context far removed from a battlefield or the church's efforts to bring succor to vagrant refugees and so forth. Crying orphans are one thing; crying princes are quite another! She's familiar with dealing with traumatized children — Cyril was one such child once — but when a boy is old enough to be a man, yet still remains sensitive enough to shed tears...

She hasn't seen someone like this in years, decades even, and she's decidedly flustered over it. With a slightly frazzled air that suggests she doesn't quite know what to do in the moment, Rhea fumbles for a handkerchief tucked into the lining of her robe, dabbing it awkwardly over the tears rolling down Dimitri's cheeks.

(This is real, too; her reaction is real. In another world, Rhea might have been content to be nothing more than a protector of the weak, a faithful disciple of her mother's.)]

Oh — oh, child, there's no need to cry! Have I said anything to hurt you? I didn't mean to, I swear it. There, now...

[Her hands are clearly unaccustomed to wiping the faces of sad young men, but she bends forward a little bit, all long strands of hair and delicate touch and the faintest breath of perfume — this close, she realizes Dimitri smells a little too strongly of the wine that was, in all honesty, meant for Byleth. Ah, the faintest twinge of guilt...]

I fear you've had a little too much to drink.

[boarprince]

[Though he tries so desperately to project the image of a calm, confident king-to-be, Dimitri truly is an exceptionally sensitive young man. His compassion is such that it feels it might just drive him mad at times. He's bottled all of that up, but that doesn't mean it's vanished — Dimitri is a pressurized chamber, ready to explode at the slightest breach.

The handkerchief is soft and cool against his overheated face, scented with something faintly floral. Or perhaps Rhea's perfume just rubbed off on it? At least the scent brings him back into the moment, discordant with memories of blood and burning flesh.

Which brings him to the realization that he's close enough to smell the archbishop's perfume. Dear goddess, he could probably count her lashes if he could bring himself to look her directly in the eye for more than half a second. This must be how Felix feels when he fusses over not liking to make eye contact.]

No — no, you have done nothing wrong, Lady Rhea. It means more than I can say that you are not appalled hearing that a man who is to soon be king carries such hatred. You truly are as kind as you are beautiful.

[That is a thing he sure did say out loud! He can't help it, it just slipped out... Dimitri clears his throat.]

...and I probably have had too much to drink. The wine was stronger than I realized.

[defender]

[Ah... hahahaha. Well! He's hardly the first person to find her appearance attractive, but he is the first person in a while to express it so directly, and, hmm, the first regent of Faerghus in many many long years to say as much, too. For a moment, Rhea weighs the risks and benefits of seeing how far this train of thought travels in his mind, but she isn't quite that cruel; it isn't a secret by now that "Lady Rhea" is a good deal older than she looks, and she doubts he would be saying such things about her if he weren't quite so drunk.

Still... it's fun to tease, and she isn't above a bit of harmless fantasy-fulfillment. Smiling, she wipes the corners of his eyes one last time with her handkerchief, then rests her hand upon his cheek approvingly.]

And I see that the Kingdom will soon have a gallant and virtuous and most handsome king.

[If she were really feeling maternal, she might give him a kiss upon the forehead, but he already looks flustered enough as is. Drawing back, she stows her handkerchief back into the folds of her cloak. She can't really comment on the Tragedy of Duscur, not least because she wants to avoid making promises to a future king, but she can signal to him her position in subtle ways:]

...Your friend, Dedue — keep him close. We who sit upon the seats of power will always have need of those who are loyal to us.

[In other words: she, personally, has no quarrel with the people of Duscur. But enough talk about that.]

Would you like some cool water to help you sober up?

[boarprince]

[With his face as hot as it is, her hand feels wonderfully cool. The direct skin-to-skin contact definitely gets his heart pounding, though, as do the compliments she graciously bestows upon him. Rhea is surely just taking pity on him, but he can't deny that it feels nice regardless. Being praised for his character rather than his tremendous strength or his prowess in battle is particularly nice.

As for the evaluation of his appearance, well... haunted as he may be, he's still a teenage boy. He's likely to turn those words over in his head later.

By the time she's offering that carefully-worded bit of advice about Dedue, Dimitri's able to meet her eyes again. His smile is small, but genuine. Dedue truly is one of the quickest ways to his heart.]

...Please. I would rather not take a fall and end up hungover in the infirmary with Professor Manuela.

[defender]

Oh? But isn't Professor Manuela rather kind and beautiful as well? [Her voice lowers conspiratorially.] Or is it just that I am more so?

[She's only joking, of course — she doesn't need the flattery in quite the same way that Manuela might — and she laughs behind one hand as she slips off to a back room to fetch the water she promised him.

She's probably left him a blushing mess, but she's back in good time, holding a standard glass of cool water. It won't be a problem if he breaks this one; the monastery glassblowers always have their work cut out for them, as little dining-hall mishaps aren't all that uncommon.]

Here. No need to rush. I have no particular need to retire for the evening.

[boarprince]

[Joking or not, Dimitri immediately starts fretting. No doubt he would have ended up deep-throating his foot if not for Rhea stepping out of the room. it gives him some much needed time to formulate a proper response. Dimitri takes the cup gratefully and swallows a bit to clear his throat before speaking.]

...please do not misunderstand, I am grateful for Professor Manuela's warm nature and medical talents. This time of night, though, ah... well, it is best to try to visit her during office hours.

[Did he just get Manuela in trouble? He hopes not, oh no...]

[defender]

[It isn't very kind of Rhea to laugh at her own faculty members, and she knows it, but she can't help but smile broadly in response to Dimitri's remarks. She is... detached from many things in the monastery, but she does at least know of the former songstress's habit of staying out all night and returning to her quarters a drunken mess in the morning. Poor thing, Rhea always thinks. The lives of mortals are so fleeting, to be so concerned with things like love, and running out of time to find it.]

Fret not, Dimitri. I understood. I was... I was only teasing.

[She pauses. Takes inventory of herself. They are alone, he has had too much to drink, and she is... teasing him. Romance does not enter her thoughts — instead, she is concerned about power. Manuela is perfectly professional in class, but it is true that she has made no small number of students uncomfortable with her antics, and the problem with that, chiefly, is that many of the students do not feel that they can raise their voices against her. Rhea would endeavor not to be the same.

Somewhat more reserved in her demeanor, she takes a seat in the chair beside his, demurely folding her hands in her lap.]

If you think it inappropriate for my station, however, I am happy to speak to you as an archbishop, and an archbishop alone. I have... precious few opportunities to speak freely, you see, and I confess I sometimes seize upon them too — too recklessly. If it discomfits you to be spoken to so casually, I would abstain...

[boarprince]

[Teasing? The thought of the archbishop teasing someone is... well, unthinkable! Dimitri is thrown to the point he doesn't even know what he feels about the whole thing, honestly.

Not until she continues, that is.

Dimitri quiets, looking at the table for a few moments while he tries to piece together a coherent response. It wouldn't be proper to just blurt out his feelings. After a handful of seconds he lifts his gaze again, able to look her in the eye without tilting his head back now that she's seated as well. That she's chosen to put them on the same level while saying something so candid feels more than a little symbolic.]

I confess it took me by surprise, but I can certainly relate. Even my oldest friends hold me at a distance now. I do not really begrudge them for it. A good leader must be a rock for their people, steady and true. Speaking too frankly would only trouble them, I know that. But it is still... lonely.

[Dimitri clears his throat and pauses to take another sip of the water, grasping at his composure. When he sets the glass back down, he manages a small, shy smile.]

I would consider it an honor if you were to feel you can speak with me freely.

[defender]

[Rhea's first response to Dimitri's pronouncement is uncharacteristically soft:]

...It is lonely, isn't it...?

[So lonely, to be a leader of men, to rule above them. In times long past, that was the charge of the Nabateans, and they were never lonely because they had one another to rely on as fellow rulers. But when men rule themselves —

Well, this isn't about the past. The point is that Rhea feels that loneliness herself, and she thinks it a great shame that boys like Dimitri have so few people towards whom they can truly turn. He has Dedue, of course, but Dedue is clearly the sort of person who does not see himself as an equal or a friend. Rhea has had many men like Dedue over the years. Confidantes like Seteth are so much rarer...

She has to resist the impulse to brush more of Dimitri's hair out of his eyes. (Why does he keep it like that? Children and their fashions.) Allowing herself another more affectionate smile, Rhea leans back somewhat in her chair, slightly more relaxed than she has been throughout this entire private party.]

You are kind, Dimitri. That kindness will serve you well in your life. And... it means much to me that you would extend that kindness to me in spite of the differing roles we play.

[Her hands feel unoccupied in her lap, but the nature of the archbishop is to be unmoving. A statue. She doesn't move — only keeps watching him as he drinks his water.]

I shall endeavor not to burden you with nonsense, all the same.

[boarprince]

[Even Dimitri doesn't know why he keeps his hair like this. It's not as if he chose this style. In truth, he much prefers a long, sleek style, similar to Felix — but blunt stiff styles are popular with young nobles, so he allowed his caretakers at the palace to choose the style for him. He continues to maintain it now, paying no heed to his own preferences. Every bit of his existence is determined by the wants and needs of those who will one day follow him. He feels more and more as if "Dimitri" is slowly ceasing to exist, swallowed up by "his highness".

It's a wonder he hasn't snapped already, really.]

Oh — it would not be a burden, truly! I am sure I would find much to learn in anything you have to say, even "nonsense".

[Which would sound like flattery or an attempt to snatch sensitive information from most, but it's clear that Dimitri means it. He looks for all the world like an eager little puppy, happy merely to be included.]

[defender]

[Ah, that look in his eyes...

Rhea knows that she shouldn't encourage this, but... it's such a wonderful expression, that look of eager devotion. She's seen it on so many people over the years; she sees it on Catherine each and every time the woman looks at her, on Cyril whenever he asks if she has any tasks that need doing. And the truth is that it's half the reason she's so lonely — she doesn't mean to surround herself with people who are excessively servile, like dogs, and if anything, she would prefer to have more people in her life like Seteth, who can be reasonably trusted to push back at her if he feels she's going too far.

But she just can't help it. That puppylike love is the only emotion she can trust.

So she knows that she shouldn't, but she rises to her feet. She does lean down to brush the hair out of Dimitri's eyes. And she does press a gentle kiss to his forehead, smelling faintly of perfume, her lips soft as cream.

When she pulls back, she is smiling, and her fingers are warm as she moves them from his scalp to his cheek, then to his jaw, and then pulls away. Standing. Solemn. Righteous, as a holy lady should be.]

Then I shall look forward to having your confidence again sometime. You will always be able to find me in the cathedral.

[Is that... an invitation to speak to her later? As confidants? Mysteriously, she only smiles, looking toward the door.]

I do suppose it is getting much too late. You will soon have to rise for your classes. Shall we go and catch up with your peers? I could escort you back to your dormitory if you so desire it, or send you with escort...