Chapter Text
Dimitri’s head hurt.
More than usual anyways.
Detachedly, he knows that bodily throwing oneself into a person in the process of casting a spell will create unintended results and consequences, but when he saw those foul mages aiming something at his belo his professor, everyone else too focused on Nemesis’ crumbling corpse-
well,
he can only hope Byleth and the others will forgive him for his recklessness before he slips back into unconsciousness.
.
.
.
…tri?
…
“Dimitri!”
“…Byleth?”
She offers him her hand, and he takes it, allowing her to pull him up to meet a land of grays and whites, with only the waves of the nearby sea for company. A far cry from the Caledonian Plateau with its clashing armies.
“What happened?”
She lets out a little snort. “Claude must be quite annoyed at us for doing exactly what he tried to do.”
It takes him a minute to process what she means before realization slaps him across the face.
Goddess above.
Dedue! He must be having a heart attack. And Seteth as well. And Felix. And Claude. And-
“Dimitri! Enough!”
Huh?
“We just left everyone just as we’ve ended the war and we have been separated from our allies and dropped into the middle of goddess-know-where! Are you not worried?!”
“No!” she fires back, “I’m worried too, but worry alone isn’t going to bring us closer to reuniting with them. Our friends and allies are competent and can manage the country without us, I trust that they will hold out until we get back to them.”
“…Right. My apologies for yelling at you, Professor.”
…now, where are they? The terrain around them is barren and snow-covered, the hallmark of much of Faerghus’ land. But Dimitri can’t quite shake the suspicion that this isn’t Faerghus.
Well, wherever they are, he is confident that they will survive this.
If he can survive 5 years in the wilds while evading the Empire alone and mad, he can survive in (albeit, unfamiliar) wilds with his Professor and lucidity.
~
Wherever they are, it is bitingly cold.
Colder than even Faerghus, Byleth dares to say (Dimitri doesn’t know whether to agree or not, but he bundles her tighter all the same). As they trek between mountains and sea, he swears he sees fantastical things: foxes with multiple tails, horses made of the sea. It seems no matter how far they travel, the surrounding mountains stretch into the distance without end. By the time the sun sets, he fears that they’ll be stuck without adequate warmth and shelter in a freezing, desolate environment.
So he counts themselves unbelievably lucky when the shapes they spot sharpen into a settlement.
…only to realize his folly when he realizes he didn’t understand a word from its inhabitants.
But like the goddess-sent blessing she is, Byleth does, albeit with difficulty.
After she appears to have finished explaining their plight, Dimitri turns to her with unfiltered amazement, “You can speak their tongue?”
“A little. I learned some Albinean and others traveling with dad and the mercs.”
Albinea! For an awry spell to have been so powerful it sent them across the continent… Perhaps they were fortunate to never know its intended purpose.
The Albineans are understandably wary of them, but they seem welcoming enough once they demonstrate their strength and lack of ill will.
Dimitri would love nothing more than to brute force his way out of their predicament, but Byleth is right: the distance between Fodlan and Albinea is so vast that they can only count on their friends back home. In the meantime, he’ll be content to help and walk among the Albineans.
~
The next day, Byleth and Dimitri waste no time. After repairing buildings damaged by some attack, Byleth heads off with the fishermen while Dimitri accompanies the hunters on their hunting trip. They trade tales Dimitri wishes he could reciprocate, but he can understand the gist of one:
A king among beasts.
The unchallenged ruler of land and sky.
One so ferocious that all flee before its cry, lest its claws find their flesh.
If one were to hear its cry, their only defense is to take cover and pray the beast will not take them next.
He doesn’t need to know Albinean to know the fear in their voices.
Despite himself, Dimitri cannot help but dread the possibility of meeting such a creature.
~
That night, Dimitri cannot rest. Knowing that what little sleep he’d get would be plagued by nightmares and dread, he seeks the one beacon in this sea of turmoil:
“Professor?”
She turns to his voice, ethereal green eyes shining in the darkness and filled with concern.
“Couldn’t sleep, Dimitri?”
He sighs and shakes his head, “I know that worrying is useless, but I still cannot help it. I fear for our friends. We were separated before we could stabilize the country. For all we know, our friends think we are dead, and Fodlan is in utter chaos without us. Even though the Empire has surrendered and Those Who Slither have been routed, surely they’ve-”
“Again, I trust that Claude, Seteth, and our Lions will hold. And I have full faith that they’ll find us and bring us home.” Byleth interrupts, her voice as steady and steely as a reliable blade.
“Professor, you sound- no, you are so confident that everything will work out… how do you do it?”
A tiny smile blooms from her lips, “Well, I taught you all well, didn’t I? Even during those five years, you all held out and survived without me. And as the Kingdom’s top tactician and general, I have to know when to delegate tasks I know others can handle. If I did everything myself, I’d collapse and it’d help no one.”
“…Professor, may I speak honestly?
Intrigued, she raises an eyebrow before nodding.
“It is terribly selfish of me to say, but I must confess that, as long as I’m with you-”
He doesn’t get to finish. A shriek tears across the air and echoes off the mountains, ending their conversation.
“Do you hear that?”
He does.
Screams and shouts mixed among the commotion of a fight.
“There.”
By the meager light of the far-away fires, he can see the figures of the villagers scattering from a much greater figure.
Something is attacking the village’s precious food supply.
As one, they draw their relics and charge the beast.
As they near striking range, the beast pauses its assault on the food to assess its new threats. Dimitri thrusts Areadbhar at its body, forcing it to leap backwards to avoid being skewered. To his right, the Sword of the Creator whips out, hitting true judging by the shriek of the beast. The beast tries to claw her, but Dimitri lashes out and intercepts it. Areadbhar just clips the skin, but the beast seems to get the message and bolts into the night.
Byleth curses under her breath before turning to Dimitri, “Get the beast, I’ll tend to the wounded.”
“Of course Professor.” With a nod, Dimitri charges into the woods where the beast fled.
~
It was a terrible idea to charge into the woods.
He does have the light of the moon and his magic, but Dimitri has no knowledge of the terrain. As he continues to search fruitlessly, he realizes the beast had been faster than he ever could have been. He’s about to turn back when he hears it: a faint, terrible cacophony of noise.
He should still turn back,
But this could be the beast he realizes.
And with that epiphany, Dimitri approaches the source of the noise.
As he approaches the source, he can make out the screeches that make up the majority of the racket. A king among beasts, the tale comes back unbidden as the terrible noises grow louder, a beast so ferocious that all flee before its cry, lest its talons find their flesh.
But Dimitri has conquered countless soldiers, armored demons a hundred times his size, even his unyielding inner demons. Let this king among beasts try to dethrone him too.
Determination burning bright as the trees part, he finds himself in a clearing, and
“Oh.”
Before him, is a griffon.
It’s not identical to the griffons that once inhabited Fόdlan. It has eagle’s head and wings and lion’s body, but the similarities stop there. Lion’s front limbs instead of eagle’s, a lack of visible ears, snow white and gray in lieu of gold and brown.
But it’s clearly a griffon.
And a wounded one at that.
By the light of the moon, he can make out the fallen tree pinning down its torso; leaving him in the perfect position to cut off its head and end a threat to the village’s livelihood. Dimitri is ready to do just that. Areadbhar sings for blood as he raises his arm-
…
But…
No…
He must be imagining the desperation and distress in the griffon’s cries, in the clawing of the earth and the frantic light in its eyes.
…
Surely, this is no different from killing any other dangerous beast.
…Even if it is a griffon, he is not in Fodlan. He cannot just take it in and expect the people (and the griffon) to be okay with him caring for a threat to their lives. The griffons of Albinea could not have inspired such fear and tales without merit.
But as he watches the griffon’s flailing and shrieking die down, as if beginning to conclude that it is well and truly done for…
…
Curse his traitorous heart.
He sets aside Areadbhar and grabs the tree off the griffon.
With a final cry, the griffon hauls itself to its feet. Standing upright and its wings outstretched, it’s considerably bigger than the wyverns and pegasi of Fodlan, dwarfing even Dimitri. Its eyes meet his own, filled with something Dimitri cannot comprehend.
For a long moment, they stare at each other.
Then, he shifts,
and he grunts as the griffon smashes the air out of his lungs and pins him into the snow. His head exploding with pain, it takes everything just to look up at the face of his assailant. With its razor-sharp beak, it would take nothing for the griffon to sever his head from his shoulders.
He wonders if this is how he dies: a fool’s death, one from allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment once again.
The beast he is deserves nothing less.
He wonders if the Professor will forgive him for such a blunder as the the griffon lunges, mouth agape
and screams into his face, before launching itself into the night once more.
His ears ringing and head still spinning from hitting the ground, Dimitri dazedly pushes himself upright.
…well then.