Sovereign's Guilt - A Dimitri Fanfic

1 - The Remorse of Sororicide

The marketplace looked beautiful.

Somehow, despite the borderline destruction of Garreg Mach, a year had utterly transformed it. The place had almost returned to its former glory under Dimitri's instruction, and had resumed service from its past academy days. Somehow, though, seeing it in this way was jarring; unreal, almost. Too... normal.

Now, Dimitri stood in the entrance of the marketplace, the Anniversary Festival well underway before him. Stalls of every description surrounded him: the hot scent of food, rows of carved wooden icons, vigorous competitions. Everything was... perfect. As it should be. No more war. No more bloodshed. Happy children and embracing lovers and an evening sky so beautiful it took Dimitri's breath away. Despite the sun still hanging low in the sky, every star could be seen already, glinting white and silver and gold upon a sky of rose and violet. Torches were being lit around him, casting a warm glow upon the cheeks of each smiling face that passed him by.

If only it wasn't celebrating something so bittersweet. The Kingdom had won - Dimitri was Fódlan's new ruler. But, at what cost? At times he'd doubted the authenticity of his new status: it had only been achieved through murder. Albeit, the murder he once craved so dearly, but now it felt nothing more than a sting within his blackened heart.

"Your Highness?"

The deep, dulcet tones of Dimitri's favourite voice almost made him jump out of his skin. He turned, finding Dedue standing behind him, a gentle concern cradling that rough-hewn face.

"Dedue, please," the King gave a breathy laugh, looking around him. "Nobody is around. You don't have to call me that."

Dedue's brow furrowed. "Dimitri."

"Yes?"

"Why are you standing here? Are you not enjoying the festival?"

"Of course I am! I'm enjoying it very much." Dimitri took another look around him - at the stalls so plentiful he couldn't begin to count them all, each crammed tightly together in the little hub. "I was simply admiring it."

But the man could see straight through him. "You're thinking about it again." Dimitri could give no response but a sigh. "Dimitri, you must rest—"

"And that's why I'm here. That is why we're here." He took Dedue's hand. "To get away from our responsibilities, and to celebrate the anniversary of our victory. I thought you'd received the memo?" And he squeezed the man's fingers.

"You cannot mask your lies beneath your... pitiful attempts at jokes."

"I thought that one was rather good..."

Dedue's hard eyebrows became serious once more. "You've been restless. I know you keep up appearances for the sake of your peers, but you cannot keep this inside you."

Dimitri said nothing, keeping his lips closed tight. Since becoming ruler, opening up to anybody - even Dedue - had become infinitely harder. His crazed state in the past had come as a shock to even himself, and as a result, any negative emotions were hard to share. No, the Saviour King would rather keep quiet - would shut himself off to the world rather than worry anybody with his anxieties. A king should be secure - be stable. Should be just, and righteous, and assured. Dimitri... was not.

"What have you been hiding, Dimitri?" While stern, there was a softness to Dedue's voice as he peered into the good eye of his lord. The softness that only Dimitri could spot - only ever flickering upon the man's stoic face in moments of tenderness. "Talk to me."

"I have nothing to say." Dimitri removed his fingers from where they'd been entwined with his love's, and pulled his cloak further around his body. "I'm merely... reminiscing."

"About the war? About the memories from a year ago? About the reason why you won?" Dedue's words sent prickles across the King's skin - a chill that no cloak could keep at bay. "This is hurting you. It's plain for anybody to see, yet still you try to hide it—?"

"Dedue, please." An edge of desperation rose in Dimitri's voice as he closed his eye. The blackness of his world became stained with red; drop by drop, the blood swam into his vision until it was all he could see - consuming his entire being. He was being drowned - pulled back into the void of war he'd tried so frantically to escape. Somewhere beneath the surface was the tortured face and dying gasps of his stepsister, the life fading from those lilac eyes.

And then, the snagging branches of stone-cold regret wrapped and tightened around each of the King's tender, brittle bones. Like a death grip, they squeezed at his every muscle until eventually it felt the poison would ooze, dripping out of his pores, thick and black. The toxicity inside him - the burdens he carried and the ghosts curdling with his soul. Hundreds of spirits trapped with him eternally, hissing and groaning and clawing at his skull, desperate to escape. People he'd killed. People whose lives he'd snatched away and whose families he'd left in mourning. People doing nothing more than obeying orders, otherwise innocent.

Most of all, though, there was her. Edelgard. The name almost made him wince - her visage making each nerve tense. Her face pale and tortured, mouth agape and eyes suddenly looking so scared - so young, as they'd used to in her childhood fright. But she'd been dying. Bleeding, choking, her breath a moribund rattle in her throat, all at his hand—

"Dimitri."

Dedue's voice once again pulled the King from his oblivion. He could see again. The dusky sky, the festival stalls, the burning torches. The sounds of the festival filled his ears, replacing the sounds of the Emperor's death. And his man - his love - stood before him, eyes as vibrant as the fronds of the plants he so dearly nurtured.

Dimitri swallowed. "Stay with me, tonight?"

Still with such softness adorning his face, Dedue nodded. Now, Dimitri understood: Dedue already knew. The man had known how much Dimitri would need him tonight, on the anniversary of his stepsister's murder. He'd been able to sense the buildup - would have anticipated the crash. It made the King smile; while he'd spent the evenings pacing, struggling to rid himself of his mind's torturous images, Dedue had been there. More caring, more gentle. Even more attentive, somehow. His kisses more delicate, words more benign. No matter how much Dimitri could try to hide his turmoil, there was one person who would always be one step ahead of him.

As the vassal slipped his hand back around the lord's own, Dimitri felt his heart begin to warm in the way it always did around Dedue. All he wanted was to hold on tight - to fall into his love's embrace and go home, spending the night wrapped up in each other and never relenting. Alas, he could not. Alas, he had to let go, instead giving Dedue a smile that needed no words. No, Fódlan did not yet need to know about the bond between Blaiddyd and Molinaro. Tonight, Fódlan would celebrate triumph, and peace. And tonight, Dimitri would have dreams razed by the horrors of his actions one year ago.

Bracing himself, he pulled his hand from Dedue's once more, and stepped forwards into the festival.