[ All Fódlan nobility knows the story of Saint Seiros and the King of Liberation. But their history is more like myth: mysterious and lofty, ephemeral and unreal. It's a thing of godhood, and he is just a mortal man.
What he sees when he meets eyes with Flayn is nothing like that. It's as real as the mud under her shoes, magic glowing at her fingertips time and time again in a battle that stretches on forever. It isn't the story of a saint, but a war. There is Lady Rhea, not in her regal dress but with fury clanging behind every strike of her blade, and people screaming as they're felled, one after another.
She can't save everyone. No one healer can, even Saint Cethleann. But in that moment, he feels the desperation behind her spells, the way steel twists into her flesh and the distant, agonized cries of a father who might outlive his child.
He touches his stomach, expecting to see his—her?—blood in bright, green wetness.
—But it's not there. It's just a memory. Shaken, he staggers back, back balanced against a rough-hewn cabin wall as he blinks back to reality, rain dripping into his eyes. The remnants of pain and bone-deep exhaustion slowly flicker away, and he's left—not for the first time today, after so many years without—wanting to cry. Tears brim in his eyes, voice tight. ]
Flayn—wait.
[ It isn't just history rewritten. It's a revelation about her. The things she's suffered, suddenly and acutely shared. ]
[This is a disaster. Thirty-four other people in the camp - thirty-seven if one counts the directors, and it's Dimitri, who will recognize the people in her memory, who sees it.
It's not that she thinks Dimitri, himself, is untrustworthy, but it's a knee-jerk reaction to flee when this topic comes up. She and her father had escaped the massacre of Zanado, somehow survived the war, and then gone into hiding while she recovered— they'd always run from this before the truth could be known.
She, and Seteth, and Rhea - they've all hidden themselves away from the world, out of necessity.
So to have these secrets laid bare by someone who will know exactly what they mean is terrifying. She takes a step back, then another, as he processes it, heedless of the heavy rain.
Only his voice stops her from running. Her gaze flicks to his face, and her eyes meet his. She looks terrified.]
Dimitri...
[Her voice sounds almost pleading, but she's not sure what she ought to be pleading for. His forgiveness, for lying about who she is? His understanding? His silence?]
Edited (flayn isn't a he.........) 2020-06-30 10:27 (UTC)
[ He has... so many questions. Who wouldn't, after all that? But when he sees her expression—wrought and scared—he can't find a voice for them. He clears his throat, taking in a deep breath and forcing his confusion into some manageable box. She looks so frightened—he has to try to combat that, somehow.
If her reaction hurts him, he sets it aside. He thinks of the Professor slicing through time and space, the color of her hair fading to green. Flayn's memory is still raw in his mind beside it, painful. ]
Please—it's all right.
[ It's okay.
He doesn't step towards her, speaking carefully. After a moment, he touches a spot on his back, where an arrow had pierced him in her memory. ]
She would like to believe that. She knows, of course, that Dimitri would never use what he knows of her now to do harm - but it's difficult, with Seteth's fear and warnings that they cannot reveal the truth of who and what they are having been drilled into her, not to feel a spike of panic.
Dimitri knows. He knows who she is, and knows that she's lied and pretended to be someone - and something - that she is not.
[ ...A very, very long time ago. It takes him a moment to even realize what he must've seen—Nemesis, Rhea turned Seiros, an Imperial army fighting against what must be his ancestors—and the timeline is staggering.
And then that name. Cethleann. He's quiet for a moment, just to make sure she won't bolt, but he keeps his voice as soft and level as possible. ]
...Is this why you were so upset about the profiles?
[ He still hasn't read hers in full, but what a mighty secret to have kept for so long. Over a thousand years. It's impossible for him to even imagine. How vulnerable it must be for her, to have to share something like that with him now. ]
[It must be fairly easy to guess. And with him having seen it, there isn't much point in lying about it, either -
So Flayn nods.]
...yes, it was.
[It's a little... uncomfortable, to be talking about it now, after having kept it a closely guarded secret for so long. But it isn't because it's him that it's uncomfortable.]
[ Well, he still hasn't actually read her file in full, but the little details did stack up over time. The color of her blood, her age, all of that. He's not blind, and he can see the connections here, too.
Anyone from their world would have a thousand, burning questions. But... ]
...It's as I've told you before, Flayn. Everyone has their secrets.
[ He isn't interested in extracting them—it's part of what makes him so bad at this game they're stuck in. ]
You don't have to satisfy my idle curiosities. If you'd prefer I leave, I will.
[...she wants to hide, but it is not as if she wants Dimitri to go, either. It's a complicated feeling, one she's not really sure how to give words to, but one thing that she does know is:]
...I trust you above all others here. If there is anyone I would want to tell, it is you.
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fishingforcompliments) wrote2020-06-06 10:49 pm
no subject
What he sees when he meets eyes with Flayn is nothing like that. It's as real as the mud under her shoes, magic glowing at her fingertips time and time again in a battle that stretches on forever. It isn't the story of a saint, but a war. There is Lady Rhea, not in her regal dress but with fury clanging behind every strike of her blade, and people screaming as they're felled, one after another.
She can't save everyone. No one healer can, even Saint Cethleann. But in that moment, he feels the desperation behind her spells, the way steel twists into her flesh and the distant, agonized cries of a father who might outlive his child.
He touches his stomach, expecting to see his—her?—blood in bright, green wetness.
—But it's not there. It's just a memory. Shaken, he staggers back, back balanced against a rough-hewn cabin wall as he blinks back to reality, rain dripping into his eyes. The remnants of pain and bone-deep exhaustion slowly flicker away, and he's left—not for the first time today, after so many years without—wanting to cry. Tears brim in his eyes, voice tight. ]
Flayn—wait.
[ It isn't just history rewritten. It's a revelation about her. The things she's suffered, suddenly and acutely shared. ]
no subject
It's not that she thinks Dimitri, himself, is untrustworthy, but it's a knee-jerk reaction to flee when this topic comes up. She and her father had escaped the massacre of Zanado, somehow survived the war, and then gone into hiding while she recovered— they'd always run from this before the truth could be known.
She, and Seteth, and Rhea - they've all hidden themselves away from the world, out of necessity.
So to have these secrets laid bare by someone who will know exactly what they mean is terrifying. She takes a step back, then another, as he processes it, heedless of the heavy rain.
Only his voice stops her from running. Her gaze flicks to his face, and her eyes meet his. She looks terrified.]
Dimitri...
[Her voice sounds almost pleading, but she's not sure what she ought to be pleading for. His forgiveness, for lying about who she is? His understanding? His silence?]
no subject
If her reaction hurts him, he sets it aside. He thinks of the Professor slicing through time and space, the color of her hair fading to green. Flayn's memory is still raw in his mind beside it, painful. ]
Please—it's all right.
[ It's okay.
He doesn't step towards her, speaking carefully. After a moment, he touches a spot on his back, where an arrow had pierced him in her memory. ]
Are you okay?
no subject
[It's all right.
She would like to believe that. She knows, of course, that Dimitri would never use what he knows of her now to do harm - but it's difficult, with Seteth's fear and warnings that they cannot reveal the truth of who and what they are having been drilled into her, not to feel a spike of panic.
Dimitri knows. He knows who she is, and knows that she's lied and pretended to be someone - and something - that she is not.
How can this be all right?]
I... yes. That was... a long time ago.
no subject
And then that name. Cethleann. He's quiet for a moment, just to make sure she won't bolt, but he keeps his voice as soft and level as possible. ]
...Is this why you were so upset about the profiles?
[ He still hasn't read hers in full, but what a mighty secret to have kept for so long. Over a thousand years. It's impossible for him to even imagine. How vulnerable it must be for her, to have to share something like that with him now. ]
no subject
So Flayn nods.]
...yes, it was.
[It's a little... uncomfortable, to be talking about it now, after having kept it a closely guarded secret for so long. But it isn't because it's him that it's uncomfortable.]
I am sure you must have questions...
no subject
Anyone from their world would have a thousand, burning questions. But... ]
...It's as I've told you before, Flayn. Everyone has their secrets.
[ He isn't interested in extracting them—it's part of what makes him so bad at this game they're stuck in. ]
You don't have to satisfy my idle curiosities. If you'd prefer I leave, I will.
no subject
[...she wants to hide, but it is not as if she wants Dimitri to go, either. It's a complicated feeling, one she's not really sure how to give words to, but one thing that she does know is:]
...I trust you above all others here. If there is anyone I would want to tell, it is you.