The Savior Kings

Or, in which Dimitri punches out a racist and history is changed as a result

Chapter 1

If someone had told Dimitri just after he met Claude von Reigan for the first time that he would knock a man's teeth out for insulting him, he would have given them a strange look.

It wasn't that he disliked the other man – he just found him incredibly exasperating. Claude was capable, intelligent and charismatic; all traits worth admiring; however, he went out of his way to tease and bedevil people, rarely acting like the duke he would become in a few years at best. That in and of itself wouldn't be too off-putting – Dimitri was friends with Sylvain, after all – if it weren't for the way he smiled.

For all that Claude joked, teased and generally acted casual, his eyes...were always cold. When he smiled, bright and friendly, those green orbs were remote and unreadable. Dimitri wasn't a man easily unnerved after what the things he'd experienced...but it did unnerve him, that Claude could act so warm without feeling a thing. It was a carefully practiced act; had to be, seeing how many people fell for it and believed he was nothing but a troublemaker. If seeing the life leave people's eyes hadn't taught Dimitri to look more closely at them, he might have been fooled as well.

People – even Edelgard, brilliant and people-savvy as she was – dismissed the young duke for the person he appeared to be. Dimitri, meanwhile, feared that Claude was a good deal more dangerous than he appeared. If he could smile so warmly while being so cold inside...how could he trust anything the other man said? If he could feign friendship easily, without it meaning anything, didn't that mean he could discard his 'friends' without a care the moment it was expedient?

So perhaps Dimitri had been more aloof toward his fellow house leader than he should have been. Part of the reason he was at the academy was to foster good relations with his fellow future rulers, after all; he was hardly achieving that by being overly critical of the other man in the name of hiding his unease.

Fate, however, as it so often did, was playing a trick on him. Dimitri wasn't sure what else to call a random happenstance that exposed him to Claude's best kept secret.

Dimitri had been headed to the training grounds when he heard the shouting. Someone was in a hideous temper, screaming abuse at another, and that never heralded anything good.

Alarmed, he turned and hurried back the way he came and into one of the monastery's many alleys, where a disturbing scene lay out before him. Cyril – a young man he'd seen a few times before in the Archbishop's company – was backing away from a reedy man in church armor, a number of weapons scattered across the ground around him. Claude was standing a few feet back, a resigned look on his face. "-could've killed me, you little brat!" The soldier was spitting, hands clenched into fists.

"Hardly," Claude countered, taking a step forward and helping Cyril to his feet. The poor boy looked incredibly rattled; he didn't quite cower behind the older student, but he visibly backed away from the soldier, shoulders hunched. "He doesn't have the strength to do that by accident. Besides, your in full plate armor. At worst you would've had to knock out a dent."

"Did I ask you, you Almyran mutt?" The soldier spat.

Claude's demeanor changed instantly, greater than anything Dimitri had seen before. He went completely rigid, one hand sliding down to his belt and shifting back into a defensive stance. Those cold green eyes momentarily flared with alarm...and what almost looked like panic. "Geez," He complained, his voice amazingly calm, "get a bit of a tan and everyone assumes you're from the outside world. It really doesn't take much, does it?" Somehow the prince didn't think he was talking about his skin color.

"Don't be coy, it's degrading." The soldier sneered, puffing himself up so he seemed taller. "Even if I couldn't smell it on you, I've fought at Fodlan's throat. I could recognize your kind a mile away. How humiliating for the duke, for his only heir to be baseborn half breed."

Cyril twisted and stared up at Claude, who seemed unmoved. "You know, considering you're a man of proper breeding," He said flippantly, "It's odd I'm not the one screaming bloody murder at a kid for bumping into me around a blind corner."

"You have no right," The soldier took a menacing step forward. "Neither of you. You have no right to disgrace the monastery with your presence."

"Enough!"

It took Dimitri a moment, when all three spun around to face him, to realize he in fact had spoken. He'd rather felt like he was in a dream – or maybe a memory. How many times had he needed to confront a soldier speaking to Dedue in this very manner? How often, since the man had entered his house, had he needed to sternly order his servants to stop whispering behind his back, chew out soldiers for 'accidentally' causing an injury during training? It didn't matter that he'd never set foot in Almyra; he couldn't let this pass by without speaking up.

"You forget yourself," He told the soldier, intentionally switching to the tones he used when speaking to his people. Even though he'd only done so a handful of times, Rodrigue had praised his oratory power. "The Archbishop invited Cyril and Claude von Riegan into these halls. No one has more authority under the goddess than her! It is you who has no right – not to harass them, and certainly not to abuse Cyril over an honest mistake, the likes of which happens every day in this busy area!"

"The Riegan bastard prays to foreign gods!" The soldier burst out, disbelief and anger warring in his voice. "He's spat on her kindness! It's in his blood. No good will come from having him here. He is -"

"-a man!" Dimitri cut him off ruthlessly, pitching his voice so it drowned out whatever bile was meant to follow. "Claude is a man no different from you, and he is no bastard – not under law, and I doubt he is one in spirit either. His mother returned with him to her place of birth, and that I believe speaks for itself. You owe him an apology, and Cyril too, and I suggest you start to consider what you will say to the Archbishop after I speak of this incident with her!"

"Dimitri..." Claude's voice trailed off. Dimitri looked over the man's shoulder to see the archer staring wide eyed at him. His expression, while still largely unreadable, seemed stunned.

"Aplogize?! To the son of a whore?! You would have-"

The sensation of his temper snapping was a palpable thing; Dimitri felt rather than saw his fist slam into the man's jaw. The force of the impact sent several teeth flying through the air; the man himself flew several feet back into the wall and dropped like a stone to the ground, out like a light. For a moment Dimitri worried that he might have killed him; fortunately, movement in the soldier's chest put that to rest. Dimitri stared at the result of his work for a moment, then sighed, wiping the splatter of blood off his face.

"I shouldn't have done that," He said, slightly embarrassed. "Hit him, that is. Hopefully this won't buy him more sympathy than he deserves." He stepped around his fallen victim and began gathering up the weapons that had caused the conflict. "Did he hurt you at all, Cyril?"

"Ah...n-no, he didn't, Claude was there," The young man stammered out, scrambling to the ground to help. "I – c'mon, you don't have to -"

"Please, it's the least I can do," Dimitri picked up the lance and carefully balanced it in Cyril's arms. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. Has that happened often?" Cyril opened his mouth, hesitated, then stammered out a weak-sounding denial. "Please, be honest. And not just with me, but Lady Rhea as well. She won't stand for this, I assure you."

"She wouldn't, huh..." Claude murmured, just barely audible to them.

Dimitri stood up and held out the few weapons to his counterpart. "Would you take these?" He asked politely. "I have to see to him. And speak with Seteth. The fact that he felt comfortable attacking you and Cyril..." He shook his head.

Claude took the weapons without saying a word, green eyes sharpening. Dimitri was struck with the intense sense that he was being analyzed, though those emerald pools were as frustratingly enigmatic as ever. For him to slip so easily back into that calm...how often had he heard people say such things about him...? "Yeah, no problem," The brunette said casually. "Though I'm not sure how you're going to explain that," he nodded toward the unconscious soldier.

"Oh, I intend to tell the truth," Dimitri said firmly, striding over to the man and slinging him over one shoulder. The plate armor dug uncomfortably into his neck, but he ignored it with long practice. "and by the goddess, he will never mistreat either of you again."

He left the alley, feeling Claude's gaze burning into his back long after he reached the infirmary.

Seteth, fortunately, seemed almost as unhappy as Dimitri himself after he was told the full story. Oh, he was displeased by the prince's lack of control over his temper, but punishment that consisted just of two weeks worth of weeding the gardens was a small price to pay for insuring the ornery soldier would be thoroughly disciplined and reassigned to border duty. Dimitri knew it wasn't very princely of him, but he couldn't help the satisfied smirk he gave them Seteth informed the man of Lady Rhea's displeasure. The soldier turned white as a sheet.

"To think he had the nerve to abuse the Archbishop's guests behind her back," Seteth muttered afterwards, glowering. "I need to speak to the other knights and see how much they knew of or enabled this behavior."

Dimitri was quite grateful; both because Cyril and Claude were clearly disturbed by what happened, and because this inspection would likely catch those giving Dedue trouble as well.

"Thank you, for bringing this to my attention." Seteth nodded at him. "Though it would behoove you not to use your fists should this happen again."

"Forgive me," Dimitri bowed, contrite. "It's just that...I have been using words alone to defend my friend for the longest time. The frustration I feel in those moments is immense. I hope that as I continue to master my weapons, my emotions will follow."

Seteth nodded. "See to it. You are dismissed now; dinner will be served shortly, after all."

The walk down to the dining hall did wonders to clear his head; even though he couldn't taste anything these days, some good food from home was always welcome. The warm racket of conversation engulfed him as he entered and went to serve himself; the Hunting Festival was on, meaning there was enough food for everyone to have seconds. His classmates were already there; even at the front of the hall, he could hear Annette enthusiastically discussing the desert menu with Mercedes, Ingrid telling Ashe about the new book of tales in the library, and Dedue scolding Sylvain for flirting with the maids amidst the chatter of the hall. He stood there for a moment, plate in hand, just...trying to absorb that warmth he could feel from everyone present.

It made his demons feel far away.

It was almost ironic. He had come to the monastery primarily to find out the truth about Duscar, to chase down the one truly responsible for the brutal deaths of his loved ones and end them. Yet even as he worked, he found himself distracted by...little things. The cheer of his fellow Blue Lions as they pulled him this way and that way, chasing things that caught their eye. The lazy Wednesdays he spent fishing, not often catching much (his tendency to break things extended to fishing lines, unfortunately) but enjoying himself all the same. The tournaments that allowed him test his skills in an innocent way, harming no one while still imparting valuable experience. It was as if, as long as he stayed here, no voice would trouble him.

"There you are!"

Except perhaps for one!

Claude appeared at his side as if out of the ether, beaming brightly and catching his plate before he dropped it in shock. "Been looking for you," He said blithely. "C'mon, we saved you a seat."

"I-what? Claude – wait – but I'm not one of the -" Dimitri's confused protests fell on deaf ears; Claude grabbed his arm and half tugged, half dragged him to the far right of the dining hall, where the Golden Deer claimed their long table. Sure enough, there was an empty seat tucked right between Raphael and the leader's own chair; Claude casually put his plate there and dropped back in front of his own meal, which was almost untouched.

"It's the last Friday before our first live training exercise," The brunette said by way of explanation, "Sounds like a reason to celebrate to me. Seeing as you're already a step head, why don't you impart your wisdom on our unruly gaggle of misfits?"

"So it did happen!" A white haired girl – Lysithea, Dimitri was fairly certain that was her name – leaned forward with an eager smile. "You really did knock out that guy harassing Cyril in one punch?!"

Dimitri's ears burned. "Don't tell me everyone's already heard of that," He pleaded.

"Eh, too late," Hilda von Goneril cackled at his embarrassed facepalm. "That was awesome, by the way. That guy is a total creep; he's only at the monastery because my brother kicked him out our household!"

"I heard you knocked his teeth out, and you weren't even wearing gauntlets!" Raphael said eagerly. "That's not all; I asked around, and I heard that you lifted an entire carriage by yourself once!"

"It was for a good cause," Dimitri protested, "My crest aside, physical strength is in my blood. My father-" He stalled, swallowing hard over the emotions the memory brought up, "-my father once lifted a tree off Felix and I after it fell and nearly crushed us. Before that, he told me a story about my grandfather where he carried a foal through the woods so a healer could tend to its leg. It's a – a family quirk, you could say."

"I'd love to hear the stories," Leonie said, stretching before pushing her empty plate toward one of the serving bowls. "Especially if they end with you dropping jerks like rocks."

Dimitri sputtered and turned to halfheartedly glare at Claude. The brunette grinned at him, eyes dancing with amusement. Something got stuck in the prince's brain at the sight when he realized he'd never seen that before. Not quite. He was smiling, amused...and it didn't seem artificial. Guarded, maybe; rooted in Dimitri's current awkwardness, absolutely. But...it was real.

It changed Claude's whole face. Suddenly everything in his demeanor was playful, welcoming...and the effect of that was immediate and overwhelming.

The discomfort he'd so often felt around the man evaporated like morning mist; his lips started moving, and he found himself telling stories he had kept to himself...well, ever since Duscar. About his grandfather. About his father, and stepmother, and Glenn. It amazed him that he still remembered those good times; even though, in moments, he would flash back to that terrible day, the laughter and fascination of the lively people around him drove the images away.

It was strange how alike, yet how different the Golden Deer were from his own Lions. They were relaxed in a way noble children weren't; Raphael and Leonie casually swore on occasion, while Ignatz was nervous and fascinated by art, twice offering to paint him a picture. Lysithea was obsessed with sweets and Marianne hardly spoke; Hilda, meanwhile, seemed to get a kick out of being as lazy as possible and was proud of it. Lorenz was the most like a noble Dimitri might have met at home, yet his shameless flirting was dangerously akin to Sylvain. Yet they welcomed him without batting an eye. Suddenly Dimitri wondered if this was Claude's strength; that anyone could come to him and his people and feel like they belonged there.

That...was an incredible power, indeed.

And Claude...Claude kept drawing him into conversation – through jokes, though casual observations...once again, the weight of his attention was a felt thing. Dimitri didn't know what to make of it...and there were moments where the young man casually touched him and he just prayed he wasn't as visibly baffled as he felt. What had changed? Surely such a basic kindness as he showed earlier wouldn't be enough to drop the barriers the future Duke Riegan had built around himself?

Dimitri lost track of time in the midst of this; dinner ended before he knew it, Dedue removing the empty plate in front of him while regarding him very curiously. Claude smiled cheerfully at his retainer and said, "No need to make that face~! We were only borrowing him; just one more moment and I'll give him right back." He winked at Dimitri and sauntered out of the room, clearly expecting him to follow.

"It's no trouble, Dedue," Dimitri assured hastily, scrambling to get up. "I enjoyed myself, actually." He smiled at the Golden Deer, earning friendly grins in return. "I'll be right back." He left the hall at a jog, a strange hope in his chest that he had earned honesty, somehow, from this morning.

Claude wasn't loitering just outside the door. Instead, he waited for Dimitri to emerge and then left down the stairs to the fishing dock and toward the greenhouse. This late in the evening, there was rarely anyone there except for Dedue or maybe Bernadetta; sure enough, it was empty except for them when the door swung shut behind the prince and the duke.

"So that was nice," Claude said brightly. "And here I thought you were another boring, stuffy noble. It's good to be wrong sometimes."

"Claude..." Dimitri sighed, before deciding to cut through to the heart of it. "Was this spurred on by what happened this morning? When we spoke at the table, you mentioned Cyril being harassed, but not yourself. Why?"

The brunette raised his arms, linking his fingers behind his head. "You saw why," He responded easily. Dimitri flinched, instantly thinking he'd made a mistake, because those green eyes were cold again. "People in Fodlan look at outsiders like they're some kind of monster. I've heard everything that jerk said before and more besides; there have even been attempts on my life."

"That's..." Dimitri stammered, dumbfounded by the implications. More than one attempt on his life? How was that possible? Was Claude's grandfather unwilling to protect him? How...how could Claude look so calm while saying that? "That's horrible."

Claude shrugged. "The scriptures claim the Goddess said that no one born in Fodlan belongs outside its borders, and no one born outside was chosen by Her." His voice was sour. "Isn't she supposed to be loving and compassionate?"

"That's -" He swallowed his instinctive response hard. "The scripture was written by her children, after Serios defeated Nemesis. Perhaps they made a mistake. I cannot see the goddess saying such things..."

"But don't you?" Claude said, dropping his arms and staring intently at him. "You surprised the hell out of me, you know, barging in and defending the honor of two Almyrans."

"Why would that be surprising?" Dimitri protested, offense bubbling up in his throat. If he was going there...

"A lot of reasons," Was the even response. Yes he was. "You're the prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus; your people have the closest relationship to the church out of everyone in Fodlan. You were raised on those scriptures. You have access to sacred rites that the Emperor no longer does, after the schism. And you have more reason than most to be wary of outsiders. I figured-"

"It's not like that!" The words came out like a whip crack; Claude actually jumped back a step at the force of his response. "Duscar...Duscar was a mistake!" He let out a harsh breath. "If I am to know your most dangerous secret, Claude, in return let me tell you my greatest shame. I do not believe Duscar was responsible for my family's death! The day it happened...the day I lost everyone I loved...the weapons of Duscar are made in particular shapes; distinctive ones, forged in accordance to the will of their gods! The sword that tore my father's arm off was Fodlan made! The arrows that laid Glenn down had no feathers, no ornamentation! I saw men of Duscar struck down trying to help Glenn and I escape the flames; they put their lives down for us! But...but when I returned home...I failed. I failed to convince my father's council of this! I failed to convey the truth!"

Claude stared wide-eyed at him; he went on almost maniacally, gesticulating with words failed. "My father's men...they lead a massacre of innocent people! Even if men of Duscar had killed my father, the brutality shown upon them...! Dedue's sister, his mother... shopkeepers, farmers, street children...! Even if men of Duscar had been responsible, people who would have had no way of knowing it, no way of stopping it, they were all killed. They died because I failed to sway the very people I am meant to rule over! Because it was easier to blame the strange, foreign people of Duscar than attempt to hunt an unknown culprit!"

Dimitri raked a hand through his hair, letting out a seething sob. "Truly, Claude, you may think what you will about me, but do not ever believe I would wish for, or allow, any harm to come to you on account of your Almyran blood. May the goddess have mercy on anyone who tries, because I won't."

A very still silence hung in the air. It felt oppressive. Dimitri had told precious few people, after that day, about what he'd seen. Even his fellows in the Blue Lions were largely in the dark. The goddess alone knew why he'd just blurted it all out; had the words really felt like an accusation?

"Um...w-well, I clearly shouldn't have said that," Claude managed after a minute, and at any other time Dimitri would have marveled at the other teen being so clearly on the back foot. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that; really, I only figured on understandable distrust and suspicion. You're too much of a knight in shining armor to attack me without provocation."

A knight in shining armor?, Dimitri wondered. For a man as observant as you...you don't even suspect? I suppose you simply haven't had the chance... "Apologies for that tirade," He said with a sigh. "That was immature of me."

"Seriously?" Claude shook his head, his expression softening significantly. Dimitri suddenly felt trapped, a mouse mesmerized by a hawk overhead. "You were talking about people going over your head to commit a massacre. I would have been more disturbed if you could talk about that as if it were a mildly interesting day out." He frowned. "Don't you realize how ridiculously brave what you did was? You walked into a room full of bloodthirsty, vengeful soldiers in a borderline frenzy and told them they were wrong; that could have ended extremely poorly for you." He raised his palms up. "There wasn't much you could have done; you weren't king then; in their eyes, you were just the fragile orphan prince who was confused by his grief."

"Which is a great comfort to Duscar, I'm sure," Dimitri replied bitterly.

"I doubt it would be, but it's true. None of what happened is your fault." Claude said in such a matter of fact way; the sun was hot, water was wet, it wasn't your fault. Dimitri almost reeled. "Hey...Dedue is part of your household, right? I guess you've had to defend him from a lot of slander." He actually smiled. "I'm flattered someone like me, from the wrong side of the landscape, was worth the trouble."

"You're correct." Dimitri managed a weak smile in return. "Truly, Claude, if any kingdom soldier gives you trouble, please – tell me immediately. I swear I'll deal with it."

"You're serious..." Was there a little wonder in Claude's voice? "I should have expected as much from you. Old habits die hard, I guess."

"If people have actually tried to kill you over something so petty, you had every right to be wary," Dimitri responded with a shake of his head. "If it is your wish, I won't speak of your heritage to anyone. Though...perhaps someday you won't have to worry over people knowing."

"Someday, when fish can fly and stars can be woven into crowns," Claude deadpanned, but there was no bite in his voice. "I guess you can stop wondering why I look like Cyril now."

"Oh, that." He was a little embarrassed to be reminded of that comment he'd made earlier in the month. "Honestly, I'd meant to remark on how, if he was blessed by the same arcane magic that touched you at birth, he'd grow up to be quite handsome. Yet I only managed to make you anxious instead...I'm sorry."

"Arcane magic?" Claude parroted, blinking rapidly. "What, uh, what exactly is the context for that?"

"Well, it's your Almyran blood, I realize now. It makes you incredibly striking," Dimitri said in all seriousness. "Something about your skin and your eyes...when I first saw you, I thought you'd stepped out of an old northern fable about a star that fell to Fodlan and took on human form. An image that was somewhat tarnished the moment you opened your mouth...but not completely. It's no wonder it's so easy for you to charm people."

He expected a joke, a laugh, to be teased, any number of things in response to something that he realized the instant after he spoke the words could be construed as a clumsy flirtation.

Instead, however, he was greeted with the unusual sight of Claude von Riegan stunned completely speechless. The brunette's mouth moved silently, green eyes full of a cascading emotion Dimitri wasn't sure he could name. The silence stretched on for several moments, until the prince could finally bear it no more. "You say such pretty things," The brunette said at last, cutting off his worried inquiry. A small smile broke across his face. Small, yes, but brilliantly warm, one that made his expression glow. "You know, if you did something with that unruly hair of yours, you'd be getting lots of attention yourself."

Dimitri felt his face turn burning red. "Ah...is that right?" He ran a self-conscious hand through his eternally unmanageable locks. "I'll...have to consider that."

"Heh..." Claude's laugh rang through the empty greenhouse, stirring it to life. Is that his real smile? Goddess, it's amazing. "I've detained you long enough; we better get back before Dedue starts to think I've kidnapped you. We leave with the princess for live training tomorrow, don't we?" He winked. "I'll see you then."

With that, the enigmatic Riegan heir slipped out of the building, leaving a slightly flustered and very contemplative Dimitri in his wake.

It's like he's a different person. No...no, that's not quite right. It's not that he changed, it's that he felt safe. Dimitri looked down at his hands. It must be lonely; living as a child of two worlds, kept only in one or the other. But what does that mean for us? Can we be friends, Claude von Riegan?

Would you feel safe being friends with the boar prince?

End Chapter

Right side of my brain: I adore Claude so much, I could play his route a dozen times and never get bored of it.
Left side of my brain: But playing Blue Lions surprised me with how much I care about and respect Dimitri and want good things to happen to him.
Right side of my brain: Why not keep both of them then?
Left side of my brain: (starts drafting plotline)

My brain is full of Three Houses, send help. I got this idea after playing chapter 19 of the Blue Lions for the first time, right about when Claude hands over Failnaught and bows out. I sat there, sulkily wondering, 'but Claaaude, why can't you come with us?' and then this idea ambushed me. (laughs) Hope you guys like it.