Chapter Text
They knew three things: these devices were destructive, there were more devices than just this one, and that the circle on the ground functioned as a kind of conduit, which would summon magical energy and activate the explosion from a remote area.
The last piece of information came from a magical scholar. While Duscur was not a country practiced in magic, there were still those curious enough about it to research the inner workings of spells and diagrams necessary to make them work.
After they had cleared the room and had a debate on whether or not to move the device (they could set it off on accident, Dedue reasoned, and so it stayed where it was), they’d brought in the best - well, the only - magical researcher in Batüm: a younger woman who had sailed in from another land some time ago, who was mildly infamous for paying her bar tabs with palm readings.
It was the best option they had. Luckily, she had been able to read the circle enough to tell them that it was what she called a destination circle, something that would light up with energy once the origin circle was ignited from… well, wherever it was.
“It can’t be that far away,” she reasoned thoughtfully, “it has to be within a set distance or the conduit would be too weak. Mages used to use stuff like this to communicate, ‘til they figured out that a messenger would work just as well.”
With that, they had set to work. Dedue laid out a map of the entire city over the town hall with trembling hands that Ashe longed to touch and hold until they went still. He wanted to kiss him calm, to reassure him that they would figure this out, but the truth was, he didn’t know.
They circled on the map everything obvious: from the dock, to the library, and then smaller circles around where everyone had gone missing. Dedue pinned the map in places that the missing people would have had access to and they sent out teams to search.
They found three more devices.
There were more, both Ashe and Dedue were sure of it, but finding the bombs was useless if they could not prevent them from going off. Every second they spent in the town felt like hours, until Dedue finally rested his head in his hands late into the night, his shoulders sagging in defeat.
“We need to evacuate the city,” he finally said.
Ashe moved over to him, touched at his shoulder and leaned in to embrace him.
“We’ll keep looking,” he whispered. It was all that he knew to say, because he knew that Dedue was a smart man and he knew that Dedue would figure out that -
“...they’ll know if we start moving people. They could set it off early and - it would be our fault. My fault.”
“It’s not,” Ashe said, soft, his hands stroking down the length of Dedue’s back, “it’s no one’s fault but theirs. We’ll find it. I’ll search the entire city if I have to.”
“You must be tired. You’re still hurt - let me see your wounds.”
Ashe shook his head, refusing to let Dedue change the subject, to go back to caring for him when they both knew that it was insignificant in the face of everything he stood to lose.
“I sent out three ravens earlier,” he told him, his fingers tracing over the bandages, “one to Annette, one to Dimitri, and one to my closest spy. She’ll investigate as well.”
“I fear we don’t have time for any of them to make it here.”
And Ashe didn’t know what to do, what to say - how could he give Dedue platitudes when he was suffering so much? How could he give him anything but honesty?
“I’m afraid of that too,” he whispered.
-
The message came late that night, hours after Ashe first realized that he would die here if it meant working until his final moment to stop this.
It was a steadying thought, one that was oddly calming - to spend his last day, his last hour, his last minute trying to help people… well, it was the sort of thing that stories were written about. Ashe did not want his life to become a tragedy, but he supposed that if that was what it came down to then he would rather have that then to leave and protect himself.
The knock at Dedue’s door was loud and booming and Ashe jerked awake from where he’d been dozing at the desk, looking over the city map until he felt as if he could retrace it from memory.
Dedue rose as well and went to answer the door while Ashe watched from over his shoulder. The caller was a man, who looked just as exhausted as they were. Ashe knew that Dedue employed many in his service and recognized this man as one of the others that had been helping them to locate where the cult had been operating.
“My lord,” he gasped, out of breath, “I came here as quickly as I could.”
“What is it?” Dedue asked, reaching out to calm him, “I’ve got you.”
He took in another deep breath before continuing, “A trader and his hirelings have gone missing. He was supposed to leave the inn earlier this afternoon, but the innkeep hadn’t heard from him. When they investigated his rooms, they found everything as it was, but… he was gone.”
Another trader? Ashe perked up at that, rising and moving around the desk so that he could move closer to Dedue.
“Where was he from?”
“Dagda, my lord.” And then his eyes lifted until he met Dedue’s, the urgency of his visit explained at last: “Bulk goods.”
Bulk…? Traders with many or large items didn’t often stay at inns, they had entire caravans of animals and a few various workers under them. They normally pitched a tent and slept outside the city. For a trader to stay here, it meant that he was wealthy - wealthy enough to store his supplies somewhere in between travels. And supplies that large would need to be stored in a larger location.
“Were any of his men found?” Ashe asked quickly, and the messenger shook his head, moving past them and into the room.
“No. They’re all gone too. But we know where they kept their supplies.”
He was at the map now and he turned it toward him, searching for familiar landmarks, going through the various streets of the city before he pointed at a small cluster of buildings on the map.
“Here. A warehouse. Traders are assigned use of these based on when they arrive and how much space they need. He was planning on staying in Duscur awhile and selling in the market, so he needed a lot of space to store his goods.”
“Have we searched this block yet?” Dedue asked and Ashe shook his head.
“The trader who went missing a few days ago - the one you told me about… he may have been using this area for storage as well.” It didn’t necessarily mean much. It didn’t mean that they’d find anything, save for another device, another threat, but…
Ashe tilted his head at the map, thinking of what the magical scholar had said. It has to be within a set distance or the conduit would be too weak.
“...this block is central to all the other devices we’ve found,” he said quietly and Dedue looked up, tracing over the invisible lines, “look - the devices were closer to the outskirts… this is the only location that’s near the city center, where it could reach them all.”
Dedue nodded, his jaw set tight.
“Then that’s where we’ll go.” He straightened and then addressed his man next, with a sense of urgent power that Ashe had rarely seen from him, “go rouse the battalions. We’ll meet there in an hour’s time.”
He nodded and went, leaving Ashe and Dedue alone in the room again.
Ashe looked at him and loved him so much it hurt, and he wanted him to be okay, wanted this to turn out alright - he’d give anything to protect Dedue and by proxy Duscur, would give anything to ensure that whatever this dark cult was planning did not come to fruition, and if that meant fighting again, picking up a bow and risking his life… then he’d do it.
There was nothing he wouldn’t do, if it would only relieve some of the tension clinging to Dedue’s shoulders.
“You don’t have to come,” Dedue told him quietly, even as Ashe followed him back into the bedroom, where he opened the closet containing his weapon rack. He paused there, deliberating over which to take, and he wasn’t looking at Ashe.
Ashe moved behind him then, wrapped his arms around Dedue’s waist, pressed his face into his back and inhaled the rich, earthy scent of him. His touch grew a stillness within Dedue and Ashe clung tighter, desperately wanting to nurture that calm in him like a flower, to keep it safe, no matter what would happen in the next few hours.
“Of course I’m coming,” he murmured against Dedue’s back, holding him tighter, “I’m going to see this through. With you.”
Dedue turned in his grip until he was facing Ashe, his expression softened, weaker than it had been a few moments ago. Ashe couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on in his mind - the memories he had to be reliving, the need he must have felt to stop this however he could so that the past did not repeat again.
Strong fingers were at his jaw tilting his chin upward, and Ashe leaned up on his tiptoes for Dedue’s kiss.
It was passionate, it warmed him from his mouth to his toes, and through it Ashe thought - anything is possible. If he had to, he would strike down the goddess herself to keep Dedue in his arms like this.
“I have a bow,” Dedue offered, mumbling it into his mouth after they parted, and Ashe nodded, reasserting himself and moving for his things.
The bow was large, larger than most of the weaponry that Ashe had dealt with, but he’d be able to draw it when needed. His arm was still injured, but with a splint he could still hold it steady enough to be accurate.
Dedue took an axe, dressed quickly in light leather armor - all he had on hand, as his sturdier armor was back home in Cadon - and Ashe gathered his cloak about him.
Ashe knew that they had to be prepared for anything. Reading Claude’s reports of Shambhala, it seemed that there was no limit to what these people could do. Ashe knew that they were walking into the unknown, but they had no other choice.
They left the town hall a few moments later and Ashe wished he had just a little more time to hold Dedue’s hand again.
But that time was past, like all the times before it, and it was all he could do to move forward into the night.
-
The warehouse was unassuming and it loomed large against the horizon. Ashe hadn’t been to this part of town before but it was bare, industrial, clearly a space made for storage and equipment. There was a stable nearby that housed the animals responsible for bringing in the caravan, but the building was silent in the late evening.
The battalions around them looked warily up at the dark building, their weapons at the ready but Ashe saw no scouts out here, which left... the lock.
For the third time in a week, Ashe crouched down, sighing as he got to work picking the lock. It opened in his hands easily enough, and Dedue placed a warm hand on his shoulder when he was done.
“I’ll go first.”
He wanted to argue but Ashe could only nod, understanding Dedue’s need to put himself on the front lines, even if it worried him to see it. His heart wavered as Dedue opened the door with a mighty creak and lifted his lantern high before taking the first step inside.
Ashe followed him quickly and the rest of the soldiers filed in one by one. Inside of the warehouse there were long aisles of shelving, stacked with various equipment and items, but the room was enormous and Ashe could see that there was a fragment of light seeping in from between the cracks of the shelving.
“Stay back!”
The voice cried out from the darkness and Dedue lifted his lantern to see a younger man, no older than twenty, his fingers trembling on the bow that he held.
A bow which was aimed right at them.
“Come no closer. Lady Adelaide!” The name was cried out, as if alerting someone and Dedue grit his teeth, “they’re here! They’ve come!”
Ashe wanted to reach for his own bow, but was wary of the nocked arrow, concerned that if he went for a weapon, the young man would let it fly into Dedue’s throat.
“...do you know what she is?” Ashe asked him softly and he shook his head as footsteps echoed down the lines of shelving.
“Don’t care. She’ll give me my dad’s farm back.”
Something about it - whether it was the innocence, the purposeful obliviousness, or the youth of the man - made Ashe’s blood boil and he took a heavy step forward, his brows drawn together.
The bow shifted, moving from Dedue to Ashe. Ashe could feel Dedue’s concern spilling over next to him, but he didn’t care.
“It was never your land to begin with. You - your father - took it in blood. You should be grateful that all you got was a slap on the wrist and a relocation!”
It was, abruptly, not the right thing to say. The man’s eyes hardened and his fingers let go.
Dedue reached for him, sensing the loss of control from the watchman, and shoved Ashe’s shoulder, pushing him aside for the arrow to fly harmlessly past him and glance off the plate of a soldier’s armor behind him.
The boy quickly moved to pull another arrow, but they were already moving, overtaking him quickly. He backed up, his eyes going wide with fear as he moved back and back, into the shadows - until he stopped moving.
“That will be all from you,” the woman behind him - Adelaide, Ashe recognized suddenly - said, her voice deeper than he remembered, her face smoother, her hair braided into a crown around her head - a crown which had various thorns and blackened spikes rising from it, giving her the appearance of a deadened queen.
Her eyes were a pure black. She had a tattoo of a third eye on the center of her forehead, but when Ashe looked at it, he found that it looked back at him.
She stood taller than Dedue.
Her hand clutched at the boy’s back, fingers bunching in the fabric. Something happened - something dark and powerful that made Ashe’s knees feel weak and his nose burn with a scent that was sharp and metallic - and the watchman’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head as his spine arched, his mouth hanging open.
He looked possessed almost, dangling like a puppet as his skin withered and turned into a mottled gray. Ashe realized suddenly that they were watching him die, and when he slumped to the floor, the bone-white tint of Adelaide’s skin looked just a touch pinker.
It was her. The librarian, the woman that they’d met days before. Recognition lit in her face and she smiled, her teeth too sharp, too many.
“You’ve come to see the end,” she said, delighted, seemingly uncaring of the arrows that were now aimed at her from their battalions, “how charming. We left witnesses last time… I won’t make the mistake my elders made then.”
“- Lady Adelaide!”
It was a woman’s voice this time, another woman who stepped from the shadows with more men at her back: mercenaries, dressed similarly to the men who had tried to kill Ashe. This woman was shorter, with nut-brown hair that curled around her ears and small green eyes pressed too far back into her skull.
She seemed breathless, and when she looked over the intruders, her beady eyes narrowed toward Dedue.
“You.”
“I’m dealing with them,” Adelaide told her, waving her off with a brush of her hand, “don’t get worked up.”
“You need to save your power. I’ll handle them. You - ” there was a pause as she noticed the corpse on the floor and frowned, putting two and two together, “- you killed Beru.”
Adelaide merely shrugged. The woman shook her head of it and stepped forward again, her hand on the hilt of her sword, her eyes lifting back up to Dedue.
“You took everything from me,” she accused. “It’s only right that I do the same to you now.”
Dedue watched her for a moment and Ashe felt rage in his chest again, but when Dedue spoke, his words were soft, calm - how could he stay so calm?
“I don’t know you.”
She snarled in frustration, drawing her blade.
“I’m the second daughter of Alistair Kleiman and the rightful ruler of this land, since my father and brother were both hanged by their bastard of a king. My name is Marigold - you will take that name into the eternal flames when I kill you.”
Dedue drew his axe and the battalions crept forward. Ashe watched as Adelaide stepped back, covered by more men and women who pushed their way out of the shadows.
They had weapons on them but none of them were uniformed soldiers. As he looked over the faces of each one, some of them looked less than thrilled to be there, fighting and Ashe remembered - they’re farmers, displaced commonfolk, rallied to her banner.
Still, their own battalions weren’t exactly trained soldiers either. Most of them were former mercenaries who had to find their own work as sellswords after Duscur fell, who returned when Dedue raised the banners once more. They didn’t know much about marching in formation but they could fight, and Ashe knew that he would fight alongside them.
“We can’t let Adelaide get away,” Ashe whispered and Dedue nodded, watching as the old woman disappeared in the shadows of the warehouse.
“I’ll open a path for you,” he said, reaching out to brush his fingers along Ashe’s wrist, “Slip through, get her.”
Ashe wanted to remember that feeling. The brush against his wrist was warm and clammy from Dedue’s sweaty hands and he thought - is this the last time he touches me? Is this the last time I feel anything at all?
But there wasn’t time for such thoughts. There wasn’t time for anything but the act of it.
Dedue roared, pressing forward with his men on his heels and crashing into Marigold’s militia, opening the fight into throes of chaos already. Between his axe and the swords of the men and women behind them, Ashe found it easier to dart into the shadows and slip away, easier to escape notice when everyone around him was fighting for their lives.
He pushed on through the warehouse, praying for Dedue’s safety as he raced down the darkened pathways, barely able to see anything at all, save for the ground in front of him - and then, a faint glow.
Screams rattled out from the front entrance, where the fighting was beginning to claim its first victims. Ashe longed to turn back, to try and protect Dedue, but he knew that if he failed here, Dedue would be beyond saving again. He had to trust Dedue’s prowess - and his own abilities - if they were to both make it out of this alive.
The glow rounded out to be that same magical light, coursing through the engraved steel of the pillars of the warehouse. Ashe followed the light to Adelaide’s fingers, pressed against the columns, and he saw before him the pentacle that stretched across the wide flooring of this section of the warehouse.
This magical circle was bigger than the others he’d seen. There were no devices here. It could be nothing but the origin circle, the source that would ignite all the others if Adelaide activated it.
“Stop!” He called out, raising his bow and aiming it toward her back. She turned her face back toward him, her blackened eyes glimmering in the dim light of the building. “I won’t let you do this.”
Adelaide tilted her head and Ashe could feel the thrum of magic in his teeth again, the hair at the back of his neck standing at attention.
“The only thing that can bring Agartha back is blood,” she told him, and there was no joy in her eyes anymore, “the first time, we were too short-sighted. We created a weapon… but weapons can be broken. This time, I will create a God.”
Ashe loosed the arrow.
It flew from his bow, flying true - but stopped in midair inches from her torso, as if hung on an invisible string. Ashe balked, reaching for his quiver behind him for another arrow to re-nock his bow, as if that could help.
“My true name is Periander,” she told him and Ashe watched as the suspended arrow slowly turned until its sharp point was facing him, “and I will stop at nothing to raise my people from the dead.”
The arrow flew.
Ashe jerked himself away and felt it graze against his cheek, propelled by some mystic force. His momentum sent him stumbling and he scrambled to aim the second arrow at Adelaide - Periander - whatever her name was.
“You’re going to start another war!” he accused, the hot fires of rage rising in him. He felt blood drip from his cheek and aimed at her again. “These people never did anything! You were the ones who hurt them - and then you act like you’re on some noble quest when they defend themselves against you!”
The arrow loosed again, for her throat, but she stopped this one as well. Ashe grit his teeth and reached for his sword instead. He would cut her down if he had to.
“My quest is noble. Filth like you couldn’t begin to understand.”
Bindings lifted themselves up from the earth, black tendrils of magic which lashed for his arms and legs. Ashe rolled away from it, quick and surefooted, but the Banshee spell simply moved faster and tangled in his foot, sending him to the ground before he could reach her. It dragged him back on the floor, despite him trying to stop it, and he kicked at it with his other leg, hacking at it with his blade to try and force it to release him.
“Stop!” he screamed, as she turned back toward the circle. Ashe struggled to stand, to move forward, but every inch was an entire battle. “Please, I’m begging you - I’ll give you anything, I’ll do anything -”
“Then die.”
Ashe felt a sharpness in his back, a thud as if someone had hit him with a club against his shoulder. He didn’t understand it at first and tried to take another step, not willing to let it deter him, but then he heard Dedue’s cry of anguish from behind him and thought - I’ve failed.
Then he heard it again and it wasn’t a scream, but rather it was his name that was being cried out as Dedue caught up with him, bloodied from his fight.
“Ashe!”
His back was wet - maybe that was the spell? But something didn’t feel right now. Ashe looked over his shoulder and saw Dedue maybe twenty feet behind him, his eyes wide. He turned his head further and saw his own arrow, the one that flew past him earlier, embedded in his back.
Oh.
It was as if it wasn’t real until he saw it, like seeing it was what finally made the pain register - and then that was all he felt. Ashe cried out as the pain came in a sickening wave and he stumbled again, though the bindings had released him, leaving nothing between him and the terrible woman, if only he could make it to her.
He coughed and tasted blood. Ashe tightened his grip on his sword and once more tried to stand. His second arrow, the one not currently in his back still hovered threateningly and Ashe knew he couldn’t dodge another one. He took a sluggish step forward, and then another. Ten feet away from his target, but it may as well have been an eternity.
The arrow flew and Ashe squeezed his eyes shut, but the impact never came. He felt no further pain. When he opened his eyes, he saw Periander’s gaze fixed somewhere behind him and he turned.
“...Dedue.”
Dedue hadn’t seen the trick with the flying arrows earlier, wasn’t expecting Periander to shoot this one at him, and so he stood with it embedded in his chest, staring down in muted surprise.
“Dedue!” Ashe said again, a scream this time, and Dedue reached for the arrow, held the shaft of it in his hand, and snapped it like a twig, leaving the head of it still piercing through his skin. The leather of his armor, the bulk of his muscle… it must have been enough to prevent the blow from being fatal, but he still reeled with it, staring down at the injury as blood began to well out and stain at his clothing.
Ashe had no thoughts left in his head. There was only this woman, this vile creature that threatened all of Duscur and then, almost killed Dedue.
He picked himself up, his head hanging low and he lifted his chin just enough to see her turn back to the circle. Ashe grit his teeth, dropped his bow so that he could unsheath his sword, and started running.
Dark tendrils lifted their way off of the ground but Ashe leapt over them, sword at the ready as he slashed at her. Periander hissed and sidestepped, turning away from him and then the ground beneath his feet turned to muck of a Mire spell. No matter. He was lightfooted enough.
Ashe darted inward again, blind to nothing except his desire to protect Dedue, to help him in whatever way he could, and brought his blade down against a barrier of magic. The mud sucked at his feet. Periander hissed and spun to meet him, the back of her hand slamming into his cheek and sending him spinning.
He didn’t care.
Spikes made of shadows lifted their way into the air around him and still, Ashe pressed forward. One of them cut at his shoulder, another slashed into his thigh. He evaded as well as he could until he got another opportunity for another blow, which was deflected. And another. Another.
“Die, you trash!” She screamed, deflecting his sword once more and raking her nails down the side of his face, dark magic clinging to her hand.
It stung like nothing had ever stung in his life and he smelled the now-familiar scent he’d smelled at Del’s house and in the library basement but he couldn’t stop. He hit the ground again and tried to roll, to reposition, but the arrow in his back halted him and he cried out in pain.
“Finally,” she said, and he could feel the dark magic rise again around him. Ashe curled up, trying to force himself to stand again, to be of any use to Dedue, but he couldn’t. He was done.
But the magic did not descend upon him and tear him to shreds. Again, the blow he was waiting for never came. Ashe slowly uncurled himself and looked up to find an arrow lodged in Periander’s throat - one of his own arrows, from the quiver he’d dropped.
Dedue was holding the bow - his bow, the one that he’d let go of when he reached for his sword. In his blind desire to protect Dedue and give his life in defense of Duscur, Ashe had created the perfect opening.
The witch raised her hands, dark magic flowing from her fingers as she tried to grasp at the arrow, to hurriedly close the wound on herself somehow, but all that spilled forth was blackened blood and loose shadows. She staggered backward, reaching a hand out for the pillar to try and stabilize herself and Ashe saw a weakened pulse of magic light up the glyphs - but that was all.
No explosions rang out. No circles called to one another.
Dedue crashed to his knees next to Ashe, reached to gently pick him up, his hands smoothing back his hair to look at his torn face.
“Ashe,” he whispered, fear in his voice and Ashe smiled weakly, his fingers finally unclenching around his sword and reaching up to brush his fingers along the stubble of Dedue’s jaw.
“You did it,” he told him, pride filling his chest, “you stopped it.”
Ashe took a deep breath and steeled himself, tried to sit up and found that he couldn’t - the arrow in his back was starting to hurt now, the pain so intense that he thought he might pass out for the second time in a week. He blinked, forced his vision to clear, and groaned as he tried again.
He was bleeding. He could feel it dripping down his face, drenching his left eye badly enough that he had to close it to blink away the sting. His back hurt, the myriad of smaller cuts and bruises he’d received hurt, but Dedue was here. Dedue would finish this.
“No!”
It was a woman’s scream. Ashe could barely see her over Dedue’s shoulder, but as she staggered forward, he saw that she was injured as well, clutching a bleeding wound at her side.
Marigold. The Kleiman woman.
She still clung to her sword but moved for Periander’s corpse, which had now withered and rotted as if it had only been held together in life by her magic.
Dedue looked up at her, tensing, and Ashe nodded to communicate that he would be alright for a moment or so. He couldn’t do anything to help - he didn’t even think that he could stand again, let alone wield any sort of weapon, but Dedue was always a stronger man than him and Dedue could still fight.
“I wanted…” Marigold gasped, forcing herself upright, gripping her blade tighter. Dedue grimaced and reached for his axe once more. “...the Kingdom and Duscur deserve to tear each other apart for what they did to my family. To me! I had nothing to do with your damned Tragedy. I just want - my family back!”
There were tears staining her cheeks, mixed with the blood that flowed from a wound on her temple. Ashe tried to move, to help in any way he could, but Dedue knew what to do. He always did.
He raised his hand, the one not holding the axe, in some small attempt to pacify her.
“You contracted with the same cult that caused the Tragedy,” he said, his voice tense but not aggressive, “planned to kill hundreds... planned to start a war that would kill thousands. You did this - for revenge? To avenge the same family that committed these same crimes years ago? You could have walked away. You should have.”
“I…” she started, but then shook her head, ridding herself of weakness, “no. Don’t - don’t pretend to be better than me. Your king, he hung my family out of vengeance! And now, I - I will do the same.”
She moved then, as quickly as she could - which wasn’t very quick, due to her injuries - for the circle and the corpse of the mage. Marigold screamed out in desperation as Dedue rose to stop her and fell to her knees in the center of the circle, her sword skittering out from her grasp. She reached for Periander’s decomposing ankle, hand slipping in the black-red of her blood.
When she spoke again, her words were gibberish. They didn’t even sound like words to Ashe’s ears, but something was happening - the blackened blood began filling out the circle, trickling down each of the previously-drawn lines and illuminating it into a sickeningly red light.
“Dedue, she’s - “
But he knew. Of course he knew. He moved for the circle, for Marigold in the center, and dropped to one knee, reaching for her shoulder to rip her away. She struggled, fought him, but didn’t stop chanting, even as she reached for a dagger with her other hand and flailed out to slash at him with it.
The axe was still in his hands. She wouldn’t stop - as more of the circle illuminated itself, Ashe struggled to move, to help Dedue somehow, and Marigold kept chanting, reciting the same foreign sounds over and over again like some kind of twisted song.
“Dedue,” Ashe cried out, hunching over, trying to drag himself across the floor to be nearer to him, to her, to help, “you have to do it!”
He knew. There wasn’t time for mercy, there wasn’t time for empathy or pity - just this woman, twisted beyond saving, and the need to stop her the only way either of them could anymore.
Dedue brought his axe down, powerful enough to crash through her attempted block with her knife, smashing the blade of it into her smaller body.
The words stopped. The blood began to pool properly again. The circle stopped glowing.
It was over.
Dedue stood over her for a moment. When he brought his hands back, he left the axe embedded in her flesh. He didn’t look like he ever wanted to touch it again.
Ashe’s face was burning with pain now, and he raised up his hand to press against the ripped lines across his cheek, choking back tears. Still, the arrow crowded into his body, inflexible in his back, and he longed for that sweet morning in Dedue’s arms, the early afternoon spent watching him sleep… he closed his good eye and let out a tiny sob.
As if summoned by his tears, Dedue was back at his side, reaching an arm around him, careful of the arrow and the rest of his injuries.
“I’m sorry I had to leave you,” he murmured, and Ashe shook his head, reaching a hand out blindly to bunch in Dedue’s shirt, avoiding his own wound in turn.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t - couldn’t help, I - “ he sniffled, the tears burning at the slashes down his face, and he wanted to bury himself in Dedue’s chest again, but didn’t want to hurt him. “- you had to do it. You had to. I love you so much.”
Dedue held him as best he could while they waited for the healers to arrive.
-
The final death toll was close to twenty. From the deaths among Dedue’s soldiers, to the farmers and mercenaries - though some of them cut and ran when it seemed as though they would be killed - to the various poor souls who had gone missing forever, to Del. The first one to send the message which alerted Ashe of what was going on.
It was possible that the message wasn’t needed, that Dedue would have figured it all out on his own - but Ashe liked to think that he’d helped in some small way.
Now, back in Fhirdiad, he focused on detailing out the rest of the report. The final member of the family, the dying remnant of the cult…
After their deaths and after the healers had tended to the worst of their wounds, Dedue had conducted a thorough search of the city, found all of the devices tucked away in basements and empty rooms, and without a way to ensure the destruction of them without setting them off, sank them deep into the sea. Ashe had helped as much as he was able to, happy for any way he could assist after what they'd been through. The work left him in Duscur for the following weeks, and then an extra week after that, which he spent in Dedue’s arms, in Dedue’s bed - his actual bed - with Dedue’s intelligent mouth and his nimble fingers.
Ashe left that part out of the report.
The rest fell into place. He sent Del’s mother a letter, informing her that her son had died saving Duscur and that she would always be welcomed in her home country. He sent his other spies messages, telling them where he’d been.
And then, there was this. The final, encompassing report to his king, which detailed every step of the way, all the things they had discovered and what they had done. Dimitri knew some of it from Ashe’s various letters - but not all put together like this, in an unhurried and easy pace.
When Dimitri glanced over it, Ashe could see his brows lift higher in surprise and shock. Claude, next to him, reached for the papers when he was done and skimmed through them as well, his intelligent eyes darting back and forth across the paper before finally looking up toward Ashe with something like pride brimming over in his expression.
Claude opened his mouth as if to say something and then remembered that they were in Fódlan now, where Dimitri was king, and elbowed his husband to form a response.
“Ah - this… this is... “ Dimitri sputtered, shaking his head in disbelief. “When I got your letter, I was prepared to return to Fhirdiad immediately. Claude said I should trust you… now, I’m glad I did. You’ve done very well, Ashe. I owe you a great deal.”
“I knew you’d be fantastic,” Claude added, “but… wow. You and Dedue saved a lot of people, you know.”
“Thank you, your highness.”
Ashe smiled, but his heart still pounded with anxiety. Behind him, he clutched at another small assortment of papers, papers which would change everything, even more than it had already changed. His mouth felt dry as he stepped forward, bowing in respect.
“There is… one other thing.”
Dimitri tilted his head curiously, looking back up toward Ashe from where he’d been rereading parts of the report.
“What is it?”
Ashe closed his eyes.
-
“I have to go,” he’d said just a week ago, early in the morning light with Dedue’s sheets over his head.
Dedue smiled sadly at him from where he was laying next to him in their small tent of sheets. In here, nothing could hurt them. It was like its own universe where nothing bad could happen, nothing could ache, and no one would ever have to leave.
But.
It was a fantasy. It wasn’t real. He knew that with each day he stayed away from Fhirdiad, his absence would be missed all the more. Who would feed the ravens? Who would listen to the whispers of the servants? Who would tell his spies what to do?
He reached for Dedue’s jaw and Dedue moved to touch him in turn, thumbing over the three thin scars that etched down his cheek and the side of his face (”They’re lovely,” he’d said, the first time he caught Ashe staring uncertainly in the mirror, “besides - now we can match.”).
“I didn’t ask you to stay last time,” Dedue murmured, letting his hand drift lower, to Ashe’s collarbone, the rough pads of his thumb tracing the line of his chest, “and I regretted it ever since.”
“Would you -” but the question felt too big, too uncertain. Ashe bit at his lip and took in a deep, wobbling breath. “- would you have me? In Duscur?”
“Darling,” Dedue hushed back without missing a beat, and he slid closer, his arm slipping around Ashe’s shoulders now to pull him close, his thick, powerful thigh hitching up between Ashe’s knees, “I would have you anywhere.”
-
“A… request,” he finally told his king, pulling the other papers from his hand and tentatively offering them out.
“What’s this?” Dimitri asked, and Claude stood on his tiptoes with his hands folded on Dimitri’s shoulder to try and read them.
“My resignation. If you’ll allow it.” Ashe swallowed hard and forced himself to look up at them. “I want to relocate to Duscur. Y-you’ll find my offer in there… I’ll never speak of anything I learned while acting as a spymaster in Fhirdiad, punishable by death. I’ll train my replacement… well, as well as I can. I’ll leave all my notes and tell my spies to never contact me again. And more - there’s more in there.”
Dimitri nodded solemnly, looking through the letter - more carefully this time, now that he knew the significance of it.
“I… I see.”
Ashe wet his lips and tried to speak again. “Behind that, you’ll find a letter from Dedue, formally requesting my services as an aid to one of the leaders of Duscur. While I swear that I’ll never work in espionage again, not against Faerghus or anyone, it’s my intention to… um… help. With Duscur relations.”
Dimitri continued reading the letters, but it was Claude who looked at him. Claude, with his sharp eyes and his working mind - Claude was the one who Ashe was afraid of. While Dimitri likely could have been moved by a passionate speech, Claude would know the danger that this proposition posed.
Ashe, frankly, knew too much. His work made him a liability in everywhere other than Fhirdiad, and while he could promise until he was blue in the face that he’d never use his information or work against them, there was no way to guarantee his loyalty.
But - he hoped, beyond hope, that his record would speak for itself. From the slight tilt of Claude’s mouth into a sly little smile, it certainly seemed like it might.
“May I ask why?” Dimitri finally asked, his lips pursed into a frown. “If I haven’t treated you well, Ashe, I’m - “
“- no, it’s nothing like that,” Ashe said hastily, waving a hand as if to push the worry away. “It’s that I…”
There was a pause. Ashe cleared his throat and looked at the ground.
“What I mean to say is that I…”
“-he’s in love with Dedue,” Claude offered helpfully.
Both Ashe and Dimitri turned to him, startled. Claude simply shrugged, tugging Dedue’s letter from Dimitri’s fingers and waving it, as if it was evidence. “I mean, read the letter if you have any doubts. The passion in here - Dedue isn’t in a political position to ask the king of Faerghus for favors unless they were dear to his heart. Besides, you saw them at our wedding, right?”
Dimitri slowly shook his head.
“I… I only had eyes for you on that day.”
Claude blushed prettily, flattered but ultimately undeterred. “Well, if you’d seen them then, then you’d know. I’m mostly just surprised this hadn’t happened sooner.”
Ashe couldn’t help but to smile at Claude’s flippant behavior, despite knowing that he had to be weighing the risks of it in the back of his mind. While he had no insight into how, exactly, Claude’s brain worked, he knew that he did his best thinking when he was distracting everyone else with a witty comment or lighthearted insight.
“It’s true,” Ashe finally confessed, looking up toward Dimitri again, “I love him. I want to be with him. I - I had hoped that you would understand, given…”
“...given our arrangement?” Dimitri asked, a spark of amusement in his eyes. Ashe nodded in return and he hummed, looking back down at the letters. “Well… when you put it like that…”
Claude tugged on his shoulder and Dimitri turned away, toward his husband. Ashe averted his eyes while the two quietly conferred, his pulse thundering in his ears. He would run if he had to. He could sneak away, and Dedue would harbor him, and Dimitri could not risk taking him back by force.
But surely, he realized as the two kings parted and looked at him once more, Claude realized that already.
“Alright.” Dimitri finally said, raising the letters in his hand, “I accept your resignation. I expect you to train a replacement and hand over all assets and intelligence about the Kingdom and her allies, and never speak -”
“-thank you,” Ashe whispered, breathless, “thank you - thank you, thank you.”
Claude laughed his easy laugh and tangled his fingers together in Dimitri’s own.
“We can talk about the details later. For now… I assume there’s a very important letter you want to send?”
Ashe nodded earnestly, taking Claude’s words as a dismissal.
There was.