Chapter Text
7 Guardian Moon, 1206
Her blade clashed against his lance.
The blow did not deter him so she quickly drew back to gain distance from her blond opponent. He pulled his lance up to maintain a defensive stance, eyeing her. His technique had improved but at this rate, he'd break his lance and Byleth preferred to end this duel with both unscathed. She lunged and her rival swiftly blocked. His youth gave him an advantage in speed and against normal opponents, he would emerge victorious. However, her years of experience outweighed his energy, moving her past the rank of an ordinary opponent. With the finesse of her blade, she managed a winning blow.
Rodrigue stepped back, grimacing from the knock to his arm.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He shakes his head, rotating his arm.
“I’m fine. It’s my pride that’s injured more than anything. I thought for sure I was going to win today but I can never seem to hit you, mother.”
“You need to give yourself credit. You’ve improved a lot over the past few months.” He nods, acknowledging her praise, and started wiping the sweat from his brow. Byleth eyed him intently. “Rodrigue, come here a moment.”
“What is it, mother?” She pulls out a handkerchief from her satchel and he stares, puzzled.
“You have a smudge on your cheek.” As she brought the handkerchief closer to him, his cheeks start to flush.
“M-Mother! Please I’m not a child! I can clean it myself.” She smiled, feeling somewhat bittersweet.
“But you’ll be leaving soon. Let me indulge as your mother, just this once.” Though he tries to pull away, ultimately, he complies to his mother’s wishes. At times like these, he really did remind her of his father, so courteous and bashful. She scrubbed the dirt away and took another opportunity to gaze at his soft features. “There. My handsome boy.”
Suddenly, she felt the icy blow of a stray snowball smash against her back. Another one quickly struck Rodrigue in the forehead. Hurried chatter drew them to the source.
“What the-?” Dodging behind the pillars, the twins engaged in a fierce snowball competition and once they were spotted, the two started running away.
“Kain! Avel!” chided Byleth. “What have I told you about throwing those here? That’s dangerous!”
“Sorry mother!”
“We’ll go somewhere else, I promise!”
“Grr… those two,” fumed Rodrigue, wiping the snow off. “They’re going to be in a lot of trouble when I get my hands on them.” He dashes off to hunt the troublemakers down, leaving his mother to store away the practice equipment. The quick steps of her daughter redirected her attention and Byleth managed to catch a glance at her outfit.
“Shiida, what I have told you about wearing those types of dresses here?”
“Oh mother, don’t fret,” she said, proudly puffing out her chest, her improper outfit further emphasizing the ample bosom she inherited. “It’s the typical fashion among the noble ladies up here in the North. Ira told me.”
“Yes dear, during the summer seasons. During the winter season, it’ll make you catch cold.”
“I’m bringing a shaw,” she said indignant.
“It had better be a cloak because I refuse to let you leave with anything less.” Shiida frowned, ready to start an argument when loud footsteps interrupted her.
“Shiida, listen to your mother.” Dimitri’s authoritative presence helped defuse the argument. In his arms, Edel snuggled against his warm cape while Geralt followed closed behind. Shiida huffs but ultimately gives in.
“Fine. I’ll go find something else.” As she walked away, Byleth sighs over her rebellious daughter. This was hardly the first time she tried leaving the castle in ridiculous fashion.
“She’ll be fine,” said Dimitri, reassuring her with a quick peck on the cheek. “How was training?”
“Good, until the twins decided to interrupt. Rodrigue is getting better though.” As she spoke, she spotted Geralt hiding behind his father and she bent down towards him. “How were the stables, darling?”
“The stables were fun! I got to see all kinds of horses.” She beamed. Unlike the other children, Geralt didn’t inherent his features from Byleth or Dimitri. Instead his sandy brown hair and prominent nose reminded her of his grandfather. She supposed it was coincidence but she felt blessed all the same. As she picked him up, she thought about her father- how he would have loved to see his grandchildren. To see Byleth happy and married. And perhaps to see Fódlan evolve into a better place.
“Really? I want to hear all about it,” she hummed, running her fingers through his hair. Dimitri leaned in to provide her another peck on the cheek and whispers, “They said the night will be cold, beloved.”
“Oh yes,” she smiled coyly. “Very cold. It’s important to keep warm.”
The evening rolled around and as Byleth finished her bath, she couldn’t help but reflect on the past twenty years of her life. Twenty incredible years. Though she supposed it was closer to twenty-five but the five year slumber threw off her sense of time. So much had changed. Empires and Alliances crumbled; borders opened to the east and west; ancient enemies of the continent vanquished. Naturally, she changed too. She felt more alive now.
If she hadn’t met the three students of the Officer’s Academy all those years ago, where would she be now? Certainly not the Archbishop. She’d probably still travel the continent as a mercenary with her father- not miserable but not content either.
Would she have built a connection with Sothis? Back when she first hear her voice, she tired of Sothis’ constant nagging and snide comments. Now, she treasured her guidance and friendship.
Would she have ever made any friends or gotten married? Unlikely. She had no connections to anyone outside her father.
Before she slipped into her nightgown, she looked in the mirror and sighed.
After twenty years and five pregnancies, her body changed, no matter how much Dimitri claimed otherwise. Though still physically fit, her wide hips and thighs grew beyond her svelte form as a mercenary. The crow’s feet around her eyes grew more prominent and her graying hair became impossible to conceal. Her bad knee ached more often with the cold and her reactions in battle slowed.
The young mercenary with cold eyes and stoic fierceness vanished. The immortal avatar to the goddess was a thing of rumor. She was merely a mortal woman, getting old.
And yet Dimitri looked at her as if she was Sothis herself, descending from heaven on her blue star towards their bed.
“Beloved,” he murmured softly, his big calloused hands stroking her cheeks. She brushed his golden hair out of his face and gazed into his beautiful, blue eye. A few weeks ago, during the anniversary of the Founding of Garreg Mach, Dimitri grew so distressed. He had dealt with his bouts of grief for years and he always struggled to return to normal. It warmed her heart to see him doing so much better. She leaned in for a kiss and he returned her love tenfold.
The love between them was slower now, more gentle, but it heated her stony heart in ways she never imagined.
“Dear, these winter nights in Faerghus nights are so very cold,” she whispered softly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll always be here to keep you warm.”
She nodded. It was a promise well kept.