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The cathedral was silent as Dimitri entered. Quiet, save for the creak of an old pew and the whisp of air, as thick with insense as it was the sort of piety he'd lost with his parents. Like so many orphans, he'd grown out of his unwavering faith in the goddess- had stopped finding hope in her outstretched, "benevolent" hand. A hand, that had reached to harm him more times than he could count.
Yet, in one of her most sacred places, he found comfort. He found it in the air milky with ceremonial smoke, and the muted prayers of the faithful; found it in the memories of his school days- of the choir practices and the sermons belted by the monks and the archbishop- and of late nights stumbling upon the professor, planning for her next lesson in the same pew he sat in now.
He brushed gently against the old wood, graying with age. It had been a time since he had come here. Weeks. Months, even.
He sighed.
After all he'd done, how could he step within such walls? He was a godless killer who sullied the atmosphere and scared away the monks rightfully hesitant to trust him. He had no right to be there now. He was no longer a lost little boy desperate for some sense of comfort nor a monster searching for a reprise to indulge in his fantasies. He was just a foolish man with dreams even more foolish than himself.
And all because he had found something, or should he say, someone, that finally brought him more peace than the cathedral ever could. A woman, that eased his endless thoughts and let him drift into a dreamless, beautiful sleep. A person who finally let him rest, if even for a moment.
The irony of his sleepless situation and her unwitting involvement did not elude him, nor the fact that it was her who led him to the cathedral for one more rendezvous with fate. How couldn't he when the thought of her made his heart race and his stomach churn- made him tremble and pant and dream, endless dreams of a future he thought he may never possess. How could he find sleep when he dreamt of a life he'd never known could be there for him- how could he not come to the cathedral for respite when fear, quaking, wonderful, beautiful fear that did not drown him but force air into his lungs and steal him from his dark depths made his heart sing in relief and anxiety all in the same breath and make him think, "Goddess, Goddess, Goddess, what is this?"
Only to have that goddess answer in surrogation- in five fragile little fingers reaching for his hand, caressing his cheek, saving him over and over and over again no matter the sunken pit he was lost within.
In surrogate to Serios was that woman he once called professor.
In surrogate to sleep was a meager band of metal, heavier in his pocket than any lance or sword he'd ever held. Weighted with as much promise a damaged heart could conjure, it ripped him through each time he looked at it- struck him with such unwitting, unbelievable fear every time he saw his reflection in the emerald.
To think it would be a ring that would do him in rather than that of what he'd seen through his short life; that it would be not the piled corpses or the monstrous beasts foaming at the mouth. That it would not be a limp, small body that once looked like his step-sister, but rather the uncertainty of a future.
A foolish one to put hope in, the ring was, but a future all the same.
It was only after he purchased the jewelry did he realize how selfish a proposal it would be- how unfair and unbalanced when it came from him of all people: King of Fodlan to an ex-mercenary turned Archbishop. The stations, though not too terribly far apart in weight, still held the imbalance of years of expectations and experience- if he could even call himself experienced.
He supposed her true station had always eluded him, though, that she was once a commoner. It was such a foreign, far away thought he had never truly acknowledged in anyone "below" him. In a way, he had always thought of her as above his station back then. Then when they were teacher and student.
Even when he'd aged, he still felt she was superior. A human to his beast. A person to his monster.
But now when he thought of it he could only see unfairness in the proposal he wished to offer, an imbalance of power and a pressure to marry a horrible man who read too far into simple gestures and small talk; who had looked too deeply into the smile of his teacher when he was hardly yet a man and let his heart sing for the first time in a long while.
He could still remember it, her first smile. He'd seen slight smirks or the occasional chortle during her free time, of course, little hints of emotion he knew had dwelled within and knew dwelled more, yet never a real smile.
Oh, and when she had, when she'd well and truly smiled-... he could not fathom going without seeing it again.
She'd had a smile like the moon, it like a light in the darkness, gentle and hypnotic, bright enough to beam but easy enough to find rest within.
She'd had a smile like a bushel of stars, with berries of mature joy and warmth bursting from its surface, and he couldn't have torn his eyes away even if he'd wanted to.
Still, in his heart he could feel it's dead drop as he first beheld it, could still feel his cheeks warm as he noticed for the first time all the little details he'd never bothered to search for in his ignorance.
How she had dimples, little joyful divots in her cheeks. How she had a fading lieu of freckles spattered across her nose in the light of the end of summer. How her eyes glimmered with feeling when he'd once thought them devoid of such. With one smile it was as if she was a covered pot just beginning to boil over and blow its top and he was in the blast zone.
From the moment he'd seen that first smile, he'd craved to see it again. Over and over and over he desired to see what else it was she had been hiding, what else she felt and thought and saw with those eyes wise beyond their years- what he would later learn one champaign filled evening after a won battle and secured supplies, she could not help but withhold.
"There was something wrong with me," she said plainly over the rim of her glass, the two of them, as always escaping from celebrations and finding eachother. He was quiet as she looked across the expanse of the courtyard, her thigh pressed against his own where they sat, gray marble cold against him. "Father never outright said it, but I knew he felt it all the same."
"What do you mean wrong," he asked, concern drawing his brow.
Her eyes drifted up to the stars. Up as if she were looking for someone. "Until I came here and eventually merged with Sothis, every feeling was muted. Like someone had stopped my ears but instead, it was my heart, my mind." She looked down, brows subtly sinched. "I still felt. I still had sadness and joy and nervousness, but... I had such difficulty understanding and expressing them like other children. I was stunted. I was wrong. I was different and I didn't like it." A small smile tipped her lips as she looked to him. "Not many others did either."
His heart ached for her and her brutal description of herself- similar in so many ways to how he viewed himself. It baffled him how she could ever fathom such things. That she was broken or wrong.
Those feelings were meant for him and him alone.
"You're different, yes," he said softly, "but that does not make you wrong, or stunted, or broken." He looked deep into those emerald eyes. "You are sincere, Byleth, sincere and honest and strong and any 'wrong' trait of yours that had ever been pointed out to you is one I assure you was pointed out in fear rather than honest understanding." His eyes fell. "I cannot say how well it is I truly know you nor anyone else, as that much is for you to judge, but I know for myself, from what all I've seen over the years, that had I met you then when you felt so ostracized, I would have befriended you." He found her gaze again and smiled gently. "Because expressions or not, perceived normality or no, I will always and have always been fond of you."
Her brows twitched upwards at his unwitting confession, shock and some sort of pleasant amusement easing her features into something near to a kind of fondness, but there was just enough unpleasantness to that expression that had his face turn red in the realization of what he'd said. His tongue too loose from the alcohol, but still wise enough yet, he quickly added, "Just as all the class is fond of you as well," adding that easy layer of separation. An easy wall to spare his feelings. Still unready to face what she'd once said. Still too unworthy.
Her smile had softened then as she took another draw of champaign, her first and only glass he'd noticed. He'd been on his third, delectably warm and bit stupid already. She was no lightweight he knew- he'd seen enough times her handle her alcohol well after a job well done now in the war front, and yet she said what she did all the same.
Gently, she brushed a piece of her hair back behind her ear. "I've always been fond of you, Dimitri." No filter. No barrier. And only one glass of champaign.
It had lingered her words, like the sting of winter's first chill or a cut across a finger. Lingered like what she had once told him, ripping open a wound he had thought was closing but knew never could. A wound she'd opened with that first smile and widened that night in the rain five and a half years later. That night he saddled a horse and sharpened a lance. Relieved, for once, it was almost over one way or another.
"I loved you." She'd said, choked behind the pound of rain and his heartbeat in his ears
Raw.
Raw words that broke through his seven-year fog like a blinding light, too overwhelming to be a comfort. Too confusing to understand as she held his hand, the first friendly touch in five long years. Words, that he still understood not of, but made Enbarr seem so much farther away that night.
"Live for what you believe in, Dimitri."
And it all seemed so much farther away that night.
Even now, wiser, clearer of mind he would never understand why she uttered such a phrase. He would never understand why she would save such a special place in her heart for him after all he'd done.
He was a monster. A beast who threatened her comrades, her friends and promised to use them till their flesh fell from their bones and they moved no longer, who threatened her, overworked her, hated her despite his heart's gentle yearning. That want ever behind his beast to hold his beloved professor as softly as a bird and nestle against her cheek, singing softly his joy she had returned.
I loved you.
Loved.
She had loved his boyish heart, that thing he had before the war and before the massacres. Yes, she loved that thing he had no longer. Loved, but could not love any longer.
So, it didn't surprise them when they spoke of it no longer. When that moment in the rain faded like water seeped into soil. A quiet, soft resignation. One he deserved, but maybe, he should have countered.
One he maybe should have stood against and said no, no if he could have- if he wasn't so ashamed of himself, and so scared of her changing her mind- of him misunderstanding.
She loved all her students, so why was he any different- why did he want to be any different so badly- so horribly it ached?
The ring in his pocket spoke bounds enough.
The truth was, Dimitri loved Byleth for far longer than he could remember. That love growing from a childhood crush to the love of a broken adult, still attached to the one person who guided him so kindly. His ally through all. His beloved professor.
And it was because of that love he hesitated.
She deserved a better man. Deserved to not be riddled with a worthless proposal from a worthless beast who knew nothing about love- who had never had time for petty crushes and flings like all the others did because of that infatuation with revenge. Because of that sadness that never let him see any hint of affection even if someone did somehow care for him. Especially not from her.
How could she care for him when there were so many better choices to be had? There was Sylvain, a philanderer but a smart man with charming looks. Felix, inheritor of one of the greatest titles in Faerghus and the best swordsman the world had seen. Mercedes, a calm, wise, beautiful woman with a heart even Midas could not turn more golden. Ashe, smart, lovable Ashe. Dedue, strong and careful and loyal.
And then there was Dimitri. A man recovering from insanity. A man who still heard ghosts and sometimes still listened to their softening cries. A man who would never deserve a woman so wonderful as Byleth.
And foolishly, he'd let himself continue to love her. Weak always when it came to her. Weak to that smile and every little hint of her personality she'd shown him over the years.
Weak to the stories of her mercenary life, so different from what he would have expected.
Once, he'd thought them as brutish, selfish people only to find through her tales how opposite it was.
She told him of the celebrations they'd have when a job went right or of the funerals and condolences when one went terribly wrong. She told him of the men and women who raised her, the closest thing to family besides her father
She told him how she missed them dearly some days. Missed how she danced with her father around the fires.
He sighed and looked to the floor, well-polished even with its destruction around it.
He fell in love with the woman who loved her father as dearly as Dimitri had his own. Loved in a quiet all-encompassing way he saw but never quite understood until it their dynamic was gone.
It took little thought to remember the day Jeralt passed. His death a heavy, ominous one that struck the church hard and ran Byleth through.
Her keens as she curled over his body would haunt him for a lifetime. Those the cries of a child just learning how to.
He wondered if his funeral would have appeased that mercenary life he had lived for so long, or if it was another facet of his freedom stolen away. Then wondered again if Jeralt would approve of the man who wanted his daughter's hand.
He chortled. No. No he supposed he wouldn't.
And wasn't that even more a reason to set his ring aside and step away?
Maybe it was. It would be better to spare her the worry of declining. Save her valuable time and stress the day before his and her own coronations. Despite that gentle negging in his heart it would be better.
I loved you.
I'm fond of you.
Live for what you believe in.
He ran a hand through his hair tussling what little attempt there was to style it.
What did he believe in, he wondered. Was it the goddess and her watchful eyes or a sharpened lance? Was it a warm hand outstretched or a dagger to his throat.
Was it standing idly by out of shame or gathering his courage to do what his heart yearned so eagerly for.
Live for what you believe in.
He reached into his pocket and pulled free that emerald ring.
Was it a ring he believed in or a gorge to throw it into to forget and regret the rest of his life?
His eyes lingered to the reflection he saw in that deep color, tinted purple in the morning moonlight. There he saw a man. Tired. Cold. And ashamed of himself. Humiliated and embarrassed and broken beyond belief. Unlovable.
Unfixable.
Worthless.
He squeezed shut his eyes. Wishing away that view he always saw and wished... Wished rather for what she deserved. What he wanted to be. What he believed in.
He opened his eyes.
There was a broken man. Worthless but regain his right to worth. Broken but not jagged. Fixable. Tired and cold but learning to be warm again. Learning to heal. To live.
He looked up to that broken pulpit. Crumbled and broken, unfixable that first time he saw it, yet slowly the church had worked towards fixing it. Slowly they began to restore it.
He looked back down to that ring and saw two men. One he hated and one he was learning to care for again. One who lived for others beliefs and one who was learning to live for his own.
It was his choice to choose which one to see tonight. To choose which one to live by. Which one he deserved.
He took a breath.
Which one did he deserve?
Rose-tinted morning light peaked through the broken dome overhead, and the gentle chime of the first morning's bell echoed overhead. 4 o'clock time for the monks to rise. Time for that new dawn they'd fought for.
He clutched his ring as he rose from the pew. It was time for him to live for what he believed in, and it all started with a first step, one as glittering as an emerald and as bright as a woman's first smile. All he had to do was reach out his hand like she had done so many times and pray she took it.
Dimitri had had an inkling of where his professor would be, and yet it surprised him all the same when he rounded that final set of stairs and found her, serene as she sat upon the railing of the goddess tower, outlooking the endless gorge bellow them and the rising sun, it's purple light washing over her fair, soft skin. His fingers tingled with the memory of her hands, how soft and warm they were with every touch she gifted him. Soft, gentle, despite the callouses and scars.
Proof, in some way, that strong men and women had the capacity for softness. She had always been a vice to the norm though, an opposite to everything he knew. Gentle and easy despite the muscles that rippled beneath her coat. Outspoken and humorous when her demeanor betrayed stoicism and quietness.
She was the opposite of his every first expectation, though her beauty was always agreed upon in his mind. It only grew more and more glimmering as he learned more of her and her outstanding deeds. Those deep turquoise eyes turned emerald brightening with each day. Those small, supple lips more upturned with their every conversation.
Her, more vibrant each day he got to know her, and more irresistible.
His hand slipped to his pocket, checking for the small bump there.
She could say no, he thought, -he half expected her to- but fickle fear would not control him today. No. No longer would he let that suffocating fear take him, but rather the kind that ached when he thought of years down the line, regretting never asking her- regretting never knowing the answer.
And wasn't the thought of living for years longer proof enough he had changed, if only a little?
He wondered if it, or him, would ever be enough.
Byleth let out a soft, tired yawn, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments.
He may not be, but he would try each and every day to be enough for her if she gave him the chance.
He rose those final steps, letting his footfalls grow heavy as to not scare her, and took in a final deep breath. She turned towards him, cautious for only a moment before her face softened, each feature crinkling into a gentle smile before she slipped off the railing to meet him.
His heart rattled in his chest as he forced a smile.
"Come now, my friend," he said playfully, hoping to belay the anxious tremor to his tone. "You must stop staying up so late. Tomorrow is yet another early morning." Today, he supposed. With the hours ticking by like seconds, it would be only a blink before everything changed for what he hoped was better.
"I know that matters little," he said. His eyes roamed her disheveled state. Restless as he, the bags under her eyes denied no truth. "You cannot sleep, can you?"
"It seems you cannot either," she said, doe eyes flitting up to his own.
"Indeed," he breathed, looking deep into those tired eyes. Looking deep at the cuts that marred her cheeks and the bruises that yellowed her skin, still yet healed from the final battle.
It wasn't fair how he'd pushed her, how he'd pushed everyone to their limits, and demanded they do more. It would never be fair.
"I..." his eyes fell to her hands, "I want you to know that I am sorry for making you do so much when your battle wounds aren't even completely healed yet. Sorry to everyone, in fact."
Lightly, she shook her head. "We all have seen much worse and weathered it. A few scratches are the best we've fared in quite some time, but what of you?
"Do not worry about me..." he said. "My shoulder has healed nicely. I still have some numbness in my hand, but it should not hinder me too much." He'd be able to wield a lance within a week he supposed- though, he would not need to any longer.
He looked to her. To the soft slump of relief in her shoulders, he'd never noticed until now. Neither of them would need to wield a weapon again and how wonderful was that? Nearly as wonderful as the scene before them, filled with hope as bright as the morning sun and a negging silence as he stalled for words- for time if only a little.
He motioned to the open windows surrounding them. "It is a lovely night... Is it not?" A bittersweet smile crossed his lips. "How many years has it been since I was kept awake by hopes for the future, rather than by nightmares of the past?"
Concern drew her brows together. "Nightmares?"
His eyes fell to the ground, that smile bittering. "I have had the same nightmare for nine long years." The same endless terror that haunted him even out of sleep. "A nightmare in which I am constantly tormented by those who have died. They ask me why I have not avenged them. Why I got to live, yet they had to die."
He smiled a cold, unfortunate smile..
"No matter how many corpses I piled up for them, in the end, their voices only grew louder. Voices loathing me, calling out to me." Pain throbbed at his temple. "Their inescapable death cries ringing in my ears- clinging to my soul- never-ending, never stopping- never leaving-..." He pushed out a breath, face soured in that memory.
"Even now," he breathed throat tight, eyes burning, "I can always hear them. I am certain I will be hearing them until the day I die." He shook his head, faced the voices and the pain. It was time. "But I will not cover my ears." He stood up a little taller. "I will go on living and their voices will serve as a warning. A warning for a king and for a wretch who claimed countless lives. One who will build a Kingdom where the people can live in peace." He scoffed. "I am sure she would laugh and call such talk foolish." He closed out the sight of her small body crumpled on the carpet, her own tiny voice hissing and laughing in his ears. "I wish to change this world in my own way."
And he hoped he could do it with her by his side.
A moment of thoughtful quiet passed between them, lasting only a second, but one that held the weight of a thousand years' expectations.
"Well, Your Grace," he said, the title new upon his lips, but fitting, "things will be busy from now on. Our first order of business, though, is tomorrow's coronation, or should I say today's." He smiled softly, looking upon her, how much she had changed. How much they both had changed.
"Once a professor and student... Now an archbishop and a king. How very far we have come."
She smiled as she shook her head. "Only our titles have changed, Dimitri, not who we are.
A smile eased from his lips, his anxiety nearly forgotten. "That is true," he agreed. "To me, you will always be the one who guided me so kindly." The one who saved him. "My ally through all." his light and his love. "My beloved-" His breath hitched at the slip- hitched and then evened. Calm, for once, at how well the name fit her. How perfectly it settled upon his lips.
"Yes," he breathed, eyes soft upon her, beautiful, as her eyes widened, not in disgust as he feared, but in hope- hope just as he had settled for, "my beloved."
"Dimitri," she murmured, easing closer to him.
"There is something I wish to give you before the coronation." he slipped his fingers into his pocket and caressed the metal band hidden there "Give me your hand." And with all the slowness in the world, he revealed that simple, humble ring. The most he could afford during the war front, and the one closest to the color of her eyes.
And yet despite that flicker of hope he'd seen earlier. It disappeared as she looked at his ring, faded like the sun behind a cloud as disappointment and ran him through more than simple disgust would have.
Pain welled in his chest. He swallowed thickly, his hands trembling. It took all his might not to pocket his ring and run down the stairs. "Please... I beg of you," he whispered. "Say something." he blinked hard. "Anything." He shook his head. "If you do not wish to accept it, please just tell me. If so, I will face the truth and walk away."
Her lips parted. "No- no," she said. "That's not it at all I- well I-" she fumbled for a moment, reaching around her various pockets and satchels before pulling out a-
Oh.
It was a ring, the most beautiful, stunning ring he'd ever seen in his life, all the colors of the morning sunrise. All the colors of a new dawn.
"What-" his eyes flickered between her ring and his own- "What is this?"
She took his hand and held it between her own. "A marriage proposal thwarted by our similar minds." His brow furrowed. "I love you, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Marry me. Marry me and let me see this new dawn at your side." Her fingers intertwined with his. "Marry me and whisper that I am your beloved, and I will do the same."
Oh.
His fingers trembled as she held him, his heart pounding, quaking, filling with the most indescribable feeling he'd ever known in his life. Something raw and beautiful and free- like he could breathe again. Like he could see again. The feeling as he looked upon her so visceral he could almost taste it yet so soft.
So, so soft he felt as he looked into her eyes, beaming with affection all for him, gently, easily stroking small circles into his hands, so much larger than her own.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Tears welled in his eyes. She loved him, loved him now and not just that boyish one. Loved the broken one learning to heal. Loved Dimitri who had done horrible things and was finally owning to it. Loved him. In spite of the flaws, she loved him.
"You're hands- they're so small and fragile in my own..." he murmured, entranced by the feeling as she laced them. Entranced by the swallowing feeling of his heart as she smiled brighter and brighter. "To think these hands that have saved me so many times would wish to cling to mine forevermore." He let out a breathless little laugh as he looked up to her. Eyes burning ever so slightly. Heart singing loud in his ears. "I have no qualms with that notion, my beloved."
She nestled in closer to him, her ear pressed against his thundering heart. She let out a trembling sigh. Her hands shivered in his grasp. "Thank the goddess," she whispered.
Yes... yes maybe he could thank her for this one peaceful thing, thank her for allowing him his one wish.
"Come, let us exchange these," he murmured softly, his eyes gleaming as she nodded.
Gently, as if she were made of glass he took her hand, easing a gentle thumb across her fingers before slipping his ring on her. She let out a giddy, breathless laugh as she looked at it, the very epitome of pleased.
"Here, mine now." And slipped that beautiful ring upon his finger, pulling away only after tracing those beautiful jewels- caressing them as if she were parting with them. He entwined their fingers before she could go too far, and she smiled warmly.
"My beloved," he whispered as he caressed her. Her arms wrapped around him, all-encompassing and warm despite her size. He melted into the touch.
"Yours," she breathed.
He closed his eyes.
His.