Chapter Text
This is Part Three of the Colors of Fódlan series. If you’d like to start from the beginning, here’s Part One. Really though, the other parts are prequels. This is the main storyline. You do not need to read the other parts to understand this one.
Enjoy!
It is far too late when you arrive. You know this well, for most of the color has bled from your vision already. You don’t have the time to remove your armor or riding gear— you have so little time.
“Sitri!”
You stride in through the open door and fall to your knees at her bedside. Desperation tears at your tenuous hope as you take in her fragile form— as likely as not to shatter at the lightest touch. She’s holding something in her arms, a small bundle. You can’t bring yourself to look down at that unmoving bundle, because what if...
So you focus on her— her beloved face, wracked with pain and yet still listless.
“Sitri!” you call again, frantic, when she doesn’t respond. Has she already—!? “Sitri, love, can you hear me?”
“...Jeralt?” Her voice is weaker than you thought it would be. The sound of it robbed of its effusive cheer sends you reeling. You work to pull yourself together.
“Yes, Sitri, it’s me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left on that mission— but Rhea told me—“
Sitri starts coughing, and you fall silent, flinching at the frailty of the sound. There is a glass of water on the bedside table, and you raise it carefully to her lips. You can no longer tell by sight that her cheeks are flushed and feverish, because red was the first color you lost. Its disappearance from your vision yesterday acted as the first harbinger of your wife’s death, calling you back to her side. Your hand brushes her cheek. The heat there speaks to how little time you have left.
“It’s alright, dear,” she whispers. Her voice is a sigh on the wind. “You couldn’t have known…”
She trails off and stares blankly at the ceiling. You take her hand and call to her again, begging her to stay with you, because now, even the gaunt yellow tinge of the firelight has dulled to gray in your sight and you know this means she’s fading fast.
“Our child…” she breathes, and you drain all the last drops of courage in you just to look down at that silent, still bundle in Sitri's arms.
You let out a gasp, stunned, of mixed relief and wonder and surprise. The child’s eyes and hair are deep blue with just a tinge of the green that adorns your wife’s locks. Strangely, the child’s eyes are open, looking at you as if wondering who you are.
“She doesn’t cry. Or show any expression at all.” Sitri whispers, glancing down at the child.
Then Sitri smiles, warm and familiar. Her tired fingers brush lightly over the back of the infant’s head, and tears well in her eyes.
“And I love her,” Sitri whispers, full of feeling. “I love our daughter more than anything. I had to choose her over myself, Jeralt, forgive me.”
She’s wearing the saddest smile you’ve ever seen as she gazes down at the bundle in her arms. “I won’t be with you much longer, little one. I’m dying.”
“Don’t say that, Sitri, please.” Your voice is rough with emotion. Why is this happening? Why now, when everything was going so well, and both of you were happy? A question rises in you, doubt turned into a lingering hope, even though you’ve never really been one for faith.
“Can… Rhea? Can she do something to save you, Sitri? You have to tell me—”
You stop again because Sitri is shaking her head softly through the tears that have finally spilled over her eyes to drip down pale skin.
“—Oh, Jeralt. No. She’s done enough. You’ve done enough… I love her and I love my daughter and I love you, Jeralt Eisner…”
She stops breathing, and you stop breathing as well for a frantic minute as her whole body trembles, chest struggling to draw in air. You force yourself to loosen your death grip on the sheets and instead run a shaking hand comfortingly across Sitri's back, useless fragile words of assurance slipping from you to fall and shatter on the white blankets. She’s still crying silently, and your breath stops as you realize that your child's hair— which you know should be blue— looks gray to you now. You turn your gaze back to Sitri and realize that only the color green is left. Her color. It’s the only thing holding you together.
“Take her, Jeralt.” Sitri chokes out through her tears, lifting the bundle in her arms up towards you ever so slightly. “I want to see you holding her, before I...”
You unclasp the gauntlets and chestpiece of your armor and let them fall to the floor before reaching down to lift up your child. You keep your touch as light and gentle as possible. You shelter the infant in your arms, and then you look back at Sitri, and the sight of her loving smile, growing fainter by the second, is a splash of dwindling joy in the overwhelming sorrow that is encroaching upon your heart.
Your vision has almost grayed out completely. That sorrow expands into an ocean of despair as you notice that Sitri's hair and her pale eyes hold just a light dusting of green now…
“Her name…” Sitri sighs. “Byleth. Byleth Eisner.”
Then the last shard of green is gone and Sitri falls still.