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Long before either of them were born, the future Margrave Edmund saved the crown prince of Faerghus from a painful death, but lost a hand in the process. With the Goddess as their witness, Lambert swore to his classmate that he would honor the debt he owed him. A hand for a hand, tradition demanded, and Lambert was nothing if not a man of his word.
Reluctantly, the future Margrave Edmund agreed. Lambert’s first child’s hand in marriage belonged to his future son or daughter. The documents were signed and sealed, and tradition was satisfied.
Only after he was finally alone again in the infirmary, clutching his stump wrist, did Margrave Edmund make a quiet vow to the Goddess herself to never marry. No child should be bartered away before being born.
-
Marianne was brought to his doorstep on a rainy day nearly twenty years after that night. Trembling, eyes red and puffy, almost muted by the horrors she endured. A child, cursed for things she could not control.
His career, the future of the Alliance and the prosperity of his people were more than enough to fill his days and nights. Never had he regretted his vow to remain single and childless until she stood there, blank eyes and tears running down her cheeks, with nobody in the world to turn to but him. He reaches out for her, wraps his arms around her until she finally breaks down and sobs, each wretched cry a spear through his heart. She cries until she falls asleep from exhaustion. That night Margrave Edmund makes a new vow to the Goddess, to protect this child - his child - no matter the cost.
He sends the letter to the King of Faerghus before the ink of Marianne’s adoption papers was dry. As the future queen of Faerghus, she will be untouchable.
Lambert agrees without question, and Margrave Edmund can only hope that his son is as honorable as his father.
-
Lambert pulls his son aside one evening, looking serious while clutching a letter in his hand like a lifeline. His stepmother regards them sadly from a distance, a look she has been wearing more often of late. Whatever is entrusted to that piece of paper, he figures it can’t be good news. Dimitri swallows away his fears, and follows obediently, despite Felix’s whining to be included.
“A hand for a hand,” his father explains solemnly once they are in the privacy of his father’s study. “You were promised to Margrave Edmund’s daughter long before you were born. He has written me to remind me of that arrangement, and it is our duty to honor it. Do you understand what that means, Dimitri?”
“Oh,” Dimitri says, dumbstruck. He was expecting war or something of that gravity, not an engagement.
Marriages are happy occasions. His thoughts go to Ingrid and Glenn. He thinks of how proudly Glenn wore the flower crown Ingrid wove into his hair during the last tournament, and how prettily Ingrid had smiled when he dedicated his victory to her. Their engagement was arranged, but they seemed genuinely happy together.
Dimitri nods. “Is she nice?” He asks his father.
Lambert let out a deep belly laugh and ruffles his hair until it falls messily over his face. “Why don’t we visit her after our trip to Duscur and find out?”
Dimitri smiles at his father, always happy to please him. “I would like that.”
Weeks later his father is decapitated before his eyes, his remains burned to a crisp. After that, all thoughts of his would-be bride are far from his mind.
-
It isn’t until four years later that he finally catches a glimpse of his supposed intended. Faerghus is a political mess, and Rodrigue had not forgotten what happened the last time a Blaiddyd left the country. He would not make that mistake again, and so Dimitri remained in the Kingdom. Dimitri was too busy pleading to the dead at night to dream of a fiancée of which he knew little more than her name and age. Which was why he failed to recognize her when he started living at the academy until Sylvain points her out with a lecherous grin.
There is no future for a man like him, but honoring the arrangement had been one his father’s last requests before his death. Dimitri feels like it is the least of all the things he owes him. He approaches Marianne dutifully right after the opening ceremony and presents her with a ring that had once belonged to his mother. The silver ring is shaped like a snowflake, encasing a priceless moonstone in the center.
Dimitri doesn’t know how he expected her to react, but it wasn’t like this.
Marianne doesn’t smile or blush like a maiden would in the stories. Instead, she offers her hand to him reluctantly, never quite meeting his eyes. Her hand is delicate and small in his own, and Dimitri fears he will break her bones like porcelain. He holds his breath as he slips the ring around her finger, the blue gem sparkling in the light of the gentle spring sun.
“I hope it is to your liking,” he says awkwardly. A ring made for a better gift to a lady than a dagger, or so Sylvain said.
Marianne smiles politely but her red-rimmed eyes never light up. “It is beautiful, Your Highness,” she says and curtsies deeply. “I’m afraid I do not have a gift for you in return.”
“Please, as your engagement gift, there is only one thing I ask,” he pleads. “If we are to be wed, then it is my fondest wish that you will call me by my name.”
She frowns, cradling the hand that holds his ring against her chest. “That hardly seems like a gift of equal value.”
“To me, it is.”
Dimitri wonders if he needs to get on his knees to beg her, but before he can sink that low Marianne lifts her eyes to meet his. He had thought she was shy or perhaps even afraid of him, but there is no fear in her eyes, only sadness. He feels naked, and it is hard to not look away.
This was what his father would have wanted, he reminds himself.
“Very well then…. D-dimitri.” She adds his name almost as an afterthought, stuttering through the syllables. This time when she smiles it was almost as if her eyes sparkle along, if only for a second.
Dimitri’s heart skips a beat. He didn’t think it could still do that.
-
He sees little of her after that. Occasionally they sit together at dinner at the behest of Professor Byleth, but between his duties and her general reclusiveness, they don’t really get a chance to speak again. That all changes when Marianne joins the Blue Lions House.
He seeks her out immediately after Byleth delivers the news that they will be welcoming a new student in their midst starting next week. "Please, I hope you do not feel pressured to join my house just because I am the leader! I would not wish to make you feel like you have to abandon your friends just because of our…. arrangement,” he says urgently, a heavy weight on his chest. “If it is your father, I will write to him to assure him that I do not require it of you.”
Marianne looks like prey in a trap, and Dimitri immediately regrets cornering her like this in stables. He is halfway through an apology when she interrupts him.
“You misunderstand,” she says with a tenacity in her trembling voice that surprised him. “It is true that my father has often requested I join the Blue Lions, but this decision is my own. Although, if you would rather not have me join your house, I could ask Claude to take me back...”
“I would be most honored if you would join the Blue Lions!” Dimitri says quickly, tripping over his own words while mentally cursing himself. “W-what I mean to s-say is that the Professor spoke highly of your skill, and we would be most fortunate to count you amongst us, especially considering the upcoming battle of the Eagle and Lion!”
He swallows deeply, inexplicably nervous. “A-and perhaps, we could get to know each other a bit better,” he adds gently.
“I would like that,” Marianne says softly, her eyes trained on the ground.
She fidgets nervously with the ring around her finger. It’s his mother’s engagement ring, although considering the way the azure moonstone compliments her hair, it might as well have been made especially for her.
Dimitri tries to smile welcomingly, heat creeping up from his chest to his cheeks. “In that case, let me be the first to say: Welcome to the Blue Lions, Marianne.”
-
Remire is in flames, and the screaming is so much like that in his dreams that he isn’t sure if he is actually here or just living through yet another nightmare.
His father is beside him, berating him for the lives lost so far. ‘How many more will you allow to die before you bring us peace? Ten? Hundred? A thousand?’
“Father, please have patience, I promise-” He chants like a prayer, cutting through one beserk villager after the next, feeling detached and overwhelmed at the same time. Blood is on his hands, his mind, his soul.
‘But it is not enough,’ Glenn reminds him, his voice the only thing he can make out over the chaos of battle. ‘Not until those who burned us alive have suffered as we have.’
Flames lick his skin, taunting him with the sweet relief of surrender. “Soon,” he promises Glenn, and in one fell swoop ends two lives.
“Dimitri!” a voice suddenly cuts through the fog of blood and flames. Dimitri looks up to see Marianne race towards him. The familiar feeling of healing magic soothing his burning blood comes over him, and it isn’t until he feels the flesh of his leg stitch itself back together that he realizes that he had been wounded quite severely.
He opens his mouth to thank her, but then something else catches his eye. The glint of metal, an arrow notched and aimed at Marianne’s back.
“Watch out Marianne!” He yells, but deep down he knows it is too late.
‘Another life lost,’ his father chides him. ‘How will you explain to her father that you were too weak to protect his daughter? Too pitiful to fulfill the one duty I entrusted you with?’
“NO!” Dimitri roars loudly, and without thinking he draws her into his arms and shields her body with his own.
This time he does feel the sting of an arrow penetrating his armor, embedding itself into his flesh. Marianne cries out in shock, but Dimitri laughs deliriously. The pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming relief that at least this time, he is able to save someone he cares about.
-
Light filters through the stained glass window of the cathedral. The chimes of the monastery bells calm him sometimes, make the voices a little less loud. He is still tethering on the edge after Remire, taut with tension and shame. But he isn’t here to ask for absolution.
The reason for his visit is praying alone. “Marianne, I’m sorry to disturb your prayer,” he calls out to her. “I came to thank you. Or rather, I wish I could have done so before, but you left me little opportunity.”
She hadn’t been very subtle about avoiding him. Every time he entered a room, she tensed up and ran out, abandoning whatever she had been doing. Everyone had noticed, and Dimitri feels dreadful.
“I…. Apologize. I should be going,” Marianne says quickly, and starts to make her retreat.
Dimitri blocks her path with his body. “Please, before you leave, allow me to apologize.”
“W-why would you apologize?” She asks, her eyes wide with horror and regret in a way he only really sees when he looks into the mirror. “I caused you a terrible injury. I should be the one to apologize.”
“Which you healed swiftly! I can barely feel it anymore.” And what was another scar on his back? Nothing, compared to an innocent life. “I’m just glad you are safe.”
“You have my thanks for helping me, but I must ask you to keep your distance from me from now on.”
Dimitri sighs and fidgets with the fringes of his cape. “If that is your wish, I will grant you space,” he says carefully. “But we are to be wed someday. If you fear me, I would rather you say it now-”
“I do not fear you!” Marianne exclaims loudly, her voice echoing through the empty cathedral. “Can’t you see? There is only misfortune for anyone who comes near me!”
“Misfortune?”
“I’m afraid so. Especially those with complete disregard for their own safety.”
“I suppose I could improve in that regard. But you are wrong, you do not bring misfortune. I haven’t felt so lucky since I saw you walk off that battle unscathed. Too many… have been lost to me. I could not bear to have you be one of them.”
A dark shadow falls over Marianne’s face. “Ah, the Tragedy. My father told me about it,” she says quietly, and Dimitri wonders if one day he can also say the words without hearing the screams echo in his mind, demanding vengeance. “The truth is, I… too have lost many. My mother, my father. Even my aunts and uncles. I keep praying to the goddess for answers, but she never answers me why I survived while they did not.”
Marianne’s eyes shine bright with tears, and she looks every bit as hollow as he feels.
“To be left behind, to live while they do not…” Dimitri chokes on his own secrets. There are so many, not all of them intentional, he just doesn’t know anymore how to talk to them. He tries to form the words to speak about the Tragedy, what really happened that day in Duscur, without mentioning how much just thinking of it hurts. To say the words ‘my entire family is dead and I saw it happen’ without choking up.
He tries and tries, but the words never come, and he feels like even more of a failure than he already did.
Marianne looks at him with an understanding that scares him. Slowly, she takes a small step to the side, revealing the golden light on the altar of the goddess, beautiful yet simple. She falls to her knees at his side and raises her hands to pray, but doesn’t start. He recognizes her solemn look for what it is: an outstretched hand, patient, enduring.
Dimitri gives up on finding the words to give voice to his nightmares. Instead he sinks to his knees, and together they pray to the Goddess. It is a prayer for forgiveness for all the things he has not yet done. A prayer for those who died, haunting his every moment, awake or not. Finally, he prays for forgiveness from Marianne, who deserves so much more than a man who can barely keep from crumbling under the weight of his sins.
He has long given up on hoping for a divine intervention. The goddess looks on from above, nothing more. No matter how much one begs for help. But while he prays, he feels a little lighter. As expected, the Goddess remains silent. But Marianne isn’t. Her voice is softer than the beating of his heart but twice as strong. It’s all that keeps him from falling apart right there and then.
Through the tears he will not shed, Dimitri smiles. A lucky charm indeed.
-
Felix unexpectedly carries the Blue Lion house to victory during the White Heron Cup.
Dimitri has none of his grace when he takes Marianne’s hand and guides her through the steps in the ballroom. He’s afraid to crush her hand, and she’s afraid to step on his feet, but he can swear she’s smiling too.
Together they cut a slow eight shape across the dancefloor. She’s beautiful tonight, wearing a beautiful dress spun of Faerghus royal blue silk, perfectly complementing her hair and the ring he gave her. She looks like a declaration, which translates in the back of his mind as ‘Mine’. It surprises him how much he doesn’t mind that.
If his life was still his own to do with as he pleased, Dimitri wonders what he might have done. Would he have taken her hand and kissed it? Whispered words of affection into her ear until she blushed? Would this have been the moment they had fallen in love?
He doesn’t know and he never will. But while she sways in his arms to the beat of an ancient song, he wishes with all his heart that he did. All he can do is keep her close to him for as long as she will allow, and mourn a future he cannot promise her.
-
Dimitri doesn’t remember when he wandered off from the stuffy ballroom, or why his feet dragged him to the Goddess Tower of all places. It was probably somewhere between the moment the walls started gaining on him and when Dedue started sending him worrying looks.
It doesn’t matter. The air is crisp and clean tonight. Dimitri takes a deep breath and lets it replace the anxiety that’s coursing through his veins. He is about to return to his duties when a voice catches him off guard.
It’s Marianne, talking - no, praying - to a bird. She sounds chipper in a way she never is in his presence. In the pale moonlight she looks almost ethereal.
“Marianne?” He asks carefully, watching her every movement to ensure she is really there. “Why were you praying to a… pigeon?”
Marianne jumps up, her cheeks red from shame. “Oh! You… heard that.”
She fidgets with the ring he gave her, something he has seen her do more often. She looks guilty.
Then it hits him. “Did you come here because of the legend?” He asks incredulously, looking for a suitor, hiding behind a pillar. He finds none but a few wayward birds.
Marianne looks at him curiously. “Did you?”
Did he? He doesn’t know. Dimitri lets his head drop. He feels tired and elated at the same time. Sleep has been elusive lately, but right now he doesn’t feel the exhaustion. His heart is hammering in his chest for reasons he doesn’t understand, echoing loudly amongst the hollowness within him.
Marianne takes his silence for a confirmation. “What did you want to wish for?”
For death, his mind supplies without his consent. Or for time to reverse itself and give him back all those he had lost. The thoughts barge into his head, intrusive and unwanted.
Before he can truly banish them, he feels a hand on his own. When did he take off his gauntlets? “It’s okay not to know,” Marianne whispers.
Dimitri swallows, his hands trembling in hers. “I wish… for a world in which no one would ever be unjustly taken from us,” he says without thinking, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Marianne nods. “I wish that too.” She must feel the shocks that wreck through his body as it tries and fails to keep all he feels at bay. He could break her hand with a flick of his wrist, and it scares him more than anything.
The light of the moon filters in through the cracks in the ceiling and it suddenly dawns upon Dimitri that this tower has been here for centuries. It was here long before he was born, and it will be long after either of them have died. He feels small in the grand scheme of history, but it grounds him rather than makes him feel worse. Sometimes it feels like the world is resting on his shoulders. His ghosts remind him of it daily.
There is comfort in knowing that eventually history will forget him, even though something tells him Marianne will not.
They stand there for a while, just breathing, existing. Their hands are folded together. A little like a prayer of a different kind, Dimitri thinks to himself but doesn’t dare to speak out loud.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Marianne whispers softly.
Dimitri wonders if he could deny her anything right now. “Of course.”
She averts her eyes. “Sometimes I wake up, and I can no longer remember my mother’s voice. I’m so afraid of that moment,” she confesses, her grip on his hand like a lifeline, although he doesn’t know for whom. “I came here tonight not to pray for forgiveness. But to remember. My mother taught me how to pray. When I think of the goddess, I think of her, too.”
“Sometimes, I wish I could forget my father’s voice,” Dimitri confesses, his heart beating in his throat. “I hear it every night in my nightmares. More often than not during the day as well.” He regrets the words as soon as he speaks them, but more than anything does he regret his own weakness.
He laughs, but it comes out wrong, twisted into something dark and delirious.
“Dimitri,” Marianne asks quietly, and when their eyes meet it is as she is looking straight through him. “Are you alright?”
“No,” Dimitri admits honestly. It frightens him to the core yet feels like a liberation at the same time.
Marianne smiles at him sadly and rubs a comforting circle into the back of his hand with her thumb. “That’s okay,” she says softly, and Dimitri realizes that nobody has ever said that to him before.
“My apologies for ruining your night. I’m probably nothing like the stories people tell about me,” he says quickly, too quickly.
“No, you’re not,” Marianne says softly, smiling up at him. “You’re so much better. Thank you, Dimitri. To think that someone like you could have anything in common with me.”
“That is a terrible thought. You deserve a better fiancé.”
Marianne shakes her head, and refuses to let go of him. “No, no. It makes me happy, to be betrothed to someone who understands how I feel.”
“I am not worthy of your hand. There are certain things that I must accomplish, even if it means risking my life. I may not even have a future to promise to someone, especially not to someone as deserving of happiness to you as you.” He tries to push her away gently, but she refuses to let go of his hand.
Instead she pulls him closer until they are almost chest to chest. “Then let me walk that future with you.”
It’s not unlike a few hours ago when they danced for the entire monastery to see, but back then he was caught up in could-have-beens. Here, witnessed by the moon and the Goddess alone, Dimitri is intimately aware of the warmth of her body so close to his, the way her soft skin feels against his palm, and the courage in her eyes that make him want to both flee and lean in.
For a second he pictures it: his lips on hers, warm and welcoming. He hasn’t been able to taste in years, but he imagines she would taste like home. Like safety.
The vision dispels as quickly as it came. “I would not ask such a cruelty of anyone, least of all you.”
“It’s not cruel to care about someone else, to wish to be with them during their darkest hours.”
“You deserve better.”
Marianne sighs. “We both do,” she agrees, but still won’t let go of his hand. Dimitri is aware he could break free in seconds, but feels oddly frozen in place. “But we’re here, for better or for worse. We are still alive. And I think, maybe, that if it is together with you, that is not such a terrible fate.”
She looks so certain, so wise. He finds that he wants nothing more than to believe her.
“You will regret those words,” he says.
Marianne’s smile is determined and solemn. “I don’t think I will, Dimitri.”
His name coming from his lips is a delight and Dimitri hopes with all his being that she’s right.
He thinks back to that evening his father broke the news of the engagement. Yes, he thinks but nobody but himself. She is nice. But that doesn’t quite cover all of it.
It feels natural to cling to her as much as she is clinging to him. He doesn’t want to speak any more of his demons tonight nor does he think he can. Instead all he wants is to keep rocking Marianne gracelessly in his arms, not to shield her but draw out another laugh and another smile.
There is little sense nor rhythm to their waltz, but as they dance to the sound of their shared laughter, Dimitri can’t think of any music he would prefer. They dance until they’re both breathless and giddy.
Marianne falls asleep against his shoulder before the sun rises, the phantom of a smile still on her lips. Dimitri clutches her hand and waits for sleep to claim him too, smiling until the end.