Work Text:
The walls of Fhirdiad kept out all manner of enemy from the people and homes within, though they knew relative peace in the time since the end of the war. Still, those walls served the people well and proved a constant reminder of the power of the capital city, which—although fallen once—now reigned strong with the return of its king.
Yet the king did not return alone to Fhirdiad. He brought with him the new crown jewel in the eyes of the people: his beloved fiancée, the current archbishop of the Church of Seiros and war hero who helped lead the Kingdom army to victory. The woman held more accolades than the king himself, and for her to be moving to Fhirdiad made the citizens feel omnipotent.
Still, there was but one enemy unfamiliar to the king’s new fiancée that the walls could not prevent from breaching, and she awoke one morning within her first week in Fhirdiad to find it at her door.
“My beloved, come look at this.”
Dimitri, king of the newly unified Fódlan, prodded the woman awake. She lay in bed, face down in the pillows, a sight that Dimitri admired more each day. He never would have expected that such a woman could sleep so indelicately or—dare he say it—loudly. Her snoring reminded him of the roar of a wyvern. A very angry wyvern.
She stirred but did not open her eyes, so Dimitri tried again, this time with her name. “Byleth. Wake up.”
Dimitri slept better than ever these days, Byleth’s constant rumbling like a lullaby to his ears, but he still woke before her almost every day. He liked to let her sleep, if only so he could spend but a moment or two watching the love of his life in perfect peace. Truly, though, he preferred to get the more arduous work of his position done while she slept so they could spend time together later in the day.
Byleth finally rolled over and blinked to clear the fog from her eyes. Dimitri was not the only one in love, though some suspected the intended marriage of being solely political. She, too, loved him with all her being, and when her gaze met his, her lips pressed into a smile. It brightened her day from the start to wake up to Dimitri by her side.
“Come with me,” Dimitri requested, holding out his hand for her to take. Byleth complied and let him help her to her feet. He guided her out of the bedroom and into the sitting room, where he stopped in front of a large window with its curtains still drawn.
The light blinded them both when he pulled the curtains open, revealing a wash of white before them. The view from the second floor of the palace where they stood showed the courtyard, except not much save the statue of the late King Lambert remained visible. Every angle, every pathway, even every roof was cloaked in white.
“Snow?” Byleth asked.
“Fhirdiad’s first snowfall of the season,” Dimitri responded. He took her hand once more, reminding Byleth of a puppy trying to lead its master on a walk. His unveiled eye practically sparkled.
Byleth pulled her hand back when he reached the door leading to the main hall of the palace. “I’m still in my nightgown,” she said, gesturing to the thin fabric that covered very little of her bodice.
Dimitri, normally the very definition of chivalry, would have been mortified at nearly revealing his fiancée in such a state of indignity. But something seemed to have taken hold of him, and somehow, he seemed more disappointed than disturbed when Byleth stopped. She wondered if perhaps he had been cursed, perhaps by some lustful spell concocted by Sylvain.
“I know, but the snow gear is in the closet in the south wing,” Dimitri said, as if this explained everything.
“Snow gear?” Byleth repeated.
Dimitri’s eyebrows furrowed, and the disappointment shifted into confusion. “Don’t tell me you’ve never played in the snow before?”
“Oh, no. As far as I can remember, I’ve never even seen snow. This is my first time.”
In the years Byleth knew her fiancé, she learned quite a few of his little quirks, one of which being that Dimitri perseverated on things more than the average man. It made him a good king; he got things done because he would not let up until he saw them through to the end. But as an individual, he could come across as a bit…
Well, “much” might be the word.
Considering what happened with his obsession in ripping Edelgard’s head from her shoulders and offering it to the dead, Byleth preferred to manage his perseverations quickly or, better yet, prevent them before they began.
Byleth knew that she started something by telling him that she had never seen snow. He would not be able to move on until she was outside in the freezing cold, knee-deep in that frozen nightmare she would rather not face. She only just managed to get used to the rain, never mind the stuff that could kill you if you were out in it too long.
Really, though, she knew she shouldn’t judge it before braving it. Her uncertainty dated back to her mercenary days. Her father, Jeralt, hated the cold and hated snow even more, so their troop only traveled to the Kingdom in the summer months and the warmer parts of the Alliance and Empire in the winter months. As leader of their band of mercenaries, Jeralt had the authority to make that call, and none of the other mercenaries ever complained. Growing up surrounded by this attitude made it the only thing Byleth knew: thrive in the warmth, suffer in the cold.
“Wait here,” Dimitri ordered, with a tone he reserved for making royal decrees, and disappeared from the room with a slam of the door.
Byleth steeled herself in his absence to tell him she had no interest in getting soaked and cold, but the second he returned, arms full of clothes and face full of excitement, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. His expression said it all: he loved whatever twisted plan he had devised.
And she loved that he looked so happy. She couldn’t say no to that.
He dropped the clothes on the lounge between them and began sorting through the items.
“You’re so tiny. This won’t do,” he muttered to himself. Byleth stepped around the lounge to offer help but jumped back when he suddenly spun around holding some sort of shiny outfit and tall boots. “These will keep you dry, but you’ll need a cloak, too, to keep you warm. Go put these on while I find one.”
Dimitri handed the clothes to Byleth, who retreated into the bedroom to get dressed. The clothes were not easy to put on, nor were they comfortable. She almost preferred the clunky discomfort of armor to the itchiness of this water-repellant outfit.
Byleth found Dimitri already changed, too, when she returned from the bedroom. He smiled when he saw her, which admittedly made her forget how awkward she felt wearing this. He approached her with a fur cloak and threw it over her back, his fingers brushing her neck as he tied it tight.
Despite being engaged for nearly six moons, the two still faced some awkwardness around each other. Dimitri seemed to be fighting with himself about saying something, and as he lifted her hair over the top of the cloak, he opened his mouth as if to speak. But he merely tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and took a step back, unable to convince himself.
“Am I ready?” Byleth asked.
“Almost.” He retrieved three more items from the lounge and handed them over. “Mittens for your hands, and a hat for your head.”
Dimitri put the hat on Byleth’s head, pulling it low enough to cover her brow but not her eyes. She was a few years his senior, but in this moment, she appeared so childlike that he couldn’t help himself from chuckling. She knew she must appear ridiculous, but she didn’t dare look in the mirror to confirm it.
“Now you’re ready.”
Dimitri put on his own snow-proofing accessories, and the two walked mitten-in-mitten out of their suite and down the hall to the winter wonderland that awaited them. The immediate blast of cold that hit them felt crisper than Byleth remembered from the day before, as if the air itself became frozen with the snowfall. The snow, however, only came up to their ankles, crunching beneath their feet.
Byleth stepped away from Dimitri and took in the pristine world around her. She had to admit, there was something beautiful about the way the snow lay perfectly on the branches of the evergreen trees in the distance, about how it masked all the imperfections remaining from the war. It was the earth reborn, given a second chance at life, just like she had.
And then something pounced and shattered that peace, biting the back of her neck and burning beneath her clothes. She yelped and spun around to identify the culprit when she noticed Dimitri smiling at her from a short distance, far too content for someone whose fiancée had been attacked.
That was when she noticed a new weapon in his hand.
He threw the snow, and it hit her square in the chest. It, too, stung her exposed skin. He laughed at her and bent down to prepare another, and she tried to do the same. But no matter how she compacted the snow in her hands, it formed a mere blob that shattered as she launched it into the air in Dimitri’s direction.
And of course, his new snowball hit her in the side of the head. Thank the goddess for the hat.
“Shall the student become the teacher?” Dimitri offered.
Byleth’s attempts to make another snowball failed again, so she stood and looked at her opponent. In battle, this would be akin to surrendering, and her pride wouldn’t allow that.
“No, I have a better strategy.”
She charged towards him and jumped into his arms, knocking them both backwards into the snow beneath them. He wriggled as he tried to clear the snow from the crevasses by his neck, and Byleth sat up triumphantly beside him before dumping a fistful of snow on his face.
If Dedue were around right now, he would have Byleth’s head for that.
“You win, you win. Truce,” Dimitri spluttered as she prepared another handful.
“Okay, now show me how to make those snow projectiles,” Byleth said, taking the handful that she meant to dump and trying to pack it down instead.
“Snowballs,” Dimitri corrected as he sat up. He picked up some snow and held his hands out in front of Byleth. “You just need to press it as if you were shaking someone’s hand. Don’t put your hands together like you’re praying. Put them like this.”
He dropped his pile of snow and grabbed her hands instead, helping her pack the snow together into an awkward mound. He moved her hands again, this time the other way, tightening the blob of snow into something better resembling a sphere.
“There you go.” Dimitri let go of her hands and resumed working on a snowball of his own. Byleth watched him, letting her snowball sit in her hands.
They both seemed to have the same idea when their gazes met each other’s. Dimitri was quicker to dodge, narrowly avoiding being hit in the face with Byleth’s snowball. But Dimitri’s aim was off as he moved, and his snowball sailed past Byleth into the distance of the courtyard.
“Did you learn nothing from my mistakes?” Byleth asked, now skillfully putting together another snowball. “Never teach your enemy.”
Dimitri launched one first, though. “But the new teacher still remains victorious,” he said as his snowball pegged Byleth. He easily deflected her snowball as she lobbed it in his direction. “You need more practice.”
They shot snowballs back and forth, but Byleth could not compete with Dimitri’s speed. By the time she formed one snowball, he already had created a small stockpile of artillery, which he shot off three at a time. By the end of their battle, Byleth’s skin beneath the layers Dimitri promised were waterproof burned with cold.
She sunk to her knees and held up her hands, surrendering in the end after all. “I can’t go on. I’m freezing.”
Dimitri walked up to her, removed his mittens, and put his hands on her cheeks. “Your face is red.”
She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, hoping to keep his warm hands there for a moment longer. He made to move away, but she grabbed his hands and pressed them down, holding him as her hostage despite losing the match.
“We should go inside and get warmed up,” Dimitri suggested, but Byleth shook her head and kept his hands against her cheeks.
“Too cold to move.”
“Come on.” He tugged, trying to remove himself from her grip, but she could be surprisingly strong when she felt stubborn. “I have something else I want to do with you.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Something else?” she repeated.
She let him go when he nodded. He untied his own cloak and wrapped it around her. Right away she felt warmer, gifted not only with the extra layer but with his body heat. She could smell him, too: a hint of lavender, which Dedue put into his bath every night when he drew it.
They walked back into the palace, but instead of returning to their quarters, Dimitri guided them to the kitchen. Sylvain once told Byleth that he didn’t realize it until attending the Academy, but no one in Faerghus knew how to cook. She thought that he was just being dramatic, like he was about most things, but she quickly found out he was right. The head chef came from a long line of cooks, meaning that most recipes had been passed down for generations.
And Byleth wished they hadn’t.
Breakfast came and went already, so the staff in the kitchen returned to their other duties for a couple of hours until lunch. Dimitri and Byleth found it empty when they entered. Apparently, King Lambert had been banned from the kitchen during his youth after nearly burning it down one evening trying to make a snack. They had been hesitant to leave the kitchen unmanned since, but it seemed the new king earned their trust.
Dimitri grabbed a pot, filled it with cream, and put it over the flame. “Can you grab two mugs?”
Byleth had not been in the kitchen yet, but it was surprisingly well-organized. More than the monastery’s ever was, anyway. She searched for only a moment before finding a row of mugs and claiming two wooden ones.
Dimitri was adding something to the pot that darkened the cream. She peered over his shoulder, and he looked back and smiled. “Gustave taught me this recipe. He told me it used to be a favorite of Annette’s when she was young.”
“What is it?”
“Patience, my beloved.”
Byleth took a seat on one of the stools surrounding a small island in the center of the kitchen. Dimitri kept leaning over the pot and tinkering with it, tasting and sprinkling, sprinkling and tasting. Several minutes passed before he declared it ready, and he took a ladle to pour some of the liquid into the mugs.
“It’s hot,” he warned as he passed one mug to Byleth. “Be careful.”
She lifted the mug to her lips but did not yet sip. She inhaled, letting the steam pour into her lungs and warm her from within. It smelled good, whatever it was. Hints of cinnamon and a scent unfamiliar to her, something bitter but not like coffee.
With some hesitance, unknowing of how warm it might be, she tilted the mug back. Dimitri’s mysterious elixir hit her tongue, warm but not burning, and she wondered how she ever lived life not knowing about this. Tea compared not to whatever beverage Dimitri just prepared. Sweet yet bitter, creamy and thick, a perfect complement to the cold outside.
Dimitri had not yet taken a sip of his own drink as he sat down beside her. He watched Byleth with adoration in his eyes, observing her happiness that once seemed so rare. He wanted nothing more than to make her happy. Deep down, he knew he did not deserve to be so lucky after what he had done, to be able to spend his life with this woman who helped save him, but he prayed nightly to become worthy someday.
“What?” she asked when she noticed him staring. She wiped her lip with the back of her hand.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, then gulped down some of his drink. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”
“To have someone worse at making snowballs than you?” Byleth quipped.
“Something like that.”
Byleth drank some more from her mug and then set it down. She needed to savor it, like she savored these moments with Dimitri. “Thank you, by the way. I didn’t think the snow could be so fun.”
He reached over and straightened his cloak around her, and then wrapped his hands back around the warm mug. “I used to make snowmen and have snowball fights with Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix all the time... before Duscur. I miss it.”
“Nostalgic?”
Dimitri nodded. “But I have to admit, I am excited to have someone new to enjoy winter with.”
Byleth reached over and put a hand to his cheek, leaning in to kiss him. He tasted sweeter than any drink he could make.
“To many more snowfalls,” Byleth offered, lifting her mug into the air. Dimitri hit his against hers, splashing a bit of his drink onto the counter.
“To many more snowfalls,” he agreed.