Work Text:
After the battle for Fhirdiad has been won, after the army has regrouped and the wounded soldiers tended to, Dimitri goes to address his people.
Marianne trails behind, knowing she would be welcome but unwilling to put herself in front of all the people that have started to gather in the courtyard. She knows she will have to do so eventually, knows that when all of this is over, she will be the Queen of Faerghus. But for now, she is content to let Dimitri be the focus and to hear cheers erupt through the crowd as he steps onto the balcony with Gilbert and the professor at his side.
Marianne waits in the antechamber, hidden from the outside but close enough that she can hear every word of Dimitri’s speech. His voice is shaky at first, choked with emotion, but grows stronger with every word he says. She is not alone in waiting: Dedue stands across from her, hands tucked behind his back. A quiet pride radiates from him as Dimitri’s speech continues. He is smiling, just a small quirk of his lips, and the sight of it makes Marianne smile as well.
She is not the only one who has been waiting for this moment, for Dimitri to take his rightful place as king. All of the Blue Lions have waited, watched, and hoped, to say nothing of the people of Faerghus themselves. Dimitri’s speech reaches its conclusion, and the cheers rise to a deafening level, a lion’s roar that resounds throughout Fhirdiad. On and on they cheer, until Marianne has to put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, the jubilation in the sound infectious.
After what feels like an eternity, the crowd settles down. Marianne hears the quiet murmur of voices from the balcony, and then the sound of footsteps follows. Gilbert and the professor appear, even their normally impassive faces touched by pride and joy. Gilbert nods to Dedue and bows low to Marianne as he passes, strides sure. The professor, meanwhile, gives Marianne a small smile and a knowing look. The smile grows as she turns to Dedue, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. She tugs at their joined hands, and, after a nod at Marianne, Dedue follows the professor as they exit the antechamber.
Dimitri takes longer to leave the balcony. Marianne waits for five, ten minutes, then creeps closer to the balcony doors and peaks out.
Dimitri stands at the railing, hands clenched on the stone. The dying light of the sunset reflects against the black of his mantle, casting a halo of light around him. He looks like the king he is, and his people drink in the sight of him as much as Marianne is. As she watches, he raises a hand from the railings slowly, and the people below erupt into cheers once more. The sound reaches a crescendo as Dimitri waves and takes a slow step back.
Marianne leans away from the door, back pressed against the wall. She measures Dimitri’s retreat by the sound of the crowd and by the sound of his boots against the stone. When his steps are louder than the crowd, she pushes away from the wall and steps into the broad space of the antechamber.
Dimitri moves far enough inside the room so as to not be seen by the crowd outside, then stops, head bowed and shoulders hunched. It is a pose that Marianne has seen time and time again in the past few months, only this time, she knows that the emotions he carries are positive ones—pride and joy and everything in between. He takes a deep breath and straightens, pushing his hair back with a shaking hand.
Marianne doesn’t comment on his red rimmed eye or the tear tracks running clearly down his face. Still, when Dimitri sees her, he hastily scrubs a hand over his face, as if trying to erase the evidence.
“Marianne I—” he starts, dropping his hand. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize you were there. Have you been waiting long?”
“Not long,” Marianne says. “That was a wonderful speech.”
Dimitri colors. “Was it? I confess, I can’t exactly remember what it was I said. Everything was. . .”
“A blur?”
“Or a dream, perhaps,” Dimitri says. “To be here in Fhirdiad, standing in front of my people. . . I confess, I wouldn’t have thought it possible some months prior.”
Marianne smiles. “And yet, here you are.”
“And yet here I am,” Dimitri repeats solemnly. He glances at her, something fond in his eye. “And here you are as well. I hope you are not too disappointed, Marianne. When I spoke before of showing you Fhirdiad, I didn’t expect it to be in the middle of battle.”
“No, it’s fine,” Marianne says, shaking her head. “I’m glad to be here, truly.”
Toward the end of their time at the monastery, when the impending engagement changed from a weight on Marianne’s shoulder to something hopeful, she had allowed herself, once or twice, to imagine what Fhirdiad would be like. Perhaps not as extravagant as Derdriu, but sturdy and grand in its own way. It was a place that Marianne could imagine becoming her home.
Then the war started, and news of Dimitri’s death reached the Alliance, and all those fantasies crumbled into dust.
To be here in Fhirdiad, at Dimitri’s side, is more of a blessing than Marianne could have hoped for in those five years. No matter how ruined the buildings are, the people remain. She can feel the soul of Faerghus in the soldiers who rallied around them as they began their liberation of the city, and in the people who cheered for Dimitri on the balcony.
“Fhirdiad is wonderful, Dimitri,” she says. “And it’ll be even more wonderful after we rebuild it.”
Something shutters over Dimitri’s expression, the eager light from before fading entirely.
Marianne frowns. “Did. . .did I say something wrong?”
“No! No of course not!” Dimitri blurts, hands waving in the air as if to dispel the very thought. “I was simply. . . reminded of something, that’s all.”
Though he trails off, there’s obviously more he wants to say on the matter. Marianne waits, comfortable in the silence that stretches between them.
“I. . .” Dimitri starts, then cuts himself off and sighs.
“I have been meaning to speak with you on this matter for some time. My behavior since our reunion has been deplorable—no, please, do not try to excuse it,” he adds, when Marianne opens her mouth. “I have treated you and our—our friends with a contempt that none of you deserved, and I will spend the rest of my days trying to make up for that fact.”
He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “I’ve—I’ve thought a lot about this, and I’ve realized that after this war is over, our friends will be free to go about their lives as they choose. But you, Marianne, are bound to me by an arrangement made long before either of our births. And so, I say this here and now, if you wish to dissolve the engagement—”
“No.” The steadiness of Marianne’s voice does not surprise her, nor does the conviction spreading through her heart.
Years ago, she would have jumped at his offer, the idea of becoming Queen of Faerghus too grand of a role to thrust on her useless, cursed shoulders. But that was before. Now, she clutches at her engagement ring—at the symbol of her position and their future union—and stares at Dimitri head on.
“If—If I wanted to dissolve the engagement, I wouldn’t have followed you this far, Dimitri. I would have stayed in Edmund territory and never gone to the monastery for the reunion.” Her adoptive father had pleaded as much. He’d originally agreed to the match to protect her, he said, but now that same protection painted a target on her back. With Dimitri thought dead, and Faerghus mostly under the Empire’s heel, she would be safe as long as she stayed quiet and stayed out of the way.
Marianne had not wanted to stay quiet, or out of the way. So she’d packed and saddled her horse, ready to fight her way out of Edmund territory if her adoptive father tried to stop her.
Perhaps it was foolishness, perhaps it was the goddess’ guiding hand, but she’d known, deep in her heart, that she would find her future at the monastery, that the treads that had been severed at the news of Dimitri’s death would finally mend themselves.
And slowly, step by aching step, they had, until she stands before him now, taking in his wide eye and surprised expression.
Had he truly expected that she would let him go so easily?
“Perhaps you’re right, that our engagement started as something neither of us could control. But during our time at the monastery, and our time together now, I found myself happy, grateful, even, that I would someday be your bride. I told you before that I would walk your future with you. I have, and I will continue to do so, for as long as you will have me.”
Marianne steps forward, closing the space between them. She looks straight into his eye and smiles.
“Now, the thing I wish for most of all is for this war to be over, and for us to be able to ma—mar—”
She can’t say it. A whole speech, practically a declaration of her feelings, and it is that word that catches in her throat. Marianne feels heat rise to her face, and she clutches tighter at her engagement ring, hoping it will give her the strength to stop stammering.
Throughout her speech, Dimitri has watched her, his single eye wide. As she sputters, trying to get the final word out, the corners of his mouth twitch up, once, twice, before settling into a bashful smile.
“Yes, well,” he starts, voice suddenly husky. “I would very much like to marry you as well.”
In that moment, he looks boyish, so much like the young prince Marianne first met at the monastery all those years ago.
Marianne can’t help it; she laughs.
Dimitri’s smile grows. He reaches out and cradles her cheek in one hand. Marianne leans into it, basking in the warmth of his skin against hers.
“A smile and a laugh. Truly, this must be my lucky day indeed.”