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Dimitri bowed his head in the dark and folded his fingers together, the weight of a hundred kings upon his shoulders.
You do not deserve this.
Take that armor off. How unfitting for a beast to wear my ceremonial armor.
The monster thinks he can be king?
I gave my life for this. For what? You still have not brought me a head-
“Dimitri?”
He jolted, the voices dissipating slowly like the echoing strains of a cacophonic hymn he could not stand. He turned to see the door, slightly ajar. A slant of light pierced the darkness of the room, strong against the weak flickering of candles.
Dimitri had been kneeling in a private chapel for his prayer vigil before the coronation. As was custom in the history of the holy kings of Faerghus, Dimitri had been reciting the traditional prayers, asking for blessings upon his reign. But his knees ached upon the stones and his father’s pauldrons grew heavier with every second. Inevitably, the voices came back.
But here she was. Byleth stood in the frame of the door, with her fingers curled around the handle. A small smile lined her lips. He couldn’t help but return it as well. How long ago was it that he thought she had no emotions? He remembered hearing the rumors of her nickname, the Ashen Demon. When he first met her on that battlefield, he briefly believed it. Her dark eyes seemed to know too much, but revealed too little.
It all changed when Byleth smiled. Even the ghosts stilled for a moment, silent. As the year continued, his false prayers seemed to grow a little truer in the cathedral whenever he watched the colors of the stained glass filter through her dark hair and heard the canticles pass uttered from her lips.
Then Byleth was granted the power of Sothis, and suddenly, maybe he believed the goddess could reach her hand out to him.
And here she was, one hand outstretched like the light piercing the room, walking towards him in the dark. She was in her dark blue and gold regalia, but the white flowers tucked behind her ears shone with fresh dew and the pink ribbons flew in flowing waves behind her.
He took her hand.
“Beloved,” he said as he forgot about his weak knees and heavy shoulders.
“The three hours have passed,” she said and grasped his larger hands in hers. She looked down at his fingers, each graced with a prayer ring that glinted in the dark. Her right forefinger ambulated around his scarred knuckles in searing lines and paused on his left hand, tracing the purple stones of her mother’s ring. She looked back up at him, “Are you ready, my love?”
The very word made Dimitri shiver and he bent over, pressing a kiss to her warm forehead, “I...certainly have doubts. But I feel better now that you are here.”
Byleth folded his gloved hands around her face. The candlelight seemed to spark in her eyes, and he stared, helplessly mesmerized.
“What doubts?”
Dimitri sighed quietly and rubbed his right thumb across her cheek. Byleth leaned against his palm and drew her left hand over his, her emerald ring clinking against his own.
“I...Even after all of this,” he shakes his head aimlessly, “I still feel as though I am undeserving of this life,” he looked away briefly, “Even during the vigil, I felt blind to the graces. I could only see my pain. How can I be a king when I have failed everyone? When I am so selfish?”
A line formed between her brows, and he felt an urge to rub it away with a wry grin; to forget what he confessed. She stared for what felt like hours, and he shifted slightly on his feet, discomforted. Shame still stained his hands and lurked in his throat, and never had he wanted to hide more.
“The voices?”
He nodded slowly.
“I know the voices will not disappear. Perhaps they never will,” she pauses once more, “But that is all they are, Dimitri. You have fought and bled and lost to learn that.” He felt unsteady with the years of memories overwhelming his thoughts, but the warmth emanating from her skin seeped through his gloves, grounding him.
She turned her head to briefly press her lips to his palm before continuing, “We both know I can only change back time. I cannot tell you what the future holds, but,” she pressed her hands against his neck, feeling his nervous pattering, “Your heart beats strong and your eye is clear. I can tell you that you deserve to see what the future holds. It is yours, Dimitri.”
She reaches upwards to wrap her arms around his shoulders, tiptoeing, much to his amusement, to do so. He was so used to listening to the haunted. So used to believing them. All he felt for most of his life was desperation, vengeance, wrath, consumed. But that Dimitri had died, washed away in the rain.
So who was he now? He tucked his face into Byleth’s neck and smelled the sharp scent of her skin paired with the sweet flowers. He could feel his own breath skate over her skin, weaving through her hair. The silence of her heart allowed him to breathe at his own pace, recollect, regather; to be.
Byleth’s hands idly stroked the nape of his neck, and Dimitri’s eye burnt with emotions he could not fully name yet. They rested at the tip of his tongue, waiting patiently to emerge. Perhaps that was another thing to look forward to in this life.
Other than marrying Byleth, of course.
They stood there for a few minutes in the dark. Quiet, but peaceful. Dimitri reluctantly let go of her as she withdrew to say, “Now, that reminds me - I wanted to give you something before the coronation.”
Dimitri raised a brow, but she only gave him that mesmerizing smile and laced her fingers through his, bringing him back into the light. She tucked her hand into his elbow as they entered the hallway. They nodded to a few guards as their footsteps on the stone path echoed in time with each other. Dimitri did not even ask where they were walking; he knew his beloved would not lead him astray.
They eventually stopped in front of Byleth’s room. The door opened with a soft click as they entered the slightly cluttered space. Byleth opened her mouth, but a loud shout from the courtyard interrupted her. They both looked down from the windows to see Ingrid slapping Sylvain, who jokingly coiled over in pain. Felix and Dedue followed a few steps behind, one with a disgusted look on his face and the other with carefully hidden amusement. Annette and Mercedes laughed together beside them, linking their arms together while beckoning Ashe over.
Byleth let a small laugh escape at the sight of her former students gathered together, and Dimitri stared unabashedly. It still took a moment for him to realize he no longer had to hesitate now. Dimitri could not help but lean down and press a kiss to that smile. Byleth immediately responded, and he breathed her in, his prayers answered.
“I love you,” Byleth said as they part, a little breathlessly. Dimitri flushed immediately, the tips of his ears burning red. He kissed her forehead again, whispering, “My beloved, you are everything to me.”
It was a vision to see her flush as well. Her lips twitched into an even bigger smile as she finally said, “Before you make me completely forget, I want to give you something.”
She reached into a pocket sewn into her dress and pulled out a familiar blue dagger.
“Byleth-” Dimitri started, but she pressed a finger to his lips. She held the dagger in her hand, gazing at the deep blue. Dimitri’s hand wrapped around her waist.
“You said that daggers have a different meaning in Faerghus,” she paused, lost in thought. “Father gave this to me during my first assignment with him. He usually brought little trinkets with him after missions. Flowers, stones, coins...but this time, he commissioned it from a blacksmith who owed him a favor. He told me the dagger was to commemorate a new part of my life.”
Byleth swallowed thickly, and Dimitri’s hand tightened around her. Five long years had passed, but it was easy to forget that Byleth had not felt them the way he had. The wound of her loss was still fresh.
Byleth looked up at him again. “I want you to have it. Not only so that you can carve a path to your future,” her eyes met his, “But also as a reminder that I will always be there to support you in this new part of your life. It is my promise to you.”
Dimitri bowed his head, overwhelmed once more. The old Dimitri would have accepted this dagger as a burden, another head to cut.
“My beloved...Thank you. This means more than you could ever know.”
She squeezed his hand before stepping back. She clipped the dagger to his ornate belt, decorated with Duscuran motifs. The blue matched with the color of his cloak, as if it were already a part of him.
“It’s beautiful,” he murmured. He grasped the dagger, its proportions ill-suited for his hands. But then again, he surmised, his blood-stained hands would hurt no more. This was not a weapon. As Byleth said, it was a promise.
He looked back up at her, almost expecting to see immaculate brown hair and lilac eyes. But, of course, it was Byleth. It would always be Byleth.
She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her ear against his chest, which seemed to beat even louder, singing praises to the altar of his heart. They swayed together slightly, both unwishing for this moment to end.
But the bell rang, signaling an hour left before the coronation.
She stared out the window, and sighed quietly against his chest, “I will have to leave you soon for some final preparations. Will you be okay?”
The sun lit up the monastery. He could feel his scarred heart pulse, he could hear his friends in the courtyard, and he could hold his beloved in his arms. He had a future to promise, a fuller understanding of forever.
He had no doubts.
“Yes.”