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“You always take a deep breath when you embrace me.” Her voice is muffled against his chest.
“You always smell so wonderful.” He chuckles heartily. “It is the lilies you put in your hair.”
“I like lilies.”
He pulls her in for a deep kiss. “I do too.”
——
She leaves quietly on a warm summer’s day, with a gentle smile and a soft sigh, taking him and the remnants of his heart with her. At least, that is what it feels like. He feels nauseated, the air is thick and humid, and the smell of lilies, overpowering.
His chest constricts and his voice spills out in desperate sobs. It is difficult to breathe. He is gasping, one hand clasping her limp hand while his other clutches at his chest. His sorrow fills the room and he is drowning in it, and the only way to stay alive is to push it out from his lungs. His wails shake the chamber and echoes down the monastery halls.
No one dares enter the room until his pain-filled sobs have ceased.
They find him hunched over on his knees by her bedside, his hand still tightly holding hers. They tell him his hair is a mess, and that his eyes are red and swollen. Without even asking, they know what has happened. His beloved is gone; whisked away by cruel fate on a warm summer’s breeze, leaving the husk of a broken man behind.
They manage to collect their despondent King from the ground where he sits boneless and hollow. He can hardly keep himself upright. The priests and priestesses can hear his retainers scold him for his lack of propriety, though later they would spy those same retainers grieve quietly in the small corners of the monastery.
When they chance a glimpse at their king, it is like looking at a different man. His body is slumped and he no longer carries the dignified bearing you would expect a king to have. It is hard not to feel sympathy for him, especially after hearing stories of what he endured during the war.
The illness was sudden and devastating. There was not much known about it, save for that it was dire, and the church sent word to the king immediately to see the archbishop. The poor king. The poor, shattered saviour king. His guiding light has flickered out too quickly and too soon. Were they not soon to be wed?
A sharp glare from a knight pierces through them and the priests and priestesses scatter.
——
The days that followed were solemn; he can hardly remember any of it. The news spread throughout Fodlan quickly, and pilgrims flock to Garreg Mach in droves, wishing to pay their respects.
She is to be buried in the holy tomb, not in Faerghus as he would have wished; the nobles tell him she can not rest with his family as they were never fully wed.
Their wedding was planned for next spring.
The church says she can not rest with her mother and father either, as she was an archbishop, and their traditions overrule his wishes. His heart laments at how lonely his beloved must be in the dark chamber below Garreg Mach, hidden away from the light where she should be. He wishes to stay by her side, but knows that his duty as king will usher him away. He is granted one last time alone with her before he leaves.
She looks ethereal and serene, dressed in a simple yet elegant white dress. He has brought a lily with him and places it gently above her ear. It is his last gift to her and he hopes she likes the sentiment. His body shudders as he tries to control his breaths. His emotions are still overwhelming, especially when he gazes upon her unmoving features. Her eyes are closed forever to the world now, and after today, he will never be able to look upon her face again.
“I do not wish to leave you,” he whispers.
“Go.”
Tears well in his eyes and he sucks in a breath, “Please, do not ask this of me.”
“Remember your promise.”
He crumples to the floor and grieves.
——
Over time he has almost forgotten the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the dip of her chin. Her image is shrouded, blurred by the years. The one thing that stays with him is the smell of lilies. When he catches a scent of the white flower, he is overcome by vivid memories of her voice and her wondrous smile.
He takes it upon himself to take care of a potted lily plant. He rests it on the table he keeps by the window in his private chamber. On some days when he looks up from his desk of paperwork and glances towards the plant, he imagines that he sees her silhouette sitting where the plant is, smiling back at him. It brings him a small comfort.
On other days the lily is his only companion as he locks himself in his room, not wanting to be disturbed. He shares his thoughts, and though there is never a response, he is comforted anyway when the scent of the flower fills his senses.
He scarcely visits Garreg Mach; only on special occasions does he make the trip. One of the few times he does visit is on the day where they open the holy tomb for the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth. After all, it is his only chance to see her.
Each time he arrives, he is bombarded with waves of nostalgia. Everywhere he looks, he sees a younger version of himself with her walking down the halls, sparring in the training grounds, and sitting in the courtyard for tea. He envies the phantom versions of himself. He wishes to go back to those times with every fibre of his being.
His heart clenches fiercely. He misses her so much. He aches and longs to be with her. To be able to hold her small frame in his arms once more would be more than he deserved.
He never considered how lucky he was that their lives fell together. As much as he resents the goddess from taking her from him, he is also thankful that the goddess allowed them to meet that fateful day. He could not imagine a life not knowing her, her kindness, her love...
He is allowed some privacy when he enters the holy tomb. Her coffin is closed, as it has been for the past five years. He rests a lily on it and sits beside it. Being in her presence brings him peace, and he dreads leaving her again.
Sometimes he regrets agreeing to her promise.
He sits in silence, resting against her coffin in the dimly lit mausoleum. Time moves on without her and continues to flow onwards around him.
“You have to remember your promise to me too…,” he says before he leaves.
——
Letters pour in. Marriage proposal after marriage proposal. He refuses them all as quickly and as swiftly as they come in.
He dismisses audiences with potential brides. He makes himself scarce when nobles visit with their daughters.
The nobles double-down on their efforts to persuade him to marry and conceive an heir. They become frustrated with his stubbornness, and do not understand why he delays. One noble reminds him, in his anger, that the archbishop died over five years ago. The court session ends abruptly that day.
“Faerghus needs an heir.”
He is shocked awake by her voice. He had fallen asleep on the table by the window. He lifts his head and stares at the lily softly blooming before him.
“I blame you,” he tells the lily, “there is no one else I will ever want after you.”
——
He tries to keep himself busy, throwing himself into his work for Fodlan. He corresponds with old friends and allies on the daily, though it offers little respite from his thoughts.
At night, he is not alone, and the voices keep him awake.
One night as he tosses and turns, the wind howling outside flings his windows open, allowing a gust to pick up and scatter paper all over his bedroom floor. He quickly jumps out of bed to close the window and his gaze scans the documents on the ground. They are all the letters from her. He had forgotten about them and had tucked them away in a drawer.
He spends the rest of the night picking up the letters and reading them. When he reads them, he can hear her voice, and soon it is only her voice that fills his mind. He is able to sleep that night and the following nights after he reads one of her letters.
——
The pressure and tension from the nobles continue to mount. He concedes he has been selfish and irresponsible in this matter. His friends tell him, remind him, that his promise to her also means that he has to move on. They tell him that she would be heartbroken to know that the dead still have such a pull on him, especially if it’s her.
He eventually relents and submits to his duty as king.
“Forgive me, beloved,” he tearfully says to the lily one night as he drafts a proposal letter.
“There is nothing to forgive.”
——
He marries a noble’s daughter. She attended the academy while he was there as well.
The wedding is formal, mechanical, and far too long. The people see their king weep that day as he lifts the veil from his bride. So overcome with emotions he nearly collapses in his bride's arms. They find it romantic that he shed tears of joy at this union. They do not know he had dreamt of unveiling and smiling down upon a different bride. They do not see the melancholic expressions of his retainers and knights that stand by his side, and how they avert their eyes as the king slowly composes himself and the ceremony resumes.
The queen is graceful and kind, and the people adore her. After many years of marriage, he learns to love her as well. Though his love for his queen differs greatly from his love for her.
He suspects she knows that too, as he still wears her ring. He knows he is being unfair to his queen, and he wishes he was a better man for her. He knew her for only a fraction of the time he’s been with the queen, but still, her pull over his heart is as tight as ever. When one has loved as passionately and desperately as he has, they would understand.
Eventually, he conceives one heir with his queen, and they raise their son together. He tries to be a good husband and father. He entertains his queen’s wishes and spends time with his son as much as he is able to. Although it is selfish of him and disrespectful to his queen, it does not stop his thoughts from thinking, wishing… what if; what could have been.
He lives his life enjoying and partaking in many simple pleasures, one of which is caring for lily plants. His promise to her is not far from the back of his mind. He yearns. When he caresses a petal, he recalls the times he had done the same with the flower in her hair. His will is propelled purely on that promise and the hopeful, wishful promise she made to him.
He doesn’t even know if she would be able to keep her promise. He does not know what awaits him after death. He can only pray that Sothis be merciful when his time comes. Even if he was to join the wretched in the fires of eternity, he would be grateful to behold his beloved one last time.
His beloved… he will never call anyone else that. It is for her and her alone.
——
Her words still guide him through this life.
“Live for what you believe in.”
His reign as king is prosperous, though it does not come without difficulties. The rebuilding and mending of the homes and hearts of the continent is a long and slow process. Plans that he had drafted up with her on quiet, intimate nights come to fruition. He remembers her determination and the brilliance of her mind when they ruminated over reports with her in his lap as he read over her shoulder. Her excitement and enthusiasm was infectious. He is saddened that she did not get to see the Fodlan that she helped make.
His conviction to serve his people is his driving force and he steadily puts policies and laws in place that helps his country heal. The hardships and conflicts that naturally arise are overcome. The people revere him as a benevolent leader and celebrate his rule, and he rules for many, many years.
And the years... they eventually catch up to him.
He is tired.
His son is coronated with much fanfare, ushering in a new era for Fodlan. His son is a good man, and will become a good king for his people. He sighs contently that day, the burden of rule at last lifted from his head. His work is finally done. He has fulfilled his duty, and now he is able to rest after many years as king.
He spends the twilight of his years tending to a lily garden. They always bloom beautifully. Word had spread that the king favoured the lily flower throughout the years, and now in Garland Moon they make crowns of white lilies for their loved ones.
He begins to forget how he developed such a fondness for this flower. He thought it was his queen’s favourite flower, but hers are roses, so that can’t be right. He just knows that it brings him comfort and peace when he looks at one.
The day of the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth arrives and his son comes to him asking if he’d like to visit Garreg Mach with him. He shakes his head and says that only the presence of the king is needed and he would have no reason to visit that day. His son only smiles sadly at him.
Soon, his bones ache too much and he is unable to tend to the garden anymore. They arrange to have a lily plant in his room, placed on a table by the window.
Time moves slowly in his room and the days go by peacefully. His friends visit and they reminisce about their academy days, though he is saddened he can only remember parts of it. They keep referring to a certain professor and his brows furrow when they ask him, but they quickly change the subject when they sense his distress.
He can not shake this feeling that he is missing something important. His friends look at him with sad, sympathetic eyes and he does not know why.
——
He knows when his time has come. He has not been able to leave his bed for several days. He smiles weakly at his queen who is sitting by his side. She is weeping and their son is holding her.
“Thank you for being such a gracious queen.” he says, his voice so quiet that she must lean in to hear him.
“You were very kind, and I am grateful to you,” she says through her tears.
It takes a lot of effort for him to breathe and he takes a shuddering breath, turning his gaze towards the potted lily by the window. The queen walks towards the plant, picks it up, and places it by his nightstand.
“Go to her,” the queen softly says.
Her? Who is her?
The scent of the lily wafts over to him and he is enveloped in a gentle embrace of its scent. The blurred silhouette of a woman emerges from the recesses of his mind and he remembers. He remembers a loving embrace, green hair, a lily, and soft lips. He has not felt these emotions in ages, and he is overcome with a powerful longing.
Tears fall and he smiles, letting out a long-held breath, and closes his eyes.
There was a promise he made… a promise to his beloved...
——
When he opens his eyes again, he is in a sprawling meadow. He is young again, his old aches have vanished. It feels like spring. The wind is gentle and caresses him here, but also guides him with a soft push.
The wind leads him into the sight of a figure in the distance in a white dress. His heart leaps to his throat and he is hoping desperately that his mind is not playing with him. Their features are unmistakable. The blurred image of her in his mind is instantly dispelled and she is here, so clear, and her presence, so real.
His whole being is trembling; his body, his voice, the hand that reaches out to her.
“Byleth!” He calls to her, and when she turns around, his heart soars. Her eyes, the eyes that he loves so much glimmers brightly, and she smiles—goddess, that smile—widely at him.
“Dimitri!” She beams. She is absolutely beautiful.
His soul is singing, and he can not bear one more moment apart. He runs to her and she welcomes him into her arms. Everything he did in his life was for her. Everything has to lead to this moment.
“You kept your promise,” she says against his chest. She is so warm and her warmth seeps into him, cradling his heart tenderly.
He holds her tightly, their bodies mold into each other perfectly. He is never going to let her go. He kisses her with a joyful sob.
“And you kept yours,” he says, inhaling deeply. She smells like lilies. “You waited for me.”
