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This doesn’t feel real, this full-bodied joy that at once makes him feel weightless and yet more in touch with his body than he’s ever been.
With a trembling hand, he reaches up to run his thumb over his newborn son’s brow, to brush his knuckles over a soft, tiny cheek. He’s so small . Dimitri marvels at his own gentleness, wondering how he hasn’t yet broken the most precious thing he’s ever held.
He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He shuts it, runs his tongue over his cheek, tasting salt and moisture.
The babe begins to fuss and whimper, its tiny, chubby arms waving around. Dimitri shushes him, lifting his hand to take one of his son’s between two of his fingers. Tiny fingers shut around his thumb on reflex. For all of Dimitri’s strength, he cannot pull his hand away.
A sound that’s more sobbing than laughter escapes him, and he can no longer fight the smile pulling his mouth wide. “Such a strong grip,” he breathes.
“Mm.” Byleth’s voice comes from his left side, and her hand - small, slender, so impossibly warm - comes to rest on his wrist. “Wait until…he can pull on our hair. Hopefully any Crest he has will manifest after that stage.”
Dimitri wants to smile at his wife - the love of his life and the mother of his son - but he’s still transfixed on that small, scrunched-up red face. And though he didn’t think he could care about anyone as much as he did Byleth, he has to screw his eye shut, overwhelmed by the happiness and love threatening to bring him to his knees.
“Dimitri?”
Those gentle,calloused fingers he knows so well press against his right cheek, and he follows it, opening his eye to find Byleth distorted. It takes him a moment to wonder why before the first fat teardrop escapes his eye and travels down his cheek.
Oh.
Byleth is still beautiful even through her exhaustion. It’s a soft radiance shimmering through the drying sweat and tangled hair, through the shadows underneath her eyes betraying the long, hard hours she labored bringing their child into this world. “Don’t cry, Dimitri.” Byleth smiles, her thumb sweeping up to catch the next teardrop. “This is a happy time.”
At those familiar words, his chuckles spill from his mouth like the tears from his eyes, unbidden. He is helpless to stop both his laughter and his crying. Helpless to do anything but turn his head and kiss Byleth’s palm. “These are happy tears, beloved,” he whispers, answering her with words that carry a weight and intimacy only they can understand. “Thank you.”
For giving me the greatest gift you could to me. For carrying our child for nine months. For never letting me look back into the whispers that haunt my mind. For always keeping your hand open and extended through the fog of my rage during the war. For having faith that I would someday take it.
For seeing all of me - the boy, the man, and the monster - and loving all of it.
Byleth’s eyes flutter shut, and she yawns as her arm starts to drop to the bed. “I’m sorry. I…”
“Shh.” Dimitri reluctantly pulls his finger from his son’s grip, catching Byleth’s and and placing a long, slow kiss to her wrist. He rejoices at the strong, steady pulse that beats beneath his lips. “Rest.”
“But…the baby - what if - ”
“I will wake you if he needs anything. I will not leave your side, I promise.” Dimitri places her hand down on the blankets. He reaches up and covers her eyes with his hand.
(He thinks of a rainy evening - of warm, kind hands, and a challenge to live for what he believed in. “Shut your eyes, Dimitri,” she’d whispered, and Dimitri had fallen into a calm, dreamless sleep almost as soon as the words left her mouth.)
“Close your eyes, my love. You’ve earned your rest.”
It does not take long for his wife’s breathing to even out and for every muscle in her body to relax. When he pulls his hand away, she does not open them.
A small whimper and shifting pulls Dimitri’s attention back to his son. He smiles, his cheeks aching from the force of it, reaching up to adjust the swaddling blanket.
Eventually the proclamation will have to go out. There will be celebrations in the streets. There’s the christening, the presentation of his son to the people, congratulations from both dear old friend and stuffy nobles looking to gain favor with their king.
That can wait, though.
“You kept us waiting, little one,” Dimitri says at last, “but it's been worth it. There are so many things I can't wait to show you.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Bryson Felix Blaiddyd.”
(A year and a half ago, Dimitri crouched in the shadows of the Goddess Tower, drenched in blood, and let the whispers of the dead wash over him.
Today, he holds his son in his arms, sitting beside his sleeping wife as sunlight streams into the room.)