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Garreg Mach Monastery
Wyvern Moon 1186
As her patience thins, a heavy dread builds inside her chest like a rock. Her immobile heart seizes her restless spirit and Byleth twirls a quill as she waits in the Archbishop’s office. The tasks pile up in front of her, yet she cannot shake off this distraction. Earlier this morning, news arrived through carrier owl that the Kingdom envoys will arrive at the monastery today and with them, the King.
She hasn’t seen her fiancé in over a month. Dimitri’s attending to the rebuilding efforts in Fhirdiad, undoing the damage from Cornelia’s reign and the restoration of Duscur. Meanwhile, she led the charge against the Imperial uprising to the south of Fódlan. Relations with the former Adrestian Empire are still tense, many unhappy with the Emperor’s fall. The rebellion quelled, thankfully, with minimal bloodshed. Rebellions take on a smaller force in Faerghus, with most of the population ecstatic for Dimitri’s reign, but she knows he has his hands full with the reconstruction efforts.
Aside from the coronation at Garreg Mach and their brief exchanging of rings, they have had the occasional letter as their only point of contact.
The months following the Unification War have been hectic, more so than the war in some aspects. In the war, they primarily had to focus on their supplies, defenses, and surviving the battle ahead. Now they have new factors to balance: treaties and laws, infrastructure, redistribution of land, maintaining the peace, sentencing criminals. It all makes her head spin.
Her transition to Archbishop proved rather rough.
As expected, a sizable portion of the deacons and bishops opposed her ascension to the position. A mercenary of dubious origins, with limited knowledge on the teachings of Seiros, assuming the highest position on the church’s hierarchy? If Rhea and Seteth had not vouched for her, she’d have been kicked out of the monastery for her blasphemy.
Then there’s the matter of her engagement to the King: Archbishops often take an oath of celibacy to prove their devotion to the Goddess and to avoid power disputes. The role is not hereditary and children might muddle the Church’s hierarchy. An allegiance to the King can also force her hand, put her at his beck and call.
An Archbishop must serve all of Fódlan, regardless of one’s nation of origin. A monarch, especially a power-hungry monarch, might use her political powers to change laws as he sees fit, to draw her attention away from the people she serves. Her fiancé would never do such a thing, but his position might prevent her from seeing through the church’s needs. The logic is sound, but…
Perhaps it’s petty selfishness. As Ferdinand pointed out, a King’s duty is to his people, first and foremost. He has to put aside his own feelings and desires to rule effectively; the same is true for the Archbishop. They cannot sacrifice their convictions to appease one another. In their positions, inevitable disagreements will follow suit and a bad union might cause more harm than good to a delicate Fódlan.
Yet even knowing all these hurdles, she still wanted to propose to him. To stand at his side and see the future together- to lean on each other, as they have in the past. Maybe it is selfishness, but she wants to believe that they can accomplish more together than apart. They’ve always felt stronger together. Learning he felt the same filled her with such resolve- the resolve to tackle any challenge.
On her fiftieth twirl, a monk knocks on her door to inform her of the King’s arrival and Byleth rushes to clean her office space. Seteth is going to scowl her for the unfinished work but she brushes her robe down to make herself half-way presentable.
Her nerves build as she makes her way down the cold, antiquated stairs. Dimitri’s respite at Garreg March is expected to last only a few days- his true destination is to travel onwards east to Derdriu and gather additional support in rebuilding Duscur. Garreg Mach acts as a temporary resting location for him and his men.
She needs to use this time wisely. Who knows when he’ll have the opportunity to return?
She arrives towards the reception hall to witness a crowd of bowing monks and nuns, greeting the King and his men. She smiles as she catches sight of him, draped his heavy fur cloak and silver armor. He looks healthier, majestic even, with the light reflecting off his shining armor. As he approaches, she gets a better looks at his face. With his hair pulled back, his good eye twinkles like a sapphire in the light, adding to his beauty. Her restlessness only builds up.
“Welcome…” she greets, her voice trailing off.
What do I say next?
They never discussed how they should greet each other in public. Is it too informal to refer to him by name? Should she call him ‘His Majesty’ or ‘King Dimitri’ or does she use a different title now that she’s the Archbishop?
The knights behind him give her odd looks and she averts her eyes, this unfamiliar tension building inside her.
He chuckles, his bright eye crinkling. “Greetings to you as well.”
His deep voice resonates and she finds herself growing warmer as he speaks. “Once my men and I situate ourselves at the monastery, may I borrow a moment of your time this evening Professor?”
Her stomach sinks, the warmth evaporating at his aching words. Professor…
She nods, inviting him to join her for dinner on the highest floor of the monastery. The monks escort his men to their quarters while Dedue accompanies Dimitri to the King’s temporary suite. As Byleth walks back to her office, her stomach stirs at the innocent comment. She’s still a professor to her fiancé.
In the King’s suite, Dedue watches as His Majesty paces back and forth, desperate to release his immense energy. He did not sleep the night prior. Earlier this morning, he engaged in his regular training exercises and in his unease, destroyed a new steel lance. He dare not train again for fear of his uncoordinated strength, but now this caged energy has grown overbearing. Dedue watches his friend, impassive, but supportive all the same.
Brushing his hair back, His Majesty exhales. “I have everything prepared. I know I do. Yet I can’t seem to shake this tension, Dedue.”
“It’s only dinner with the Professor. We’ve eaten with her many times in the past.”
“Yes, but that was in public,” he mumbles, his fingers twisting the edge of his gloves. “Students and knights and monastery youths shared our dinner table. This is a private affair. We haven’t seen each other since the coronation and now that we’re betrothed- Gah! I’m worrying myself over nothing.”
“Rest, Your Majesty,” Dedue directs, hoping to ease his anxiety. “Fretting will only cause you fatigue.”
“I know you’re right but…” He straightens his back, stiffening beneath the pressure. “Are you sure the gift I brought for her will be sufficient?”
Dedue fights the urge to moan. They’ve had this conversation for days, ever since they set foot outside of Fhirdiad.
“The Professor enjoys flowers.”
“Yes, but is that enough?” He counters, his fretting increasing. He removes his gloves and twists the bulky cloth. “I tried consulting Sylvain and Felix, but you know how those two are. Felix claimed he has no interest in such matters and Sylvain’s only advice was to avoid giving her weapons and using his pick-up lines, least I suffer a repeat of the incident back at the academy.”
Dedue nods, recalling the incident. At first, he feared an assassin but upon seeing the love-struck young student, he knew she was harmless. Aggressive, but harmless.
“I’m worried,” His Majesty continues, his brow furrowed, “I fear I might not know enough about her tastes for a gift. I know nothing about clothing or perfumes. My knowledge on jewelry is limited- aside from the brooch I gifted her back as a student and our engagement ring, I’m not sure what else she’d enjoy. The monastery is brimming with an endless supply of books and Fhirdiad doesn’t have much good material for fishing.”
Dedue gives himself permission to exhale. “Why does this dinner have your concern, Your Majesty?”
His Majesty places the crumpled gloves aside and his hands writhe, in a manner unbefitting for a king. The tips of his ears redden and his voice softens. “It’s just, this is the first time I’ve ever sought another’s company… in a romantic sense."
As the words leave his lips, his face reddens. He moans and buries his face in his hands. “This entire arrangement is backwards, Dedue. Normally, a couple spends time courting before moving on to the formal engagement, but we exchanged engagement rings before we ever started courting!”
“You’ve known the Professor for years,” Dedue counters, hoping that logic can assuage him. “It is not as if though you two are strangers.”
“True enough,” he mumbles, moving his hands down over his mouth. “But our positions were… rather complicated, in the past. I was her student first- I wasn’t even of age when we first met. She offered me patience and guidance, but that’s expected of a professor. Even our luncheons and tea gatherings were standard for the professors.”
He shakes his head. “Even during the War, we were both pulled in so many different directions. Aside from our evening conversations in the cathedral and occasional tea in her quarters, we hardly had a moment alone. I didn’t even know she harbored the same feelings as I.
“In truth, I feel like we know little of each other, or rather, she knows more of me than I of her. Now I fear… we may not have much in common outside of battle. I worry one morning, I’ll find her begging to end the engagement.”
The tension lifts from Dedue’s brow, relief passing through. He offers His Majesty a smile.
“Your Majesty, you have nothing to fear,” Dedue consoles. “You and the Professor have much in common, believe me. This is an excellent opportunity to grow closer still. She made the choice to stay at your side, and she is not one to make decisions so lightly.”
His Majesty finally steadies himself, exhaling. “You’re right, my friend. You’re right. It’s just my nerves getting the better of me. Perhaps if we go out for a ride, it might clear my head a bit.”
Dedue frowns. If it will ease His Majesty, he has no objection. However, horses take umbrage with his dour face. Perhaps it will serve His Majesty better if he watches him riding from afar.
The dining room upstairs is reserved only for the Archbishop and her guests. Rhea often used it to eat away from everyone but tonight, Byleth will use the room to reconnect with her fiancé.
Byleth ties her hair back in a loose ponytail, gently tucking in her loose hairs. The paperwork she neglected this morning piled up, leaving her stuck in the office for hours having to catch up. Seteth’s uncompromising when deadlines approach. The constant strain on her eyes wore her out and she opted to change out of her formal robes into her comfortable black mercenary shirt and leggings, though she found her mind wandering on her date.
She struggles to find the emotion to describe her feelings: Anticipation? Fear? Excitement? Longing? Desire? Thrill? Irritation? Uneasiness? None of them felt right. She now has such a whirlwind of emotions compared to the numbness of her youth.
This will be their first dinner date together away from prying eyes. She’s had experience “dating” before, but those were always in taverns or out in the town. She can hardly remember them; she remembers feeling more excited for the food than any of her previous partners. Looking back on it, it’s hard to call any of those outings “dates”.
Even with Dimitri, they never spent too much time alone with each other outside of strategy meetings and tea. Wait, was tea time a date?
Unlikely. By that logic, that means she’s been on a date with all her students and even Edelgard and Hubert. Probably best to make this a separate experience.
She tried researching how to date beforehand, but Seteth removed all the detailed material from the library ages ago. She asked Flayn for advice on dates and Flayn gave her a lavishly detailed description of how one shares love at the stroke of midnight underneath the eruptions of colored gunpowder in the sky.
Clearly a scenario from one of Flayn’s romance narratives, but Byleth can’t seem to understand how gunpowder serves to enhance romance.
She tried to consult with the books buried in Abyss and she managed to find a promising book called Words of Love, which detailed romantic gestures and situations. She came across a peculiar passage on giving a woman a wet “Cethleann’s garland” and when she inquired with Seteth on the nature of such a gift, his face turned a brilliant shade of vermillion and claimed the passage was a “travesty” and “inappropriate to speak of within the walls of the monastery”.
She decided it was wiser to drop the topic and move on.
Now, she’s left with very little reference. Most troubling is Dimitri’s reaction at the entrance hall. He called her “professor” again. They’re engaged and yet he has never once used her name. It’s normal to refer to your partner by name, right? She calls him with his name, at least in private. Maybe he’s nervous?
A sinking weight forms in her stomach.
If I’m still the Professor in his eyes, does that not make me a romantic partner?
The heavy weight burrows within her gut when a sudden knock catches her attention. She straightens herself, flattening the wrinkles from her clothes, and approaches the door.
With a gentle creak, she opens the door and finds her fiancé, dressed in formalwear. The smooth furs of his cape cover his fine blue suit, reflecting his regal bearing in the candlelight. With his hair tied back, she catches a clear view of his handsome profile and his strong stare. Even his eyepatch has embellishment.
In her plain shirt and shorts, she suddenly feels very underdressed. She shifts.
“Dinner will be arriving shortly. Please have a seat.”
He mutters a quiet token of gratitude and sits, placing a small bag onto the side table. He does not explain the nature of the bag, but he speaks before she can ask.
“Lovely weather we’re having, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” she replies, simply. “The rains have been light so far.”
“That’s good to hear. I imagine the farmers in the region must have quite the plentiful harvest remaining.”
She nods, the weight in her stomach returning. Dates are usually supposed to be pleasant, so she sought comfort, but perhaps she misunderstood and romantic dates requires both parties to appear at their finest. Dimitri is a king now, manners must matter more for him. A prince can get away with casual clothes and conversation, not a king.
As they converse, their topics feels stiff and superficial. Her tea times with Rhea felt less formal than this. With the change in their titles, she always assumed that she and Dimitri would remain the same people underneath. That they’d enjoy each other’s company with just a few simple words and a peaceful setting. Perhaps she was too optimistic.
A knock on the door grabs her attention and she opens it to find the staff carrying their trays for dinner. She leads them to the table, trying to brush down her feelings of dread for the upcoming evening…
As she helps the staff set down the dishes, Dimitri takes a moment to chastise himself. Blast! Why am I talking about the weather again?
His stomach churns. He did the same thing at the Goddess Tower with her, hoping to work up the confidence to propose. Now his beloved is front of him, but he even can’t work up the courage to hand his gift to her. The size of the table doesn’t help. It’s a long, ornate table, much like the ones in Castle Fhirdiad. He’s not sitting at her side as he would like.
With the food in front of them, he’ll have to wait for a more opportune time to share his gift. The staff place a soup bowl in front of both their plates and his beloved dismisses them, granting them their privacy. He takes deep breaths, least he break the silverware with his intense nerves. His beloved gives thanks and dives into her soup with gusto.
He was not expecting her to look so… gorgeous, this evening.
With her hair pulled back, he received a fine view of her neck and the firm shape of her upper muscles when she greeted him. She needs so very little to look stunning and he chastises himself for staring too long. Her surprisingly casual attire and relaxed demeanor puts his mind at ease. He begins to feel rather foolish with his extra trimmings and embellishments.
The dinner table is uncomfortably silent, with only the clanks and chatter of silverware filling the empty air. His beloved seems unperturbed, yet his stomach twists worse with his unease. He watches as she finishes her plate and he mirrors her movements on to the main course. In front of him lays a delectable looking steak, covered in rich juices and vegetables. He still lacks a sense of taste, but the intoxicating aroma stirs his hunger.
He picks up his cutlery, gingerly holding it over his food. In the five years he spent wandering through Fódlan, his manners took a toll. Desperation drove him to savagery, unbefitting a king, and Gustave has been coaching him on relearning his table etiquette. With a gentle pressure, he cuts a corner of the steak, hoping that his betrothed doesn’t notice his clumsy application.
He takes a bite, the food bland in his mouth, and he tries to recall his old memories of beef. His memories trace back to his childhood, when he would celebrate these meals with his loved ones. Holidays, bountiful harvests, birthdays- he’d share those precious times with his friends, his father, his step-mother.
Dimitri swallows and hesitates. Then the voices return.
Voices all combine into an indistinguishable wail, ringing in his head, demanding vengeance. He grimaces, his head pounding as he tries to force them down. Glenn and father’s voices blur into a painful mix of hateful insults and spite, while his step-mother laughs at him. Desperate to ignore their wrath, he distracts himself and looks upon his beloved.
She’s still eating, and despite her unchanging expression, her vigor resembles that of Ingrid’s. She scarfs down the chunks of meat while occasionally dapping the juices off herself with her napkin. Her unpolished manner of swinging her fork almost makes him chuckle. Seeing her enjoying herself pushes the voices far from his mind.
She catches him staring and to his disappointment, she slows.
“I’m sorry,” she replies flatly, cleaning her face. “My table manners aren’t the best.”
“No, no,” he tries to assure, his heart sinking. “It has nothing to do with that. Your enthusiasm caught me off guard, that’s all. I’ve never seen you so engaged with our meals.”
“Our meals were in front of other people,” she explains, indifferent. “I use proper manners in public. This is how I like to eat in private.”
“Oh,” he replies, his cheeks heating up. This is a new side of her and she’s choosing to share with him. “Thank you for letting me see your private habits.”
“Dimitri…” she mumbles, placing her fork down. “Do you hate the food?”
“W-What? N-No, I like the food just fine,” he lies, blindsided at her observation.
“Really?” She presses, as if catching on to his falsehood. “You’ve barely touched your steak. Felix used to say that you hated the food when we shared meals together at the Academy.”
His fists clench. It’s not a secret he shares with just anyone; even admitting to it is uncomfortable. Yet if they’re going to share more meals like this…
“The truth is these past ten years have had a toll on my sense of taste. Most food is bland to me. The textures and smells are still the same, but for some reason the taste is….”
He catches sight of her downcast eyes and tries to correct himself. “Ah! I did not mean to bring down the mood. It is not as bad as you think; it’s made me rather adventurous with food. There’s no need for you to worry, Professor.”
She stiffens, unappeased. The subtle shift in her eyes tells him that she’s disappointed and his heart sinks. Did he do something wrong?
They continue to eat in silence, though his appetite has long left him.
After the meal, she invites him to the stargazing terrance outside the doors. The moon’s bright this evening and maybe some fresh air will ease away some of the awkwardness from this evening.
This whole evening’s been an uncomfortable mess. She chose her casual clothes because she wanted to enjoy her meal without worrying about her archbishop robes getting dirty. She doesn’t like to worry about cleanliness when she has a good meal in front of her. She didn’t realize she eats like a slob; growing up with mercenaries didn’t exactly help her develop refined table skills. Now she just feels guilt.
How did she never notice his lack of taste? She’s seen him eat before- how he picks at his food, how he distracts from the conversation, his flat expression as he ate. Maybe she shouldn’t have forced him into a meal. Perhaps he’d have preferred sparring or riding; he’d certainly look more comfortable. He’s been quiet and on edge this entire evening, not smiling once.
He sits stiffly on a bench, his satchel from earlier in his lap, overlooking the pond. A reddish fish catches his attention, the bright color reflecting in the water. Byleth sits at his side, hoping to close the gap between them.
“Dimitri… can you taste spicy food?”
“What?”
“I can place an order for some spicy dishes next time. Or maybe some sour foods? Maybe I can ask Flayn for some recipe advice. She told me you liked her cooking.”
“There’s no need to go through all trouble.”
“But you didn’t look like you enjoyed the meal at all.”
“I don’t-“ he mutters, fumbling over his words. He shifts, his discomfort evident and he catches her eye. Meekly, he offers her his hand and she takes it, his warmth soothing her to her core. He squeezes, her hand steading him, and he exhales.
“I’m sorry, I struggle with my expression sometimes. I really am enjoying this evening, honest. I just have a hard time relaxing.”
Her eyes widen. This evening appears to be causing him more stress than originally anticipated. “I want you to feel comfortable. What should I do?”
He squeezes her hand with a reassuring tightness. “You don’t have to do a thing. Spending time with you is more than enough. All I ask is for a moment to adjust.
“And truthfully, I have no idea what actions are appropriate for a date,” he confesses, his cheeks reddening. “I know of inappropriate dates. My friendship with Sylvain has taught me as much, but I want you to enjoy yourself. I never want to force you into an uncomfortable position.”
“Hmm… I’m not sure what behaviors are appropriate or not. I’ve been on some dates before, but this is new.”
“You-you have?”
She nods. “Some mercenaries, here and there. They thought I was pretty, but it never moved past a single date. I never laughed, I never smiled. Everyone said I was ‘creepy’ and ‘unnerving’. There wasn’t really a point in pursuing a relationship afterwards.”
He shifts towards her, his brow creased. “What? What awful things to say!”
“It’s my emotions,” she explains, “It never really bothered me. I’ve never been good at expressing myself either.”
His thumb rubs against the back of her hand, placating her. “Even so, I’m sorry you had to endure that. The lot of fools, all of them, to not appreciate your warm heart.”
The heat from earlier grows stronger in her chest and rises to her face. Her vision blurs. She leans into his chest to steady herself. “Actually, those words might have bothered me. Just a little.”
Her betrothed silently nods, taking in her in his cape and filling her with his warmth. They chat on the progress with the monastery, the Kingdom, and their reforms. She feels his chest vibrate beneath her as he tells a story of how Dedue accidentally frightening a horse in the Kingdom stables as a child. The poor creature was so shaken with fright, it neighed until they treated it to sugar cubes.
“Poor Dedue just simply has one of those faces that goes ill-equipped with animals,” he chuckles, a smile finally forming. She nods, enveloped in his warmth. Her eyelids grow heavy, drowsy from her snug resting spot.
The hours pass, both lost in their banter. The more he talks, the more at ease he feels around her. It’s just like their academy days, where they could confide in each other about anything. She’s so warm pressed up against him, his heart races at her soft touch.
Now they’ve reached a cozy calm and she hasn’t said a word in a while. From her gentle breathing, it almost sounds like she’s asleep. He shifts, his cheeks reddening once again.
“Forgive me. I’ve been been prattling on this whole time. Surely, it must be exhausting to listen to me blather on like I’m giving you a report.”
She shifts, tightening her hold around him. “Please don’t stop,” she replies, lethargically. “I like the sound of your voice.”
“Oh, I…” he coughs, his nerves taking hold. “I didn’t know that. All this time I thought I was monopolizing our conversation.”
She shakes her head against his chest, his heart pounding once again. He has a hard time reading her impassive expressions but when she’s close to him like this, he can understand her with such ease. Surely these moments will grow more frequent as they spend time together. Holidays, festivals, birthdays…
“Ah! Love, can you give me a moment? I have something I wish to give you- for your birthday I mean, since I couldn’t attend.”
As she rubs her eyes, he opens his satchel and pulls out a book. He hands the leather book to her and her eyes sparkle as she flips through the pages. Inside lay pressed flowers, their snowy texture blending into the white pages. She traces the shapes of the flowers with her fingers, exploring their silky petals.
“Forgive me for the lateness of this gift. They’re flowers from the north of Fhirdiad,” he explains, his nerves centering in his throat. “They typically bloom in the winter, but given the frigidness this season, they blossomed a little early this year.”
“They’re so pretty,” she smiles, tucking the flower book in her arms. His spirits soar.
“Do you like them? I’m so glad,” he replies, his earlier enthusiasm returning. “I can’t wait to take you to Fhirdiad. We’ll have more time to explore at our leisure. I’ll show you these flowers in full bloom. The newly fallen snow on a winter’s morning. We can go sledding or ice fishing, if you wish. And in the evening, we can rest next to the cackling roar of a comfortable fire.”
A faint flush enters her cheeks and he catches himself. “Forgive me, I’m prattling on again.”
“I’d like to see those things,” she mumbles, her comfortable drowsiness returning. She places her lips against his cheek, pressing a smooth kiss. He leans in, planning to impart one of his own when she stops him. “But before that, Dimitri, I’d like you to… call me by name. Not as Professor, but as Byleth.”
He hesitates, his tongue heavy. Her name. He’s never called by her- He’s never even noticed, but it’s only natural- Even so- But maybe…
“B-Byleth?” He mumbles her hallowed name.
She perks up, her eyes widening and pleased. He repeats himself. “Byleth, can I- no, may I kiss you?”
Though her expression remains flat, her cheeks redden further, deeper than any shade he’s seen of her. She takes his hand, pulls it up to her cheek, inviting him.
He leans in, clumsy knocking his teeth against hers, but he steadies himself. He presses his lips against hers, and she follows his lead. He holds his breath, desperate to have this moment last.
As they break apart, he notices that the kiss felt a little more wet than he remembers, certainly more than their first time, but the deep blush on her cheeks implies enjoyment. She leans in again, inviting a second kiss. He takes her offer, his confidence returning and he holds her in his arms.
Full of bliss in each other’s presence, the two chat of mundane matters late into the evening.