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Wyvern Moon of the Imperial Year 1193; or merely, per royal decree, the Year 1193.
Seven years have passed since the fall of the Adrestian capital of Enbarr, bringing Empress Edelgard’s war of reconquest to a mortal close. It is an irony that with His coronation as King of Faerghus, Dimitri Alexandre of the House of Blaiddyd is the first ruler in four centuries to see Fódlan in totality under one banner.
With His refusal to press claim on Edelgard’s titles, the Adrestian Empire has been formally abolished; previously imperial lands have folded into the custody of the Holy Kingdom. Those who resisted peace have through no small effort been calmly made to kneel, and great works are undertaken to rebuild in all corners of the land. King Dimitri I is known to His Faerghus subjects as “The Savior King.” Yet there remain many in the quelled west who still quietly name Him, “The Usurper King , ” — or simply, “The Mad.” And among His Highness’s own court there are yet those who question whether He can secure a lasting peace in the span of His reign. It is a time of anxious hope. A mighty gulf of hardships lies between King Dimitri’s ambitions and reality.
At a time when even support among the dukes of Faerghus waivers, there remains one voice of constant support for the King; and a warm, tender hand to guide him into this new era...
Among the serving hands of Castle Fhirdiad, there spread ugly rumors of a haunting in the royal quarters. On some nights, as the moon settled over the city and the lanterns began to dim, a wailing could be heard to rise within the palace — terrible sounds, like the shrieks of someone in the throes of murder.
In the kitchens they gossiped it was the ghost of Lambert, drawn home by his dearest son. The gardeners thought they could but faintly hear the voice of the old prince regent Rufus, murdered by the witch Cornelia. In turn a bold few folk dared swear the voices were accusing cries of King Dimitri’s wartime victims; specters of the old Empire seeking vengeance. But only one voice was ever heard, so some insisted — thus evening debates carried on where the King’s personal retainers could not hear.
An uneasy settlement was reached among the castle servants: when the night’s chill set in the common staff would retreat to the other wings of the castle, and only a trusted few veterans would attend the royal family’s needs. Of what they saw, they did not speak. The rumors lingered, then festered under candlelight. And despite the most spirited efforts of all the King’s men, the royal issue soon caught word.
So it was that one night, when the handmaids shooed them away from their baby brother’s nursery, Prince Ronan and Princess Vera — six and five years old respectively — heard a moaning echo along the quiet stones of the palace walls.
The night was still young. The servants always whispered they heard the ghost long after the children had been put to bed. Sensing an opportunity, Vera dragged her older brother up the stairs towards the source of that eerie voice… to the doors to the Lion’s Hall, where their father kept his offices and study.
Standing by the door they encountered the elderly knight Gustave, who looked puzzlingly calm to the children — calm, if perhaps in a dark mood. Sir Gustave, seeing the two clumsily approach, gave a practiced smile.
“My Prince, my Princess, good evening.” He bowed deeply to them, more so than necessary, letting his red-streaked ponytail fall over his shoulder. “It’s coming to be quite late. I imagine your mother will want you two abed ere long.”
Vera spoke before Ronan could voice his agreement:
“We have a little longer before bedtime!” she exclaimed. “Hey Mister Knight, we want to go see Papa!”
In that moment there was another moan from someplace beyond the oak doors, so loud it clearly made Gustave shiver.
“… I’m afraid His Highness, that is, your father is dreadfully busy at this hour,” he insisted. “He has assured me he has many letters to write and many more to read.”
“But – Sir Gustave, the ghost!” The Prince pointed to the door.
“Yeah, the ghost! We’re gonna to beat him up!”
“Is Father safe in there?—”
“—What if the ghost attacks him!”
Gustave knelt with a chuckle, which turned to a groan as he bent his weary knees. He scooped the two Lion cubs into his arms. Vera and Ronan fought to free themselves, but it was to no avail against the knight’s old muscles. He made them sit against the door with him and, perhaps understanding the message, the two children surrendered.
“I promise you, no harm will fall upon your father, the King. If he should be in any danger, Dedue is right with him. There’s no mightier, more loyal man in all of Fódlan. If that ghost knows what’s for, he wouldn’t dare fight Dedue.”
“Uncle Dedue!” Suddenly Vera squirmed excitedly again. “He’ll pick up the ghost and throw him out the window!”
“Yeah! He did that to me once when I wouldn’t go to bed,” said Ronan, beaming from cheek to cheek.
Gustave gave him a worried look.
“Excluding the part with the window, I should hope.”
Another scream passed through from the Lion’s Hall, along with a sound like words too indistinct to comprehend. Gustave rose from the floor, one Blaiddyd child in either arm, and he carried them a ways down the hall.
“You have my word that the King is safe.” Satisfied, he put them down.
“Whose ghost is it over there, Sir Gustave?”
The knight frowned.
“I couldn’t say. But pay it no further mind. I wish you two a good night.”
With that he gave them a gentle shove toward the hall from whence they came, and then returned to his post. Defeated, the siblings scurried off.
But when they rounded a corner, Vera again took her brother’s hand and tugged him toward a hall with windows which overlooked one of the inner gardens.
Outside was a section of tiled roofing which covered the path around the garden. Standing on her tiptoes, Vera unlatched the window and pushed it open. Putting one leg up and over the sill, she hopped out onto the roof.
“What are you doing?” whispered Ronan.
“I wanna see the ghost,” was his sister’s flat reply. She motioned him to hop over as well.
“That’s dangerous!” Ronan whined. “Look how far up you are!”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” She held her hand out to him. “What, are you scared?”
Before Ronan could reply, he heard the sharp heel-click of footsteps from down the hall from which they’d came. Panicking, he took his sister’s hand and scrambled out the window.
As Ronan got his bearing, Vera began to sidle across the roof on her hands and knees. When the Prince looked down towards the edge of the roof down to the neat arrangements of pretty flowers and granite statues, a chill crawled up his back.
“Come on!” Vera hissed with impatience. Ronan followed her with great reluctance.
The two crawled up to the edge of one of the Lion’s Hall windows, past where they had spoken to Gustave. They were surely on the right path, because they could hear a soft sobbing from further along that roof.
The click of footsteps grew louder, then stopped in front of the door. The children expected to hear Gustave turn the visitor away, but instead, through that window they saw the door open without a word from Gustave…
… And then into the Lion’s Hall stepped their mother.
The children ducked away from the window.
She stopped there in the entrance to the Lion’s Hall for a moment. Gustave closed the door behind her. Further along, a voice could be heard to cry out, “ Stop it! Please, stop it !”
Her heels clicked as she started to walk. From where he was crouched, Ronan could see the bright green top of his mother’s head pass by. For his part, Ronan was frozen in place by the fear and thrill of nearly being caught. His sister was more focused, and immediately continued climbing along once their mother was out of sight. The source of the wailing was near; Ronan realized his mother must be after the ghost as well!
But again her footsteps came to a pause, and so did the two children, listening carefully.
Diligently standing there by the door to the King’s study was Dedue. He had watched unmoving while the Archbishop crossed the hall. As ever his trained expression said little of his feelings; yet Byleth knew him well enough to understand, this toil had not grown any more bearable for him.
“I didn’t mean for it to be like this!” cried the voice behind the door.
“Your Radiance,” Dedue curtly greeted her with a nod.
Then after a pause, he corrected himself: “Professor.”
“Nooooooooooo!”
Dedue winced.
Byleth put her hands together, wrapped a few fingers in the folds of her dress. “How is he?”
From the study there was a sound like words being spoken in a rushed murmur, and then a bang. It sounded like books fell from one of the shelves.
“This is… not the worst he has been, today,” confessed Dedue. “But this, by far this is the worst in years. When I found him he was insensate. I would say it’s been this way since shortly after the council session, but fortunately nobody saw, this time.”
Byleth nodded. “Thank you for watching after him, always.”
She gave him a tight hug, then gestured to the door. He opened it.
“Leave us,” she said as she entered. And once the door was closed Dedue obliged.
Within the study, several pieces of furniture were displaced, and tomes and letters scattered over the floor. A dim fire was beginning to die in the hearth in the center of the inside wall. And in a corner between two shelves, huddled in a heavy blue cloak with his back to the room, there was the venerated King of Faerghus,
Her husband.
“Please,” he wept. “Please, El, let me go — leave me, I didn’t want to do it!”
“Dima,” whispered Byleth. But it did not take hold of his attention.
“Is it not enough to take my sleep from me?!” snapped the King. “I know, I tried everything I could but I know —”
“Dimitri…”
“No! No, no!” He gasped as if suffocating, and rolled over onto his back, hitting his head against the bookshelf. “You can’t have me now! Please, El! Mercyyyyyy!”
“Dimitri!” Byleth strode to his side, and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Come back to me! Dimitri!”
Dimitri shuddered, then opened his one eye, convulsing, panting so hard that spittle clung to his breath.
Byleth fell to her knees, clutching Dimitri tight. He slackened against her, numb and tired, swallowing down the saliva in his mouth before he could drool into his wife’s shoulder. Then between deep breaths he blinked.
“Beloved,” he wheezed.
“Everything’s alright,” she said softly, “I’m here, you’re alright, it’s only us two.”
“Oh, El —” Dimitri coughed. “She was — I’m not…”
“Hush, love…”
“Edelgard,” He buried his face in the curve of Byleth’s neck, “I couldn’t save her…”
“There was nothing we could do.”
“There was a time I would have given everything to help her, if she would but ask. I thought — maybe it could be that way again. Why didn’t she tell me what was happening to her? Why didn’t she ask for my help — why didn’t she take my hand?”
“Darling, I don’t know…”
“We could have —” he rubbed against his wife, remembering her, reminding himself of reality. “We could have, I could have saved her. Why couldn’t we understand each other? Flames take me. My head hurts…”
Byleth dug a hand beneath his messy hair, massaged his scalp.
“Who am I fooling,” Dimitri said flatly. “We couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save anyone."
Shhhhh.
“You couldn’t save Edelgard because nobody could save her,” said Byleth. “She could not be saved because she did not want to be saved. She was resolved to die there, that day, by your hand.”
“She wanted… I think she wanted us to die together.” He pulled himself from her, sitting upright. Yet he wrapped his arms tighter around Byleth’s back. “It’s horrible. Death… the things that were done to her. What she suffered…”
“You were two of a kind, in that way.” Byleth cupped his cheek. “It’s just that you chose to change.”
“I changed because I had something she lacked,” Dimitri gripped her wrist. “I had you. I was a monster, until I had you, until you welcomed me back with a hand outstretched in the morning light. And I’ll never forget that. Thank you, my beloved. I’m back again.”
He lifted her hand from his face, and grasped it in his. “I never tire of this feeling. Even now when they speak to me, I feel my blood run as ice. Though I know better than to listen, their words yet pierce me like no spear could ever manage. But knowing you are here, knowing you trust in me, despite everything I’ve done… thank you.”
They fell to the floor together, each with one arm around the other, and one hand clasped in the other’s.
The hardwood was cold, but these two lovers nestled close and savored one another’s warmth.
“She was so angry,” he told her. “She hates that I live. I can’t achieve her goals, and I cannot die. So she is angry. It’s not fair that I live when others die, when the world remains as cruel as ever…”
“What happened, dear?” asked Byleth. “What makes you say such things?”
Dimitri looked away from her for a moment. “I can’t fully remember… there was a letter. Ah, wait…”
Byleth patiently waited for him to regather his mind.
“… The letter. I remember.”
He grimaced.
“Lysithea.”
Byleth hated that in her chest, there was no reaction to that name; that there was no heart to be swayed. Yet understanding washed over her nonetheless, and she dreaded her husband’s next words.
“You remember, Felix rushed back to Fraldarius, not a week ago—”
The next words were trapped in Dimitri’s throat. He gulped hard.
“His wife collapsed, and he ran out the gates with his men as soon as the rider had given him the news… he didn’t even pack his things. Well. A letter arrived in the morning: Lysithea von Ordelia-Fraldarius is dead.”
Byleth squeezed his hand tight, drew him to her even tighter.
“We knew it was coming…” sharply, Dimitri inhaled. “… And there was nothing any of us could do. And I realized, it was the same with Edelgard, too.”
“She was frantic to change the world before she passed,” mused the Archbishop.
“She and Lysithea, both — they were victims of this twisted order.”
“And they both knew it. And it guided them both. Where Edelgard tried to overturn the world, Lysithea used her time to make it a better place for her loved ones. Edelgard may have failed, but she united us nonetheless. And I think I can speak for all our peoples: Duchess Lysithea was a boon to all of Fódlan.”
“They were truly incredible, both of them. I wish we could have saved them…”
Dimitri closed his eye, and sighed.
“… I don’t know if it’s in my power to forgive El,” he told her. “Far too many died because of her. For a woman who claimed she would change the world, she levied her power as empress like any other conqueror would. To focus her aims far higher, she let her bureaucracy fester with corruption. For such an outraged victim of injustice, she held her tongue and courted the people who made a victim of her. But even so — she desperately wanted to change the world for the better. I have to always remember that.”
“Remember it, remember the legacy she left to you, in its totality — the damage she did, and the opportunity she gave us,” thus spoke Byleth. “Do what your heart tells you is right, and seek to change the world, that none ever again suffer as Edelgard or Lysithea did.”
“This I solemnly swear in the Goddess’s presence.” He smiled. “You have spoken most wisely, Your Radiance.”
They shared a laugh together as husband and wife. Dimitri sat up, lifting her along with him. He spent a moment admiring Byleth’s face, then planted a kiss on her forehead, and then both of her cheeks. Byleth responded by pressing her lips to his, leaning forwards such that he reclined back to accept her, until they were again on the floor, with her atop his chest.
Dimitri broke the kiss and gasped. “I yield to you, Professor! You put me in a state most humbling.”
“You must needs be humbled awhile, my King.” Byleth wrapped herself in his cloak, bundling them together. “I am comfortable where I lie, in the breadth of your breast.”
“That Her Radiance should be but a stubborn cat in her favored spot! What thoughts might stir in the bishopry, if they could but see this sight?”
But yet he put his arms around her waist and let his head fall back. “T’is a dire spot, but for my beloved cat I wouldn’t dare move.”
There they sat, until the moonlight shone brighter than the embers in the hearth. At that point, Byleth sat up, clutching Dimitri’s palm in her hand, and lifted them both to their feet. They took a lantern from the desk and lit it, closed the hearth; then they stumbled their way out like two unsober lovers.
Dedue and Gustave awaited them at the Lion’s Hall entrance. They reported that Dedue had caught their children clambering along the roof, and sent them to bed. And the King, on hearing this, was stunned. He looked down at Byleth, and then they shared an awkward grin in their disbelief.
“We’ll give them words on the morrow,” promised Byleth, before she bid them good-night and dragged their King to his chambers.
Dimitri submitted himself to the Archbishop, letting her direct him into his place in their shared bed. With a yawn he placed the lantern down at his night table. Resting his head back, he glanced over his precious wife once more as she changed.
“… Would that they’d accept you for my Queen.”
Byleth brushed a green lock over her shoulder. “Your council is wise, my King. I am Archbishop of the Church. It is dangerous for our stations to be entwined in such a way. I yearn for it, but I’ve made my peace with that truth. I am content to remain your consort.”
“Now more than ever, though, Felix of all people must understand… love is something to be cherished. We have such few moments together, to ourselves, of late. And I fear it will only be worse in the new year. It’s nothing but a title, but still…”
He turned over onto his side as she moved to the other end of the bed.
“Byleth, my love…” whispered Dimitri, his eye already closed, “… won’t you stay, this winter?… If not as Queen of Faerghus, then as the mother of my children…”
She sat there at the bedside and thought on this. Then she answered, “I will. As mother of your children, as your wife — as your love, as the woman who loves you.”
She laid under the fur covers beside him, watched him roll partways onto his back. Then she shifted into place close against him, his outstretched arm beneath her.
“Good night, Dimitri…” she whispered, direct to his face.
“… Good night, Byleth…” he whispered back.
She watched the rise and fall of his chest slow. She knew then he was asleep.
His mouth was parted so slightly that she saw a glint of his teeth in the lantern light. She lay there for a spell, watching him.
Then she pursed her mouth closed, and bit down on the inside of her lower lip until she tasted copper.
She carefully leaned in until her mouth brushed with his, letting her immortal blood well out and onto his own lips.
He lapped up the vital fluid in his sleep.
She allowed herself a moment’s thought which she had been fighting back: she wondered if it might be futile to hope.
“Oh, Dimitri…”
She frowned at her selfishness.
Byleth reached across her sleeping husband, and moved to turn the face of the lantern way from the bed.
When she did so, she noticed the door ajar.
The lamplight illuminated two big pairs of eyes through the crack in the doorway. They quickly retreated away, but it was too late. Byleth gingerly left the bed. She covered herself in one of the hides and went to the door with feline stealth.
When she poked her head out, there were Ronan and Vera. They nearly leapt with surprise. But Byleth put a finger over her mouth, and gave them a warm smile.
“We’re sorry, Mama,” whispered Ronan. Behind him, his sister nodded, suddenly bashful.
She knelt before her children.
“Ronan, Wyveria — did you two give Dedue a hard time tonight?”
“We didn’t mean to,” mumbled Ronan.
“I heard he caught you two climbing the walls,” their mother recalled. “I think your father was fit to faint when he heard that.”
“Dedue was scarier than the climbing…” grumbled Vera. “He was soooo quiet.”
“We didn’t mean to worry you, Mama,” Ronan shook his head, “we wanted to protect Papa from the ghost…”
“The ghost…” Byleth tilted her head.
Then she grinned. It was a look which could melt a mountain glacier. Her children were captivated by that look.
“Well, your father and I made short work of it, tonight,” she told them.
“Will it ever come back?” asked Ronan.
Behind him, his sister chirped, “What was it like?!” Ronan shushed her.
Byleth led them both away from the chamber. “Well — ghosts are lonesome things. This one was scary, but did not mean to do harm. Perhaps it will return. But you must never chase after it.”
Of course, she knew that saying this would not deter them.
At some point her children would learn the truth of their father’s hauntings. Stories of ghosts were only a way of delaying inevitability. She wondered, too, how long she could hope to keep the truth from the castle staff as well.
She began to lead her son and daughter back to their rooms.
Suddenly, Vera asked, “Can I sleep with you and Papa tonight?”
“Me too! I want to sleep with Mama and Papa too!”
Their mother considered this. Then deciding it was no trouble, she turned them back around. “I suppose… but you two are getting quite old for this, you know… don’t get too used to it.”
“And Lynall, too! Can he sleep with us?”
“All three of you at once would be… difficult.”
“Pleeeeease!”
Unable to say no, Byleth took them to the nursery.
On that cold night of the early Wyvern Moon, the family of Blaiddyd crammed together in the royal bed without managing to disturb their sleeping patriarch. Of them, Byleth was the last to fall asleep, looking over her family; cherishing that instant, knowing it would become a distant memory, in time… yet grateful for it all the same.
… And so, as the Wyvern Moon waned…
“… It is an ugly proposal, Ferdinand.”
Like flies after a horse, the councilors chased their King across the castle, even outside of council. This was a reality of sovereignty to which Dimitri had to surrender.
Church officials roamed the halls of Castle Fhirdiad in force in recent weeks. As promised, the Archbishop had announced she would conduct her affairs from within Fhirdiad until the New Year. A hurrisome effort was then underway to secure routes of pilgrimage through the northern freeze.
As senior as these functionaries were, Dimitri still kept his voice low while he conversed. Yet the King’s companions did not follow his example.
“My King, I am inclined to agree with you assessment,” so opined the Count Gloucester, loud enough that his voice echoed off the ceilings.
Somewhere behind, Lord von Aegir huffed. “Lorenz, you—”
Lorenz continued, “But in ruling there must be made some concessions of dignity, that we can secure prosperity for our subjects. All of the peerage took their oaths understanding this. Thus it should not surprise them any at all that you urge them to intermarry.”
“I would not frame it as conceding dignity.” Ferdinand stepped ahead of Lorenz, running a hand through his mane. “Indeed, it is a matter of conserving the dignity of your lands. Right now the territories of Adrestia are simply territories within Faerghus. Now many households fear they will be exploited, as they exploited Faerghus.”
“Is it not exploitative to so meddle in their households?” queried the King.
“Well, yes, but you needn’t strictly arbitrate any, any bondage between houses!”
“Just so,” agreed Lord Gloucester. “It would be well to encourage them to intermingle and see what sorts of feelings might emerge. Perhaps we could observe days of great feast in the Ethereal Moon, to celebrate Your Highness’s birthday, and the many holy days of the Church!”
“Oh yes, feasts, festivities — all manner of occasions to encourage the lords of the realm to come together, to ease out the tensions of these awkward times.”
Dimitri scowled. “Ferdinand, you talk to me of playing matchmaker, yet you won’t trust me to judge affairs as concern my wife.”
He came to an abrupt stop. Behind him, this walking session of court halted as well.
Ferdinand looked to Lorenz; yet Gloucester, who had not weighed in on the matter of the royal consort, said naught. Past the intermarriage matter, their cooperation was at an end.
Alone Ferdinand pressed on. “Your Highness, for as long as we have been at peace, there are indeed yet these ‘tensions.’ That is precisely why I advise you take this path and not others. I respect your wishes, and I see how it pains you. But we have good reasons to keep the appearance of division between the Church and the Kingdom. If the Church can yet be seen as independent of your governance, then its mandate can still sway those who hesitate at your more secular command. This is the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Your rule is at the command of the divine. The Archbishop is more powerful at this moment in her office than she would be as queen.”
At this Dimitri only growled.
“We’ll speak of these festivities again at the next session,” he promised. Then he continued on towards the entry.
Ferdinand brushed his hair aside, letting the rest of the retinue train pass him by.
Sylvain exited the line to stand beside him. “You know, Ferdie, if that intermarrying business is all to make another pass at Marianne, you should give it up now.”
Ferdinand went red in the face, but otherwise only huffed. “The matter of the Ladies von Edmund and Goneril is settled in my mind. I happily support their ways.”
The Margrave of Gautier patted him on the shoulder. “So noble! Keep that tune and you’ll have a loving wife soon enough! No need for a royal intervention.” He nearly choked on a laugh. “But it would do everyone a lot of good to sit down and look at each-other. Not enough of that’s happened since the war. It would be good to remind the lords we’re all human. But Ferdinand, now might not have been the best time to bring up talk of husbands and wives…”
He motioned out of the hall. The innermost portcullis was rising, and a carriage was coming to a stop in the entry courtyard.
Byleth was already waiting at the foot of the hall, with Ronan and Vera in their warmest winter garb. Outside, the first snowfall fell late upon Fhirdiad. And it was atrociously cold.
At one side Dimitri wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist. He held Vera’s hand at his other side. Ronan stood before both his father and his mother. As a family, they all stepped forward and out together. Dedue was behind, then the councilors, and then a few knights of the palace guard.
“Felix wouldn’t have taken a carriage if it were just him,” the King thought aloud.
Indeed, first out of the carriage was the Duke of Fraldarius, who then helped down both his son and daughter, Astor Glenn and Helena Davinia Fraldarius.
One glance told Byleth that Felix was tired. He had left his hair down, and a faint wisp of a beard began to grow along his jawline. The look of him conjured faint memories of Rodrigue, she thought.
As was custom, the herald began to introduce the King of Faerghus. But Fraldarius hit him with such a glare that when he took notice the man quickly finished and slinked away.
“My King,” called Felix, his heavy breath plainly visible in the cold, “I, in my privileged capacity as but one among the dukes of your realm, give my sincerest apology for, for my — unappointed dereliction…”
The King, and all his entourage, quietly listened to the Duke of Fraldarius speak in the cold.
“My leave of absence, without your consent, was a trespass upon your authority, and I… and I…”
Felix trailed off, for the King moved apart from Byleth and their two children, stormed down the steps into the courtyard, passed his and the Duke’s men, straight up to the Duke himself —
— And wordlessly Dimitri seized Felix in his arms.
“What are you–”
Dimitri took a stuttered breath of the harsh hair, rocked the Duke back and forth as his own balance faltered.
“Da–Damn you, boar!…” whined the Duke. But the King did not care that the court, his children and all the serving men of their houses saw.
“I’m sorry,” the King heaved, “I’m so so sorry, Felix.”
Felix made like he might speak, but then gave up, and began to weep into the King’s embrace.
Byleth watched this unfold, studied the reactions of her children and the Duke’s. She permitted herself a quiet sigh of relief: Dimitri and Felix had finally, finally reached amends.
Just as the councilors seemed to grow uncomfortable with the wretched weather, Felix patted the King on the shoulder. “Alright, alright,” he wheezed. “That’ll do.”
Dimitri released his grip on the Duke, and staggered back. “Nothing you’ve done has ever wronged me, Felix. You need not apologize to me. I welcome you and your children — yours and Lysithea’s children, into my home once again, as friends we so dearly love.”
“Wait, boar, wait,” rasped Felix, “I need to finish… my King, I present myself again as your humble servant. And I also ask you to hear my petition: I would wish to— to entrust my eldest daughter Helena to the care of your household, in wardship, that she may be educated in the ways of court. I ask this, because I am… unprepared to fully tend to her needs while also carrying out my duties to your kingdom.”
He gave his daughter a pat to step forward, but Helena was staring past the King.
Dimitri turned his head; Byleth too looked where the Fraldarius child gazed, and found Ronan staring straight back into her carnation gaze. Realizing his father was watching, the Prince broke eye contact, but passed more furtive looks to the Duke’s daughter.
Dimitri quickly turned back. “Felix, we will gladly discuss arrangements for Helena. But please, come inside. We’ll warm by the great hearth, and talk.”
And so the knights filed back into the castle, followed by the council, and then the servants of Fraldarius. The royal family lingered for a moment with the Duke and his children, before turning inside.
That night, King Dimitri again made his plea to the Duke of Fraldarius; to consent to acknowledgment of the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros as Queen of Faerghus. He laid out concessions, announced the acceptability of certain timetables, offered to wait until it would be more reasonable. At all of this, Felix shrugged and said, “Do as you will.”
From then on, Fhirdiad Castle was ever so slightly more active. Rumors of hauntings continued — as was the design of the King’s consort. And yet the royal children and their new playmate were none the wiser.
Seeing his son and heir play with the daughter of his childhood friend, Dimitri felt only warm nostalgia. For the first time in years, the King reflected with fondness on a period of his life which he had sought to bury. For the first time in memory, he thought of the woman he once called “sister,” not with tears, nor hate in his heart, nor mournful regret; but with a warm, broad smile.
And seeing him at such ease, Byleth knew: whatever the future might hold for them, for her, she could always look back upon this time with mirth.