Chapter Text
Sothis, the goddess of Fodlan, long ago retired into an eternal slumber. Creating the world and the life upon it left her body irreversibly drained. She has not abandoned us, though, for she keeps a watchful eye on Fodlan by reincarnating her soul into an unbroken chain of Vessels.
Marked at birth by the Goddess’ crest, each Vessel is cloistered within the church to develop her spiritual strength. When she comes into her power, she renews the world with her healing powers and guides the church with benevolence. Whenever one Vessel dies, she immediately chooses a new form.
The thing is, she's late.
It's hard to know exactly how long it's been since the last Vessel died, since the church allows only a select few to meet her. But most could agree that it had been at least twenty years. That was when Lambert, the previous king of Faerghus, undertook his last yearly pilgrimage to pay his respects to the holy woman. He was instead informed that the Vessel had died but was not yet reborn. In Sothis’ absence, harvests steadily declined and tensions rose between the three nations of Fodlan.
Dimitri thought it more likely that the legend was church propaganda, and the goddess, if she ever existed, had long since abandoned them. It was too convenient that only Nabateans had lifespans long enough to remember the last Vessel. And the woman was kept so secluded that all but a few humans had to take the church's word that she even existed. As far as the deteriorating condition of Fodlan, that could be mostly explained by differing opinions on the role of the powerful church.
The Goddess' delay was attributed to the dwindling numbers of Nabateans, the humanlike race descended from dragons that are inextricably linked with the church. Their lives were long, but they rarely had children. Even the crests that marked mixed human-Nabatean lineage were dying out among the human population.
So it was quite a surprise when Archbishop Rhea announced that a Vessel had been born this generation after all. Not only that, but she had come of age and was to be married. As far as Dimitri knew, no Vessel had ever married before, but the small number of remaining Nabateans must have forced them to change their stance.
As the King of the Holy Kingdom, Dimitri was the most likely candidate for her hand, though he wasn't the only suitor. Far from it. It sounded as if the church was trying to auction her off, granting audiences to nearly every noble house in Fodlan. He had delayed, hoping she'd simply pick someone else, but eventually he could put it off no longer because, apparently, she'd rejected every last one of her suitors.
The official explanation was that Rhea wished for her to marry someone she loved. Given her high status, the Vessel practically had her choice of husband, so there was no need for her to settle for an incompatible partner. The unofficial version from rejected nobles, however, told a different story-- one of an aloof, rude woman, who showed no interest in marriage at all.
Honestly, he couldn't blame her. This burden of marriage was a taxing affair, one that he was sick of himself. He suspected she faced immense pressure to procreate as he did. Like his own family, the Blaiddyds, the line of Sothis was dwindling. The church couldn't afford to keep her celibate, not when there had already been a scare that no vessel would be born. Her sex life was a matter of public discourse, critical to the survival of a continent.
It was the same for Dimitri. In a time of instability, the citizens of Faerghus wanted a clear line of succession, an heir. So, like creatures of an endangered species, they were to be bred in captivity for all to see.
He was used to that brand of nonsense, but the church's actions were more suspicious. The vessel of the goddess was such an important figure to the church, so it was a mystery why they hadn't announced her when she was born. Instead, they waited until she was of marriageable age-- actually, well past marriageable age, by the nobility's standards, as she was nearly 21. There were several flimsy excuses given, such as needing to keep her safe from enemies of the church, or some unknown spiritual trial she needed to complete.
There was no getting a straight answer from the church when it came to their vessel, and it made Dimitri's hackles rise. His intuition told him there was something off about the situation. Would he be accepting a spy into his court? Was she somehow unfit? A fraud?
Still, there was no way to refuse meeting her without insulting the church. As much as he wanted to reduce the church's influence in Kingdom politics, an abrupt schism over something like this wasn't the way to go about it. His own people would be appalled at the insult to their goddess. They might even question his right to rule.
For the time being, he needed to play nice. And that meant riding to Garreg Mach to meet the enigmatic Vessel and hope she rejected him like she had everyone else.
As a king, he was used to discussing marriage with near strangers, but the Vessel-- he didn't even know her name-- was especially anonymous. Rhea had spoken effusively of her beauty, her power, her divine grace, but nothing about her as a person. The only useful bit of information that she gave him was that her father was a human-- a Faerghan, in fact.
Which explains why he was out here in the forests of the Oghma mountains, hunting a giant wolf.
It was traditional in Faerghus to present your intended, or her parents, with a token that showed your suitability as a provider-- meat from your healthy livestock, furniture or a weapon you skillfully crafted, or, in Dimitri's case, the pelt of an animal you hunted.
He didn't know if the tradition would even mean anything to her, since she grew up in the monastery, but he had no better ideas. Giving jewels, clothing, or other such trinkets required the slightest bit of information about the recipient-- their coloring and preferences at the least. Not that Faerghus was in any position to gift expensive items like that, anyway.
The wolf hadn't been much of a challenge for him and Dedue working together. However, the sun went down early in these winter months, and navigating the forest in the dark with a giant wolf on a sled proved difficult.
They decided to make camp for the night. He'd managed to convince Dedue that their carried rations were enough for dinner, so his vassal didn't trouble himself making a meal that Dimitri wouldn't even taste.
The prince took first watch, as always. He wouldn't sleep anyway, so he refused to let someone else lose precious rest while he tossed and turned in his tent. Dedue had given up on this particular battle long ago because of the king's stubbornness.
The night sounds near Garreg Mach differed from those in Faerghus. Dimitri's homeland was always at least somewhat cold, regardless of the season. The ground was firm from being mostly frozen year round, so it had a particular crunch to it. In contrast, the rich, fertile soil around the monastery was soft and loamy, a wet squelch heralding footsteps in the dark.
Perhaps the unfamiliar terrain is why he missed the danger. Or perhaps he was just negligent, or distracted by the voices that never left him alone. They were loud during this trip, reminding him that a beast like him was unworthy of even glimpsing the Goddess' vessel, let alone courting her. His failure to avenge them was also a common refrain.
Playing house while we languish in agony, scoffed his father.
His stepmother joined in, why would you burden some poor woman with your affections?
He mumbled to himself, assuring the dead he would avenge them, that this was merely a formality he must go through for his people. He begged them, please, just give him more time—
The whistle of an arrow sailed right over his head. He gripped his lance and scanned the area. Luckily, whoever this assassin was, they had abominable aim.
That's what he thought, at least, until he heard a thump behind him. When he whirled around, he saw a bandit fall to his knees, an arrow in his neck and his dagger clattering helplessly to the ground. He spun around to locate the mystery archer who had most likely saved his life.
A woman-- barely, she looked to be of an age with himself-- lowered her bow. Her hair was dark, not quite black, but he could not discern the exact color in the night. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the perimeter of the camp.
Not that it was relevant, but his beastly hindbrain noted she was quite beautiful.
"You're surrounded by bandits, noble boy," she said. Her words were mocking, but her tone was completely flat. He couldn't make sense of what was going on.
"Are you one of them?" he asked, bewildered.
"Why would I-- ugh. Just stay out of my way."
"Please, allow me to help. I can hold my own in a fight." He brandished his lance. "When I see it, that is."
She pursed her lips, clearly irritated by his attempt at levity, but gave him a curt nod.
"Try not to get killed. I don't want some asshole lord blaming me for their precious heir's death."
So she definitely didn't like nobles. It was probably best not to mention the small matter of him being a king.
He roused Dedue, and the three of them assembled near the edge of the camp. When the woman saw Dedue, her stony face finally showed a minute change. Her eyes widened.
"He's with you?" she asked. Normally, when someone took an interest in Dedue, it was to spew their prejudiced views about the people of Duscur. But this woman sounded almost impressed.
She noted Dedue's axe and drew her own sword. "Well, we've got the whole weapon triangle then," she said, then got straight to business. "There's a lot of them out there. If we split up, each of us will be surrounded. We'll have to stay practically back to back and cover each other. Big guy, make sure the noble brat stays alive."
"It is my sworn duty to do so," Dedue said. Dimitri gave silent thanks that his vassal left out His Majesty.
With three skilled warriors working in coordination, they were sure to prevail, despite the bandits' superior numbers. The first wave fell easily. When the rest of the thieves saw the skill of their would-be victims, they played it safe and fled. Bandits were often more sensible than knights in that respect.
The woman checked the surrounding area and declared it clear. Dedue was making a valiant attempt at hiding a limp, and Dimitri fussed at him to sit down while he checked for a vulnerary.
The woman looked at Dimitri, then past him to the carnage he had created. At least ten mangled bodies laid at his feet, all killed in different inhuman ways. He braced for her disgust. His monstrous nature was out in the open for her to see. She would surely leave him behind in disgust.
But the judgment never came.
"Hold your own in a fight, huh?" She snorted. "I think you undersold yourself a bit."
He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, never quite sure how to take a compliment, if that even was a compliment.
"But what idiot taught you to keep watch?" she snapped.
He spluttered. "I-- my father, I guess. And I'm a soldier," he added, slightly defensive.
"A knight. Figures," she muttered. She addressed him as if he was a particularly slow child. "Your eyes adjust based on the brightest thing they see. If you face the fire, they think it's as bright as the fire out, and assume you don't need any night vision. You need to face the forest, so you can see in the dark."
He reddened, feeling like a schoolboy being scolded by his teacher. "Er, thank you for your advice."
She was silent long enough that Dimitri wondered if she expected him to leave or pay her. But it seemed she was just thinking, because eventually, she nodded once to herself and spoke.
"Your friend is injured, and we don't know how many still lurk in the woods. You should stay at the monastery for the night." She sighed. "You probably can't find your way in the dark, can you?"
"Ah, no, I'm afraid we will need a guide. I'm not familiar with the area, and with our movements during the fight, I'm quite lost."
Their plan of action decided, the two of them heaved Dedue's massive weight over both of their shoulders, the Duscan protesting all the while that it was improper for Dimitri to carry him. Their progress was slow because of their four-legged gait, but based on the moon's movement, it only took a few hours to reach the gates of the monastery.
"Shit," the woman muttered under her breath.
"Is something amiss?" Dimitri asked.
"The knight on guard is... not very welcoming to strangers. They're about to change shifts, though, and the next one will be better." Apparently, she knew a lot about Garreg Mach. Maybe she lived there. The prospect of being able to see her again during their visit send a giddy thrill through him.
The blonde knight keeping watch didn't look especially sinister-- in fact, something about her seemed almost familiar. Dimitri didn't challenge their guide's plan, though. She'd already saved them twice, and he trusted her good intentions, even if she had been hard on him. If she meant them harm, she could have simply done nothing back at the campsite and left them to die.
They waited until the knight retreated, and another took his place. The new man was older, with a mustache and a kind face. He was muttering to himself. As they got closer, he realized the knight was... practicing jokes?
"Sir Knight," said the woman-- dammit, he really needed a proper introduction when they got inside the monastery-- "this man is injured. Can he come inside to see the church healers?"
The knight startled a bit. He quickly recovered, but his speech was stilted and awkward. "Yes, of course, er, Miss." He swept his arm to indicate Dimitri should follow him in that direction.
After a moment, he had to readjust his hold because Dedue's weight was slightly imbalanced. When he looked to the other side of his friend, he realized why.
The woman was gone.
"Sir Knight! That woman! She--"
"Don't worry," their escort said. "I've seen her before. She's a mercenary. They tend to avoid the Knights of Seiros. The knights can be unkind to those who don't follow their way of life." He elbowed Dimitri in the side. "You could say they're like chapels and oranges!”
The king blinked, mouth agape. A disbelieving huff left him, which grew to a chuckle, which snowballed into hysterical laughter out of his control. The night's stressful events had caught up to him, and the delicate thread of his sanity seemed closer than ever to snapping.
He came to meet the goddess even though she had never once reached out her hand to him, not in all the years he suffered. He could have put his faith in that mercenary girl. She had appeared like an angel in his time of need, but she had abandoned him in the end, too. There would be no salvation for one such as him.
He couldn't wait to get this charade over with and go home.
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"King Dimitri," Rhea said in her slow, overly-soft voice that grated on his nerves. "We are so happy to finally introduce you to the Vessel of the Goddess, from whom your divine right to rule was conceived."
Though Rhea spoke fondly, there were barbs hidden among the flowery words. The finally showed her annoyance that it had taken him so long to come. Not to mention the not-so-subtle reminder that his rule was predicated on the church's approval.
But the Archbishop's sickly sweet smile never faltered. It only grew wider when the side door to the audience chamber opened, revealing the Vessel.
"I'm honored to introduce you to Her Holiness, Lady Byleth. Lady Byleth, King Dimitri has journeyed far to pay his respects to you." The Vessel was silent, even though the archbishop appeared to be prompting her to introduce herself.
Lady Byleth certainly looked the part of a goddess. Her hair was an ethereal green a few shades lighter than Rhea's, with ribbons and beads braided throughout. The ceremonial regalia she wore was reminiscent of the images of Sothis in the stained glass windows he'd seen in cathedrals all his life.
Though, faced with the ensemble on a living, breathing woman, he realized how risque it was-- her back and stomach were bared, and the neckline dipped dangerously low on her bosom. The dress, such as it was, appeared to be nothing but strips of fabric held together with ribbons and jewels, designed to fall away with a single pull of a sash.
Sothis had been the progenitor, the holy mother, the source of fertility. The display of her vessel’s shapely body emphasized that her first duty was to procreate, the last hope of the Nabatean race. A wave of compassion washed over him at their shared predicament. He faced a similar pressure to pass on his crest and continue the royal line.
Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly upon seeing him, but her face smoothed into neutrality so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined it. She said nothing and only gave him a curt nod before she left again.
Lady Rhea had an escort lead him to a balcony bordered with decorative ponds and festooned with flowers. It was as if they were trying to make the meeting successful through sheer ambience.
He only waited a few minutes before the Vessel reappeared. In between the meetings, she had haphazardly thrown on a strange coat that clashed with her regalia and hardly covered her arms in the nighttime chill of the mountains.
He bowed deeply and said, "Thank you for seeing me, Your Holiness."
The ghost of a grimace flickered in her face. "Do not address me by that. I prefer my name, Byleth, but if your ridiculous etiquette demands you call me by a title, Your Grace is acceptable."
"As you wish, Your Grace."
He couldn't be sure, but he swore he saw her roll her eyes slightly. She certainly wasn't what he had expected.
Lady Byleth continued in a flat, bored tone, picking at her nails. "Well, we both know the purpose of this meeting. Do you have any questions for me?"
Her face was impassive, unbothered. Well, that made sense, given that the goddess didn't seem to concern herself with anything-- certainly not saving the lives of innocent people.
"Would you like my cloak? As lovely as your regalia is, it doesn't seem very... practical."
She pulled her coat around her tighter. "I'm fine, thank you. The costume does what it's designed to, display me like a prized sow. So. Questions?"
He cleared his throat to buy himself a few seconds. The matter-of-fact way she said such blunt truths had him feeling off balance. "Ah, yes. There is one thing I would ask you." At her nod of acknowledgement, he continued. "Do you know if the church employs any mercenaries to keep the peace around the monastery?"
She turned her gaze towards him and tilted her head in confusion. Her reactions were so... human. Not at all the divine vessel she was purported to be. "You wish to know about... local mercenaries?"
“My apologies, let me explain. Before I arrived, I was out in the woods surrounding Garreg Mach, where I was set upon by bandits. A mercenary saved my life, but I did not get her name or that of her company before she disappeared. I feel awful that I was without funds at the time, and could not compensate her for her help.”
"And you are so determined to provide recompense that you would use your one audience with the Goddess' vessel to determine her identity?"
"I..." He looked ashamed, standing just to bow formally to her. “Please accept my apologies for any offense I have caused you. I should not burden one such as you with trivial personal matters."
Byleth slouched in her chair, looking bewildered, breaking any remaining appearance of divinity. “I'm not offended, just... surprised, I guess. Is there a reason for your particular concern for that mercenary? Is she special in some way?”
His face lit up. "Oh, yes. Watching her fight was absolutely captivating! She never wavered, even though she was fighting for complete strangers. I had intended to ask her to return to the Kingdom with me as a knight, but I didn't get the chance."
He flushed, realizing he'd been gushing about another woman during what was ostensibly a marriage proposal. That was probably unpardonably rude.
He cleared his throat.
"Again, Your Grace, you have my apol--"
"Jeralt's Mercenaries."
"Sorry?"
"Jeralt's Mercenaries. They occasionally work in the area. Any payment should be made to them."
Despite the awkwardness, he smiled. "You have my thanks, Your Grace. It had been weighing on my mind."
"I can see that. Well, I'm glad you're safe… and anyone else who was with you?" she asked, softening her tone a bit.
“My friend Dedue. Yes, he is fine. Thank you for asking.”
"What was a king doing out in the woods in the middle of the night?"
"Nothing untoward, I assure you!" he said. She huffed in amusement at his protest. He supposed he didn't really look the type to have scandalous trysts in the night. "I can show you, actually."
He pulled a large bundle from behind him and presented it to her. She untied the string and pulled back the paper.
"A wolf pelt?"
"Yes. I was not sure what kind of gift to bring you because Lady Rhea gave me so little information about you. But she did say that your father hailed from Faerghus, so I thought to follow an ancient Faerghan tradition of presenting proof of one's suitability as a provider."
"My father... He liked to hunt." She ran her hand through the soft fur. A flicker of sadness flashed on her face, gone as quick as it appeared. "Thank you. This is the only useful gift I've received from a suitor. Wait, is this from a giant wolf?"
"Ah, yes. I thought I should bring a token commensurate with your high standing."
"But you could have died! You said that you only survived because that mercenary saved you."
"Well, I am strong enough that the wolf alone was not a threat. Had I been killed by bandits due to my own negligence, then I would have proven unworthy of you. That is the point of the tradition, after all."
She gaped at him for a moment. "You would throw your life away for nothing?"
"I--" he floundered for a response.
Your life is worthless anyway, the voices hissed. Being stabbed in the back, all alone, would be a fitting end to your miserable existence.
He shook himself, refocusing on answering Byleth. "You are right, of course. Faerghus tends to glorify death in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I think my friend and I would have prevailed without her, though our injuries would have been worse. I should have taken more care."
She nodded and didn't chastise him further. He seized the opportunity to change the subject. So far, this supposed "courtship" was terribly unromantic. Sylvain would be appalled.
“Anyway, I apologize for the diversion. Is there anything you would like to ask me?"
She hummed. "You are a young king, the last of your bloodline."
"Yes, that is true."
"You must be eager for heirs."
Her candor surprised him, but not in a bad way. This marriage scheme was a thinly-veiled excuse to breed favorable bloodlines together like livestock, so they might as well face the truth as adults.
He furrowed his brow, considering. "No, I'm not eager for heirs," he said. "I have often wished for children, yes, because I have no family of my own. But a child should come into the world because of love, not duty, regardless of what my advisors think about it. I would never... force you to do anything."
"Oh.”
He sighed. As long as they were being honest and open, he had something to confess, too. "But I should tell you, I no longer know if such a future is possible for me. I have things I must accomplish, things that may cost me my life."
"Then why are you here discussing marriage?" she asked.
He gave her a wry smile. "Probably for the same reason you're sitting here entertaining my proposal.”
"It's what's expected of you," she said with a sigh when she realized his meaning. She almost seemed a bit disappointed. Surely he was imagining it.
"That's not to say I find the idea of marrying you distasteful-- quite the opposite, in fact!-- but I would hate to leave behind a widow or a child that would be subject to the machinations of the court."
"Quite the... opposite?" she asked, her lips turning up into a smile for the first time. The coldness of her demeanor melted away with it, and he felt like he was finally seeing the woman, not the goddess she represented.
"Oh, my," he said in awe. She gave him a questioning look. "Sorry, it's just-- that look on your face.”
"Am I smiling? It's not something I do often."
“It's downright mesmerizing.” He scolded himself when he realized what he was saying. "I'm sorry. I've forgotten myself and come dangerously close to teasing you. It seems I cannot stop making blunders today." He ran a hand through his hair.
"It's okay," she said, but she couldn't meet his eyes. "What must you do that may kill you?”
He was silent for a long moment. This was his most closely guarded secret, the root of the beastly nature he tried so hard to keep hidden. And yet, he felt compelled to answer her.
Maybe he wanted to confess.
"You have surely heard of the Tragedy of Duscur. I was there with my father, stepmother, closest friend, and many others. I alone survived. The rest were all brutally slaughtered. I will not rest until I find those responsible and avenge the dead. I must shoulder the anguish and regret they felt, clear it away so they can finally be at peace."
"Dimitri," she said gently, laying her hand on his. He was stunned by both the contact and the use of his name. "You already carry a heavy burden as a king, and you take on the loads of others, as well? You don't need to punish yourself for their sake."
He scoffed, and his words turned bitter, cruel. "Is this where you feed me the same rubbish as everyone else, that I should move on for their sakes? Honor their sacrifice by making them proud?"
"Goddess, no!" she said. He flinched at the strength of her denial. Everyone had always given him empty platitudes, but she was different. "Their lives were their own, as yours should be your own."
He dropped her hand and crossed the room, clenching his fists in an effort to control his temper and swirling thoughts.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, turning away. Him, live for himself? Ridiculous. Impossible. Even without his duty of revenge, he was a King, a tool for the Kingdom, a vessel for his people's needs.
A vessel.
Could it be that she understood his situation more than he thought?
"Oh?" she said, her own anger rising. "You can speak on my experiences? You said yourself you know nothing about me."
"Well, since you seem to have all the answers, why don't you tell me how to save them?" he snapped.
"My father was also murdered, on the day of my... awakening."
His anger left him, and he deflated. "I'm so sorry. I truly am a wretch, complaining of my own problems with no idea of yours."
"No more apologies. Just listen. We were mercenaries, hired to kill some monsters near a village, but these strange dark mages ambushed us. One of them stabbed Jeralt in the back, and I could think of nothing but chasing her down and making her pay." She took a deep breath. "When I caught up to her, one of her accomplices was waiting for me. A trap, a laughingly obvious one if I'd had my wits about me. The mage cast a dark spell, trapping me in an eternal darkness."
He was awed by her words. The story seemed unbelievable-- dark mages conjuring forbidden spells, an exile into the void-- but he didn't doubt her honesty.
"It required a great sacrifice for me to escape. My... friend gave her life for mine. Someone innocent is gone from this world because of my recklessness. When I returned from the dark, I killed the mage and had my revenge, but there was no triumph in it. My father was still dead, and my friend was gone as well. The transformation that allowed me to escape the void caught the attention of the church." She idly picked up a lock of her goddess-green hair and scowled at it. "I was forced to come here, losing my freedom and identity on top of it all. My revenge only created more victims, more suffering. It is not a path I recommend."
Well, that explained why the church hadn't announced her earlier. She wasn't here. That was unusual, unheard of, even. The vessels were sacred, sheltered in the safety of the church from birth. It was the only place Nabateans lived. If they didn't, their powerful magic and crest-bearing blood would put them in constant danger of exploitation and violence.
"Wait, you were a mercenary?"
Nabateans were easy to identify by their distinctive hair color, but Byleth said her hair only turned green after her ordeal in the void. He tilted his head, looking more closely at her. Yes, with a different coloring, she almost...
Chuckling softly, she waved a hand across her face, recreating the glamour disguise he had seen in the woods. Her hair and eyes returned to their dark blues.
He lifted her chin with his hand to study her face. Then an incredulous laugh bubbled out of him.
"It's you," he said in wonder.
She leaned into his touch and placed her hand over his. It was so warm. Maybe he was too comfortable, because bold words escaped him unbidden.
"I may be biased as a man of Faerghus, but I have to say blue suits you."
She flushed. "It's what I really look like. I mean, what I looked like before I became... green."
Still mesmerized, he carried on. "Despite what I said earlier, I wasn't looking for you just to compensate you. I longed to see you again. Maybe just this once, the goddess has taken pity on this pathetic wretch."
"Dimitri, I can't grant you divine knowledge from the goddess, but I can tell you what I think. Live for yourself, and rule by the principles you believe in. You can't save the dead, but you can protect the living from the pain of having someone unjustly taken from them."
"I-- I will think on what you've said. Thank you... Byleth."
She smiled at him again. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. It was different from her previous expressions in the audience chamber, or even the beginning of this meeting. She had seemed so miserable before. A realization struck him.
"The night I met you in the forest... You were trying to escape, weren't you?"
She looked down in shame, confirming his suspicion. "Nothing personal, but the thought of sitting through another one of these mockeries of a proposal was unbearable. Plus, Seteth pointed out that I was... running out of men."
With so few options left, she must have worried that they would force her to marry their preferred suitor, whether or not she consented.
"But you returned for my sake, for Dedue."
"Partially. Once my absence was discovered, the knights would have caught up to me easily because of the delay from fighting the bandits," she said. With a smirk, she added, “Had I known you had the strength of ten men and a stone wall of a bodyguard, I might have kept running.”
He laughed, a rich, beautiful sound that widened her smile ever so slightly. "What a strange encounter this has been. You've given me much to consider, but I believe our time is nearing its end."
He took her hand and kissed it, keeping eye contact with her while he did.
"I hope to see you again very soon, Byleth."
With the combination of his lips on her skin, his ice-blue eyes boring into hers, and his deep voice, he finally managed to fluster the stoic woman the way she had him.
She stammered, "Okay. Er, that is, me too. Goodbye, Dimitri."
He bid her farewell with a smile, feeling more hopeful than he could ever remember being. The goddess may never reach out to save him, but perhaps with the right partner, he could save himself.