Chapter Text
9th day of the Red Wolf Moon, 1482
The sight of the cathedral within Castle Blaiddyd is ethereal.
Ribbons of jasmine and carnations hang from the ceiling, highlighting the mural of saints and angels among the clouds. Sunlight through the stained glass windows casts the pews in a shimmering glow while the crowd of nobles and commoners alike hum in excitement, watching their king kneel at the altar. A royal wedding born not of duty but of intimacy and devotion is rare– the whole kingdom is celebrating.
A priest silently blesses Dimitri with snow and agarwood oil, the mix leaving a cold sting against his forehead. He sighs at the rich scent, eyes closed as he repeats the silky and guttural Faerghun prayers.
“The Goddess above halved me in two at birth; I reunite with the mate of my soul upon Her blessing.”
The harps and violins begin their harmonious choir, prompting the king to rise. He turns to where the grand doors of the cathedral open, his heart skipping a beat with each gasp of the crowd. A line of saints cascades down the aisle, their gloved hands holding religious regalia, followed by orphaned children of the church dusting the ornate runner with hundreds of petals. He cannot see her yet– his bride, his love, his soul. The very essence of his being, the blood that keeps his heart beating, the marrow that sews his bones together.
They met by chance on a sporadic business visit to Eisner land, where Lord Jeralt summoned His Majesty to discuss reducing the aids his people owed. Dimitri was almost talked out of it by his advisors before he saw her, bent over a flower bed, covered in dirt from toes to fingers as she patted new bulbs into the earth. Her pale jade hair glowed like a halo, reminiscent of the Goddess herself. Something pulled at his chest at the sight of her, and she looked up at him when it did, as though she felt it too.
A string of fate.
He postponed all plans after that and stayed at the Eisner manor for weeks before asking for Byleth’s hand in marriage. He fell for her strength, her dedication to doing the right thing, her spontaneous humor. And when he returned home with the future queen at his side, the inhabitants of Fhirdiad wept with joy, for they believed their stubborn king was never going to take a bride before then.
The music grows to a crescendo as Byleth enters the cathedral, her father stationed at her side. The deep azure dress she dons sparkles in the light like the ocean, its fine silk train trailing long behind her. Dimitri cannot see her face behind the thick white veil, and he longs to rip the thing right off, damning tradition in favor of showcasing her beauty to the world. He barely resists as she reaches his left side, and Jeralt gives his daughter one final kiss before giving her away.
The priest commands all to sit as the orchestra ceases its tune. She speaks of blessings and devotion, but Dimitri can hardly register the words, for his attention is solely on the woman beside him. He eagerly lifts Byleth’s veil when instructed, the sight of her green eyes and flushed cheeks taking his breath away. They kneel together, his gaze never leaving her as the mix of snow and oil is painted upon her forehead. She winces a bit at the cold, and he yearns to become a hearth, dedicated to warming her and never allowing something to burden her ever again, no matter the severity.
They rise as the priest presents a cord of silver and indigo tassel. The couple wraps it around their clasped hands with each prayer, binding their love until it creates a knot. Dimitri commits it all to memory: the shade of her dress, the tiara atop her head reflecting the light, the smile on her face. It isn’t long until they share their first spousal kiss, causing the room to erupt in cheers and cries. They let the guests share the communal feast, opting for a more private time to celebrate their union.
Dimitri carries Byleth in his arms to their quarters, where a table of stews and cakes and ale awaits them.
“Is my queen hungry?” he asks, capturing her lips in another kiss. “If so, I long to feed her myself. She shall never lift a finger ever again.”
Byleth throws her head back and laughs.
“I am quite capable of feeding myself, Your Highness,” she teases him, knowing how he despises being called any formal title by her. “Perhaps it is you I should feed. My king works too hard and requires proper nourishment.”
Dimitri nips at her earlobe before sitting her down in the chair across from his. A servant appears, dishing their plates despite their desire to do so themselves.
“The ceremony was beautiful,” Byleth admits as she stuffs a spoonful of stew into her mouth. “I have never seen such splendor. You spoil me, my love.”
Dimitri shakes his head, knocking back a pint of ale.
“Nonsense. I would’ve made it even grander for you, were it not for the lack of space. You deserve as much.”
They spend the rest of the meal making eyes at each other from across the table, recounting their favorite details and proclaiming their never-ending love. A three-tiered cake is served last, elegantly iced with Gautier buttercream and rich vanilla. Byleth’s eyes grow wide at the dessert, making Dimitri fondly laugh.
“Your love for food comes close behind me, I see,” he taunts, licking a frosting-covered finger. “Will this cake steal you away from me?”
Byleth narrows her eyes as she takes a large bite, pretending to swoon.
“Oh my!” she exclaims, putting her hand over her forehead. “I’m falling head over heels for this decedant sponge!”
As soon as the servant curtsies and leaves her leave for the night, the queen scoops a large piece of cake right into her bare hand.
“You must try it, my husband.”
Dimitri expects her to walk over to his seat, but as always, she surprises him. She climbs atop the table, leaving crumbs behind her as she crawls across it and shoves the dessert right in his face.
“Isn’t it delicious?” Byleth giggles, smearing her fingers along his lips.
The king fakes a growl before taking a piece himself and painting her cheeks with the sugary spread. He pulls her into his lap, kissing her sweet lips deeply as they laugh. Playfulness soon turns to need as his tongue enters her mouth, exploring every crevice of teeth and flesh. Byleth moans, and that’s all it takes for him to move his ministrations to her neck, lapping and nipping at the tender skin. Their heavy breaths synchronize as she unbuttons his layers of wedding attire, humming contentedly when his bare chest is finally exposed. Her palms rub the broad expanse of it, tracing every battle scar with reverence.
“Byleth…my heart…” Dimitri groans into her nape, fingers slowly untying her dress. “My love for you overflows. Let me show you…”
The regal smock falls to her feet, exposing her breasts to the cool Faerghun air. Dimitri inhales sharply, eagerly palming the heavy mounds. He lifts her onto the table with one hand, molding her back to it as his lips capture a raised nipple, sucking like a man starved. Byleth’s moans grow louder with each swish of his tongue, her thighs desperately squeezing together. He prys them open, pulling her lacy garments down until he can feel the plushness of her folds, puffy and wet with desire. She bucks her hips, hands finding their way into his hair and pulling as his fingers enter her. It takes just a few pumps before she reaches a climax, shaking and writhing beneath him.
It only makes him more hungry.
He suddenly kneels at the edge of the table, pulling her bottom with him until he’s face to face with her womanhood.
“You’re going to feed me after all, my beloved…” Dimitri breathes before lowering his mouth upon her most sensitive part, feasting as though she is the main course of their wedding dinner.
The taste is heavenly.
He spreads her wider, licking her core until she’s panting and mewling, drawing out another delicious peak that leaves her trembling more than the first. She yanks him up with the strength she has left, crashing their lips together.
“Di…Dimitri…my king,” Byleth whines. “I need more. I need you.”
He grants her wish in one swift movement, entering her slowly until their hips meet. It is though he has died and is now among the stars, every pump a comet reaching closer to her sun. He doesn’t know how he lived so long before this, before her. Their bodies fit perfectly, reminiscent of their souls that are bound together for life. Within her, he is home. With her, he is alive.
The King and Queen of Faerghus consummate their union until the sun rises, blanketing the frozen earth with the dawn of a new era, one ruled with peace and loving devotion.
~~~
9th day of the Red Wolf Moon, 1483
It only took a year for that peace to shatter.
The Adrestian Empire declared war on the kingdom on the sixth day of the Red Wolf Moon, demanding ownership of the southern lands. Dimitri refused their wishes, sending troops to the border in hopes of squashing their attempt. He underestimated how well-equipped the imperial army was.
Within days, almost all of the kingdom's soldiers perished. The empire spread deeper into Faerghun territory, pillaging and occupying land that belonged to the crown, and most of all, to the citizens who lived there.
Thus began the Eleven-Day Battle of Rowe.
Now, on the ninth day, the outlook seems promising. Leicester troops have joined arms against the empire, doubling the kingdom’s ranks and chances at victory. The king’s advisors predict a retreat back to Enbarr in the next couple of days, lifting the spirits of not only the royal council but the entirety of Faerghus.
Dimitri returns to his quarters after a meeting well past midnight. He expects to find Byleth asleep, but is instead greeted with rose petals scattered throughout the room– no queen in sight.
“Beloved?” he calls out, raising an eyebrow at the symphony of lit candles on every surface.
“In here!” she responds, and he hurries to the sound of her voice in the washroom.
The grand porcelain tub is filled to the brim with steaming hot water, petals dancing atop the water. Byleth is submerged underneath it all, smiling warmly at her husband. She reaches out a calloused hand, beckoning him to join her.
“I wanted to celebrate,” she explains, smile growing wider as he undresses and climbs in behind her. “Not only the possibility of good news, but our–”
“Anniversary,” Dimitri finishes her sentence with a nod, pulling her back against him. “I could never forget, despite everything. I wish we could celebrate it properly, with a grand ball and a tour around the country. But this is perfect…”
He plants a soft kiss on her neck before massaging soap into her hair, kneading at her scalp with care. She sighs and leans her head against his chest.
“I’m supposed to be pampering you, my love,” Byleth says as she picks up his free hand, rubbing and smoothing the lines of his palm. She kisses every imperfection, causing his heart to swell three times its size.
Dimitri shakes his head, chuckling as he rinses her celadon strands.
“Simply taking care of you…being with you, that is all I need. Each day I wake with you in my arms, each night I can hold you…” Another kiss to her neck sends goosebumps down her arms. “I could not be happier. Even in the midst of war.”
Byleth nods, growing quiet. A beat passes before she speaks.
“I hope what they say is true, that the empire will admit defeat. They are losing more soldiers than we are at this point. It would be unwise for them to continue. Foolish, even.”
Before her father, Jeralt, took over his estranged father’s lordship, he and Byleth had spent many years living off of mercenary coin. She grew up around battles, had wielded a sword at the ripe age of five— had even killed before she reached fifteen. It’s hard for Dimitri to imagine his kind, reserved wife as someone experienced in that side of life, but when she shares her input, he cannot help but admire her.
“Indeed. I can only hope so as well…” Dimitri responds, intertwining their hands. “Ease your mind, beloved. Do you see our hands?”
Byleth tilts her head as she examines the palms that now face toward them, side by side. Dimitri traces her creases, drawing a line to where they meet up perfectly with his own.
“Look. Our love was etched onto your very skin. The ink bleeds over, running until it finds mine, creating everlasting prose and psalms…” he murmurs while kissing her cheek. “There is nothing to worry over, as long as we have each other.”
He parts her lips with his own before rising from the bath, cradling her body to his chest and carrying her to their bed. They gaze into one another’s eyes, forcing any thoughts of war out of their minds until the only things present are the sounds of their breaths, rising and falling as their bodies become one.
~~~
The king and queen wake to pounding at their door.
Dimitri helps Byleth into her chemise before unlatching the hinges. He’s greeted by his two childhood friends turned generals, Sylvain and Felix, and for a moment, he believes they simply came to say hello.
Until he sees them suited in their full plates of armor, carrying his own in their arms.
“What’s happened?” Dimitri breathes, panic rising in his throat like bile.
Sylvain looks at him with pained eyes, while Felix’s refuses to meet him.
“They’ve breached Fhirdiad, Your Highness,” Sylvain says gravely, head bowing. “Unknown forces joined them. Powerful ones. They cut through our troops like nothing with black magic…”
Dimitri snaps the door handle clean off, his whole body shaking.
“War has come to our doorstep. Get dressed, now.” Felix spits out, barging into the room.
Byleth spins around from the mirror, eyes growing wide at the sight of the generals so early in the morning. She glances at her husband, still shaking in the doorway, and rushes to his side.
“The imperial army is here, aren’t they?” she asks, all knowing. “My king, look at me. Breathe.”
Dimitri allows her to cup his face with her warm hands, bringing him out of his head and back to earthside. He inhales and exhales with her, leaning his forehead against hers.
“It…it seems so. How…” he shakes his head, unbelieving. “We were so sure of our victory.”
Felix snorts from behind them.
“Well, things changed. Get dressed. Both of you.”
Dimitri whips around at that, holding his beloved to his side protectively.
“Both of us?”
Sylvain sighs, as though he were dreading this part of the discussion.
“Gilbert is ordering all to leave the castle, especially the queen. She will be escorted to the fortified gorge in Itha, along with the other women and children. It’s safer there, Dimitri.” The redhead forgoes formalities, leaving little room for debate.
Panic returns to the king, this time faster and stronger. Itha Deep has always been the designated fortress in case war were to come to Fhridiad, boasting to be the strongest walls across the land, impenetrable due to its deep shelter. He knows Byleth will be safest there, but the idea of being so far apart from her is almost too painful to bear.
He opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by the queen herself.
“It’s alright, my love…” she smooths his worries away with a hand through his hair. “I shall go to Itha Deep. Someone needs to lead our people to safety and keep their minds from growing too sick with fear.”
Dimitri’s eyes grow wide from her words, surprised that she isn’t volunteering to fight. He notices her hand instinctively cup her womb, telling all that he needs to know. He pulls her into a deep embrace, overcome with joy by the subtle news of new life, kissing her deeply before being pulled away by Sylvain.
“I’m sorry to break this up, Dimitri, Byleth. I really am. But we must hurry.”
Felix throws the king’s gambeson over him, followed by chainmail and his cuirass. Sylvain barely holds him back the whole time as he his dressed, but the king is stronger. As soon as his pauldrons are secured, Dimitri breaks away from his friends, crushing his wife in a passionate embrace and kiss. It isn’t long before the generals grab hold of him, practically dragging him out of the room.
The last he sees of Byleth is her being dressed by her servants, hand still rubbing her lower stomach, even as her armor covers the span of precious flesh that holds their growing child.
~~~
Dimitri stops at the cathedral before heading into battle. He’s always had a complicated relationship with his faith, but he knows the Goddess to be real. She gave him salvation and happiness in the arms of his beloved, and since then, he has been a faithful servant, giving thanks and receiving blessings as often as he can.
He kneels at the same altar where they were wed, looking up at Her statue in hopes that She will listen.
“Our Goddess in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…” the king whispers, hands clasped under his chin. “Please protect my love on her journey to Itha. Keep her safe in your loving embrace, grant her protection with your merciless sword.”
He places his hand on his heart, piercing his bright blue eyes into the stone.
“In Your Name, we pray.”
~~~
The battlefield roars with shrieking metal against metal, screams pouring out like the fresh blood on the snow. Dimitri slices a man’s head clear off, taking care to leave the enemy’s horse unscathed. In the distance, he can see Sylvain and Felix, effortlessly piercing soldiers with their weapons as they fall one by one at their feet.
The imperial army is experienced, prioritizing magic over combat, but the silver of the kingdom’s swords and lances reflects each blast of shadowy sickness. The king’s troops are nearing victory– men from Duscur joined their fight, and commoners took up their arms when they saw the king’s procession into battle, inspired by his strength and loyalty to his people. The women and children left for Itha Deep when the first arrow was shot, distracting the opposing army from detecting them. Dimitri imagines Byleth fearlessly leading them to safety, their symbol of hope and perseverance among the chaos.
When the last masked mage is defeated, cheers erupt from the battlefield. The king orders a group to scout the perimeters, ensuring that no enemy remains. He sends Felix and Sylvain to the nearby villages in order to assess the conditions of those who stayed behind, hoping that their casualties will be minimal. It feels almost too good to be true as he sits atop his horse on a nearby hill, breathing in the smell of fresh pine and snow lilies and gazing at the setting sun.
A twig snaps behind him, and in a flurry of movement, one sole imperial soldier reveals himself. Fury is plastered on his face as he raises his javelin, hell bent on piercing the heart of the King of Faerghus. Dimitri raises his shield to counter the attack, but his usually fearless steed shrieks, violently bucking him off. A mage joins the soldier, slithering out from the darkness and sending a blast of magic at the defenseless king.
Dimitri accepts his fate before something, someone, rushes in front of him, deflecting the blast with a shining blue shield. It ricochets back to the villains, knocking them unconscious, and he expects his savior to be one of his men until their helmet is removed, revealing billowing waves of turquoise hair. Byleth, his queen, smiles at him from atop her horse. She looks reminiscent of Saint Seiros battling at Zanado, covered in the blood of their enemies. She’s ethereal, magnificent in the pink and maroon hues of the sunset. Dimitri cannot hold back the tears that stream down his face in awe.
She opens her mouth to speak, to explain why she came back, but is stopped short when something long and sharp wedges through her chest.
A javelin.
Everything goes silent. From the corner of Dimitri’s eye, he can see Sylvain arrive, plunging his sword into the weakened soldier who threw it. His friend shouts at him, but he cannot hear. Byleth’s smile dissipates as she sways on her horse, but her husband catches her before she can fall to the ground. A pool of blood blossoms under her armor, specks of it dripping from her mouth. Her breath is staggered, and she tries to gargle out words, but winces after each attempt.
“No, no, no, no, no, ” the king sobs, holding her close to his chest. “Do not push yourself. You will be okay. I will fix this…I will…”
Byleth’s green eyes roam over him wildly, and with what little strength she has left, she touches her fingers to his lips.
“I…l-love yo….you…” she chokes out before growing limp in his arms.
The world caves in, stops spinning. Dimitri wails, cradling her closer, breathing in her scent of lavender and myrr. He pulls the javelin out of her chest with a squelch, shaking at the sight of her blood seeping into the snow beneath them. It pierced right through her heart.
Rough hands try to pry Dimitri up, but he swings his arm back, striking Felix in the face. It gives his friend a bloody nose, and he curses, ready to go on a rant before seeing the queen lifeless in his arms. Felix stills.
“You will help me fix this!” Dimitri screams at his friends. “We need a healer, we need… no, no, don’t look at me like that! She can be saved!”
Sylvain, with tears running down his face, leans down next to the sobbing king. He slowly closes her now milky eyes before placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving him the time to grieve. Night falls over the land before he speaks.
“Dimitri…she’s gone.”
~~~
The king storms into the cathedral early the next morning, eyes sunken with sorrow and exhaustion. He throws his candelabra to the ground, not caring if it burns the damned place to ashes. He strides up to the altar, looking at the Goddess’s statue with uncontained fury before smashing his fist into the stone.
“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HER!” Dimitri screams, rattling the stained glass windows. He bites his lower lip hard, drawing blood into his mouth before spitting it at Her feet. “I prayed to you, I worshipped you… I did everything your book asks of me, and what I get in return is her DEATH!”
He’s heaving now, kicking at the ruins as hard as he can. They go flying, knocking other religious memorabilia to the ground, shattering the precious stones and porcelain.
“I damn you, Sothis. I will never speak your name in reverence again. Your divinity is a sham, a disgrace. May you rot for eternity in the fiery depths of hell…”
Tears fall from his eyes as he turns his rage to the pews, wood shaved into splinters that dig into his flesh. He doesn’t care. He longs to feel pain, to go to the place where Byleth now rests. He doesn’t notice Sylvain and Felix enter the cathedral until they haul him up, placing him in a manhold as he violently sobs. They manage to drag him out of the church and into the freezing rain.
“The service is about to begin, Dimitri,” Sylvain reminds him, leading the husk of a man to the graveyard.
A priest and members of the church gather around his beloved’s casket, brushing snow and agarwood oil across its wood panels. The crowd his quiet as they say their remarks, blessing her soul to return to the Goddess. Dimitri snarls, wishing to rip the priest’s head right off, but she turns to him and smiles, handing him petals of a white rose.
“For you, Your Majesty. We will take our leave, allowing you your last moments with Her Highness.”
The funeral goers depart solemnly, Sylvain and Felix slowly following. His friends watch him before they disappear into the church, most likely assessing the damage he caused. Dimitri stares at the casket, clutching the petals in his hands before spreading them over the wood. He cries loudly, falling to his knees and leaning against the cist, inhaling the scent of the religious oil.
He cannot part with her. Not like this. His other half, the reason he lives. He knew from the moment he saw her that she was his soulmate. A year is not long enough with her– they deserved more time. They deserved to share more meals, to take more long rides across the land, to make more love. They deserved the child now dead in her womb to be born, to hear their cries and nurture them into a strong prince or princess. They deserved to give them siblings, filling their house with warmth and prosperity.
His conscience calls him insane as he unlatches the clasps of the coffin, opening the lid to reveal Byleth. She looks as though she is sleeping, her beauty still radiant as she holds a bouquet of jasmine, mouth curved into a small smile. Rain pelts down now, muffling Dimitri’s sobs as he climbs into the space next to her, holding her cold body to his. He palms the dagger in its holster on his thigh, turning the jeweled hilt over and over until aiming it at his heart.
“I will see you soon, my beloved…” he cries before plunging the dagger into his chest, surrendering to the darkness that claims him.