Archive of Our Own ^beta

The setting sun was peeking through the thick white clouds, a few harsh rays petting his black clothes, a small perspiration starting between the heated cloth and his skin. Lighter plumes of the sun hit the reflective jewel in his gloved hand, painting his black leather palm blue and green and occasional pink. His mother's ring, silver and beautiful, the jewels fitting perfectly in their designated places. He turns it around with his fingers, playing with the band, feeling the bright lights hit his eyes at certain angles. So fixated he was the sudden, quiet rustle of wind blowing through the leaves of a nearby tree startled him, and he hastily hid away the ring, placing it in a small black pouch, tucking it into his pocket.

Byleth sat on the recently trimmed, bright green grass. In front of him, a wide block of creamy beige marble and an arching tombstone. Tracing the ring inside the pouch, his eyes gently skimmed over the names engraved on the stone.

Sitri Eisner. Jeralt Eisner.

He remembered the day Seteth told him where the graveyard was, his father standing in this very spot. That was years ago. To him, harboring the blood and ability of the Goddess, it felt as though not much time had passed from between that moment in the past and this moment in the present. Byleth felt a warmth in his chest, unlike the heat crawling beneath his coat. Jeralt had given him this ring so Byleth could give it to someone Byleth loved. The weight of the ring felt as though it expanded in size, heavier than any blade he had lifted. Byleth had someone he loved, someone he wanted this ring to belong to.

The wind picked up again, but his ears still caught the familiar noise of footsteps descending the cobblestone stairway, and as he turned his head his eyes met gold and icy blue. Beneath that, the imposing black and white fur of an animal he didn’t know, and the royal blue of the Kingdom. Dimitri smiled at him, happy yet questioning. Byleth smiled back, but was distracted, instead unintentionally choosing to let his mind wander, something he rarely let himself do for his entire life until the past few months. In these bouts of daydreaming he let himself imagine what it would be like to be able to walk up and hold Dimitri’s hand, or brush his hair away from his face, or sit beside him and simply exist. Sometimes, and Byleth was admittedly embarrassed about this particular fantasy, he wondered what sound their rings clinking together would make if he entwined their hands. Byleth felt he could go on for the rest of eternity with thoughts of Dimitri. His hair, his eye, scars, voice. Anything. The way he would temporarily discard his well being to protect his friends or Byleth himself if he thought they could not withstand an attack. His commanding voice, the way he spoke to his citizens those short months ago, on the verge of breaking yet somehow standing tall and strong. Byleth felt so much, and it was daunting to do so, after nearly all his life of being incapable of feeling anything.

Byleth brought himself back slowly as Dimitri stopped in front of him. As Dimitri and he began a small conversation, quiet and slow, and began to walk towards the dining hall at Dimitri’s insistence, Byleth let his mind travel once more. His eyes latched onto Dimitri’s fingers for a second, before moving to admire the scenery of Garreg Mach. He wondered, with his unbeaten heart feeling a bit lighter, how the ring would look on Dimitri’s hand.

--
Edelgard was burned three days after her death. Her ashes stored in the Imperial Palace, a family chamber Byleth couldn’t bring himself to go into. Weeks later, after the long march from Enbarr to Garrech Mach Monastery, celebration began. The Church grounds and much of the surrounding area was packed with drunken, happy soldiers. Dark puddles spilled onto the stone and grass every few meters, much to the amused dismay of Lady Rhea and the fury of Seteth. Everywhere one looked, partially armored or nearly nude intoxicated soldiers paraded around and danced, some of them crying tears of happiness and sadness, for the war being over and those lost along the way. Byleth was observant, naturally. All good mercenaries who made it to his age were, whatever his age was. So he did what he did best, sat back and let the scene unfold before him until he decided to act. In the crammed, brightly lit dining hall, Sylvain and Felix were celebrating their victory, though Felix was covering his twitching mouth with a large tankard. Sylvain was irresponsibly offering him more, pouring his own drink into Felix’s. Mercedes, Annette and Ingrid sat across from them, laughing and smiling. Byleth wasn’t as good at reading people as he liked, that was something Sothis could do very well, but when Mercedes turned her look of merriment to Annette and Ingrid, they seemed like they had a hard time smiling back, barely succeeding as they shakily raised their own smaller tankards in the air.

A few seats away on the same long table, Dedue and Ashe sat, silent in the chaos of the chatter. Byleth knew to let them sort their things out, and to step in if they needed it, so for now he let them reminisce, grieve, whatever they needed. He knew all his students, to some degree, and knew that Edelgard believed herself to be just, and that the path she took was the right one. Byleth was grateful they were loyal to the Kingdom, and had chosen to join the war to stop her from hurting Fodlan. He understood that those under his watch with lingering regret for what they did in Enbarr would eventually find peace with their actions. They would know that their own cause was just as well.

So for now, he sidestepped the dancing soldiers, some carrying big trays of food, filled with fresh vegetables and meats recently caught and skinned. They laughed and sang, sloshing alcohol onto the floor. The doors of the Dining Hall were kept open so the heat nor smell would stay in the room too long, so Byleth made a quiet exit through. In the distance there was the tune of instruments being played, but he couldn’t pinpoint where. Earlier, he’d written a vague note and pushed it beneath Dimitri’s old door frame. Byleth’s steps were the lightest they’ve ever felt, and he set a leisure pace to the Goddess Tower, his ring warm and solid in the black pouch in his pocket.

Byleth was not particularly good at writing. Years ago, the first few weeks he began teaching, his students had begun to come up to him after class, asking him to clarify his notes, or ask what words even said. It became so much of a problem that Byleth had asked Seteth to teach him better calligraphy. After taking lessons on the break days and a few after class, he’d begun to develop a more legible script. Jeralt was proud of him.

He hoped Dimitri was able to read his note despite the shakiness in his hand.

The moon was not yet at its apex, so Byleth took his time. Crossing the bridge, a wind buffeted him, bringing the scent of aromatic smoke and the sound of voices. In the Cathedral, there were many people, religious and not, some praying and most crying. A few children from the neighboring villages were playing board games. Byleth was happy. For him to go from someone who, just a few scant years ago, felt near nothing for no one but his father, to someone who wished to protect people who needed it, to lead the future rulers of Fodlan… Byleth felt as if he had grown and matured. Sothis would surely be proud. Or would she laugh at him and his sentiments? Whatever she said to him, he wished to hear her again. He missed her voice.

As he exited out the giant door, left cracked open, out of the corner of his eye the lights from across the great chasm were blurry and unfocused, flickering against the dark sky. He could see shadowed bodies tumbling together. The difference in noise was incredibly apparent the more he walked toward the Goddess Tower. It was nearly silent when he reached the short steps to the ancient door. A small creak resounded twice as he entered and shut it. Surprisingly, a very small amount of dust rose as he began to walk the steps. He didn’t know anyone had found time to clean this place, even minimally, as the Goddess Tower was the picture of dust before they left for Enbarr. As Byleth quietly meandered the winding staircase he admired the structure. This place was ethereal in its beauty, a phrase Manuela had said that stuck with him a few months (years) ago after he went inside for the first time during the Ball. The first time he had met Annette there, and with no other desires or wants in his heart he had wished for all his students to get good marks on their upcoming exams.

Now though, he feels glad that this Tower, built for Sothis, is the place that he will give his heart to Dimitri.

Byleth waited a while longer. He had no fear Dimitri wouldn’t come to him. Despite having only known each other for two years, they had fought together, trained together. They nearly died together, and while Byleth has little to no knowledge of how to develop relationships, even he thought fighting through a war and nearly dying hundreds of times with your former students had to count for something.

As the moon begins to reveal itself from behind dark, moonlit clouds, it’s reflected light delicately entering the window and tracing the contours of the ancient stone on the walls and floor, looking like a sheer curtain. Byleth moved his body towards the window, leaning out of it and letting the wind thread through his hair. He waits a while more and the lights in the distance get brighter as more are lit. Way across the chasm, far away from Garreg Mach, past the rolling hills and jagged cliffs, across waterways and sand dunes and lush forests, there are people recovering. People celebrating. People mourning. His students, as close as they are now, are among them. Fodlan was recovering slowly but surely. And Dimitri, as King, would ensure the delicate process succeeded.

Byleth’s ears picked up the familiar pattern of steps thudding against stone. His unbeating heart gave off a curious heat momentarily, the sight of blonde hair and a newly washed, gore free black and white and blue cloak clasped to more pristine, royal clothing entering the final floor of the Goddess Tower. The moon catches minor accents of Dimitri’s Kingdom armor, and then all of him is standing in front of Byleth, his hair fashionably broken apart and falling to frame his sharp face.

Byleth does not let his sudden nervousness show, instead giving Dimitri a small smile. Dimitri returns it, making his way over to Byleth slowly.

“Professor. I’m glad to see you in high spirits. Earlier tonight I noticed you were drinking with the others, though I’ve come to understand it wasn’t alcohol.”

Byleth nods, “while I am happy to celebrate with our friends, drinking was never for me. I cannot get drunk anyways.” Byleth had drunk tea in place of any inhibitors for a small amount of time shortly after the Kingdom soldiers, his former students and the neighboring villages began to wildly celebrate. He had wanted to remain as sober as possible for this moment.

Dimitri held onto this though, “you cannot get drunk? After one tankard I find myself unable to think straight.”

“When I was younger my father took me to a tavern to celebrate my first contract mission being completed. After a while of feeling nothing, the surrounding patrons were paying the bar to provide me with more drinks. My father was upset that he was unable to keep up with me,” Byleth said fondly. He remembered the look on his father's face as the drunk patrons slid beverage after beverage in front of him. The only reason he stopped was because his stomach began to hurt. After that, Jeralt would take him to taverns for their mercenary groups' accomplishments or to celebrate successful missions, but he wouldn’t buy him anything to drink.

Dimitri and he shared a laugh. Byleth felt a flood of warmth..

Dimitri politely redirected the conversation upon having his fill of imagining Byleth drinking his own father under the table. “So Professor, why have you called me up here at this time? Your, ah, letter was very vague.”

Byleth, feeling his nerves returning, more nervous than he feels he has ever been, stalls, “I apologize if I’ve taken you away from the… festivities.”

Dimitri’s blue eye widens, and he takes a small step forward, waving his hand, “not at all, Professor. The celebrations of the evening have become… quite rowdy. While I am glad that the others can participate in drinking incredible amounts of alcohol… I am not quite feeling it. I went to my room to rest for a bit.”

Byleth nodded. After not seeing Dimitri out in the Monastery grounds, the first place he thought to place the letter was in Dimitri’s room.

Noticing Byleth’s sudden inability to continue the conversation, Dimitri took over, “excuse my repetitiveness, Professor, but what have you to tell me?”

Byleth struggled for a few seconds, his mouth partway opened. For the past week he’d mentally rehearsed what he would say, packing as many heartfelt words into it that even Sothis would praise him despite his excruciatingly hard inability to properly express himself. Byleth discards those thoughts, forgoing his fantasy preparations and instead taking action like mercenaries should. He takes a step forward and cradles (Manuela would swoon) Dimitri’s hand on his own. Dimitri’s eye widened.

“Dimitri, I cannot express to you how much you’ve changed my life. You taught me so many things about the world, about… myself,” Byleth took a breath, completely prepared to use a Divine Pulse if he couldn’t formulate words in the next second, and looked into deep, beautiful blue. “We’ve fought side by side through so much together. I cannot… imagine any other place than at your side. You taught me how to feel,” Byleth freezes, because yes, Dimitri had done that. He’d noticed Byleth’s smile all those years ago, told him he was mesmerizing, had looked at him with amazement in his eyes and asked him to smile again. Sothis had laughed and mocked the young Prince for his obviousness, but Byleth was too distracted by Dimitri’s words to register hers. No one had ever called him mesmerizing.

“You taught me how to feel,” Byleth reaffirms, “I didn’t think I could be like this… but you…” Byleth takes a hand away from Dimitri, reaching into his pocket for the silky black pouch, and using both his hands, carefully takes the ring out. “I will follow you to the end of time, I… would do anything for you, to further your goals, to help you be the best King you could ever be.”

Byleth places the ring in the center of Dimitri’s hand, the moon's light reflecting off the jewels and hitting Dimitri’s hand. “This ring belonged to my mother. My father gave this to me and told me to give this to someone special to me. I can think of no other.” Byleth closes Dimitri’s fingers around the ring, cupping his hand in his own, as Dimitri stares at him in surprise. “I love you, Dimitri. Marry me.”

His heart is bare. His tongue is dry and despite never knowing what a heartbeat is supposed to feel like, he thinks his heart is about to explode from the pressure. He waits with bated breath, and his eyes stray to his and Dimitri’s clasped hands. Dimitri’s fingers are warm through his white gloves. Byleth’s eyes flick back to blue as the silence carries. Outside, lovingly in the corner of his eye, Byleth sees the lights across the chasm flicker. He can hear nothing but the sound of his and Dimitri’s breathing.

As the silence grows longer, Byleth feels his brows furrow, cautiously breaking the silence. “Dimitri?” Dimitri’s face is shocked and red. His grip on the ring loosens and Byleth slowly takes his hands away. Byleth flinches as the ring falls to the floor from Dimitri shaking palm, the sharp pings against old stone harsh against his ears. His eyes are drawn to its movement till it stops, and he snaps back up when Dimitri swallows loudly.

“Y-you love me?” His voice is quiet and very small. Dimitri’s hand is pulled behind his back, but his slightly shaking body betrays him. Byleth is about to say his name again when Dimitri clumsily interrupts. “I’m sorry, Professor… I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” Byleth’s hands fall limply at his side. Dimitri’s expression… his brows are drawn down, minute displeasures and nervousness twitching into Byleth’s focus every so often. Dimitri was… very easy to read right now, even for Byleth. Dread rose in Byleth’s stomach.

“Dimitri?” Byleth’s voice doesn’t crack, thankfully, but it still sounds weak.

The blonde is silent for a short while, seemingly gathering his thoughts and looking at a point past Byleth. Finally, he speaks, taking on a deep, somber tone, “Professor… I am grateful to you for telling me this… but I cannot. An heir would never come out of our union. I… need to continue my royal bloodline for the sake of my people. For their… future,” he trails off quietly.

Byleth processes this. Processes the way his dead heart feels less alive the more Dimitri continues talking. The way the Goddess Tower feels colder than it should. The shine of the moon passes, the ring losing its reflective light, becoming an ordinary ring on a slightly dirty floor. Dimitri has always made him feel something, even when Byleth had not discovered his love for him. Now, Byleth was feeling shame and embarrassment. Dimitri was right. As King, he had a sacred duty to his people. Sylvain had even mentioned that without Crests his family wouldn’t be able to protect their territory. If Dimitri couldn’t have a child then his bloodline would die with him. The Kingdom would fall after his death. To ask him to give up his and his Kingdom’s future, for his former teacher, for another man… Byleth understood Dimitri.

And it hurt.

Byleth knows that whatever Dimitri answers with now, yes, no, complete silence, will hurt him. He doesn’t care. He asks anyway, “were I a woman, or capable of carrying your child, would you have said yes?”

Dimitri looks pained, taking a step back from him, away from the cloudy, weak light of the moon showing dust in the air. “Professor…”

Hurt floods Byleth’s chest.

Byleth quietly says, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.”

A tense silence follows. Dimitri’s jaw twitches, his eye filled with something Byleth can’t be bothered to read. Abruptly, before Dimitri can do anything, Byleth bows, closing his eyes to avoid the ring. “I apologize for asking you out here, Your Majesty. You must have been resting.” He misses Dimitri flinch. Byleth skillfully maintains his blank expression and monotonous voice despite feeling his veins clog with ice and a sensation he had felt only once in his life burn behind his eyes. “Excuse me,” he makes to pass Dimitri, heading for the stairs.

“Professor, wait.”

Byleth stops, his feet balanced right on the edge of the stairway. He doesn’t turn around.

“Your ring…” Dimitri finishes lamely. Byleth can hear his teeth click.

“Sell it or throw it away. It does not matter to me anymore. Goodnight, Your Majesty,” Byleth says slowly. The movement of his jaw choking him. His voice is steady, yet he can feel a minute twitch in his fingers, a coil of dread or longing or whatever emotion he is feeling now tickling up his stomach and spreading to the rest of his body. He feels like he trained with Felix, fought an entire army, and trained with Felix again, all within the same day. As Byleth hastily descends, as the grand door harshly squeaks twice, exhaustion hits him hard. He leans back against the door, breathing slowly. It takes everything to stay standing.

Byleth numbly makes his way through the shadows. He wishes nothing more than to return to his room and sleep. A tickle in the back of his mind remembers his ability to go back in time, the ability to not only save the lives of his friends, but to stop him from ruining his relationship with one. The idea of using a Divine Pulse follows him as he follows the golden lights in the distance. There was nothing he could do to word it better, to make Dimitri say yes, so what was the point? He has no place in Dimitri’s future. Lady Rhea had asked him to stand in as Archbishop had she died, and thankfully she still lives. Byleth has nothing, no side to return to. His students are going to leave Garreg Mach within the next few weeks, one by one. His father is gone, Dimtri doesn’t want him he has nothing-

An aching exhaustion holds itself over his head. The sky is blurry above him, white and yellow stars poking through thick black clouds, shining down at him. A particularly big cloud passes over the moon, shielding him from the light, blocking his view of its surrounding stars. His hand is on his door, he doesn’t wonder how he managed to navigate here in the dark with his head so full of feelings. He slips into his room, the closing door shuttering out any lights that dare touch him. Byleth doesn’t bother lighting a candle. He moves automatically, armor clinking and thudding on the wood as he uncaringly drops it onto the floor. The victory celebration is still going loud, however with fewer people, as most probably passed out from alcohol poisoning, so Byleth knew he wasn’t going to disturb anyone’s rest with how loud he was being.

He shed his cloak and war clothes, forgoing the effort of sleepwear pants and throwing on a simple long shirt that reached his knees.

His eyes were so heavy, as though he hadn’t slept during the entire march back to Garreg Mach. His nose tickled, and the burning feeling became more and more familiar. He reached up to rub his eyes and flinched when they came away wet. He was crying, had been since he stepped into the room, before that-had watched the dark void of the night get blurry as he mistook the tears building in his vision for the black spots of exhaustion. Byleth pulled the blankets back and tucked them close to his face, curling up on his side. He hadn’t cried since his father died. Hadn’t felt the sensation of fire burst in his head and run down his nose and leak out of his eyes. A near silent whimper left him as his brain automatically associated his father with that day all those years ago, giving him the ring, Byleth holding his dying father in his arms-feeling the weight of the ring on a yellowed day, feeling so sure Dimitri was the one who could wear it-the only one-the same ring that was probably still on the floor of the Goddess Tower. His brain supplied him with the thought of Dimitri stepping away from it without a second glance, walking the same steps Byleth had minutes ago, making his way through the monastery like Byleth had, going to his room and getting undressed one floor up and one room over from where Byleth was, sleeping like someone hadn’t given their all to him-

A slightly louder whimper escaped him. Was he sobbing? His eyes produced more tears, the pillow beneath him was getting soaked, his pale green hair getting slightly wet as his tears ran down his cheeks, following their curve to his pillow, his ear, his hair. Is this what crying without rain feels like? Only certain parts of you get wet, but in rain all of you does. Had it not rained when he held his father's body, what would his tears have touched? His gloves, his neck, his clothes? His father? Rain washed away all of that, what his tears could touch. But now Byleth can experience it again.

Once again, his brain deciding he hasn’t felt enough, he began to think. What was Dimitri doing? Was he sleeping now, or celebrating with the others? Thinking of his future, his perfect spouse, a beautiful woman with normal colored hair and normal eyes, without the Goddesses blood in her and the ability to carry children?

Were I a woman…

Byleth’s eyes clenched shut, more tears escaping him, a bone deep tiredness settling over him, making his brain pound and his nose clog. In the back of his mind he heard rain. A cold sensation pricked up his back, like icy drops falling from the sky, familiar in their cold comfort.

Do I have a place in your future, Dimitri?

The rain washed over him, flooding his heart the same instant the black spots of exhaustion rose their own wave. He missed Sothis. She gave him good dreams. Numbness weighed him down, his entire body relaxing at once as he began to dreamlessly sleep.