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Byleth stared at her reflection, and took a deep breath.
“Come to us, dear goddess, and fill our hearts with the flame of your love. For we are here to crown a king, and we crown a king to serve. What is given today is for the gain of all. Through you, dear goddess, we formed a kingdom in which the poor and oppressed are freed from the chains of injustice. Through which the blind see, and the bruised and broken-hearted are healed. For you have taught us the unchangeable law of good authority that…that…”
Sighing, Byleth reluctantly glanced down at the notes that sat on the dresser before her. “For you have taught us the unchangeable law of good authority that with the privilege of power comes the duty to serve.”
The archbishop looked back up at herself in the mirror, the corners of her mouth now pinched in an unsatisfied frown. Mere hours stood between her and this speech, and here she was still struggling with her lines. It wasn’t that she hadn’t memorized them. She had done that the day Seteth handed them to her. Nor did she have any issues with the writing itself. The words certainly weren’t ones she would have come up with herself, sure, but that was the whole point of leaving it in the care of the second-in-command of the Church of Seiros.
No, the reason she was struggling was far simpler than that. Byleth was, quite possibly for the first time ever in her life, a little nervous.
That afternoon, with her authority as the new archbishop, Byleth was leading Dimitri’s official coronation. Though the war had ended some moons ago, bringing all of Fódlan under one ruling government once again after five hundred years, their trusted friends and allies had suggested they wait for things to settle before holding the grand event. A coronation was a time of celebration, after all, so it was best to wait for a time when everyone could celebrate together.
Plus, they had cheekily reminded her, it was only fair after the wedding ceremony between the soon-to-be king and the archbishop had been so small and rushed.
When put like that, Byleth couldn’t disagree. Not on the wedding part, she still did not see the reason why anyone outside of her and Dimitri needed to be involved in the two of them pledging their lives to one another. But both Fódlan and Dimitri had been through so much turmoil over the past years, it only seemed proper to give everyone a chance to relax and rejoice in this time of peace.
Thus, over the past few moons, the archbishop had thrown herself into every aspect of planning for the coronation. Though many had suggested using Garreg Mach, she had chosen to hold the event in the Fhirdiad cathedral. It was where every Faerghus king after Loog had been crowned, after all, and she wanted Dimitri to have the chance to follow in the footsteps of his father. She had also helped with final decisions on decorations, procession order, menus for the feast, music to be played…everything she could get her hands on, Byleth helped with.
This was to celebrate Dimitri, after all. So everything needed to be perfect.
Including this speech. Byleth gave a second sigh. She had never been much of one for speeches, and especially not of this magnitude. At least when she had been a professor, she was talking over material she inherently knew. Combat, horse handling, how to make quick decisions in the middle of a battlefield…it was all second nature to her, even if teaching it took some getting used to. But this. Seteth’s speech felt so foreign on her tongue. She knew nothing about calling upon the heavens, running kingdoms, or freeing the oppressed. And to speak of Sothis in such a way…
But it had to be perfect. For Dimitri. With that resolve, Byleth refocused her thoughts and began again.
“Come to us, dear goddess, and fill our hearts with the flame of your love. For we are here to crown a king…”
Behind her, the door to the king’s chambers opened. Byleth’s eyes flickered higher up the mirror, where she watched the reflection of her husband entering the room. A small worried furrow sat in his brow, at least until he spotted his wife at the dresser, and a warm smile crossed his features.
“There you are, beloved.”
The archbishop turned around, unable to contain her own smile as she made her way over to him. She meant to join him, and perhaps take his hands in hers so as not to disturb the tunic and robe the waiting staff had meticulously gotten every wrinkle out of. But when he greeted her with open arms, she couldn’t help but quicken her pace, nearly tripping over the dress she was still acclimating to just to get into his warm embrace.
Byleth had never been accused of being overly affectionate. Even now, she still had trouble expressing some of her newfound emotions. But when her words or her face failed her, Dimitri always understood, and brought her in close like this. Because that was who her husband was. Even if he didn’t feel so himself, he was a warm, compassionate soul that only wanted the best for those around him.
Which is why today needed to go perfectly.
“Seteth said he was looking for you,” the soon-to-be king said softly, though his voice boomed with Byleth’s ear up against his chest. “Have you been in here since I last saw you?”
“I’ve been practicing my speech,” the archbishop replied, her voice slightly muffled from the fabric she was snuggled into. “Like he asked me to.”
“I think he meant down in the cathedral,” Dimitri chuckled. “You might want to head down there. He is starting to get a little red in the face.”
Begrudgingly, Byleth removed herself from her husband, taking a look at his clothes, fixing his shirt, and straightening his collar for him. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear your Blaiddyd armor?”
Dimitri chuckled again. “Do you not like the outfit? I thought you chose it yourself.”
“I did,” Byleth agreed as she picked a piece of lint off his chest. “But armor will hold up better over the course of the day. What if something gets spilled on you during dinner?”
“We are in a time of peace now, and I want today to reassure that,” Dimitri insisted as his wife did one more look over for anything out of place.
Satisfied that he was back in order, Byleth gave a nod. “Very well. Then I will head down to the cathedral before Seteth sends a search party for the both of us.”
The soon-to-be king smiled, taking both of his wife’s hands in his and giving them a small squeeze before leaning in to give her a soft kiss. “Thank you, beloved. I will see you at the coronation.”
“For you have taught us the unchangeable law of good authority that with the privilege of power comes the duty to serve.”
“Louder. I can barely hear you back here.”
Byleth fought back the urge to sigh in frustration, straightening her posture and breathing through her diaphragm as Seteth had taught her. “Service is love in action. We see active love in our care for the most vulnerable-”
“That’s better.”
The archbishop had to stop herself from plopping down there on the altar as Seteth disappeared from his spot in the gallery. All this practicing was starting to make her throat hurt. While she had practiced with Seteth back at Garreg Mach, the cathedral there was large, spread out, and mostly empty. It was very easy for her voice to carry, even to the back of the nave. Fhirdiad’s cathedral had two galleries on a second floor, and all the extra architecture and furniture were absorbing her words.
Still. In about an hour, every seat in front of her would be filled. Filled with someone who was here to see their king’s coronation. That was enough to keep her going.
Once more pulling her shoulders back and her head up, Byleth continued. “We see active love in our care for the most vulnerable, and the way we nurture and encourage the young. We have seen-”
“Make sure to pause longer after ‘young’.”
The voice had come from behind her. Byleth whipped around, her hand instinctually going to her waste to grab the Sword of the Creator, only to realize it wasn’t there. No matter, she could still use-
…nothing, because it was Seteth. Seteth, who was somehow behind her, despite being on the second floor just moments ago. How did he…?
The second-in-command’s serious expression only held for a few seconds before he cracked into a small smile. “It’s not often I can catch you off guard.”
The archbishop scrunched her nose, which only earned her an amused chuckle as she finally started to relax and fix her posture once again. “How did you manage that?”
Seteth disappeared behind the altar, and Byleth could hear a door closing. It sounded like it was coming out of the ground itself. “There’s a few hidden passageways in this cathedral if you know where to look for them. They were built in for emergencies.”
Byleth tilted her head curiously. “You’ve been to this cathedral before?”
“I’m the head of administration for the Church of Seiros,” Seteth replied as he finally came back into view. “I’ve been to every cathedral in all of Fódlan.”
The archbishop nodded thoughtfully. “I should probably do that too, then.”
“In due time,” Seteth agreed. “But let us focus on the coronation for now. Are you comfortable with projecting your voice in here, or do you want to practice more?”
Byleth looked out into the nave, trying to picture the benches filled to the brim, everyone’s eyes on her as she spoke. “I’m not sure comfortable is the right word. But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Seteth flashed a reassuring smile. “I have no doubt you will do well. You’ve been practicing dutifully. No need to overthink it. Shall we retire to the sacristy until it is time?”
If only it were that simple. The archbishop took one more glance around the room, soaking in the light filtering in through the apse, the galleries that hung over the nave, and the aisles of benches before her. Then she nodded, silently following Seteth away from the altar.
The coronation started off without a hitch.
Byleth had watched the procession through the streets from a window in the sacristy, watched as the crowd grew louder the closer the procession grew, watched as children were lifted onto shoulders as they waved their hands wildly, hoping to catch the attention of their soon-to-be king. The archbishop had opted to sit the procession out, wanting all attention on her husband. As he deserved.
But she was standing at the altar as the clock struck twelve, when trumpets started to blare, and the excited whispers of the crowd lulled. A few measures in, precisely on time, the front doors of the cathedral opened, bright sunlight pouring in and down the hall as the procession made its way indoors. The trumpets eventually simmered down, letting the organ take over the melody as representatives from each of the noble houses made their way down the nave and into their seats in the front pews. The archbishop made eye contact with a few she had previously called her students. Some smiled at her, others gave a nod. Annette couldn’t help but give a quick, excited wave before immediately pushing her hand back down. Byleth kept a straight face through it all, remaining composed as the organ gave way to the orchestra and the chorus, the music swelling as Dimitri finally came into view.
Their eyes immediately met. Dimitri started to smile, though caught himself halfway through, forcing himself to remain neutral as he slowly made his way down the aisle. He had chosen some of the local children at the orphanage he so often visited to hold the trail of his robe, and each was attending to their duty with the upmost attention as they followed him.
Byleth soaked it all in. This is what pride felt like. Of that, she was sure.
Once Dimitri reached the altar, the children attending to his robe took their spots in the pews, and the music reached its conclusion as silence fell over the cathedral, Byleth took a deep breath, and began.
“Come to us, dear goddess, and fill our hearts with the flame of your love. For we are here to crown a king, and we crown a king to serve.”
The words flowed off her tongue so easily. She had been so nervous, so worried about something going wrong. But now that she was actually here, it was all coming together so smoothly. The crowd sat so quietly that when she looked over at her husband, it was as if no one else was there at all.
“What is given today is for the gain of all.”
Dimitri was watching her closely, that telltale look in his eye showing her he was still suppressing his smile. He had always said he liked her in the formal archbishop attire, the very garb Rhea used to wear during her time in the role. Byleth had always found the dress to be too restrictive. Even now, as she made her way over to the pedestal that held the scepter, the orb, and the crown, she could feel the fabric pulling at her thighs, reminding her to take small steps.
“Through you, dear goddess, we formed a kingdom in which the poor and oppressed are freed from the chains of injustice. Through which the blind see, and the bruised and broken-hearted are healed.”
Byleth lifted the scepter, atop which sat the crest of Blaiddyd, meant to signify the king’s promise to use his strength and power for the betterment of his people. In previous coronations, Areadbhar had been used for this purpose. But once again, Dimitri had insisted they stray away from weapons and armor, and the scepter was made to replace it. (Byleth had argued that anything could be a weapon, with the right attitude. If needed, she could end a conflict with a handkerchief. Her husband had laughed.)
“For you have taught us the unchangeable law of good authority that with the privilege of power comes the duty to serve.”
Just as the archbishop turned back around, lips slightly pursed to start forming her next words, something flew just past her vision.
Past her vision, and into Dimitri’s chest.
The scepter fell to the floor, its metallic clang echoing through the hall.
Then pandemonium broke loose.
Screams. Yelling. The sounds of feet scrambling and bodies colliding. Crying. The once silent cathedral was now a cacophony that all muffled together in Byleth’s ears as she rushed over to the throne, nearly tripping as her dress fought against her. Guards were running over too, trying to hold up the soon-to-be king’s body that had started to slump back. His tunic was already staining a deep red as blood poured out of the wound directly over his heart.
Dimitri’s face was pale as he looked at her. She didn’t have much time. The archbishop carefully laid one hand in the center of her husband’s chest, whispering the prayers of the goddess as she focused her healing spell. She could feel the magic surging through her, flowing into her arm and down to her fingertips…
…but stopping there. Byleth had never felt anything like this before. There was something blocking the magic from leaving her and entering into Dimitri. Something resisting her. Byleth tried to focus, tried to force the magic out, but that something wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t let her through-
“Beloved.”
Dimitri shakily placed one of his hands atop her own on his chest. The archbishop took a shallow breath, her chest feeling tight. What was happening? Why couldn’t she heal him? His face was growing pale, so pale. The blood stain on his tunic was only growing bigger and darker. Her hand too was soaked in blood. What was happening?
The soon-to-be king tried to give her a small smile, but could barely move the muscles in his face anymore.
No, this couldn’t be happening. There was no way. No way that-
No. There was no way, because she wouldn’t let there be a way.
Shakily grabbing Dimitri’s hand and taking it in both her own, Byleth closed her eyes, and turned back time.
Byleth stared at her reflection, and took a deep breath.
She was back in the king’s chambers, looking into the mirror in front of her. The adrenaline from before was already out of her veins, as if it had never happened, since technically it hadn’t. Even still, the archbishop found herself taking another deep breath.
What was that? What had happened? One moment the coronation had been running so smoothly, her husband absolutely beaming on the throne as she made her speech. Then she had turned around, and…
It was then that the archbishop realized her biggest mistake – in her panic, she had forgotten to take in the scene.
Who shot that arrow? Where were they standing when they did? How had they even managed to get a bow into the cathedral with security as tight as it was? Or had it been someone allowed to have a weapon, like one of the guards? Was this an inside job?
So focused on Dimitri, Byleth hadn’t taken a single look around to give her any clues. Sure, she had reversed time, but what use was that when she was no better off in stopping the attack this time?
Her thoughts were interrupted when a headache struck her. A sharp one, drilling into her temples and making the archbishop momentarily wince.
She must have traveled back too far. Usually, she tried to keep her time reversal to seconds, minutes. Only just enough to obtain what she needed. The one time she had traveled back an entire hour, she had gotten a similar headache to this, and hadn’t tried it again since. And now she had traveled back several hours…
Well. It was necessary. This was a complicated matter. A complicated matter that would need more preparation, thought, and time.
Behind her, the door to the king’s chambers opened. Byleth’s eyes flickered higher up the mirror, where she watched the reflection of her husband entering the room. A small worried furrow sat in his brow, at least until he spotted his wife at the dresser, and a warm smile crossed his features.
“There you are, beloved.”
Dimitri. Relief flushed over Byleth, who started to run towards her husband until her dress fought back. Curse this dress. Once this was all over, Byleth would have to talk to Seteth about changing the archbishop garb. But that was for another time. For now, she was just thankful to see her husband alive and well. And when he welcomed her with open arms, Byleth practically threw herself into them.
“Seteth said he was looking for you,” the soon-to-be king said softly, though his voice boomed with Byleth’s ear up against his chest. “Have you been in here since I last saw you?”
“I’ve been practicing my speech,” the archbishop replied, falling into her usual pattern of recreating the first round of events as accurately as possible. “Like he asked me to.”
“I think he meant down in the cathedral,” Dimitri chuckled. “You might want to head down there. He is starting to get a little red in the face.”
Begrudgingly, Byleth removed herself from her husband. She was supposed to straighten his clothes and remove lint from him at this point. But seeing the tunic unstained like this…
Instead, she looked up at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear your Blaiddyd armor?”
Dimitri chuckled again. “Do you not like the outfit? I thought you chose it yourself.”
“I did,” Byleth agreed, thankful for once at how easy it was to remain expressionless. “But armor will hold up better over the course of the day. What if something gets spilled on you during dinner?”
“We are in a time of peace now, and I want today to reassure that,” Dimitri insisted.
The archbishop paused. She knew what she was supposed to say next, but…
“But what if something happens?” she asked instead, her voice a little lower than before.
“I promise to be extra careful to not spill my wine at dinner,” Dimitri assured her with a smile. “Everything will be fine.”
Byleth didn’t budge, continuing to stare at him. “I meant something more serious than stains.”
Dimitri looked at her, that smile still on his face, as he took both of his wife’s hands in his. “Beloved, you are starting to sound like Gustave. But my decision is final, I will not wear armor at the coronation.”
The archbishop bit her tongue, literally, as she thought. Perhaps it was for the best he didn’t change into armor. The more events changed now, the more likely the enemy’s course of action would change too. And then she’d be back at square one.
Despite herself, Byleth gave a nod. “Very well. Then I will head down to the cathedral before Seteth sends a search party for the both of us.”
The soon-to-be king smiled, giving her hands a small squeeze before leaning in to give her a soft kiss. “Thank you, beloved. I will see you at the coronation.”
“For you have taught us the unchangeable law of good authority that with the privilege of power comes the duty to serve.”
“Louder. I can barely hear you back here.”
Byleth fought back the urge to sigh in frustration. Though this time, she was more frustrated with herself than anything else. During her second bout of practicing in the cathedral, she had spent her time meticulously studying her surroundings. Where could someone stand, then draw and release an arrow without so much as anyone saying anything? Had they been in the back by the doors? Had they been in one of the galleries, like the one Seteth stood in now? Where had the guards been standing again?
She really should have looked around more, when it had all gone down. For a second time, the archbishop cursed her inability to think properly in a moment of panic. She used to be better than this.
“Service is love in action,” Byleth continued, trying her best to mask how distracted she was. “We see active love in our care for the most vulnerable-”
“That’s better.”
Once Seteth disappeared from his spot in the gallery, Byleth took the moment to look over at the pedestal. It was far off to the left of the altar, away from the throne that sat directly center. When she had turned around, the arrow had flown right in front of her. Since the cathedral faced east, that meant the arrow had come from somewhere on the north side of the building…
Time was slipping by. She needed to continue following her past steps.
“We see active love in our care for the most vulnerable,” Byleth continued. “And the way we nurture and encourage the young. We have seen-”
“Make sure to pause longer after ‘young’.”
This time, Byleth calmly turned towards Seteth, who stood behind her.
The second-in-command’s serious expression only held for a few seconds before he cracked into a small smile. “I suppose it was foolish to think I could catch you off guard. You’ve always been too sharp.”
“Someone told me there’s a few hidden passageways in this cathedral,” Byleth replied. She paused, then added, “Will they be guarded during the coronation?”
“The entrances outside the cathedral already are,” Seteth assured her.
So the culprit must have entered from a traditional doorway. At least that narrowed down the possibilities.
“And everyone will be checked of weapons before they are allowed to enter?” the archbishop asked.
Seteth didn’t answer right away, studying her for a moment. “Is something the matter?”
Byleth once again bit her tongue in thought. She wanted to tell Seteth. Possibly more than she had wanted to warn Dimitri, since he could watch from the sidelines. But she had too little to go off of right now. Who knew whom she was dealing with, or where they were right now?
“I believe I am just projecting my nerves of giving the speech, is all,” Byleth replied, hoping that the excuse wasn’t too flimsy. “But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Seteth flashed a reassuring smile. “I have no doubt you will do well. You’ve been practicing dutifully. No need to overthink it. Shall we retire to the sacristy until it is time?”
If only it were that simple. The archbishop took one more glance around the room, burning the image into her head. Then she nodded, silently following Seteth away from the altar.
The coronation started off without a hitch.
Byleth once again watched the procession through the streets from a window in the sacristy. She studied every person, watched every face, observed every interaction. It didn’t tell her much, when she didn’t know what to look for.
It wasn’t until she was standing at the altar as the clock struck twelve, when trumpets started to blare, and the excited whispers of the crowd lulled, that she had the sinking feeling that this wouldn’t be her only time reliving this moment. She simply didn’t have enough information to do anything.
Well. At least this time she would pay more attention.
And so she did. As the front doors of the cathedral opened, and the procession made its way indoors, Byleth continued to study every person, every face, and every expression change, until Dimitri finally came into view.
Their eyes immediately met. Dimitri started to smile, though caught himself halfway through, forcing himself to remain neutral as he slowly made his way down the aisle. It only made that sinking feeling within the archbishop grow worse.
Soon enough, it was time to start.
“Come to us, dear goddess, and fill our hearts with the flame of your love. For we are here to crown a king, and we crown a king to serve.”
Byleth was thankful for the muscle memory the speech had fallen into. Her mind was working too quickly to think about it, trying to plot out every individual that sat towards the northern side of the cathedral without seeming distracted. Nothing looked suspicious yet, but…
“What is given today is for the gain of all.”
In the corner of her eye, she could see Dimitri looking at her as she made her way over to the pedestal. It made her stomach knot.
“Through you, dear goddess, we formed a kingdom in which the poor and oppressed are freed from the chains of injustice. Through which the blind see, and the bruised and broken-hearted are healed.”
Byleth took a deep breath. She lifted the scepter, pausing in place for a second, two, three. Nothing seemed to be happening. Then she said her lines.
“For you have taught us the unchangeable law of good authority that with the privilege of power comes the duty to serve.”
Another second, two, three. Still silence.
But just as the archbishop turned back around, lips slightly pursed to start forming her next words, something flew just past her vision.
Past her vision, and into Dimitri’s chest.
Byleth had to push down every feeling, and focus.
The angle the arrow flew meant it was coming from above. The archbishop glanced up at the left gallery. Already, a commotion had broken out. She couldn’t see much through the mess of people running around, but she could at least make out that no guards were up there. Were they supposed to be? A quick glance to the right gallery said no. Why were there no guards up there?
She didn’t have time to think about it. Byleth braced herself, then turned toward the throne.
Somehow seeing her husband dying the second time was worse.
She could feel her logic slipping. As was the scepter, that fell from her fingertips. Dimitri. Immediately she ran over to him, fighting her dress all the while. He was pale. So, so pale. She knew he would be, so why? Why did it hurt so much to see? She could barely breathe as-
No. No, she needed to focus. She needed to gather information, to prevent this from happening a third time. The arrow in his chest. It didn’t look like one she had ever seen before. The shaft was pitch black, though something was etched into it. If she could look past the blood, Dimitri’s blood, her husband’s blood-
Byleth willed herself to focus, just a little longer. Along the shaft of the arrow, etched in silver, was what looked like a line of crests, alternating between the Crest of Lamine and the Crest of Gloucester.
“Beloved.”
Dimitri shakily reached out a hand to his wife, which Byleth quickly took into her own. She couldn’t help it. She needed to try again. Placing her other hand on her husband’s chest, Byleth once again whispered the prayers of the goddess as she focused her healing spell. Just like last time, she could feel the magic surging through her, flowing into her arm and down to her fingertips…
…but stopping there. It truly did feel like something was blocking the magic. What was this?
The soon-to-be king tried to give her a small smile, but could barely move the muscles in his face anymore.
She had known. She had known what happens, so why? Why did this hurt so much more the second time?
Once more, Byleth shakily took Dimitri’s hand in both her own, closed her eyes, and turned back time.
Byleth stared at her reflection, and took a deep breath.
This time, she placed both of her hands on the dresser, leaning forward and letting her head drop as she took a second deep breath, then a third. She could feel herself trembling.
At least this time she had been able to gather some information.
Someone was shooting from the left gallery, most likely. Though the fact they were able to so perfectly shoot at Dimitri’s heart from all the way up there…even if they were highly trained, that would have still taken focus and precision. Would someone really have the time to line up a shot like that around all those people? Was everyone in the gallery in on it? Was she missing something obvious?
A drop of blood fell onto the dresser top. Byleth looked back up at the mirror. Her nose was bleeding. And a moment later, that searing headache from last time came slamming back.
The archbishop winced, trying to focus on anything but her screaming temples as another drop of blood fell from her nose. The headache she had been expecting. But the blood? Why was-
Behind her, the door to the king’s chambers opened. Byleth’s eyes flickered higher up the mirror, where she watched the reflection of her husband entering the room. A small worried furrow sat in his brow, at least until he spotted his wife at the dresser, and a warm smile crossed his features.
“There you are, beloved.”
Dimitri. A mixture of relief and regret flushed over Byleth, creating a sour mix of nerves in her stomach as her headache grew a little sharper. Nevertheless, she made her way over to him as quickly as her dress would allow, once again throwing herself into his open arms.
“Seteth said he was looking for you,” the soon-to-be king said softly. “Have you- …is your nose bleeding?”
The archbishop stopped before pushing her face into his chest, instead looking up at her husband. That worried furrow was back in his brow, and Byleth reluctantly found him taking back one of his arms and reaching into his robe to produce a handkerchief.
“It’s just the dry Fhirdiad air,” she quickly explained, keeping her eyes shut as Dimitri dabbed at her nose. “I’m alright.”
He was being so gentle with her. He always was. How could a man like this ever mistaken himself for a monster? “I was going to say you might want to head down to the cathedral where Seteth is waiting for you,” Dimitri said as he finished up, “Though perhaps it would be better for you to take a warm bath? The steam might help.”
Byleth opened her eyes up again as the soon-to-be king put his handkerchief away. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear your Blaiddyd armor?”
Her husband smiled down at her. “Is that a no to the bath, then?”
The archbishop didn’t budge. “I’m serious. You should reconsider.”
“We are in a time of peace now, and I want today to reassure that,” Dimitri once again insisted.
“But what if we aren’t at peace?” Byleth insisted back. “What if something happens today?”
“We will be surrounded by our closest friends and allies,” the soon-to-be king replied. “The coronation will be the safest place in all of Fódlan today.”
Byleth must have made a face, because her husband pulled her in closer to him, bringing her now blood-free face into his chest. “You have been worrying over this for moons now, beloved. Your hard work is paying off, I promise.”
The archbishop took in a deep breath as she tightly hugged his waist. “But what if I’ve seen it? What if I know what is about to happen?”
“Seen it?” Dimitri asked, giving Byleth the smallest glimmer of hope as he paused. “As in a dream? I thought we agreed to talk when one of us started having stress dreams.”
For the first time in her life, Byleth understood what wanting to scream felt like.
He wasn’t getting it. How could he, when she had yet to talk to him about her pulses? She had kept putting it off, waiting for things to calm down before speaking about it. And now her constant stalling was finally rearing its ugly head. She just needed them to survive today. Survive today, and then she would tell him everything.
“Beloved,” Dimitri said, pulling the archbishop out of her head. “I really do think a bath might help. Do you want me to let Seteth know you will be down later?”
Byleth took one more deep breath, letting herself indulge in her husband’s scent. “No, I’m fine,” she eventually mumbled. “I will head down.”
The soon-to-be king squeezed her back, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Thank you, beloved. I will see you at the coronation.”
This time, Byleth didn’t bother with rehearsal.
“His Highness requested that gallery be dedicated to royal staff members, all of which would have gone through rounds of background investigation before even being hired,” Seteth explained to the archbishop as they looked out at the cathedral from the altar.
Byleth’s arms were crossed, her index finger tapping away at her elbow thoughtfully. If the gallery the arrow came from was staff only, did that mean they had a mole within the castle?
“What about guards?” she asked, squinting her eyes a bit as she studied the second floor. “Are there guards standing in the gallery?”
“The guards are standing at the door, since there is not much extra room in the gallery,” Seteth replied.
“Then make room,” Byleth ordered. “I want two extra guards to stand inside. And I want everyone thoroughly checked for weapons before they’re allowed in.”
She turned toward her second-in-command, though almost wish she hadn’t. Seteth was giving her that same worried look that Dimitri had earlier, the kind he usually reserved for Flayn. “And you are saying this came from a premonition Sothis gave you?”
Byleth fought back the urge to sigh in frustration. She hadn’t had the discussion about her pulses with Seteth either. But she hadn’t considered she would need to. How did a child of Sothis not understand one of her most innate powers? Had the goddess hidden it away from them purposely? Did it somehow work differently when Sothis had her own body?
Her list of discussions to have after today was only growing longer. But there were more immediate concerns she needed to focus on for now.
“Something like that,” she eventually replied, turning away from him and that worried look he was giving her. “I don’t know much, other than the arrow will come from that direction.”
“Then I will see to it that the gallery is locked down as much as possible,” Seteth reassured. The archbishop could hear him approaching her, and felt a firm hand lay on her shoulder. “Is there anything else?”
Byleth took a moment to look around her. “I want to move the throne to the side a bit. And switch the side the pedestal is on.”
“Consider it done,” Seteth replied in a firm, but soft tone. “Why don’t you go retire to the sacristy while I take care of these? I’ll come find you afterward.”
If only it were that simple. There was no retiring at this point. Not until she made it through the entire day. Nonetheless, she nodded, silently following Seteth away from the altar.
Byleth almost hated how smooth the coronation started off.
As she once again watched from the window of the sacristy, she studied every person, watched every face, observed every interaction. It still didn’t tell her much. Hopefully the new procedures she put in place with Seteth would be enough.
Time seemed to crawl maliciously slow, letting the unease in Byleth creep higher and higher until she was standing at the altar as the clock struck twelve. When the trumpets started to blare, and the excited whispers of the crowd lulled, the archbishop once again got that sinking feeling in her stomach.
All she could do was be on alert.
“Come to us, dear goddess, and fill our hearts with your flame. For we are here to crown a king, and we crown a king to serve.”
That didn’t feel right. Her nerves were back, once again messing up her speech. It was too late to care. She would simply have to push through.
“What is given today is for the gain of all.”
At least her new orders had been carried out. She had seen the slight confusion on the faces of the procession as Dimitri sat on his off-center throne. Those that remained standing couldn’t seem to decide if they needed to change configuration now that the pedestal was on the opposite end of the altar. It was messy, something Byleth would not have allowed under any other circumstances. But hopefully it was just messy enough to disrupt the assassination attempt.
This was the part where she was supposed to make her way over to the pedestal. Even in her frantic mind, Byleth knew that. But she couldn’t bring herself to move yet. Instead, she stared up at the left gallery once more.
“Through you, dear goddess, we formed a kingdom in which the poor and oppressed are freed from the chains of injustice. Through which the broken-hearted will heal.”
She had to move. She knew this, as seconds ticked by, an uncomfortable silence between her lines. At least the gallery seemed quiet, her eyes falling on the two guards standing at attention inside the cramped quarters.
Very well. She reluctantly turned her back, taking a step before pausing, then walking in the other direction towards the new location of the pedestal to grab the scepter. Muscle memory wasn’t going to cut it for her anymore.
“For you have taught us that with the privilege of power comes the duty to serve.”
Deep breath.
Byleth turned back around quickly, immediately focusing in on the left gallery. All was still.
Then something flew past her vision, and into Dimitri’s chest.
The scepter fell to the floor, its metallic clang echoing through the hall.
Then pandemonium broke loose.
Screams. Yelling. The sounds of feet scrambling and bodies colliding. Crying. It was all happening again. But none of it was reaching Byleth’s ears, because only one thought was on her mind.
The arrow had come from the right gallery this time.
How was that possible? How had they still managed to hit a small target so accurately when so much had changed? Had the assassin created contingencies? Were there multiple people working together? How deep did this go?
How desperate were they to see Dimitri dead?
Dimitri. Byleth couldn’t stop herself from turning towards the throne, seeing the bloody scene she had already witnessed twice. Even still, despite knowing what she would see, despite knowing exactly how it would go…it was stomach lurching. The way his face grew so pale so quickly, the way he looked at her as she ran over to him.
“Beloved.”
It hurt. It hurt so much that surely her heart would break if it was capable of beating. Dimitri shakily reached out a hand to his wife, which Byleth quickly took into her own. Did she try again? To heal him? Knowing that it wouldn’t work?
She couldn’t. Not this time. This time, the grief would surely consume her. And she needed to act before she lost all will to do so.
The soon-to-be king tried to give her a small smile, but could barely move the muscles in his face anymore. Once again, Byleth shakily took Dimitri’s hand in both her own, closed her eyes, and turned back time.
Byleth lost count of how many times she used her pulses.
Because every time she fixed something, the enemy was already a step ahead. It didn’t matter where she bolstered security, how she rearranged the altar or seating charts. When she protected the left gallery, they came from the right. When she cut off both, they used the hidden passageways to get there anyways. When she cut off the passageways, the guards protecting the stairs were overthrown. There was even a time when Byleth had refused to leave the king’s chambers until Dimitri agreed to wear armor, only for him to get shot in the sliver of uncovered neck. No matter what she tried, Dimitri always met a grisly end.
The archbishop hadn’t seen such an inescapable death since Jeralt.
But she had grown so much since then, had come into her powers and come to understand them. Surely there was something she could do. There had to be a way. Any way.
So she kept reversing time, kept trying something new. Because surely the next attempt would be the last.
This time, when Byleth came to in front of the dresser mirror, she white knuckled the dresser edges as her legs buckled beneath her. The tolls on her body were starting to add up as well. She bit her tongue to avoid yelling out as a sharp, intense pain reared through her head, making her vision swim for a few seconds as she acclimated. Blood was already dripping out her nose and onto the dresser like a faucet, and her stomach was lurching. The dry heaving had progressed to vomiting the last few times she had done this. But she was expecting it this time, bracing for it. So she used what extra willpower she had left to hold it down, to fight back-
The surging headache was too much. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed.
Byleth’s head hit the floor so hard, any concentration spent on keeping her stomach under control dissipated. She barely managed to push herself to her side before the vomit came back up, squeezing her eyes shut all the while.
At least there wasn’t much in her stomach. She had been too nervous earlier to eat a big breakfast. Perhaps the one thing she could thank her nerves for.
As the vomiting reduced to a coughing fit, the archbishop pulled her knees into her chest. She could feel her dress growing wet, soaking in the stomach acid and regurgitated bits of food. But it didn’t stop her from curling into a ball.
What was she supposed to do? She had exhausted all of her possible options. How did the enemy always stay ahead? How did they always manage to achieve the most precise, most improbable target? She hadn’t even figured out why she couldn’t heal Dimitri.
Tears started to roll down Byleth’s cheeks and onto the floor, joining the small puddle of blood from her nose. She wasn’t sure how much she had left in her. Was this it? Was she doomed to lose?
To lose Dimitri?
So caught up in her despair, the archbishop didn’t hear the chamber doors opening, nor the footsteps that followed. It wasn’t until the horror-struck gasp, followed by rushed steps, that she even realized Dimitri had finally come in.
He wasn’t supposed to see her like this. Not on his day.
Byleth used what strength she had left to open her eyes and push herself up to a seated position. But when her hand slipped on the vomit and she stumbled, her husband quickly caught her, sweeping one arm behind her back and one beneath her legs.
“You’ll ruin your clothes,” was all the archbishop could bring herself to say, her voice cracking as he lifted her off the ground.
“The clothes are not my concern right now,” Dimitri replied softly as he started to make his way to the bench at the foot of the bed.
How nice it felt to be held so closely to his chest. Her head was swimming so much, and she could feel the vomit and blood rubbing off on his clothes, but his warmth was almost enough to distract her. Byleth closed her eyes. If only she could stay wrapped in his warmth forever, and forget everything. The coronation, the assassination, the world around them…
“Beloved,” Dimitri said, his voice dripping with so much concern as he carefully laid her down on the bench. “Are you sick? What happened?”
Despite how weak she felt, Byleth did her best to slowly push herself to a seated position, her arms shaking all the while. “I think I just ate something turned,” she replied. “Or it’s nerves.”
When she managed to open her eyes, the archbishop could see her excuse was as weak as she was. Her husband’s face was so scrunched up, she almost missed the concerned looks he gave her before.
“I do not believe nerves lead to a bleeding nose,” Dimitri said so quietly, so sweetly, as he reached into his robe for his handkerchief.
Byleth didn’t say anything as he began to lightly dab at her nose and upper lip. What could she say? She had tried explaining. She had tried pleading, begging. Nothing had worked.
“We should postpone the coronation,” Dimitri said decisively, cutting off the archbishop’s thoughts. “You should focus on getting well.”
“No!” Byleth cried out immediately.
Dimitri’s hand paused in slight shock.
“Beloved, you are not well,” he replied with a frown. “You need to rest. Or at least be seen by the doctor.”
He was right. She knew this. But she was also the only one that understood the danger he was in. And if she was put on bed rest, there was no telling how the enemy would change their plans. But more importantly, she wouldn’t be at Dimitri’s side. How was she supposed to protect him like that?
Protecting him was all that mattered.
Byleth took a deep breath, which unfortunately resulted in another coughing fit. But she persisted, using what willpower she had left to fix her posture and take the handkerchief from her husband’s hand so she could dab at her mouth herself.
“I’ll be alright,” she asserted, acting as calm as possible as she pulled back the handkerchief to inspect it. Both it, and her dress now that she was paying more attention, were far bloodier than she would have liked. “I just need to-”
The archbishop froze as she looked closer at the handkerchief in her hand. It was blue to match the color of Dimitri’s tunic, and covered in an alternating silver design of the Crest of Lamine and the Crest of Gloucester.
“Need to rest?” her husband finished for her hopefully.
The gears in her head were starting to turn.
“Where did you get this handkerchief?” Byleth asked.
Dimitri’s lips pursed. “Beloved, do not change the subject just-”
“I’m fine,” Byleth insisted, using the new bolt of energy she had to straighten her posture a little more in hopes that it proved her point. “I’m fine. Where did you get this handkerchief?”
Her husband studied her, then ultimately sighed in defeat. “It was laid out for me with my clothing this morning. I was told the color best matched the coronation outfit you had chosen.”
Interesting. Byleth would need to find the keep in charge of laying out his clothes this morning. But perhaps that would be best left for after the coronation, so as not to raise suspicion. Because finally, finally, she had a glimmer of hope. Something to keep her going, even if just for one more time.
“Do you mind if I hold onto it?” she asked, balling the fabric in her hand. “Since I already bled on it?”
Dimitri pursed his lips. “Will you agree to postpone the coronation if I say yes?”
“No,” Byleth replied truthfully. “But I will take it easy after I change into clean clothes. Before the coronation.”
Her husband took another moment to study her, during which Byleth held herself up as proudly as she could manage without shaking. With a sigh, he finally nodded. “Very well. Though I am not sure how much I trust your definition of taking it easy.”
Byleth gave a small amused exhale as she held her empty hand out. “I have a few things to take care of, but I will rest as much as I am able.”
Dimitri smiled back, taking her hand in his. “Thank you, beloved. I will see you at the coronation.”
The little spurt of energy from her new find could only carry her so far.
The archbishop’s head was still spinning. She could feel her body so desperately wanting to give out beneath her as she once again stood at the cathedral altar, watching the procession pour in. At least she wasn’t wearing that forsaken dress anymore. Now that it was caked in blood and vomit, she had been allowed to change into the clothes she had so often worn onto the battlefield. Her “enlightened one” clothes, as her students had once called it. Seteth hadn’t been a fan of the idea for the same reason Dimitri had insisted so many times on not wearing armor – it brought back memories and emotions from the war. But the clothes were comfortable, and gave the archbishop strength.
And she needed every scrap of strength she could muster right now.
Eventually Dimitri made his way in, standing tall in his Blaiddyd armor. The archbishop could already feel the adrenaline starting to course through her veins. Of course he was wearing armor. His coronation outfit was ruined, all thanks to her.
But she hadn’t accounted for him wearing armor this time. Was that going to affect her plan at all? Last time he had worn armor, they had shot his neck. Was there a different strategy when they shot his neck instead of his heart? She didn’t have the mental capacity to think it through at this point.
Their eyes met. Byleth saw a flicker of surprise as Dimitri saw her new outfit, followed by a nostalgic smile, followed by him remembering to keep a straight face and trying to go back to neutrality as best as possible. The sight sent another jolt to the archbishop’s already churning stomach.
She had to succeed this time. She had no other option.
Once Dimitri reached the altar, the procession finished as everyone took their spots in the pews, and the music reached its conclusion as silence fell over the cathedral, Byleth took a deep breath, and began.
“Come to us, dear goddess, and set our hearts aflame. For we are here to crown a king, a king who only wishes to serve.”
Were these even the right words? She didn’t know anymore. It was taking so much effort just to talk without slurring. She could see Dimitri trying his best not to stir in his seat as he glanced over at her.
“What is to be done today is for the gain of all.”
At least Dimitri seemed to be the only one worried. Byleth hadn’t tried any funny business with moving things around this iteration. She barely had the time or energy, and it had never worked in her past attempts anyways.
The archbishop paused. This was always the part where the nerves started to hit her. The time when she was supposed to walk over to the pedestal. The time when things always…
She looked over at her husband, who was looking back at her, so clearly trying to hold back the expressions from earlier when he had picked her up and wiped the blood off her mouth with his handkerchief...
And that’s when she saw it. On his neck, just barely sticking out above his collar, was a corner of a handkerchief. A handkerchief of the very same blue as the one currently sitting in Byleth’s pocket, with a few lines of silver.
“Through you, dear goddess, we fought for a kingdom in which the poor and oppressed were freed. And so we ask you to free us from the chains of injustice, through which our broken-hearts can finally heal.”
She didn’t even know what she was saying anymore. Byleth’s mind wasn’t on the speech at all. She focused on her steps, on putting one foot in front of the other, as she slowly made her way to the pedestal. Carefully she placed her other hand in her pocket, and took a deep breath.
“For you have taught us that with the privilege of power comes the duty to serve.”
Instead of picking up the scepter, Byleth turned around, yanked the handkerchief out of her pocket, and with her last remnants of strength, sprinted across the altar.
This time, she could see the arrow leave the left gallery. This time, she moved quickly enough to get farther forward than where the throne sat. This time, she threw her handkerchief-wielding hand into the air, and watched as the arrow slightly changed course, heading towards her, until it pierced through her palm and out the back of her hand.
The pain was worse than the splitting headache. Byleth could barely hear the screaming and yelling, could barely see as her vision was waning. But she couldn’t collapse. Not yet. If she did, the guards would come running towards her like they had Dimitri every other time, giving the assassin their chance to escape.
The archbishop fought her deteriorating senses, and made for the door behind the altar.
She felt like she was going to puke again, even though she was fairly certain there was nothing left in her stomach. Her hand was throbbing, her head foggy, her vision barely able to make anything out in the dark hall. Luckily she had spent enough time studying the passageways in previous cycles to not have to think through where she was moving, just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as she pushed forward, hoping that backup was just behind her.
She needed to make it. Just a few more steps. A few more…
Byleth saw the outline of a figure turn the corner in front of her as her body finally gave out, and her vision went black as she collapsed to the ground.
“…much longer?”
“Will she ever…”
“…again?”
Byleth drowsily fluttered her eyes open.
Her head was absolutely swimming. She had to blink, then again, and again, to finally make sense of her surroundings. It looked like she was in her bed in the king’s chambers. Though she couldn’t tell what time it was, all the candlelight seemed to suggest the sun was down.
“She’s moving!” Your excellency, she’s moving!”
And there appeared to be people in the room here with her.
When she finally had enough of her wits about her to understand what she was looking at, Byleth could see Annette and Mercedes to her right. Though they looked exhausted, the kind of exhausted she had gotten used to in war time as everyone’s shoulders sagged a little lower and their heads drooped a little further, their faces were lighting up as they looked at her.
“See? I told you it was only a matter of time,” Mercedes said proudly, her smile beaming.
“And during our time too!” Annette added excitedly. “I knew Sylvain’s talk of being a good luck charm was all nonsense. Professor, how’re you feeling?”
“Beloved…”
Byleth slowly turned her head to the left of the bed, where Dimitri sat. He looked even more exhausted than his old schoolmates, so pale and his cheeks slightly shrunken in.
But alive. Dimitri was alive. And holding her hand so warmly.
Instinctually, the archbishop leaned towards him. But as soon as she started to move, pain seared through her right arm, causing her to wince. All three of her guests gasped, tensing and ready to leap into action, at least until Byleth reluctantly settled back into her initial position.
“Careful there, you’re dealing with a pretty serious wound,” Dimitri tried to admonish, but the relief in his tone was too palpable.
Byleth finally looked down at her arm. Everything was wrapped in so much gauze, it was hard to see what she was actually dealing with. Experimentally, she tried lightly wiggling her fingers. The pain was astonishing, but her thumb did move. As did her pinky. The others, though…
“There was a pretty serious poison on the arrow,” Annette mentioned. Byleth looked up at the sorceress to see her somber expression. “One that none of the physicians or priests had ever seen before. Everyone’s saying you only survived thanks to your crest.”
The archbishop looked back over at her husband, who was once again giving her that worried look. In the moment, she hadn’t even considered that. She hadn’t the energy to. She had been so solely focused on making sure Dimitri lived, she hadn’t thought through her own…
“What happened after I…?”
Byleth’s voice was a little hoarser than she was expecting.
“The guards took down the culprit fairly quickly,” Dimitri replied, knowing what the archbishop meant. “He’s being held in the dungeon for questioning.”
“As is some of the waiting staff who helped him get in to begin with,” Annette added.
“The whole castle has been on high alert since the coronation,” Mercedes agreed.
Byleth processed the information as much as her foggy head would let her. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many possible reasons and possibilities. Even if they survived the coronation, that didn’t-
The king squeezed her hand, bringing the archbishop back out of her thoughts. She looked over at him again, and couldn’t help the small smile that reached the corners of her lips.
Dimitri was alive. She would never get tired of thinking that.
The king smiled back, a small, warm smile. The kind that he often gave her in little moments when the two could be alone together. A smile he could keep giving her. Because Dimitri was alive.
“We should give you both some space.”
Byleth and Dimitri both glanced over at Mercedes as she got up from her seat. “Annie, we can let the others know the Professor woke up.”
Annette nodded as she too got up from her seat. “Good idea. I doubt anyone is asleep yet anyways. We’ll be back later, Professor. Your Excellency.”
The archbishop didn’t have the energy to do much else but nod them farewell as they made their way out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind them. Hopefully they didn’t mean they were actually going to bring everyone back. She wasn’t sure she had it in her right now to deal with that level of chaos.
Dimitri brought his other hand to Byleth’s, before pushing his chair back so he could rest his cheek on their hands. He took a deep breath, then two, before sitting back up to look at his wife.
After a beat, in a low voice, he spoke, “I was worried you were never going to open your eyes again.”
“I’m sorry,” Byleth replied, her voice still sounding off despite how low she was talking. “Truly. I know what that feels like.”
Dimitri looked at her, and he swallowed, his eye looking a little redder, a little more strained. “I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you.”
“But you didn’t,” Byleth asserted. She couldn’t bring herself to smile, not with him looking at her like that. All she could do is talk as earnestly as she was able. “You didn’t. I’m still here.”
Her husband brought her hand to his lips, giving it a long kiss before holding it to his cheek. The longer he kept it there, the more she could feel her hand growing wet with tears. She squeezed his hand as hard as she could before tugging it towards her.
“Beloved,” Dimitri warned. “It is not smart for you to move-”
“Please,” Byleth insisted. “I’ll stay still.”
The king looked at her, and she looked back, tugging lightly on his hand once more. With a small chuckle, Dimitri shook his head. “Very well.”
Letting go of Byleth’s hand, Dimitri stood up, then carefully lowered himself onto the bed, doing his best to lay next to his wife without disturbing her wrapped arm. The archbishop didn’t move, as promised. Only when he was finally settled in beside her, did she snuggle her head into his shoulder and interlocked their hands again.
Finally, it was calm. Peaceful. As the coronation should have always been.
“At least I’m not getting vomit on you this time,” Byleth eventually mused aloud.
Dimitri peered over at her. “How are you joking about that already?”
“I’m not joking,” the archbishop replied. “I’m stating the truth.”
This earned her a sigh, which admittedly brought a small smile to her lips as she snuggled her head further into Dimitri’s shoulder. Despite himself, Dimitri smiled back.
As they laid in a comfortable silence after that, the archbishop let her eyes slowly close. This wasn’t the end. She still had no idea who was behind this attack, and when they might try again. But for now, Dimitri was alive. They both were.
And for now, that was enou-
Byleth’s eyes snapped open.
“Dimitri.”
“Beloved?”
“I need to tell you about something.”
Her husband turned his head towards her. “About what?”
The archbishop squeezed his hand. “Sothis called them pulses.”