Chapter Text
Byleth
Byleth stands alone in the Holy Tomb. In front of her is the tomb of Seiros, where she has come to return the Sword of the Creator at the request of the Church. It has been over a fortnight since they’ve returned from Enbarr to Garreg Mach, and the war is over.
It’s quiet here. The quietest place in the monastery, maybe even the quietest place she’s ever been. Other than the flickering flames of the candles around her, everything is utterly still. She could close her eyes and imagine that time itself has stopped. It’s a welcome feeling – so much more calming than the increasingly boisterous atmosphere of the monastery, which has welcomed an ever-growing number of individuals lately. They’ve all come to witness the upcoming coronation of the first King of Faerghus and United Fodlan.
Dimitri. Something in Byleth’s chest constricts. She hasn’t seen much of him since their return to Garreg Mach. Knowing him, he’s probably overworking himself. She wants to reach out and ask if she can help, but her skillset lies in combat and battle tactics, not whatever type of knowledge is necessary to be a good strategist or diplomat during peacetime.
He doesn’t need you anymore, she reminds herself, ignoring the sadness that accompanies the thought. He is a king. She is proud of him – so proud. She should be happy.
By now, he would have heard the news. With Rhea’s declining health, the Church made a formal announcement this morning, stating that Seteth was to be the next Archbishop, effective immediately. It was no secret to anyone that Rhea had asked Byleth to succeed her, and Byleth had done her best to lead the Knights of Seiros during the war. But being the Archbishop after the war was an entirely different matter. To this day, she knew very little about the teachings of Seiros, and had even less interest in leading the effort to spread those teachings. She probably wasn’t qualified to be a priest, let alone the Archbishop.
So, Byleth had declined the role, recommending Seteth for the position instead. Byleth was certain he would be a good Archbishop – certainly one better suited than the position than she was. He was fair-minded, likely more so than Rhea, and he had fought alongside Dimitri and the rest of their army during the war. Byleth was relieved when Seteth had graciously accepted the role, following a unanimous vote of support from all of the Church’s cardinals.
And yet, now, with no formal position in the Church or the Kingdom, she doesn’t know what kind of role she has anymore at all. The reconstruction efforts at the monastery are expected to last for several years, with at least another year before the Academy is reopened. So being a professor is out. And although she is sure Seteth would be willing to name her as a Knight of Seiros – would let her keep the sword in that case too, probably – she doesn’t really want that either.
It’s not as though her former students and allies no longer respect her. The Church trusted her to return the sword, after all, without bothering to send a witness while she does it. When they do see her, the former Blue Lions treat her warmly, the same way they always have. Felix has even met her for a sparring session or two. She enjoys the sessions like she always has – maybe even more, now that the training grounds are the emptiest she’s ever seen them.
But for the most part, the people she used to spend all her days with are now busy being swarmed with meetings and paperwork while they prepare to hold ruling titles over the millions of Fodlanders that have suffered during the war. All of their meetings are intended for some combination of nobles and Church officials, and Byleth is now neither of those things. After the coronation is over, she could very well never see Dimitri – or any of her Lions – ever again. It’s the only thing that gives her a feeling of regret about declining the position of Archbishop.
Byleth reaches into her pocket. Her thumb brushes against the amethysts embedded in the smooth silver of her mother’s ring. Weeks ago she had it resized to fit a larger hand. Jeralt had wanted her to give it to someone she loved, but he probably hadn’t anticipated that this someone would be the ruler of Fodlan. She fell in love with Dimitri because of his kindness and strength and compassion, not because of his title, but the difference in their positions on the social hierarchy is an undeniable reality. Could she dare even offer her ring to someone like him? He would be too kind to laugh in her face, but someone else in his position might.
Maybe she should have become Archbishop after all, so such a proposal might at least stand a chance of being accepted.
No, that was wrong.
Byleth takes a deep breath, refocusing her thoughts. She’s here for a purpose, and it’s not to walk down the road of regret and self-pity.
Stepping forward, she pushes open the empty casket of Saint Seiros. The stone grates her ears as it slides forward. Vaguely it strikes her that this would be a sacrilegious act in any other context, except she has permission. She places the Sword of the Creator inside. Looking at the sword inside the casket makes her sad for some reason, but she doesn’t know why. It feels as if something broken has been returned without ever being fixed.
Carefully, she slides the lid of the casket closed. The Sword of the Creator is now back where she first discovered it all those years ago. Without it, she doesn’t really feel like the Byleth that cut open the heavens, or the Byleth who awoke from a five-year sleep to fight for Faerghus and the Church. She feels like Byleth the mercenary once again. And Byleth the mercenary was not the kind of person that had any hope of walking beside a lord – let alone a king.
She must have lost track of time inside the Tomb, because she arrived mid-morning and now the sun is halfway across the sky. She’s walking across the bridge to the cathedral when she runs into Dedue.
“Professor,” he greets her with a polite bow.
“Hello Dedue,” she says, smiling up at him. She always forgets how tall he is – even taller than Dimitri. “It’s nice to see you.”
“You as well. I have been looking for you.”
“I see. Is there something you needed?”
“His Majesty has been looking for you since we heard the news this morning about the new Archbishop. We had all thought… we were a little surprised.”
“Oh.” Byleth doesn't know what to say. Is Dimitri - are they all disappointed in her? She hopes not.
“I was grateful to be considered,” she tries to explain. “But I’m confident that Seteth will do a good job. A better job, honestly.”
Dedue gives her a rare smile. “You are too modest,” he says.
“It’s the truth,” she says awkwardly.
There’s a pause.
Dedue clears his throat. “At any rate. His Majesty and the others are having lunch in the dining hall today. It is the first time we’ve all had a meal together since our return. Would you join us?”
Byleth blinks. “Yes,” she says. “Thank you.”
They walk together in companionable silence after that. When they reach the dining hall, the other former Blue Lions are all standing near the entrance, as though waiting for their arrival.
Sylvain is the first to spot her. “Hey Professor,” he says, giving her a wave and a wink. “It’s only been a couple weeks, but it’s been too long. Miss me?”
Before she can respond, Ingrid jabs him with her elbow and Felix shoots him a glare.
“We’re so glad you’re here!” chirps Annette. “Now the whole class is together.”
“It is nice,” Mercedes agrees dreamily. “We’re all going our separate ways after the coronation tomorrow. Who knows when we’ll get the chance again?”
“Don’t say that,” says Ashe. “We’ll definitely find a way to reunite someday.”
“I certainly hope so,” says Dimitri.
Byleth looks at him. He’s standing behind the others. His blond hair is tied back today – a look she hasn’t seen before, but one that suits him. He’s wearing a simple white shirt and pants. He looks tired, but also… relaxed. Happy.
He looks so handsome, she thinks, and then immediately feels embarrassed, as if she’d spoken the thought aloud.
Their eyes meet, and Dimitri smiles at her warmly.
“I am glad to see you, my friend,” he says.
Byleth feels her cheeks start to flush. “I’m glad to see you too,” she murmurs, looking away.
They start to form a line in front of the serving area. This takes a moment, as Ashe, Ingrid, and Dedue insist on being served after Dimitri, while Dimitri makes a protest to the contrary. Seeing them argue about such a thing makes the corners of Byleth’s mouth twitch. Felix rolls his eyes at all of them and walks forward to get his food first. Eventually a reluctant Dimitri takes second place in line, followed by the rest of group.
It seems they have arrived at the peak of lunch hour, as the dining hall is already mostly full. Heads start to turn when people see Dimitri standing in line, but he doesn’t seem to notice. With the eyepatch, he is easy to recognize, even for people who have never met him before.
Byleth is the last in the group to get food. When she finds their table, everyone else has already been seated, and Dimitri beckons for her to take the last seat on the bench between him and Annette. Now that she’s sitting down next to the king, she feels some of the other people in the hall start to stare at her too. She can feel their eyes scan her from top to bottom, taking in her unusual hair color and the empty scabbard by her side, and she wonders if they can put two and two together.
The meal today is one of her favorites – pheasant roast with berry sauce. Byleth picks up her fork and knife and starts to cut into the meat, trying not to be hyperconscious of how close Dimitri is beside her.
As she starts to dig in, Felix speaks up from across the table.
“They made you return the sword,” he observes. “Because you’ll be going separate ways with the Church?”
She nods, chewing.
“Ridiculous,” says Felix. “No one else can use it. It’ll just be collecting dust if they keep it here.”
“It’s alright,” she says. “I’m glad I don’t need it anymore.”
“So did you get a new sword?”
“No, I’ll just be using an old one. I had it repaired by the blacksmith yesterday.”
“What kind of blade is it?”
Sylvain groans. “Felix! We get this rare opportunity to eat together, and you want to talk about swords?”
“Well, what do you want to talk about then?”
“I want to ask the Professor what she plans on doing after the coronation,” says Mercedes.
This gets everyone’s attention, and Byleth feels everyone look up from their plates to stare at her. She hopes there isn’t berry sauce on her face.
“Er, I haven’t decided yet,” she says. “But I have been thinking about returning to my father’s mercenary group.”
“What a shame!” says Sylvain. “A beauty like yourself ought to – ouch, Ingrid!” Byleth gathers he’s been kicked underneath the table.
“Apologies about Sylvain, Professor,” says Ingrid. “There’s nothing wrong with going back to your roots. That’s what most of us are doing too, after all.”
“Is there anything else you would consider doing?” asks Dimitri beside her. “Other than rejoining your father’s mercenaries, I mean? Not that – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – there’s nothing wrong with that, of course. I mean that. Especially if it’s what you want.” He looks a little agitated, certainly more so than he had been outside the dining hall, although Byleth isn’t sure why.
I want to stay with you, is what she wants to answer, but she is speaking to a king and what she wants to say is totally inappropriate. She bites her lip, and there is a brief pause in the conversation in which she can’t quite meet his gaze.
“Ooh, if you’re undecided, maybe you could come teach somewhere in Fhirdiad, Professor!” Annette chimes in before the silence lasts long enough to be awkward. “I have some contacts at the Royal School of Sorcery who could definitely find a job for you!”
Does she want to work in Fhirdiad, as a teacher or otherwise? Byleth imagines herself living there, seeing the castle every day, being a member of the crowd on the rare occasions Dimitri makes an appearance to the public. Maybe even witnessing his wedding to some noblewoman, someday.
No, she doesn’t think she wants to live like that. It would be too painful to live in such close proximity and be constantly reminded of a wish that could never be granted.
“I’m sure anyone would want to hire you no matter whether you want to teach or fight, Professor,” says Ashe earnestly, interrupting her thoughts. “You’ll be able to go wherever you want.”
Not entirely. But Byleth is grateful for his support.
“My territory will probably need mercenaries at some point in the near future, so maybe you could come help us,” sighs Ingrid. “Our resources have always been in short supply, and the war has made people even more desperate. The bandits haven’t just gone away with the fall of the Empire, I’m afraid.”
“Fhirdiad would be glad to send soldiers if you ever need them,” says Dimitri firmly. “And I am sure the Church would be willing to assist as well.”
“I’d be happy to go myself,” says Felix. “Might relieve me of some boredom.”
“Felix!” scolds Ingrid.
“What? The only sparring partner worth my time around here is the professor, and she’s leaving.”
“I am sure you will find a way to manage,” says Dedue dully, making Mercedes giggle.
“In all seriousness, Professor,” begins Dimitri, turning to look at her, “I want you to know –”
But whatever Dimitri wanted her to know was cut off as suddenly someone is tapping Dimitri’s shoulder from the end of the table, making him turn in the other direction, only to find himself eye-level with a very large purple gown.
“Your Majesty,” says the person wearing the gown, curtsying to Dimitri. Byleth looks up and sees the face of a pretty young woman standing at the end of their table. Her brown hair is arranged in braids and decorated with expensive-looking ribbons. She looks around their age, perhaps only slightly younger. Byleth doesn’t recognize her.
“Ah, hello Isabella,” Dimitri says to the woman. “I would offer you a seat, but our table is full, I’m afraid.”
The chatter of the dining hall continues in the background, but their party has fallen silent. Byleth looks around at her former students. Many look uncomfortable, and Felix looks outright hostile, but the young woman doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“No worries at all, Your Majesty, I am more than happy to stand!” says Isabella. “My father is elsewhere at the moment, but I know you’ve met with him earlier this week already. He is so grateful to you for giving him his new position, and I just wanted to reiterate our support of your reign. You must be so busy these days – it is such a rare treat to see you in the dining hall.”
“Yes, I haven’t been able to eat here often lately,” says Dimitri uncomfortably. “Listen, if you don’t mind, perhaps we could – ”
“Ah, but wait a moment, how rude of me!” she exclaims. For a fraction of a second, Byleth thinks that she’ll leave, but she simply turns to smile at the rest of the table.
“My lords and ladies,” she says, dipping into another curtsy and smiling at each one of them in turn. Byleth notices that she skips over Dedue. The woman looks at Byleth last. “And who is this?”
Something in her tone tells Byleth that this woman knows the answer already, but she answers her anyways.
“I’m Byleth Eisner,” she says.
“Byleth Eisner?” echoes Isabella. She pronounces the syllables in a slow and exaggerated way, as if she is learning a foreign word. “How very nice to meet you. I am Lady Isabella Jane Kleiman. Are you perhaps a lady from a noble house outside of Faerghus? Or an official of the Church? Do forgive me for asking, my dear. I have only been at the monastery for a few days and there are so many people I have yet to meet!”
“No, I’m not either of those things. I’m just –”
“You’re a commoner then?” she interrupts. “Ah, how fortunate you are to be able to sit next to His Majesty! Wait a moment. Are you perhaps the commoner who led the Knights of Seiros during the war?” Byleth opens her mouth to answer, but Isabella has already continued on. “In that case, I have heard about you! You originally grew up among mercenaries, yes? What a fearsome fighter you must be. There was a rumor that you were supposed to be the next Archbishop, but I gather the Church found out something unsavory about you or your family that made you ineligible. Or maybe Lady Rhea has simply lost her regard for you over the past several years. But don’t worry. Either way, it doesn’t affect my opinion of you in the slightest, sweetie. It’s completely understandable to have some regrettable things in your past with your type of upbringing. If you are currently looking for work, I am sure my father would hire you if I were to give him a word on your behalf. We have rabble to deal with all the time – comes with the territory, you might say.”
Her words are interrupted by a snapping sound at the table. Dimitri’s table knife has broken clean in half. The lower part is still in his fist. He looks angry, scarily angry, and maybe even Isabella notices, because her eyes widen a little and she finally stops talking.
“You’re bothering us,” cuts in Felix. “Go away.”
Isabella laughs unconvincingly. “Ah, I know better than to intimidated by Lord Felix Fraldarius. At any rate, Byleth knows I meant no offense. Right, my dear?”
“I’m not offended,” Byleth says. She keeps her face neutral.
Isabella Jane Kleiman. The surname rings a bell. She suddenly realizes that this is a person from one of the most powerful noble houses of Faerghus – someone who Dimitri and the others will want to get along with politically, if not personally.
“You can have my seat, Lady Isabella,” she says shortly, rising from the table and taking her tray with her. “I’m done eating anyways.” It’s not even a lie. Her appetite has gone.
The others protest immediately, but she’s already stepped away and Isabella immediately takes her seat. Felix rises to follow her, but the others remain seated. Ashe and Ingrid look torn, as though they can’t decide if it would be ruder to follow Byleth or to stay. Dedue looks unhappy, but she knows he wouldn’t leave without his liege, regardless of his personal feelings. From this side of the table, she can’t see the faces of Annette, Mercedes, Sylvain, or Dimitri.
“You shouldn’t have left,” Felix says to her curtly after they’ve exited the hall. “She would have left our table eventually.”
Byleth shrugs. “She’s from a noble house. It’s probably in all of your best interests to at least make an effort to get along with her. And Dimitri will probably have an easier time fixing things with Duscur if her family isn’t actively trying to undermine him, right?”
“That doesn’t mean you needed to leave.”
“I’m not one of the leaders of the Church. I’m not even your teacher anymore. It’s more important that you all spend the time you have left at the monastery making connections with the people that can help you going forward.”
Felix stops walking and turns to face her. Startled, Byleth stops too. His arms are crossed, and he looks as if there’s something he wants to say but is having a hard time getting out.
“You not becoming Archbishop doesn’t mean you’re no longer important to us,” he says finally. “We… value your friendship. And the boar does, especially.”
Byleth stares at him. A familiar, hopeless hope soars in her chest at his words, but she squashes it down. Friendship. That was the word he had used when referring to Dimitri and her. That had to be enough.
Felix lets out a huff. “Never mind. Now I just sound like an idiot,” he says. “Anyways. I have half an hour before my next stupid meeting. Show me your newly repaired sword.”