Chapter Text
Claude was always one to pick up on the little details. For example, he had been able to determine the true nature of the relationship between Seteth and Flayn; that Sylvain would flirt the day away to forget about the burdens of his crest, and that Raphael was secretly getting lessons from Hilda in the art of accessory making.
His desire to know the subtleties of his allies had even extended to becoming aware of their daily routines. This was not so he could exploit, scheme or trick, but rather a method of convenience and reassurance – a necessity during wartime. Just because a person was absent did not mean they had been kidnapped or killed by the enemies.
There were times where he would be confused by these details though, and as with back in his school days (when his main purpose gathering the details were for schemes), Byleth was the source of his greatest puzzlement. She was spontaneous, and didn’t stick to much of a routine. The closest she had to one was that she would use her Sundays as a day to wind down and do what she wished to do, rather than what she needed to do.
After a few weeks, he began to make notes of themes which would stick out to him. There were some things which made him raise an eyebrow through surprise and admiration. She would cover the entirety of Garreg Mach on her rest days. She would talk to everyone, and help them where necessary. It was a kind yet impressive gesture on her part. She would do this within about three to five hours, depending on how tedious the tasks she assisted in were.
She also spent much of her time in her room, at the graveyard, and in the cathedral. Her room and the graveyard he understood – everyone needed time alone, and her parents were laid to rest in Garreg Mach. But the cathedral? It was quite an anomaly, considering her non-religious upbringing, and distinct unawareness of the Church of Seiros until taking up her role as Professor.
Byleth was not pious, similar to the likes of Marianne, Seteth, or Flayn. Neither was she there to admire the interior like Ignatz, for she never really saw the point in the extravagance of the building.
One day, Claude decided to follow his Teach, to see what she was up to.
He was surprised as he lingered in the shadows at the back of the cathedral, looking as Byleth crouched down by the rubble and tossed a few of the stray stones back onto the large pile by the stained glass.
What shocked him more was her following activity. She was speaking to the counsellor in the room. She was handed a stack of notes, and with a soft smile on her face, she would tell the counsellor responses to each and every one of them. Though she was now physically one of the youngest in the army, she was wise beyond her years.
Then… he watched as she reached the bottom few notes. They were all written on the same colour of paper, and she would sigh as she handed them back without a response. She then took hold of a piece of paper (the same as the unanswered ones) and scribbled something down on it. She then handed that over, before sitting down on one of the pews and looking up at the ceiling for a while.
After about twenty minutes, she left.
Claude had felt a twinge of guilt in his chest when she walked past him, completely unaware of her presence. She had been helping out everyone in the Alliance army, even those who had defected from Faerghus and Adrestia. All who went to the counsellor received her guidance, and her advice would always be useful.
Had he, or anyone else, even considered that she would need support and advice too?
He made a decision there and then that he was going to provide her the support she had been giving to the others. If he had to rope the rest of the army into it, so be it.
Byleth was just as human as the rest of them, after all.
Straightening himself out, he entered the cathedral, and approached the counsellor. After a few moments persuading them that he was actually not there to leave a note, but instead wished to help ‘shoulder the burdens and worries of his allies’, he found himself with the unanswered notes… Byleth’s notes.
“May I take these? I wish to help as best as I can, but I may need some time to consider how best to support my friends...”
“If you wish, Duke Riegan. I have noticed that these notes have constantly gone unanswered, but perhaps you could provide a different insight.”
So, he made his way to his room with the notes, and set them out on his desk. He decided to first focus on the most recent note (he was actually quite surprised but relieved that Byleth had gone through the effort of dating them all…)
I believe this might sound petty, considering that we are at war with the Empire at the moment. When I was a mercenary, my father would help me with my hair. He would help to keep it under control, so it would not get in the way in battle, but he is no longer with the living, and I have no skill at managing hair. I have been finding it a hindrance when training as it is becoming longer and messier, and keeps getting in my face. That means it could be dangerous in an actual combat situation… I would appreciate some help.