Chapter Text
The Imperial Army would reach the monastery in three days. Upon the second hour of lying awake in her bed, Byleth decided to give up on sleep for the night and dressed in the dark. The moon was waxing; its light was more than enough to see by as she walked through the courtyard. Inside, she met only a few guards, who nodded to her as she went on her way. She intended to retrieve the rough plans she and Seteth had devised for their troop positions, in order to copy them into something more legible before they began briefing tomorrow. When she approached his office door she found it open slightly, the inside lit by guttering candles. Seteth sat at his desk, face partially obscured by the hand that propped up his head. The sight made her reluctant to enter, but her movement in the doorway seemed to catch his eye.
“Professor,” He said with soft surprise, straightening in his chair, “I didn’t expect to have any visitors so late, but please, come in.”
She complied, shutting the door softly behind her and hovering near one of the chairs opposite his desk. He’d been writing something. When he saw her looking at it, he laid his quill down over the words. She averted her eyes.
“I only came for the draft of our plans,” Byleth told him, looking around the stacks of papers and books that had taken over his usually tidy office, “Since I couldn’t seem to fall asleep I thought I’d make some cleaner copies for our meeting tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Seteth stood and she followed him to the bookshelf to his left, where he rifled through a few of the more organized stacks of papers to retrieve the ones she’d been looking for, “I would tell you to get your rest while you can, but I am afraid my advice would be somewhat hypocritical at the moment.” He offered the papers and a ghost of a tired smile to her. She took the papers and then hesitated, eyes tracing the tired lines under his eyes.
“Are you alright?” She asked, and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. It was the same gesture she’d watched Hilda do a hundred times, and to her mild surprise Seteth did not draw back from the contact.
“Just fine, considering the circumstances,” He laid a hand over her own, “It is always the waiting which is the hardest. We’ve made our plans, evacuated the civilians, and now we must wait.”
“It is difficult to be idle,” Byleth agreed, although she felt suddenly loath to leave for the library as she had originally intended. The soft light and weary look in Seteth’s eyes made him look vulnerable. “I’ve fought many battles, but I’ve never had to defend my home.”
“It is never an easy thing to have to do,” Seteth’s voice was soft and distant, he looked to his window for a few moments before turning back. He drew back his hand and unconsciously she did the same, “But there are few better causes to fight, I think.” Byleth did not have to ask him what he meant; there were not many things Seteth so highly valued. “In any event, I am glad to have had you here working to defend the monastery. With you, the Sword of the Creator, and the goddess on our sides, who knows? Perhaps a miracle will see us victorious.”
He smiled but the bitterness in it belied his words. Byleth wondered how such a man could be a devout believer and also a pragmatist. Though she held the power of a goddess bound within her, she found it difficult to believe in the possibility of divine intervention. Every step of her journey seemed to have been engineered, no matter how she tried to alter it. But it was not her own death she feared. She felt the weight of every sleeping and restless soul in the monastery.
Gently, she reached out and brushed the edge of her thumb against Seteth’s cheek, feeling the muscles jump and stutter under his surprise. But as she came to her senses and thought to apologize, he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes before he lifted a hand and covered hers. The air heavy and a fire starting low in her belly, Byleth slipped the papers in her hand back onto the bookshelf. She threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of Seteth’s neck as she pressed her forehead against his. She heard him inhale sharply, and then press his free hand against the small of her back, drawing them together.
Byleth had rapidly surpassed her boundary of experience, so she said nothing. Instead she focused on the pressure of Seteth’s hand on her back, and the unsteady rhythm of his breathing. The metal of his circlet was warm against her skin. She gently stroked the back of his neck and he shivered under the touch.
“I must apologize,” He squeezed her hand, “normally I am in better control of myself.” He turned to press a small kiss into her palm.
“Do you want me to go?” Byleth asked, a strange feeling hooking itself underneath her ribs. She was afraid to move in case it pierced her heart.
“It would be improper for me to ask you to stay. Although I have often found myself with too much time to occupy, it seems now I have too little to express myself properly.” He paused, arching suddenly with an inhale as her fingertips skimmed around the edges of his his high collar. She stilled her attention.
“What is it that holds you back?” The question seemed to surprise him. He tensed, clenching his jaw.
“Is it not enough to have the Imperial Army bearing down upon us?” Pulling back from her grasp she could see his face again, and felt a stab of guilt for the unhappiness she could see written upon it. “That the lives of my friends, my family, the very ground where the goddess was laid to rest are threatened by a heretic who lived among us for months-“ He broke off, his hand on her back balling into a fist before relaxing again.
“Of course,” Byleth murmured, and drew back. Seteth released his hand from her back and straightened. For a moment he looked like he might reach out again and then he was still, a frown carved into his face. “That’s all that matters now.” Brusquely she retrieved the papers from the shelf and left.
In the morning she brought three clean copies to their morning briefing with the knight commanders, and greeted Seteth with her usual friendly nod. He wordlessly returned the gesture and slipped a cup of steaming tea into her hands. The meeting was shorter than normal, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. The Imperial Army would reach the monastery in two days.