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Seteth was nothing if not dutiful.
As his footsteps echoed in the empty cathedral, he allowed his shoulders to settle ever so slightly after such a long day of work. It was here he’d pray nightly for the turn of the war, the safe return of the Knights of Serios, Rhea, and for the safety of Flayn. They’d always start as such, reverent prayers murmured in empty halls, with nothing but the moonlight from the battered Cathedral wall to judge his failings. Even now, as he lowered himself to his knees at the massive pile of rubble in the once pristine place of worship, he felt his thoughts slip to Byleth.
How he ached at the thought of her skin beneath his fingertips. Five years he’d searched.
Waited.
Yearned.
It was never enough, and yet he remained dutiful. There would always be a place for her here if she returned - when she returned- and he would be here waiting for her. Not as the advisor to the woman Rhea had entrusted the church to - No. He would wait as the terrified man he was, so crippled by the love he felt that the mere thought of conceding to the notion that Byleth was truly lost was too much to bear.
So he prayed.
While it was true that he wished for these other things, no stranger to their importance, these were things that Fodlan needed.
But what did he need?
Byleth’s mint hair tickling his cheeks as she loomed over him from behind, chastising him for working so hard. The taste of his favorite tea on her lips as they snuck kisses throughout the day like youth avoiding adults. The lingering warmth of her skin on his as they stopped time within their bedchambers. The feeling of Flayn nestled between them while they read. The feel of her fingers intertwined with this. Things that had happened or could happen.
As blasphemous as it was, he needed his Goddess. The battle-hardened, stoic woman that only smiled for him. She was more than a vessel, more than a placeholder for Sothis. She was more than a professor and more than a mercenary.
She was his.
And he was hers.
The prayers came easier when he accepted this selfishness. All he could do was endure these problems, this regret, these emotions, and hope. The words tumbled out of his mouth, reverent prayers from trembling lips as he prayed. The stone floor was cold and hard on his knees, but he was used to the sensation. The ground was unforgiving, and his life stripped of the warmth that Byleth had brought him. Everything felt cold unless he was with Flayn. Even then, there were some wounds even his daughter could not heal, despite being Cethleann herself.
Time passed, and soon the words faded, leaving him alone in silence once again. His whispers had died down to little more than a pitied rumble for life to improve. There was so much riding on him. The weight he carried made him groan in protest, much like his knees - stiff and unforgiving from the locked position - as he stood to return to his chambers for the night. Another day was now over, and yet he felt no wiser for it. He was a caged bird, no longer willing to fly without a song to sing or someone to sing for.
Seteth brushed off the front of his robes, inhaling and exhaling slowly as he turned to exit.
He stopped immediately in his tracks, seeing a silhouette in the door that led outside. Silver light streamed around them, the moon providing what would have been an ethereal backdrop, if not for the sinking pit in Seteth’s stomach. He was alone, with no weapon, in the middle of the night. The closest individuals were a building away.
The figure didn’t move.
At first, he wondered if it was a statue, and that he’d been pranked. He wouldn’t have put it past Claude if he were still here at the Monastery. Stars, if any of them were still here. Steeling his resolve, Seteth balled his fists and narrowed his eyes. “Who is there?”
The figure moved out of the doorway, the light no longer washing out their features. Recognition flooded over him as Seteth felt his sore knees wobble slightly. All of the breath left his body, and he struggled for air as Byleth stepped forward, eyes locking with his. Oh, Goddess, everything about her was just as he’d remembered. Every feature of her face had been burned, branded, onto his mind, leaving little room for imagination. He’d spent so many hours watching her, memorizing every detail - It was her. There was no mistaking it.
“It’s… it’s you.” His voice shook, be it from shock or awe.
Perhaps a bit of both.
Much like his love she had endured. She was here, standing before him in the shell of the cathedral. Standing before the shell of a man he’d become.
War had battered him, so many hours, days, and nights of planning. She looked…
Perfect. Stunning. Just as beautiful as the day he’d lost her.
Her eyes watched him approach, face devoid of emotion as before, but Seteth knew. He could read the signs. The slight turn of her lip, the way her eyes watched him instead of the potential exits… Everything in his body urged him to speed up his pace, but he was unable.
After what felt like another five years, Byleth broke the silence. “It is me.”
The haze in his mind continued to lift as Seteth closed the distance, only a few paces away from her now. The selfish thoughts returned. Winning the war. Finding Rhea. Living life in peace with Byleth - Loving her selfishly. Their eyes locked as he crossed the remaining distance between them, arms engulfing her in a crushing embrace, his face nestled into the crook of her neck, mint hair tickling his face. “I cannot tell you how much I have missed you, Byleth.”
Her hands rose to wrap around him as well, arms he’d seen slice through battalions, muscles used to stab, slice, and cut their way through all opposition. Did she fight to reach him? Hope swelled within him, warming him from the bottom of his feet to the tips of his ears, threatening to overflow through his eyes - the hot tears dripped down his cheeks, onto her hair and shoulder.
He could feel her petting his hair, smoothing it out as she tried to soothe him. “I endure.” She murmured, fingertip grazing his ear and down his jawline to cup his face. Had it not been in the silence of the evening, he might have missed her whisper. “We endure.”
Their lips pressed together, and Seteth had never felt more devout.