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“You’re turning in early.”
Seteth pauses for a moment as he disrobes, his fingers lingering by the buttons of his tunic. “Am I?”
“You are.” Byleth shifts on their bed and gently closes the book in her hands. “You’re usually trying to sneak in extra paperwork at this time.” Rather unsuccessfully, she could add, because she always confiscates it as soon as she sees it so that her husband doesn’t stay up too late. He has a bad habit of that, and it always makes her laugh when he questions why he’s so tired all the time. “Any particular reason why?”
“Yes, actually.” He turns to her as he starts undressing again, practiced fingers sliding button after button through the holes. One, two, three, and then he is sitting on the bed next to her, nuzzling her hair and kissing her cheek. “A certain special someone has been giving their mother more trouble than usual lately, and I thought I could do something about it.” Subconsciously, she caresses the swell of her belly, already heavy with their child. She’s not too far long, just far enough for it to be apparent but most likely not enough to warrant the loose robes she’s already taken to wearing. “Isn’t that right?” he asks, bending down to kiss her belly. “Not even born yet, and you are already quite troublesome…”
“Unfortunately,” she laughs.
“There is an ancient Nabatean remedy that worked wonders for Flayn’s mother. Hopefully, it will do the same for you, but I must gather the ingredients first. I figure that it will be best to do so before the day properly starts.”
“Aw, Seteth…” She gives him a peck on the lips. “You’re the best. Thank you.”
“I am happy to do it, my love.” He softly returns her kiss. "Anything for you."
He rises early that morning, when the sun is just beginning to drip over the horizon and Byleth considers it too cold to sleep alone. Every time he comes within reach, she grabs at his hand and pulls him back, urging him to come back to bed and keep her warm and telling him that she can wait until later for the medicine. He chuckles, a gentle, warm sound that makes her forget the chill for a moment, and pulls away with hushed reminders that he has to go, he must go, for her sake. With a frown she argues again that she can wait, and then he climbs back into bed with her for a brief kiss and embrace, before leaving her wearing his nightshirt (still rather warm and cozy from his body heat, and much too big for her) over her nightgown, and several more blankets tightly tucked around her as she drifts back to sleep.
She watches him withdraw one herb from the satchel, then another. And another, and another, and another, one wild tangle after the other, like a miniature forest that his hand will surely get lost in-
“Baby, are you sure we need this much?”
He blushes at the pet name, right to the tips of his ears peeking out from his hair- he always has, no matter how many times she uses it- and his hands falter before finally setting the bag down on the table. From what she can see from their bed, there’s still an abundance of plants inside it. No wonder he left so early to gather them.
“I have no doubt that we do. These are not only to help ease your discomfort, but also to fortify and protect both you and the baby.” He crosses the room with a few swift strides and sits down next to her, the bed gently dipping with his weight. It’s a comfortable feeling, one that she’s familiar with. “I took the liberty of procuring ingredients for other medicines as well. I think you will find them beneficial.”
“That’s very sweet of you, but right now I think I only need the one for morning sickness.” She reaches up and caresses his cheek, feeling how the smoothness of his skin gives way to the pleasant scratchiness of his beard.
With a smile, sweet and gentle, he turns his head to lay a kiss on her palm, and cradles her hand with his own. “Of course, dear. How are you feeling right now?”
“Not too bad, but it usually gets worse before it gets better.”
“I see. I will prepare the remedy for you now, then.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead and cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Wait just a moment for me?”
“Of course,” she nods, and he goes back to his countless herbs and plants while pulling his hair back into a ponytail and rolling up his sleeves. His chosen outfit for today is much more casual than his usual attire, a simple white shirt with dark brown pants that fit him snugly and highlight his form so well as he stretches and bends to reach his tools and ingredients. The fact that he has medicinal skills was a surprise to her when she found out, but a welcome one; she loves to watch how efficiently he works the mortar and pestle and combines the ingredients more as if guided by instinct than recipe. Even more lovely is the look of concentration that he gets, similar to his normal frown but with a hint of determination in it that’s so endearing this morning, knowing that he’s doing this for her.
The tea is soon finished, and when he brings it to her, sitting next to her once again, she snuggles up quickly into his arms and nearly makes him spill it. “Careful, dearest,” he murmurs, holding the cup and saucer high and steady as she makes herself more comfortable. The added layer of his nightshirt and the extra blankets still can’t compare to how warm he is. “I will admit that the taste certainly leaves something to be desired, but I think its effects will more than compensate for that.”
“As long as it gets rid of this insufferable nausea, that’s fine by me.” She rests her head against his shoulder as he passes the cup to her, a delicate little porcelain thing long kept by the Church of Seiros for the Archbishop’s use. There are tiny dragons painted on it, green and blue and pink and gold, all frozen by the artist’s delicate lines of paint in mid-flight. When she turns the cup, they almost seem to move, and when she lifts it to her lips they soar.
“Perhaps you should not be so hasty in your judgement,” he says, his tone half-amused, half-warning as she tilts her head back and drinks deeply. Moments later, she reels forward, nearly spitting the tea out.
“‘Something to be desired’ is putting it lightly!” she coughs, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She doesn’t even have to look to know that he’s frowning a little at the bad habit (one which he insists is not befitting of the Archbishop, especially considering the fact that it’s led to the staining of several of her pure white dresses). “It’s so bitter. Are you sure this will help?”
“Positive.”
“Hm.” She grimaces down into the cup. “I’m not sure if it’s worth it.”
“It will be.” He kisses her cheek, then cradles her hand in his and pushes the cup back towards her lips. “Come now, drink.”
“If it doesn’t work, I’ll make you drink a whole cup of this.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckles, his laugh warm and throaty, and she can feel it reverberating in his chest. It makes her want to hum in contentment. “What, pray tell, will my fate be on the off chance that it makes things worse?”
“Two cups,” she asserts, and his hand is gentle but strong as he helps guide the cup back to her lips. She squeezes her eyes shut, for the taste itself is making her even more nauseous. Fortunately, the sensation passes after a few moments and all she feels is the warmth of his embrace and the way his muscles stretch and curve as he turns to set the cup down on their bedside table, stilling the dragons in their flight.
When he turns back to her she settles in a little more comfortably, resting her head on his chest, and breathes in his scent, his essence, him . Usually he smells faintly of the ocean and evergreens and whatever soap he’s taken to using lately (currently lavender and chamomile), but beneath it there’s always a faint hint of a sweet, smoldering fire, vaguely reminiscent of the wyvern stables. Today he smells more of the earth and herbs than anything, but the fire that she loves (and constantly associates with him now) is still there beneath.
She’s not sure how much time has passed when she feels his voice rumbling again in his chest, warm and reassuring as always, but oh, how she hates what he’s saying. “There is work to be done, dearest.”
“There’s always work to be done. Can’t I wait until I’m sure that awful drink worked?”
He tucks some of her hair back behind her ear, his touch soft as a bird’s wing as the tips of his fingers kiss her skin. “I would not dream of asking you to rise before you are well. Rest assured that I will take on what of your work that I can. There is no need for you to trouble yourself.”
“You have enough work already without taking on mine,” she grumbles, sliding her arm around him securely. “Stay with me.”
“Then we shall both be behind.”
“We’ll be behind together.”
He laughs again and caresses the swell of her belly. It’s decidedly cute, she thinks, how he’s always wanting to touch or rub or kiss it as if it’s the most enchanting thing he’s ever seen. Even when they sleep at night, one of his hands rests protectively upon it. She never expected him to be so openly excited about this, considering his generally stoic nature, but his enthusiasm is incredibly ill-contained in the sweetest way.
On the day they discovered she was with child, at least half of the monastery, if not more, heard from him personally that she was pregnant because he insisted on bringing it up in nearly every conversation. Flayn was even more excited than he was that day, and is still absolutely thrilled about the prospect of a younger sibling. She’s done everything she can to be involved, from ensuring that Byleth will have a proper wardrobe for the coming months to submitting a near terrifyingly long list of baby names after only a week of knowing (the fact that it also consisted mostly of fish-related names was, to be honest, impressive).
“You know, even if we remain in bed, we can still-”
“Shh.” She lazily throws her hand up, using it to haphazardly cover his mouth and a good deal of the rest of his face. “Don’t make me think about work right now.”
“There is the matter of-”
“Shh. Shhhh.” She drags her hand down his face repeatedly, smushing his nose, as many times as it takes for him to take the hint and sigh in defeat.
“Very well. I will be quiet.”
“You don’t have to be quiet, baby. Just don’t talk about work.” She readjusts herself, her cheek rubbing against his chin as she does. His beard is a bit ticklish, as always, and it draws a quiet laugh from her.
“Did I say something amusing?”
“Your beard tickles.”
“Does it now?” There’s a certain tone to his voice, halfway between amused and mischievous. It means he’s plotting something, she knows.
“It does.”
“You know, that information could potentially be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“Dangerous how-?” Her question is cut off when he suddenly rubs his beard against her cheek, tickling her even more and making her shriek with laughter. “Seteth!” HIs hands join in on the attack too, and she laughs and kicks at him, trying to get away. “Betrayed by my own husband! I can’t believe it!”
“It is a sad truth,” he laughs, finally relenting and gathering her tightly into his arms. Laying like this, she can feel his heartbeat against her back. It is a sensation that was always unfamiliar to her throughout life, and one that she was fascinated with in other people. Even so, she never imagined how enchanting it would be when the heartbeat belonged to someone she loved so much, and loved her in turn. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“I might be able to find it in me. Maybe if you cuddle me now and give me a back rub later…”
“I think I can manage that.”
“Good,” she smiles, and there’s a moment of silence, cozy and warm. “You know, if you had kept that up I would have gotten sick all over you.”
“Oh, dear. I apologize. I admit that I forgot all about that. How are you feeling?”
“Better, actually. I think your tea is working. Thank you.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He kisses her cheek and cuddles her a little more tightly, just the way she likes it. It makes her feel safe and secure, but more importantly it keeps her nice and warm.
Eventually she shifts, wriggling a little out of his grasp, even if she is reluctant to do so. “I feel better, baby. I guess we should get up…”
“Yes, I suppose we should.” He presses his lips to her forehead, then to her own lips, and then down to her belly, where he lingers for a moment, resting his hands comfortably on either side. “You have made me happier than I can say, Byleth.”
“Aw,” she smiles, reaching down to stroke his hair. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you too,” he says, and his voice makes her feel warm, just as warm as his embrace, just as warm as his love.