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Byleth had never been one for grandiose speeches. Even as a child, his voice had been soft and quiet, but that had not mattered much. When people saw the Ashen Demon on the battlefield, they wouldn’t have time to listen to his words, even had he cared to utter any. He had become more accustomed to talking over the years, of course, flourishing as a teacher, and finding himself to be surprisingly good at giving advice to the students. But what was requested of him in his new role was something entirely different.
Despite being the archbishop, Byleth had no interest in holding sermons.
It had been a few months since the war had ended and Dimitri had been crowned king in Fhirdiad. A few months since Byleth had assumed his position as Archbishop, after Rhea had stepped down. Peace hadn’t been immediate, and Byleth had thrown himself into defeating those who slither in the dark – with the help of Hubert’s dying instructions – before truly taking up the mantle, but when everything had been said and done, he could no longer find excuses not to accept Rhea’s plea. It had been a surprise to him at first, that she should want to give up all her power to him, but after learning more about her, about the truth of how he had come to be, it had made sense. That alone might not have been enough to convince him to accept this position, but he had felt it was his duty. During the war, people had still been desperately praying to a goddess in the sky that was not where they had thought her to be. A goddess that was not anywhere, not really, at least not with her own consciousness. A goddess that had become part of him, so he may live. Twice. And so, he carried their prayers as a burden, even though he could not hear them. Becoming Archbishop felt like the best way to atone for what he had taken from the people. Atone…
“Professor? A word.”
Byleth looked up from his desk to see Seteth on the threshold to the door of his study, which had used to be Rheas. After a nod from the Archbishop, Seteth stepped closer: “It is almost time for your sermon. Is it ready?”
Byleth let out a sigh, looking glumly at the blank pages of paper in front of him.
“Ah. I see. Not today either, then.”
The younger man shook his head: “I am sorry, Seteth. I am no writer. And I… do not know what I should say. I have listened to you preach but… it feels right when you do it. Anything I could say feels…” Shallow. Wrong. Not what they needed or wanted to hear.
“I understand. It has been difficult for me, as well. Years of tales meticulously crafted by Rhea to protect us. Lies, as the late emperor would call them, but I cannot seem to fault the other Archbishop. I would have done the same in her shoes, to protect my family. Now, with you leading the Church, we have chosen to be more truthful. It is, however, rather difficult to strike a balance between speaking the truth, and not taking away people’s beliefs.”
Byleth nodded in relief at Seteth’s words. He knew the older man understood him. In many ways, they were in a similar boat, left to pick up the pieces of Rhea’s life’s work which had led to a five-year war and bloodshed, even if she had not been the one to pick up her sword first. Not this time.
“Thank you, Seteth”, he finally said.
“There is no need to thank me. It is my duty, as well. Though I hope you will attend, the people should see you.”
“I know. It will raise morale.”
Seteth appeared to hesitate at that reply, then nodded and turned to leave: “See you then.”
When he reached the door, he turned back once more: “And, Professor? We are no longer at war.”
Byleth watched the other man leave and breathed out another sigh. Sometimes that was hard to believe.
***
Byleth arrived in the main hall of the church building about fifteen minutes later.
At this point, due to the diligent work of the Knights of Seiros, there was barely any sign left of the damage Edelgard’s armies had done to the building. The altar was restored, as was the floor and the ceiling. Only the stained glass windows were still a work in progress, though their re-design was in the hands of a capable artist from the former Alliance territory, so it was only a matter of time until all that remained from the destruction were scars in the stone pillars holding up the structure.
Seteth had already begun speaking, but Byleth’s late arrival had been on purpose. That way, he could stand in the back and watch. People would still see him, and he could nod at them, maybe even offer up a smile to the children who smiled and waved at him, but people would quickly shift their attention back to Seteth and his speech. It was a powerful sermon as always. Somber, but hopeful, and with the right shifts in volume, pitch and intonation to draw attention when necessary and move the spirits of the churchgoers. For those in the know it was easy to tell that while the contents had shifted slightly, Seteth had been doing this for centuries. Byleths familiarity with the voice and the words was the only reason he really managed to pull his gaze from the man preaching at the altar, and instead to let his eyes wander around the hall, taking in everyone here. Townspeople, knights, staff, children, orphans, teachers, his new students at the newly reopened Garreg Mach Officers’ Academy….
And him. His knight. That was where Byleth’s eyes came to rest.
Gustave was standing in the back of the hall as well, observing the room just as Byleth had done. He was wearing his usual mixture of armor and priestly looking clothes, even though he had never been part of the clergy, not truly. Part of the church, yes, in his time in the Knights of Seiros, and even more so now, as he had vowed to protect the new Archbishop…. And his smile. The thought alone brought a small smile to Byleth’s lips. Maybe that was why he insisted on wearing armor even now, at a sermon. To protect. Maybe it was for the better. Byleth had no doubts that the older man would take an arrow or a sword or any spell for him without hesitation, and if that was the case, he preferred Gustave to have a layer of protection between himself and any such threat.
But no. No harm would come. We are no longer at war.
There gazes met, and Gustave’s features softened, looking at him, though the beginnings of a smile turned into a frown, possibly as a reaction to Byleths own expression. It was still difficult to read other people, but Gustaves face and demeanor had become so familiar to him in the past year, that he had become an exception. Worried, Gustave walked over to Byleth, careful to move quietly. It worked. Byleth’s gaze wandered to the older man’s shoes, which he found to be made of leather, not armor. Well, maybe this was as close to relaxed as his choice of clothes was going to get. Not that Byleth could talk, being in full Archbishop regalia.
Gustave reached Byleth and the two of them walked a few steps farther to the back and to the side, coming to a halt behind a wide pillar so that they could talk without bothering Seteth or the churchgoers.
“I am alright. I was just… thinking. Do not worry yourself, Gustave.”
Taken aback, the knight, who had just opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. Then he smiled, and Byleth felt a small tug at his unbeating heart. A welcome pressure he felt only when he looked at this man, heard his voice, or saw his smile.
Gustave bowed quickly, and then spoke in a soft, low voice: “You have seen through me, your Grace. I suppose I could not help but worry when I noticed a frown on your lips. I have known you to very observant, and a sign of disapproval at the sermon, or someone sitting on the church’s banks was not something I would have wanted to ignore.”
“Disapproval?”, Byleth asked, remembering what he had been thinking about at the time. Well, he did disapprove of the thought of Gustave getting needlessly hurt… or some unknown enemy attacking during a church service in general.
“Please forgive me if I have misread your demeanor, your Grace. I suppose, while my heart has found peace, my instincts still suspect danger around any corner”, Gustave continued, and Byleth almost felt like he himself had spoken.
“I… feel the same way. It is… difficult to unlearn.”
Gustave nodded solemnly: “It is. And while I wish to tell you to be at ease, always, I cannot bring myself to advise you to completely let go of your vigilance.”
“I could not”, Byleth agreed, “even if you did. … But it is comforting to know that we feel the same.” He mustered a smile again, at that, and the older man mirrored the expression: “We do, in many things”, he agreed, “and I am glad of it. As I am glad to see I have not failed in my duty.”
“Your duty?” Byleth cocked his head.
“Your smile. It returns.”
Byleth let out a soft laugh, before biting his lip and looking around the corner of the pillar they were standing behind, but nobody was paying any attention to their quiet conversation, all eyes fixed on Seteth instead. With a relieved sigh, he straightened his spine and looked at his knight again, who had just started to change the topic: “If I may be so bold, your Grace… I came to this service in the hopes that today I would hear you speak.”
“You come to every sermon, Gustave.”
The older man cleared his throat, at which Byleth’s smile returned once more.
“That… may be so. But my hope still remains.”
Byleth nodded: “I know. And I know I should, that it would be… the right thing to do? But I have not been able to find the words. And speaking someone else’s words is not something I feel I can do.”
Gustave nodded: “I understand, your Grace, and I hear your reservations. I still believe that it would be good for the people to hear you address them in a service, to hear you preach. It is no question that your students, old and new, look up to you as their teacher who is wise beyond his years, but everyone else in the newly united Kingdom of Faerghus is looking up to you as well, as their new spiritual leader.”
“I know”, Byleth repeated, “I know this, Gustave. But therein lies the problem. I… do not know how to be… anything spiritual. I was raised with no knowledge of the Church, and while I learned a lot as teacher here… and lived even more… it still sometimes feels like a foreign world to me. And that is not something the Archbishop should feel, is it? That is not very… inspiring.”
Gustave hesitated, then replied, softly laying his hand on Byleth’s shoulder, which send a wave of warmth through the younger man’s body: “With all due respect, your Grace, I wholeheartedly disagree. The people are already inspired by you. By your actions and your presence…. You may not have been raised with education on matters of religion or rhetoric, but that is not why you are loved. The people want to hear you speak your truth. They want to listen to the man who saved their king and ended the war, the man who inspired the heroes who saved countless lives, who are now turning out to be the pillars of a changing society. They want to hear the voice of the man, who, despite everything, stays humble, thinks of the people first, wracks his head with the logistics of taking in as many war orphans as possible, raising them with opportunities and an education, keeping them fed and cared for… they just want you, Byleth.”
Byleth. His name. It felt so good, hearing it. Not being ‘Professor’ or ‘Your Grace’, just…
“Loved, am I?”, he replied, taking a small step closer, unable to process all the praise showered on him during Gustave’s own little sermon. Looking up to him, he reached out and softly touched his arm.
“This is what you reply to, then?” the older man sighed in exasperation, evoking the tiniest hint of sly smile from Byleth, then he replied: “You are, your Grace.” And then, softly, gently: “You know you are.”
In a breach of decorum, just listening to the feeling of pressure in his chest, Byleth leaned up and forward, closer to the other man’s face: “Would you call me Byleth again?”
A soft blush spread over Gustave’s cheeks, causing him to turn away, muttering: “I… I apologize if I did, your Grace. That was improper of me, especially here, especially now.”
“Don’t apologize. … you said the people just want… Byleth. Do you believe that to be true?”
Gustave turned his head back towards the younger man, looking him in the eyes. There was a certainty in his gaze, that conflicted with Byleth’s own anxiety. “I have no doubts, your Grace. They do.”
“And do you?”
Byleth expected Gustave to pull away at that question, but instead he leaned forward, touching his forehead against the younger man’s, mirroring his previous words in a low, breathy voice: “You know I do.”
That was when Byleth shifted his weight onto his tiptoes and pressed his lips against Gustave’s, drowning out the sermon, the knowledge of their location and the weight of his own worries, just existing as Byleth for a moment, kissing the man he loved.
The moment was short-lived, however, as Gustave pulled away, putting a hand between their faces, fingers rough from decades of wielding an axe brushing Byleth’s lips.
“… Your Grace. We cannot. …Not here. I…”
“…yes… of course. I’m sorry.”
The discomfort on Gustave’s face felt like a pit in Byleth’s stomach. Of course the devout knight would think this to be improper. And while nobody should be able to see them where they were hidden, they were still in a hall full of people, with Seteth preaching about the goddess in the background. The goddess who would be watching, according to Gustave’s beliefs, even if nobody else was.
“We should… probably return to listening to the service. I will think about what you said to me and work harder at writing a sermon that feels… right to present to the people.”
Gustave nodded in reply, and Byleth pulled away from him, letting go of his arm and turned away.
As he made his first step to walk back out behind the column, he felt rough fingers lightly brushing his own, and then a big hand holding his. When he stopped to turn back, confused, Gustave pulled him back against him, his free hand now on Byleth’s neck, cradling his head as he kissed him. His lips, like his hands, were rough, but the way they were moving was gentle. Byleth kissed him back in kind, his fingers intertwining with Gustave’s, and his free hand resting on the older man’s sides, fingers now curling into the fabric of his robes as Byleth pulled himself closer, so that their bodies were pressed against each other. The way he leaned into the older man would have caused almost anyone to stumble backwards, but Gustave could be like an immovable object if he wanted to, and it seemed he did not want to be even an inch apart.
And so, they kissed. Everything, all the sounds in the world falling away again, the only thing Byleth heard, or felt, rather, was Gustave’s heartbeat through the pulse he could feel through his hand that was pressed against his own. He was distantly aware that the service would end soon, and that they had better pull apart and pretend they had just been standing there, listening like good devout members of the church the whole time. They would stand up straight and would probably look like schoolboys caught doing something they shouldn’t. He could almost imagine the scolding Seteth would give them, if he knew.
But for now, for just a bit longer, Byleth allowed himself to bask in the presence and the touch of the man who loved him. In this wonderful, blissful moment free of all decorum and duty, Byleth allowed himself to be Byleth, knowing that with Gustave, that was all he needed to be.