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Chapter Text

Ignatz.

Byleth shook her head as she gently grasped the abandoned paintbrush. It wasn’t the first time she had stumbled across some trinket that one of her students had lost, and it wouldn’t be the last. Theft at Garreg Mach was relatively rare, but that only seemed to encourage her students to be careless with their belongings. In fact, this carelessness seemed to afflict more than just the students. She hoped that she never became so lax – not that she had many possessions to leave strewn about.

She inspected the brush as she debated her next move. She had been on her way to the Dining Hall to meet Hilda and Marianne for lunch, but she had just seen Ignatz upstairs in the Library. She could backtrack and return the brush before continuing to lunch. It wasn’t far out of her way, but she would have to hurry. Hilda may not care if her professor turned up late, but she didn’t want Marianne to think that she had abandoned them.

On the other hand, there was no guarantee that Ignatz would remain in the library if she waited, and it would likely take more time to locate him later than to make a brief diversion now.

Byleth turned abruptly and dashed back to the stairs, taking them two at a time.

 “Hello!” a monk exclaimed as she swung out of the stairwell. Byleth spared her a polite nod and continued at a jog down the hall.

Truth be told, she enjoyed going about her daily life at a jog. While much of her past was a haze, this motion – this instinct to run – felt familiar. Perhaps she had run about their mercenary encampments as a child, completing small chores and relaying messages. Whatever it was, it was something she hadn’t grown out of, however old she was supposed to be now.

It didn’t particularly wind or tire her, either. Nothing did, really. It was, perhaps, the only silver lining to the otherwise terrifying secret that was her still heart. She wasn’t sure where the limits of her exhaustion lay – or what would happen to her if she reached them – but she was sure that she would be able to push herself to the brink without any noticeable effect. It was convenient for battle, but that was a trial she wanted to avoid, if possible. She would have no warning until she crossed that line. She had to be mindful. But running about the monastery was certainly harmless.

She ignored a sharp gasp as she flew by an open door, until it was followed by a more admonishing “Professor!”

She turned, mid-stride, to face the source of the voice and slowed to a halt. “Yes?”

Seteth stood in the doorway of his office, clutching a leather-bound ledger protectively to his chest. His ledger quickly dropped to his side as his alarm dissolved into reproach. He continued to glare at her, as if expecting something. She stared back blankly. She didn’t have time for this.

“Well.” Byleth took a small step back in the direction she had previously been heading. “If there’s nothing, I was in a bit of a hurry…“

Seteth’s glare broke into a disappointed sigh. “I realize that you are new to the monastery, Professor, but I should not have to tell you that running in the hallways is strongly discouraged.”

Byleth stopped her retreat, bringing her boots together with a faint click. “Oh.”

She fiddled with the sleeve of her coat as she considered this. Admittedly, she didn’t have the most formal upbringing, but her tendency to dash about had never been a problem before. She got things done much faster, which she would have expected Seteth to be pleased about. Her father had certainly never said anything about it, though that didn’t mean much.

She forced her fingers to release her sleeve. “Why?”

Seteth stared at her as if she had grown another head. “W- Well, it’s dangerous.”

Hardly. Byleth felt her head tilt in confusion. This was a war academy, after all.

Seteth’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “Take this hallway, for example." He flapped his free hand at their surroundings. "You could collide with someone as they rounded a corner or exited an office…”

“Oh,” Sothis mused. “So that is why he looks so flustered.” She giggled. “You must have given him quite the scare.”

“…Or” – was that a hint of blush on his cheeks? – “the infirmary. In any case, such a collision could result in destruction of property or even injury.”

Byleth supposed he had a point. Her reflexes were fast enough that she could usually avoid such a collision, but she wouldn’t want to risk injuring her students. She gave him a curt nod. “All right. No running in locations with poor visibility around corners.”

She was surprised when his eyes closed in frustration. “No, that is not…”

Now she was well and truly confused. Had he not said to avoid running in the halls because of the danger posed by blind corners? Her fingers found her coat sleeve again.

“It is also disruptive and disrespectful to others. Others who may be working, or worshiping.” He blanched. “Please restrain yourself from running in the Cathedral. Or the Audience Chamber.”

Something in her relaxed at his scandalized expression. Byleth's sleeve slipped easily out of her fingers as she crossed her arms and tapped her chin thoughtfully. This was becoming quite a list. “So, no running in hallways, where people are working, in the Cathedral, or in the Audience Chamber?” She paused, thankful for her eternally deadpan expression. “How will I know if someone is working or not? Do I ask them before I approach?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Best just to assume that there are certain places where people are likely to work - places like offices,” his frustration bled heavily into his voice. “Or the library.”

Maintaining her look of pleasant innocence was starting to become a challenge, although it was one she was more than capable of meeting. She tilted her head again, mimicking her earlier movement. “What about training? I would consider that to be ‘work.’ Should I refrain from…”

“Perhaps –“ Seteth seemed surprised by his own frustrated interruption. He cleared his throat and continued with a strained patience.  “ Perhaps it is best to limit running to areas that are both sparsely populated and outside.”

Well, that was much more restrictive, but it was easier to remember. Still, she couldn’t resist one more question. “I assume there are exceptions for battles and other emergencies?”

“Obviously.” His voice cracked in frustration.

She considered for a moment more before nodding. “I… will try.” It would take some time to get used to.

In the distance, the monastery bells tolled the hour.

A dull panic set in as Byleth realized that she had become distracted. She was certainly going to be late for lunch now. She gave a small cough as she began backing away from Seteth. “Now, if you will excuse me, I was in a bit of a hurry.”

Seteth seemed to deflate in relief. “Of course. Have a good afternoon-“

Byleth turned and, in her rush, started down the hallway at a jog again, her coat billowing and swirling behind.

Seteth’s immediate admonishment came as a growl. “Professor!”

Right. She slowed herself to a brisk walk and waved her hand over her head in acknowledgement. She thought she heard a disgruntled “hm” behind her, but it was drowned out by the clear chime of Sothis’s voice.

“You cannot truly be so obtuse!” The green-haired girl floated along beside her. "Do you require a list of every room on the monastery grounds where running is not allowed? Every possible circumstance? Perhaps, a reminder every few steps?” Sothis graced her with her most patronizing glower as they rounded the corner. “You are still not to be running here, if that was unclear.”

Checking that they were alone, Byleth kept her hushed tone carefully neutral. “Well, he should have been more specific.”

“Hm.” Sothis scrutinized her expressionless face. She let out a gasp. “Could it be... that you were doing it on purpose? That it was all a ruse?” Sothis floated in front of her, squinting. “Could you have possibly enjoyed vexing that poor man?”

“No.” She hadn’t done it on purpose. Well, not at first. But he really made it too easy. Sothis’s eyes grew wide as one corner of Byleth’s mouth drifted into a mischievous smile. “Just a happy accident.”

Chapter Text

The figurine twirled lazily. The chimes from the music box slowed.

Flayn spun under her father’s arm once more and broke free, continuing to twirl. As the last note drifted from the box, she posed with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Seteth chuckled and applauded. “There now, what did I tell you?” His hand lighted gently on her hair as he knelt to be closer to her eye level. “The other contestants do not stand a chance.”

Flayn ignored the conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes and pouted. She hated when he crouched to talk to her like this. It was a reminder of how small she was, and she did not care for it. She broke from the hand on her head to collect the music box. It was hers, and they were in her private quarters, but she had brought it out from its home on her nightstand and she intended to return it quickly.

She turned back to Seteth, her arms gently cradling the music box. “Forgive me for not taking you at your word, Father, but you are hardly an impartial judge.”

He bowed his head, graciously accepting his defeat. “Perhaps you are right. However, I am, as well.”  He stood back up with a groan. “If you do not win the White Heron Cup, then I am a spritely youth of twenty-three.”

Her pout melted away. She was warmed by his faith in her, but, more importantly, she spotted an opportunity for mischief. She was a Deer now, after all. She scampered over and wrapped herself in a hug around his middle. “Do not say that, Father.” She looked up at him, her eyes shining in mirth. “You do not look a day over sixty.”

His gaze shifted from one of affection to mock outrage. “Sixty?”

She squinted up at his face. “Perhaps sixty-two.”

He craned his neck in an attempt to gain access to the mirror over her fireplace, but she held him in place. “I will have you know that most humans seem to think that I am in my thirties. Or my early forties, at the latest.”

Flayn’s suppressed fit of giggles boiled over. She released him from her hug and he wandered over to the mirror. “I know, Father, I am only teasing.”

“Hm.” He leaned close to the mirror, inspecting his face.

She sighed. Clearly, he was taking this far too seriously in order to get back at her for her jest. “I said that I was teasing. Now, if you do not mind, I am in need of my beauty rest. There are only three days left until the competition!”

“Beauty rest, you say? Perhaps I should get some of that.” He still inspected his face in the mirror, turning one way then the other.

Flayn began trying to shove him toward the door with her free hand. “Father, please!”

He sagged dramatically over her. “Alas, I am too old and weak to walk.”

The indignity of it all! He had the gall to treat her as a child when he behaved like this? She was clearly the far more mature one. “Get out of my room!” she squealed.

“Oh, very well.” She felt him turn and give her a peck on the top of her head before his weight lifted off of her. “Sleep well, Flayn.”

Flayn clutched the music box to her chest as he finally followed her instructions.

“Wait.”

“Yes?” Seteth looked back at her from the open doorway.

Flayn fidgeted nervously. “Would you mind terribly… helping me practice again tomorrow?”

He smiled – that smile that made her feel like she was the Sun in the sky. “Of course. At the same time?”

“Yes. Thank you…” She glanced at the open door. “…Brother.”

---

Seteth hummed the tune from Flayn’s music box as he arranged the new reports on the Archbishop’s desk.

It was not as if Flayn never spent time with him – far from it. However, she had developed an independent streak since coming to join him at Garreg Mach. And, while he made it clear that he was always available to help any problems she might encounter at the monastery, she more often kept him at arm’s length.

Oh, not for things that were serious or life threatening, like the secrets they worked so hard to keep hidden or the ever-present danger that accompanied them. But for things that were…frivolous. Normal. He could not remember the last time that she had come to him for help with something like that.

How long had it been since they danced together? She had been small, standing on his toes as he spun her around. Her high-pitched giggles had peeled out in a musical accompaniment. She had been so young. He supposed he had been, too.

When had she become better at dancing than he was?

As if echoing his sentiments, fond laughter rang out from the adjoining Audience Chamber, like the laughter of a mother indulging the antics of a favored child.

A laugh that was…unmistakably Rhea. But who…? Confusion painted his brow as Seteth stepped away from the desk to catch a glimpse of Rhea’s companion through the door.

Byleth?

He stared after them, one fist supporting his chin, as he tried to fit this new information into the sparse puzzle that was the Professor’s connection to Rhea. He knew that the Archbishop placed a great deal of faith in the Professor. A faith that – he now had to admit – was well deserved, if perhaps premature. It was clear that there was much that she would not tell him. But her plea that Byleth was to be trusted as the daughter of an esteemed former knight?

A flimsy excuse, at best. There was something far too affectionate, indulgent – familial? – about Rhea’s demeanor toward the professor.

He sighed, mentally adding the incident to the list of questions with which to prod the Archbishop if the opportunity presented itself.

Seteth started as the Professor’s eyes met his. She gave him a small nod.

How long had he been staring at them in silent contemplation? Absolute fool. What would you tell her, that you heard Rhea laughing and became suspicious? He resisted the urge to dart his eyes away from hers. Remain calm. You have every right to be present for the Archbishop’s public meetings. He returned her nod and, casually, shifted his attention down to his ledger, thumbing idly through the papers.

He could not help but look back up at the sound of the Professor’s boots clacking on the stone floor. Apparently, she had taken the brief interaction as an invitation, and was now making her way toward him. He suppressed the urge to sigh. Blessedly, she was not sprinting at full-speed through the Audience Chamber.

Blessedly.

Blessedly.

Had her walk always been so…sinuous?

A strangled noise tore out of Seteth’s throat.

Cold dread immediately washed over him. Please, Goddess, let her not have heard that.

He cleared his throat and crossed his arms defensively as she approached. Her face was wide-eyed and innocent, as always. If she had heard…whatever that noise was…she gave no outward sign of it. Not that he would expect her to.

“Professor.” He greeted her quickly, the word tumbling out of his mouth.

“Good afternoon, Seteth.” She blinked at him, waiting.

The last thing that he wanted to do after his gaffe was sit in silence. He needed a distraction. Say something. Not about Rhea. What were you thinking of before that? “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

He blinked. Indeed, for what? His mind slowly caught up with his mouth. “For…selecting Flayn to represent the Golden Deer in the White Heron Cup.” Perfect. He could feel his nerves calming already.

The Professor waved her hand dismissively. “No need. She was the obvious choice.”

Seteth’s chest swelled with pride. A small chuckle escaped him. “I have tried to express similar sentiments, but she has rightfully pointed out that I am somewhat biased.”

“I hope she’s not nervous.”

Seteth hesitated. “I believe that she is a bit nervous, but not overly so.”

The Professor stared into the middle distance, her brows drawn down in concern.

Seteth was startled by the unusual display of emotion. He felt as if he had spotted a reclusive animal in the wild. But at the same time, he had no desire to cause the Professor undue concern.

He spoke again, quietly, as if reluctant to interrupt her reverie. “It is…just enough to see that she continues practicing and arrives prepared. I do not believe that it is causing her any strain.”

At that, the concern fell from her face and her expression returned to its normal state. She met his eyes once more. “Good. As long as she doesn't go overboard. She doesn’t need the practice to win, anyway.”

Seteth raised an eyebrow. “Professor, that is the sort of sweeping confidence in Flayn that typically comes from me.”

She shrugged. “It’s not undeserved. You forget, I held that practice session with her after I selected her. She didn’t need it.”

“Still – “ Seteth was cut off by the Professor shaking her head. She leaned forward conspiratorially. He could not help but do the same. But only a little.

“She’s competing against Ferdinand and Sylvain.”

“Ha!” Seteth slapped a hand over his mouth as his surprised laughter echoed back at him. Both of those boys were nobles, and no doubt trained in the dancing styles of the court. But they could not hope to compare to Flayn’s presence and natural charm, no matter how highly Sylvain liked to think of himself.

He leaned back and tried to regain his composure. “Very well. Your confidence is perfectly justified. Of course, I concur.” He paused. “May I relay your reasoning back to Flayn? I suspect that she is more likely to take such sentiments to heart if they do not come from me.”

He could almost imagine that she was smiling, ever so slightly. “Please do.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you, Professor.”

She returned his nod. “Have a good day, Seteth. And give Flayn my best.” Then she was off.

Seteth let out his breath. Her billowing coat obscured her retreating form from view. He was grateful for that, at least.

He ignored the part of him that was not.

Chapter Text

Byleth wound her way through the growing crowd toward her herd of rambunctious Deer. She hadn’t spotted Flayn yet, but the rest of the students had made a plan to keep her company in the lead-up to the competition. Knowing her students, she wasn’t sure that it would have the intended effect.

Raphael’s voice boomed clearly over the din of the crowd. “She should eat something. She’ll need her strength for the competition!”

Leonie rebuffed him. “If she doesn’t want to eat anything, she doesn’t have to.”

“Guys, maybe we should leave her be.” Hilda’s high voice had an edge to it, the uncertainty in it a clear façade.

As Byleth closed the last few spans, she finally spotted Flayn through a gap in the milling mass of students. She huddled at a table in the midst of the crowd, her face drawn and nervous. Claude sat across from her, chatting with her animatedly. If he was trying to distract her, it didn’t seem to be working.

“Morning.”

Her students’ faces all swung around to her, several showing obvious relief. A scattered chorus of greetings sounded back at her.

She made her way over to Flayn’s table, looking pointedly around at the crowd. “May I have a moment?”

“Sure thing, Teach.” Claude gave her a tilted smile as he extracted himself from his seat across from Flayn. He and Hilda began shooing the other students away, following close behind.

Byleth dragged Claude’s vacated seat so that she could face Flayn without having the table between them and lowered herself into it. She wanted to know how Flayn was doing, but she didn’t think the girl would give her a straight answer at the moment. Flayn’s eyes were closed, as if to block out the ruckus around her. Her hands gripped her knees with white knuckles.

Byleth waited for the noise from the Deer to fade before she spoke. “I know they’re a lot. But they mean well.”

Flayn’s eyes fluttered open reluctantly but lingered on her knees. “I know,” she said in a small voice.

Seeing the girl so nervous made Byleth…strangely sad. Part of her wanted to wrap Flayn in a blanket and tell her that she didn’t have to do this. But she also knew that Flayn had nothing to worry about. She was sure to win as long as her nerves didn’t get the better of her.

Well, this was part of the professor gig, right? Come on, Teach, Byleth could almost hear Claude say. Time to break out the pep talk. Not one of her strongest skills, sure. But her blunt honestly seemed to have served her and her Deer well enough so far. “Did your brother tell you what I said?”

“He…did.” Flayn’s eyes slowly rose to meet her Professor’s, cautious but searching.

Good. She wouldn’t have to repeat herself. But, judging by Flayn’s hesitation, she didn’t fully believe it. Byleth leaned forward in her seat, her elbows on her knees. She filled her voice with as much confidence as she could, every drop of it true. “You have nothing to worry about. You could forget every step of the dance and you would still win.”

Flayn eyed her professor dubiously, but she seemed a bit steadier. “Professor, I hope that you are not suggesting that the judges are as biased as my brother.”

Byleth shook her head. “Dance however you want to. Pretend there’s no one else here. I’ll even keep the Deer quiet for you.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Flayn’s mouth.

Byleth paused, regarding the girl in front of her. A girl who loved her brother and tolerated his overprotective nature, but more importantly wanted to lead her own life. A girl who was already wise far beyond her years and wanted dearly to be respected and regarded as such.

She knew what Flayn needed to hear. “Anyone can have technique. You’ll win because of who you are: a delightful and charming young woman.”

Flayn hid her reddening face in her hands, but Byleth thought she could see a smile peeking out from behind her palms. She stayed silent until Flayn slid her hands down to cover only her mouth.

“Just be yourself, k– ” 

Byleth bit off her words. She must be channeling Jeralt more in dealing with these students than she thought, if she almost called her ‘kid.’ She mentally chided herself. This would be the worst time to treat Flayn like a child.

She needed to recover. She couldn’t end on a choked half-word. “I mean, don’t forget to dance at all,” she deadpanned.

Flayn’s joyous laughter filled the air. Her small hands closed around Byleth’s. “Thank you, Professor. I am sure I can at least manage that.”  

Byleth felt her own expression soften as she flipped her hands to enclose Flayn’s. “Now. How do you feel?”

---

“Class.”

A hush fell over her gaggle of students as Byleth assumed her typical pre-battle briefing stance, her arms akimbo with coat sleeves dripping from her elbows. Now that Flayn seemed steadier, it was time for Byleth to keep her promise. She would have to rein in the rest of her Deer.

“As you know, your mission today is support.”

Claude flipped her an easy, two-fingered salute.

“As in battle, the most effective support requires assistance without distraction.” She winced inwardly at her own bluntness. They had been trying to help, even if their attempts had fumbled. They just needed more specific instructions.

She softened her tone. “Of course, this isn’t exactly a battle. Your support will be rendered in two phases: prior to Flayn’s performance, cheer only when the crowd does and refrain from shouting. When her dance is over, then you can – and should – go wild.”

Claude chuckled. “You got it, Teach.”

“You can count on us, Professor!” Raphael boomed.

Leonie elbowed him. “We can keep it down.”

Their clamor of assent was cut short by Alois’s thundering voice. “The competition will be beginning soon! Contestants, come on down!”

Byleth’s eyes found Flayn where she stood with her brother. The girl ducked out of the hand he had gently placed on her head and filled it instead with her half-empty glass of water before flitting into the crowd. His gaze followed her as she disappeared, full of soft concern.

A twinge of pain stuck in Byleth’s chest. She rolled her shoulder. It was probably a pinched nerve or something. Years of training and fighting reared their heads at the strangest times.

“Come on! We need to find a good place to watch!” Hilda chimed.

Her Deer roared past her like rapids around a river stone. Only Claude looked back at her. “Are you coming?”

Byleth shook her head. Now that they knew what to do, she had the utmost faith that her students would be a perfect cheering section for Flayn. “Go ahead.”

Claude shrugged and turned to follow his classmates.

There was one more thing she needed to do – one person she hadn’t checked in with. She turned back to Seteth. He had schooled his face, but he was clutching Flayn’s abandoned cup like a lifeline.

She wasn’t exactly sure why he was so nervous. He had seemed to share her confidence in Flayn’s ability to win the Cup when she had spoken with him before. Maybe she could somehow remind him of that. Or maybe he just needed a distraction.

Maybe she could get him to make that noise again.

---

Seteth tensed as the clack of the Professor’s heels sparked him from his reverie. But he dared not look up at her approach, not after what happened last time. He kept his gaze trained on the spot where Flayn had disappeared into the crowd.

His ears pricked up as the clacking stopped beside him with an air of finality.

”Worried?”

He gave a rueful chuckle, relaxing just a fraction. “I suppose that is my natural state, is it not?”

Now that she seemed to be standing still, he risked a glance down at the woman beside him. She stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him, peering up at him out of the corner of her eye. Though her expression was as neutral as usual, the tilt of her head was curious, almost playful.

His gaze fell down to her shoulder, mere inches from his arm. But that brought his line of sight even with…

Seteth’s eyes darted away from her, searching the crowd for…anything else.

She let the silence between them stretch for a moment before breaking it. “About what? Not about Flayn’s performance, I assume.”

Hm? Oh, right. Somehow, she had managed to distract a tiny part of him from his concerns. “No, I have the utmost faith in her abilities. But with the state she was in this morning…” He paused, trying to hammer his nebulous cloud of worries into words as they came creeping back.

But that seemed to be enough of an answer for the Professor. “And how was she a moment ago?”

Seteth shook his head. Surely, she must know the answer to that already. “She is as confident as ever. I do not know what you said to her, but I am grateful.” He sighed. “Still, if she were to come down with another wave of panic now…”

“She’ll be fine. She can handle herself.” The Professor’s voice was soft.

Against his better judgement, he looked down at her once more. But she gazed out at the slowly clearing dance floor, her face as unreadable as ever. “I know,” he conceded. “And yet, I cannot help but worry.”

She hummed. “I wonder if you do.”

Of course, he knew. She was his own daughter. He opened his mouth to admonish her, but before he could, she continued in a tone as casual as if she was commenting on the weather. “I asked Sylvain to deliver her a message the other day.”

“I- You- Did what?” Seteth spluttered. His heart pounded in his ears. “You put her – deliberately! – in the path of that – that – “ This could not be happening.

The blue-haired woman was utterly unfazed. She regarded him out of the corner of her eyes once again. “Do you know what she did?”

He was dimly aware that he was jabbing a finger in her direction. “She was placed in your care – I placed her in your care – “ He desperately tried to order his thoughts, but they had all fragmented into shards.

“Apparently, she told him to stay away from her, insulted him, and ran off before he could deliver the message.”

“ – For you to protect her, and you…“ He trailed off as her response sunk in. “She- she did?”

“Mm.” The corner of the Professor’s mouth twitched, a hint of a smile that never appeared. She nodded. “But you’re right, you did ask me to protect her. And what better way to do that than by teaching her to protect herself?” Her eyes twinkled. “Unless you want me to neglect my teaching duties and follow her everywhere?”

 “No, I – ” He harrumphed. His practical instincts had kicked in at her mention of shirking her responsibilities. But the growing swell of pride in how his daughter had handled herself was slow to overshadow his horror at the Professor’s methods. “That may be true for matters of combat, but this…”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying that you aren’t concerned about her interactions with serial flirts?”

His eyes widened at that. “I-“ No, this was too much. She was taking his words and twisting them. He turned away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. This was not happening. She was not there. He took a deep breath, in and out. But when he spoke again, his voice was still strained. “That is hardly your concern.”

“Of course, it is. My class isn’t big enough to be picky about who she interacts with, especially in battle. Besides, all of my students need to be able to work well with each other and have the skills to do the same with future allies.”

Seteth clenched his jaw. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t fault her logic – and he would feel better knowing that Flayn was shrewd enough to spurn the advances of the unworthy – but… “Even still, Sylvain? That is too extreme.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. His reputation makes him a known quantity. I assumed you had already warned her about him…?”

He grunted in confirmation.

“And besides, he’s not exactly subtle. That combination made it a safe bet that she wouldn’t be taken in.”

Wait, did that mean that Flayn had actually listened to him? He had never been particularly confident that she was heeding his warnings about…certain students, particularly given how she usually brushed him off on the topic. “I suppose it should be a relief that she does listen to me on occasion,” he grumbled.

Well, that was not the only relief he felt, he admitted to himself grudgingly. It was good to know that she could rebuff the advances of Sylvain, of all people. The Professor had handed him an insight into Flayn’s affairs that he typically was not provided by his daughter, despite his efforts. But it did hurt that Flayn had not told him of this incident with the Gautier boy herself. Surely, she could have presented it to him as an example that she could handle herself, much as the Professor was doing now on her behalf.

No, he thought, his face heating. You would have gotten angry at the boy. You did get angry. She would have known that you would. He rubbed a finger across his eyebrow, sheepishly. Flayn was trying to protect him…and protect you.

He let out a sigh. “While this particular incident turned out well enough,” he said finally, turning his tired glare back to the woman at his side. “I would prefer if you would discontinue your little experiment.”

“Training exercises,” she corrected. “And no, I won’t. It’ll be good for both of you.”

He briefly considered removing Flayn from her class. But he knew his daughter wouldn’t hear of it. She could be stubborn; she got that from him. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had any better ideas on how to ensure her safety. Or, at least, none that she would be willing to go along with. His voice was strained when he spoke again. “Well, in that case, I will expect regular updates of your progress with this…supervised training.”

The Professor raised her eyebrows at that, her hand flying to her heart in mock offense. “The Assistant to the Archbishop is asking a professor to spy on the social affairs of one of her students?”

“It is not spying! It – “ Stop. Breathe. Why was speaking to her always like this? It was almost as if she was trying to get a rise out of him. Not that her deadpan expression or tone betrayed anything of the sort. “If it is a new training regimen,” he enunciated haltingly, determined to be the last word on the subject. “Then I expect you to keep me abreast of student progress.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Very well.”

Why did he get the feeling she was going to make him regret this?

“But there was one other thing.”

Oh, what could it possibly be now?

“Not that I’m a stickler, but I assume it’s also frowned upon for authorities within the church to spread rumors about its students.”

“…Yes.” He wasn’t particularly sure where this was going.

“Are you the one who told Flayn that Sylvain flirts with horses and chickens?”

He blanched. “Am I – No!” At least, he didn’t think so. But...why did that sound so familiar?

Oh no. He, ah, may have written a short fable for Flayn about the dangers of characters like that Gautier boy. Of course, instead of a red-headed human boy, it had technically been about a hare. A…red hare that shared the boy’s penchant for flirting. And, unfortunately, the hare had applied it, on several occasions, to other creatures that were not fellow hares. Horses and chickens, indeed.

Seteth cleared his throat. “This is simply a misunderstanding. You see – “

But his defense was cut short as Alois’s booming voice once more echoed over the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! My sincerest apologies for the wait. Thank you for gathering here on the eve of the highly anticipated ball…”

Thank the goddess, he was saved by the start of the competition. The competition. Somehow, the woman beside him had antagonized him so thoroughly that he had nearly forgotten about the Cup.

He frantically searched the crowd for his daughter’s verdant curls. His eyes found hers at the edge of the dance floor, where she waited with the two other competitors. She beamed at him, waving. Seteth felt his heart – and the tension in his shoulders – melt at seeing that her confidence hadn’t fled. He returned her wave with a smile of his own.  

---

Byleth’s hands were balled into fists. Flayn’s performance had already won Shamir’s vote, leaving Alois as the tiebreaker. He was a reasonable person, so, surely, he would vote for Flayn. But with every dramatic pause, Byleth’s frustration with Jeralt’s old squire grew.

“Yes! We have a winner! …And I will announce who it is…”

Alois.

“…right now!”

Alois.

“Without any delay!”

Oh, come on!

“The winner of this year’s White Heron Cup is…”

ALOIS!

“The Golden Deer House!”

Yes! Byleth pumped her fists before joining in on the applause. It was one thing to know that Flayn would win, but it was another thing entirely to actually be proven right.

What a perfect opportunity to gloat. She tipped her head back up at the man next to her. And stopped.

The look on his face was one of unrestrained elation and adoration. He laughed as he applauded, even whispering “That’s my girl,” into the din. She had never seen him look so relaxed, so happy. The green of his eyes was positively vibrant.

She looked away as her own applause slowed. She felt…ill. Nauseated, almost. But in her chest. Chest nausea? Was that a thing? No, that was ridiculous. Well, whatever it was, it seemed to be passing. Perhaps she had imagined it.

The Golden Deer poured onto the dance floor like a flood, sweeping Flayn up in a mass of hugs and congratulations.

The man beside her cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he muttered, before taking off toward the gaggle of students surrounding his sister at a brisk walk.

She didn’t look up until she was sure she would only see the back of his head. Whatever had just happened, she wasn’t eager for it to happen again. She drifted along in his wake, hoping that her students’ enthusiasm would provide a sufficient distraction.

Flayn pouted while Claude reclined with one arm propped atop her head as if she was a table. When she noticed Seteth’s approach, she broke free, tackling him in a hug around his middle. “Did you see me, Brother? I did it! I won!”

Byleth could only see his back as he drew around Flayn, returning her hug. “I did. You were wonderful.”

She ignored the softness of his voice – as if the girl’s ears were made of porcelain, clearly spoken through a smile – and stood apart from the crowd. Thankfully, her students’ jubilation as infectious, even at a distance. She could hear Lysithea declaring to Ignatz that Flayn’s performance was “adorable.” No doubt, she was relishing having a new student in the class that seemed to be as young, if not younger, than she was.

“Professor!”

It was all the warning she had before she felt a small form launch at her, arms wrapping around her neck in an embrace. “Oh,” Byleth grunted in surprise, tensing. She managed to catch them on pure instinct as they hung from her shoulders. A cloud of green filled her vision.

Ah, of course it was Flayn.

“Thank you, Professor! For what you said this morning. I am ever so grateful!” The girl’s voice was muffled in her shoulder.

Byleth could lead a lifetime of battles with nary a sign of surprise, but one unexpected hug from a little girl had her as startled as a possum.

As the situation sank in, a single, surprised chuckle bubbled up from Byleth’s chest. “I knew you could do it.” She had very little experience hugging children. Or hugging in general, really. But Flayn’s toes hanging just above the ground were too tempting. Byleth swayed in place, just enough to send the girl’s shoes swinging back and forth like a rag doll.

Flayn giggled in her ear and loosed her hold. “My apologies, Professor. I seem to have let my elation get the better of me.”

“It’s all right.” Byleth let her slip gently to the floor, but her hands hovered on the girl’s shoulders. She felt words flow out from deep inside her, as though they came directly from her heart. Though, as she heard them leaving her lips, her mind couldn’t disagree. “I’m proud of you.”

---

A lump stuck in Seteth’s throat as he looked on. The Professor’s smile was – well, we would have called it muted on anyone else, but on her, it was anything but. There was something honest about it, clear as a mountain stream. Of course, he had seen other expressions of hers, rare as they were, but it was the first time that he had ever seen Byleth smile.

And it was at his little girl.

Chapter Text

Byleth blinked. “…OK.”

When she had found the book – one Crestological Mysteries – lying abandoned outside, she had assumed that it belonged to Professor Hanneman. She had only intended to return it to him. Judging from his reaction, however, that clearly wasn’t the case. Oh, he still wanted it, but now he wanted to pay her for the very thing that she had intended to give him for free.

Well, she wasn’t going to argue.

She handed the worn book over to him without ceremony, its title dim and faded on the dingy fabric cover.

“I am in your debt, Professor.” Hanneman seized her offering excitedly, shoving a new book at her in recompense.

Another book. At least it was an even trade.

She looked up at the older professor to bid him farewell, but he was already completely absorbed in his new text. Reluctant to interrupt, she gave him a small wave and excused herself.

Byleth took a deep breath as she stepped out of the Knight’s Hall and into the crisp Fódlan air. A gentle breeze blew through the covered walkway, catching some errant strands of her hair and brushing them against her face. A single yellow leaf skipped by.

She moved to lean against one of the stone pillars lining the walkway. It was a bit brisk, but refreshingly so – the perfect day to lounge outside and inspect her new prize.

This book was certainly in better condition than the last, so perhaps she had traded up. Its rich green cover was softened without being worn, and the shining, silver text that emblazoned it was elegantly scripted but easy to read. Apparently, this book was called the Tome of Comely Saints.

Wait.

‘Comely?’ As in, attractive?  

She thumbed the book open to a random page…and quickly snapped it shut. Yes, that’s exactly what that means.

Well, she would have to re-evaluate her impression of Hanneman if he was just casually carrying this around. Thankfully, the man in the illustration that she had seen was at least partially clothed, if posed rather…suggestively.

She knew that she had the older professor had become friends of sorts, but she didn’t think they were close enough for him to just hand her something like that. But then, she wouldn’t have thought they were close enough for him to give her something like this, either.

Byleth shifted her grip on the book experimentally, trying to find way to hold it while coincidentally covering the title along its spine. Her hand was too small to obscure the bright script entirely, but she could at least hide the middle bit.

While she was still a bit fuzzy on some of the rules and customs here, she was fairly certain that running around the monastery grounds while waving about a book filled with horny drawings of religious figures would be frowned upon.

Frowned upon. The thought stuck in her brain like a fish hook.

And, around it, an idea began to take shape. Oh, and what a good idea it was, too.

This was going to be fun.

---

“Ah, Professor.” Seteth turned. “I admit, I did not expect you to return so soon. Have you found anything on the missing students?”

The Professor had planted herself squarely in front of the towering likeness of Indech, regarding him owlishly. A few dislodged strands of her hair wafted in the air; one finally settled on her face, brushing her cheek.

He never could decide if her eyes seemed to see everything or nothing at all.

But still she only stood there, letting the silence stretch. Had it, perhaps, been longer than he thought since he had spoken with her last?

In a sudden burst of movement, she flipped her coat back, reaching into the rear pocket of her shorts. The golden light of the cathedral gleamed dully off their black fabric, tracing the curve of her hip.

The edge of her coat rolled forward like a curtain, breaking his trance. Seteth jerked his gaze away, his breath stuck in his throat. Truthfully, it was perfectly reasonable – eyes are naturally drawn to movement – and, really, he had only been following what she was doing…she had moved so suddenly that of course he had looked…

But Byleth hadn’t noticed. Her attention was focused on the folded piece of paper that she had retrieved from her pocket. She tried in vain to smooth out its crinkled edges with a single hand.

He let out a quiet breath of relief and schooled his expression before her eyes found his.

Byleth handed him the beaten paper. “It’s not much, but…” Her voice trailed off, leaving him to come to his own conclusions.

He inspected it, smoothing one particularly severe crease between his fingers. It seemed to be a poster soliciting information on one of the missing students. The student’s name and face were familiar, though his own sources had been unsure if the student had disappeared of their own accord. Clearly, whoever had created the poster suspected the worst. Moreover, they had included the estimated time of the student’s disappearance – only a few nights prior.

“Well done. You have my thanks,” he said absently, folding the torn poster as neatly as he could and tucking it into his breast pocket.  His mind was sorting through what he knew of the missing students, trying to draw new connections. “This is a start, but there is still much we don’t know.”

If the students were indeed being abducted, the most obvious suspect was, of course, the Death Knight. However, his motivations must have changed since his abduction of Flayn. From what Seteth could gather, the students who had gone missing more recently were all normal human teenagers. Most of them did not even possess crests. “We will need to investigate Flayn’s case further. I will let you know if I learn anything more.”

The Professor nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I will do the same.”

“That would be most appreciated.” A glint of silver caught his eye from where she cradled it in her arms. “I trust that you will continue to be discrete in your-“

Seteth blanched.

Oh no.

No no no. No. NO.  

Of all the-

Why did she have THAT book?

He pressed a hand to his eyes. He was, of course, all too familiar with the thing. And while the illustrations had many inaccuracies, they were still far too close for his comfort.

And where in Fódlan had she found it? While he typically took the books that he removed from the monastery library down to its counterpart in Abyss, copies of this particular tome inevitably found themselves relocated to the nearest lit fireplace, instead. He had long since resolved that it was his right, as the attempted subject of one of its damned illustrations.

“I…where…why do you have that?” He rasped.

The Professor hummed innocently. “What, this?”

Seteth wiped his hand down his face and glared at the ceiling. “Yes. That.”

“Hanneman just gave it to me, in exchange for an old book about crests. I haven’t really had a chance to look at it yet.”

The sound of rustling pages sent a lance of horror through his veins. The woman thumbed through the pages, oblivious to the fact that she held in her hands the very bane of his existence.

He closed the space between them in two long strides and snapped the book shut in her hands. He was dimly aware of her fingers under his, but he pressed his hands into the covers as if he could lock the contents away by force of strength alone. “Professor,” he implored, voice cracking as his mind raced for excuses. Inspiration struck in the form of his brother’s likeness towering behind her. “Please consider where you are.”

Her eyes flicked around the room at that. “Oh,” she said simply, her expression as wide-eyed and innocent as ever. “Are they…depicted in here?”

“I…ah…” Seteth absolutely did not trust himself to comment on the contents – at least, not without the risk of appearing overly invested.  He cleared his throat, struggling to compose himself. Remain professional. This is your job. “This particular work has been banned from the monastery for some time. For obvious reasons. Please allow me to dispose of it for you.” He gave the book a slight tug, but her own grip held fast.

“What? No, this isn’t the monastery’s. It’s mine.” Her voice alone betrayed her surprise, the first hint of emotion she had displayed throughout the exchange.

While he typically might concede the point, this particular work was the exception. For him. Personally. He would not budge. “I am afraid I must insist.”

“But I haven’t even had a chance to enjoy it yet.”

His hands jumped away from the book as if scalded. Enjoy… A light blush slowly dusted her cheeks, but his own face was positively aflame.

The image of her lounging in her own private quarters browsing leisurely through this of all books leapt unbidden to his mind. Pausing on a page, reaching her hand down between her –

No! Do not think about it. Do NOT think about it.

He turned away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please. Go,” he forced out through gritted teeth, his breath loud in his ears. “And do not let me see that…infernal thing again.”

For a moment, he heard only silence from her. But then, with a soft clearing of her throat as a farewell, her distinct footsteps began to retreat.

When they finally – blessedly – faded away, he filled the silence with his own, pacing the small alcove where the four saints were enshrined. He paced and paced, letting the sound work his mind carefully blank of all ruminations on her last statement.

Much safer to redirect his thoughts to his old friend, worry.

Surely, she had no idea that he was one of the very saints depicted in the book she had been flaunting so casually. He had not overreacted, had he? No, it was reasonable for a church official to respond so to such impropriety. It had, perhaps, made him seem more uptight than he actually was. But then again, better to seem uptight than to have their most closely-guarded secrets revealed.

And surely, there was no risk that she would link that artwork – if one could call it that – back to him. After all, no one else had yet made that connection. It was not as if the artist had any real knowledge of what any of them looked like. It was nothing more than an amalgam of conjecture, rumor, and historical fragments. If memory served, any similarities between himself and the attempted depiction of him – or rather, that of Saint Cichol – were glancing at best.

Still, would she…enjoy…that particular entry?

“Ach,” he spat, shaking his head to dislodge the thought.

The point was that the risk seemed minimal, other than its effect on his own peace of mind.

Regardless, he should keep an eye on it. Just in case there were any developments. It was only prudent.

The weight of his brother’s judgmental gaze bore down on him. It was the one thing that all of Macuil’s depictions seemed to capture with absolute accuracy. Seteth could almost hear the man’s derisive scoff echoing back at him from the bowels of history.

“Do not look at me like that,” Seteth muttered, and he stalked off to his office.