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Garreg Mach Monastery
Ethereal Moon, 1180
When one had lived for as long as Rhea did, one’s birthday ceased to have much meaning other than a way to mark the passage of another year. Unfortunately for her, Saint Seiros’ Day was the most important feast day of the year, celebrating the appearance of the Saint-Prophet who brought the truth of the Goddess to the world. As much as Rhea would rather have the day be remembered quietly and without much fuss, that would never do for the rest of Fódlan.
Even with Seteth handling most of the logistical arrangements, a deep sense of weariness set into Rhea's bones when she so much as thought about the amount of tedious work that laid ahead. The preparations for Saint Seiros’ Day began months beforehand, and as Archbishop, she would have her hands full attending to her flock.
Weeks ahead of time, she would need to write her address to the bishops of the dioceses across Fódlan, setting the tone and direction for the work that they would do for the coming year and reminding them of the core of the church’s message: love each other, and honour the goddess.
On the eve of Saint Seiros’ Day, there would be an evening liturgy, where the Book of Seiros would be chanted in its entirety by the clergy choir, a ceremony that would roll over to the early hours of the next morning. She would hold mass in the cathedral the next day, delivering her homily to the congregation that would draw pilgrims from all across Fódlan - all that needed to be fed, watered, and sheltered until Seirostide was over. Thousands of them would be journeying to Garreg Mach for the occasion, and the fields below the monastery had already been levelled to serve as a temporary campground. There had been discussion in recent years on expanding the monastery to accommodate the growing number of pilgrims, especially for more prominent visitors that Rhea would have to personally receive.
For all the gifts and tributes and celebrations of herself, Rhea found herself missing her time with Byleth more. They had barely met in the preceding months, other than briefing Byleth on her missions. When frost had started creeping into the air, their teas together had moved to Rhea’s room, and the tea set that Rhea acquired for the occasion now sat forlorn and untouched on the table beside the fireplace. She would have loved to have a confidant right now, to complain about how exhausting the bishops were. Saint Seiros, in fact, would not have wanted yet another statue of herself, nor would she have cared whether it was carved from Gautier or Aegir marble.
I , Seiros whispered, would have thought that that wish for indulgence was folly . What was this, next to the utter void that Mother’s murder left in her? It had only been a few weeks, and already she was behaving like a spurned juvenile. Surely it was laughable that the vessel could even begin to compare to Mother. She was a means to an end, nothing more. Rhea was a means to an end, an identity that would be cast off and abandoned like a cicada’s moult once she had served her purpose.
Yes, that was it. Everything paled to Sothis in comparison. Rhea repeated it to herself every night for the last few months, as if that would make it true, but the thought of losing Byleth, as always, sent a painful squeeze in her chest.
Rhea's birthday fell right on Saint Seiros' Day, which struck Byleth as very unfortunate, having your special day overshadowed by another. She had never known much of her own birth - Dad had always been evasive on the subject - and she wasn't even quite sure on her exact age. At Jeralt's encouragement, Byleth picked a day to celebrate being alive: the day she went on her first solo mission as a mercenary. It was a simple, routine escort for a noble travelling between towns, but it had established that she was her own woman now. Jeralt toasted to her health as they sat around the bonfire that night, and laughed when she made a face from the awful beer the mercs were sharing.
Perhaps it manifested in how fastidiously she celebrated the birthdays of others. She enjoyed the whole ceremony around it - food, the offering of a song, but what appealed to Byleth the most was gift giving and togetherness. On some level, past her stoic exterior, she lived vicariously in the joy of others. Their happiness had made warmth blossom in her chest, the closest in her entire life she had come to feeling something stir within.
What do you get for someone who could have anything? The Church of Seiros clearly did not want for material wealth, though Rhea did not strike her as particularly materialistic. She appreciated the gifts Byleth had brought her before, but she valued their intangible qualities: the weight of ancient history in obsolete coinage, the skill of the artist in a painting, and the idea of the Goddess in an idol. If Byleth was going to give her anything at all, it couldn’t be something that was notable only for its value. It had to be something meaningful.
Further complicating things were that Byleth couldn’t give her an experience - there was simply no time in Rhea’s schedule this close to Saint Seiros’ Day to accommodate anything more than a quick gift exchange. More was the pity, as she would have liked to share with Rhea a remembrance of the mother she never knew. She wondered if Rhea had ever known Sitri Eisner.
I’m not sure what you see in her, Sothis remarked as Byleth strolled down to the bazaar, pondering her choices. I hope you remembered we still don’t know anything about her or what she wants.
“This is just for her birthday.” Byleth replied, squeezing her way through the constant stream of traffic coming to and from the surrounding fields. Hastily erected stalls spilled haphazardly from the narrow streets of the commercial square, giving the surroundings the airs of a spring festival celebration rather than a solemn religious observance. “She’s been helping me with training on the side, too. Even if she does have an ulterior motive, there’s nothing we can act on right now.”
Sothis didn’t seem convinced, but nevertheless, she followed the professor, hovering above her to avoid the crowd. According to Sothis, while she didn’t feel anything if she phased through someone, it was still weird enough that she averted it where she could..
The cacophony of the campground was almost dizzying. Vendors cried and rang handbells, hoping to draw eyes to their goods, and elsewhere, there were groups led in prayer, the singing of hymns, and the ubiquitous background noise of so many people gathered together in general. The cold bit bitterly this deep into the winter season, and there were many bonfires and stoves lit all across the field to warm travellers. For someone like Byleth, whose best trait was her ability to pick out detail, and who had spent her life until recently working in small mercenary bands, it was all pure sensory overload.
Hey, snap out of it! Sothis clapped her hands in front of Byleth, startling her enough to shake her out of her mental fog. Let’s pick up the pace. Surely there’s something here that will be a satisfactory gift for Rhea.
Byleth ignored the sensation of pressure beginning to press in at her temples, and shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah.” She breathed out.
After a few hours, Byleth had come up frustratingly short. Most of the items for sale were religious in nature, depicting Seiros, the Goddess, lilies, or the eight-pointed star representing the Blue Sea Star. This came as no surprise, but there was nothing here that wasn’t already bedecked in all of Garreg Mach even outside Seirostide.
As Byleth was making her way back to the monastery, feeling somewhat defeated, she spotted a group bearing weapons making their way out and away from the monastery. Some of them were on horseback, but otherwise they were marching on foot. A pack of hounds followed behind on leashes, all barking in various states of excitement.
An overwhelming wave of grief, nostalgia, and sorrow suddenly swept into Byleth’s mind, and when she stumbled backwards, she bumped into a group of pilgrims. “Sorry,” Byleth called out, but her voice was suddenly choked with emotion, and there were tears in her eyes. There should have been something she remembered, but it lurked below the surface of her mind, like a shadow under frozen ice. Why…?
Why… Procyon… S--
Some of the pilgrims started to speak, looking concerned, but Byleth lurched forward past them and scrambled away, running away from the campground until she collapsed against a tree within a thicket of evergreens. There, she focused on catching her breath. Each gasp of the cold winter air forced the emotions from her mind, little by little, until her stomach had settled and her head had stopped spinning.
I remembered them , Sothis said aloud to no one in particular. But why? Who were they?
“Somewhere in your past, there was something connected to hunting dogs. I think that’s what caused you to remember something.” Byleth looked into the distance, to Garreg Mach. If she had a hawk’s eye, would she see Rhea in the distance? “There are plenty of dogs in the monastery, yet none of them caused such a reaction.”
Give Rhea something that evokes the Twin Hounds.
“What? Why?”
You wanted inspiration for a present, didn’t you? And with that, Sothis faded out of visibility, and stayed silent even after Byleth called out for her.
That wasn’t much of a lead, but now that Byleth thought about it, the parable she had learned recently did have a connection to dogs. The story went that a hunter came upon two hounds. One was a large, ferocious bloodhound, while the other was a smaller, more tame retriever. The two were evenly locked in battle, and it was up to the hunter to break the tie. If he aided the bloodhound, it would simply snap its jaws at him and leave him, while if he helped the retriever, it would integrate well into his existing pack and aid him in future hunts. The moral was that feeding into one’s own evil impulses would only result in self-destruction, while nourishing the good within oneself could only strengthen them.
The perfect idea immediately came to Byleth. The avenue of crafting something had always been a possibility to her, given how self-reliant she had to be on the road. Swords broke, armour dented, cloth and leather ripped, and frequently, they would be days between an armorer or even civilisation. Mercenaries were a superstitious folk, too, and she had picked up how to make charms for protection and prowess from a warrior garlanded with them. Jeralt had snorted, remarking that for all those trinkets, they didn't save him from being stabbed in the gut, but it was still a better way of passing time at camp than getting piss drunk and passing out.
She returned to the monastery and ventured to the storehouses; specifically, the wood storehouse, which stored materials for maintenance, crafting, and fuel. At this point in the year, anyone was free to take however much wood they needed. After a few minutes of looking around, she spied a white oak log. A few minutes with a splitting axe earned her a small chunk of wood that could be easily worked, perfect for her purpose. Secreting it into her jacket, she left as quickly as she had arrived. This would need to be a surprise.
“Hey.”
Shamir’s voice came behind her as the professor continued whittling at the wood within her hands. It was now her turn for night watch, and though Byleth seemed absorbed in her work, she could tell the other woman was constantly on high alert, watching for any signs of movement with her peripheral vision, and pricking her ears for the rustle of underbrush or crunch of leaves. South of the Oghma Mountains, snow didn’t fall, but the weather had cooled enough by the end of the Red Wolf Moon that Byleth had changed into her breastplate and full tunic for the winter.
“I’ll be up for a while longer.” Byleth replied. Shamir stopped a few paces behind her, standing close enough to be warmed by the fire. She, Byleth and a handful of students were returning to Garreg Mach after a mission to clear out a nearby bandit camp that were most likely planning to rob pilgrims passing through the area. They had established themselves quietly and stealthily in the craggy hills, but little escaped the Knights of Seiros under Jeralt. The battle was won deep into the night, and they would only return to the monastery later that morning. “I’ll turn in once I’ve got some more progress on this thing.”
“The charm you’re working on?” The archer tilted her head slightly in questioning, and Byleth held up the work in progress for Shamir to examine.
Ever since she had seen the hunting dogs at the campground, the idea had stuck fast, and as she carved into the white oak, it solidified into a clear vision in her mind's eye. Two hounds stood rampant, circling each other. The larger of the two bared its fangs in a snarl, while the smaller one looked calm and docile. It was still quite rough around the edges: she would only be able to chisel in the fine details once she returned to the monastery, but it was recognisable for what it was.
“Looks good. Dogs?”
Byleth told the parable to Shamir, who looked quizzically at her in return.
“Didn’t you not know anything about the Church until the Great Tree Moon? Didn’t expect you to take to the teachings so readily.”
Byleth shrugged. “Read about it recently. It’s still fresh in my memory.”
“Huh.”
The two remained in silence for some time, save for the crackle of the fire and the soft scritch of Byleth’s knife on the half-rendered charm. When the fire started to die down, Shamir tossed a few more blocks of firewood onto it.
“So who’s the recipient?”
The constants in the world were that the sun rose in the east, Faerghus was frozen, and mercenaries were gossips. Shamir was no exception.
Byleth gave a noncommittal grunt, which Shamir understood in the universal language of mercs to mean Guess . A gift for someone, important/sentimental enough that she’s working on it personally. Probably coming up soon since she’s putting in the hours on it. It’s linked to the teachings of the Church of Seiros… oh, come on.
“I’d like to think we do a good enough job that Rhea doesn’t need protection charms.”
Byleth’s pause told Shamir everything she needed to know, and she smirked. “Something to prove you paid attention during church class?”
“No.” Another scrape of the knife, producing a single sliver of wood. “Had it in mind to begin with. Charm’s just something I learned how to make from someone who got stuck like a pig.”
“Probably didn’t kiss it.”
Now Byleth looked up at her, though as always, Shamir couldn’t tell what she was feeling. “Now you’re just messing with me.”
“Nope. In Dagda, the protection magic on the charm’s sealed with a kiss. Whether you want to believe me or not is up to you.” Shamir turned on her heel and started walking towards the other side of the camp. “Now, scram. Your watch ended thirty minutes ago.”
Once she was settled within her own tent, Byleth took out the charm again. She was pretty sure Shamir was completely full of it. What was important about it was the actual item itself, not whatever protections were imbued on it that wasn’t even likely real.
But…
Still.
Byleth pressed her lips to the wood, and found it warm, somehow.
Garreg Mach Monastery
Guardian Moon, 1180
It was Saint Seiros’ Day, and celebrations were in full swing. Perhaps even from the practice room she could hear singing from the cathedral. Maybe it was just her imagination. Did it matter if it was real or fake or not?
Whack. Whack. Whack .
If she had been faster - more perceptive - not so stupid -
Whackwhackwhackwhack
Father wouldn’t have -
WHACK!
With a strangled cry, Byleth’s blow broke the training dummy, and she stood in the middle of the deserted training grounds, panting while trying to steady herself. She'll have to go clean that up.
Byleth .
Sothis hadn’t said much lately, mostly leaving her to resolve her grief on her own, but here she appears in front of her, her eyes disapproving.
Are you going to stay here all day?
"Maybe I will." The idea of going out there amidst all the festival cheer and celebration made her stomach turn. She couldn't possibly force herself to even pretend to be happy.
A long exhale came from Sothis. Byleth expected a cutting remark on her childishness maybe, but none came. I think you should give Rhea her present.
"It's just an amateur wood carving."
That came from you. Rhea would love it if you gave her a wet lump of clay.
That wasn't false.
You spent long enough on it that it would be a waste to not even give it to her. At the very least, let's make sure she gets it.
Ugh. The thing had been burning a hole in her desk drawer. And she hadn't seen Rhea in a while. "Fine." Byleth conceded, sheathing her practice blade. "Let's make it quick."
It was not.
Byleth had easily located Rhea, but after what happened with Jeralt, the Knights of Seiros were leaving nothing to chance. The archbishop travelled with a heavily armed entourage at any given moment, and Byleth staked her out as she travelled from activity to activity on the monastery grounds. There was just never really a good time even to just step in and speak to Rhea privately for a few moments.
Frankly, it sucked. Byleth almost scowled when a group of carollers tried to get her to sing In Dulci Jublio , and she quickly shed them off. At the Knights' Hall, where Rhea was scheduled to give blessings to a few nobles who had travelled here for the occasion, she humoured a group of young children who had escaped their caretaker. She didn’t even know why she bothered going to the cathedral, when there was absolutely zero chance they could have interacted, but she watched Rhea deliver her address from the pulpit, speaking to the crowds who packed the hall to maximum occupancy to hear the archbishop speak. Perhaps in light of what has happened recently, Rhea’s message emphasized the importance of valuing your loved ones and cherishing your time with them, for life was unpredictable.
In the deep hours of the night, after the dining halls had been cleared, after the visitors had retreated back to the campground to continue celebrations, after she had extricated herself from her Knights on the single flight of stairs from the second floor of the monastery to that of her residence, Rhea paused at the mezzanine, giving Byleth the opportunity to emerge from the shadows. “It’s quite dark here.” Byleth observed. “Isn’t this place usually more well lit?”
“I do wonder about that. What an unusual lapse. Perhaps the staff responsible has indulged too much in our monastery brew this evening?”
The humour in Rhea’s voice told her it was deliberate, and her shoulders relaxed. Rhea, however, shifted to that of concern for Byleth. The two of them hadn’t spoken much since Jeralt’s funeral. “How are you, professor?”
She had been asked that question so many times in the last few weeks, but the answer never changed. How was she supposed to respond? Dwelling upon it would be too unpleasant, and she didn’t really want to do this right now. Instead, she elected to approach Rhea and take her hands into her own. Rhea gave a small sound of surprise, but wasn’t displeased.
“It’s your birthday today, isn’t it?” Byleth said. “Happy birthday. I made you something.”
Rhea’s initial look of curiosity gave way to shock, then surprise, then awe. She looked up at Byleth, who was unsure about how to proceed. What next?
“Byleth,” Rhea began. “Do you know the significance of this…?”
“It’s a story we covered recently in our lessons together, so I thought I’d commemorate it.”
“...I see.” Rhea wasn’t - dissatisfied, but she certainly wasn’t as joyous as when she first saw it. Byleth wondered what she should have said. “Thank you very much for the present, professor. It has been a long day, has it not? I must retire to my chambers now. Have a good night.”
Byleth hesitated, then nodded, understanding her dismissal. She passed by her, and retreated down the stairs and back to the rest of the monastery. Her eyes were sweating again. They seemed to do that all the time these days.
It was only when Rhea was in her room with the door locked for the night, that she dared to look at the charm again. To anyone else, it would simply be an analogy for resisting sin and encouraging virtue, but for her, it was different. It seemed that Mother was awakening within the vessel after all, if she could remember a detail such as this, even if she couldn’t recall its significance.
Sirius and Procyon. Sopdet and Sah. Rhea… and Seiros.
Who do you wish to feed, and who do you wish to starve? saith Sothis to Seiros, and just as she was at a loss for words all those millennia ago, Rhea was still unable to answer.