Chapter Text
The marriage rite allows a couple to join together in reverence, in chastity, and in worship of the goddess. Those who partake swear before each other, before the church, and before the goddess, that they will hold fast to each other from that day forth and forevermore. The goddess, in return for their sincerity, binds them together, so that they are no longer two, but one.
Seiros III:6
When Yuri was young and lived with his mother, he attended weddings in the town’s chapel. Their village was poor but devout, and there was no better reason to celebrate than a union blessed by the goddess. The services were serene with formal speech that went over his head, but the joy that the new couple felt and the happiness they shared was infectious. He could tell that this was something he wanted–a partner in destiny ordained by the goddess, a life forever connected with his, his deepest and truest friend. His mother, who never had the opportunity for herself, wanted this for him, too.
The first he can remember was when he was around seven years old.
All the kids in the village know the bride. Miss Mathilda climbed trees to rescue cats and kites that got stuck. She plugged leaks on roofs and oiled hinges so they wouldn't squeak. And most recently, she fought off a bandit invasion with only a pitchfork. She's beautiful, with a rugged smile that melts the iciest of hearts.
Her husband-to-be is less well-known, at least by the children. His family had lived as farmers, raising turnips and chickens, but after two harsh droughts in a row, their lands were repossessed by Elidure nobles, and he, along with his father and younger sister, enlisted in the army to dig their family out of debt. They rarely return to town, so this long-awaited respite makes the day all the more special for him.
From a noble's standpoint, the couple is dressed in rags. Mathilda's dress is a dingy eggshell, though it was surely white at its creation, and it has four visible patches. She doesn't have the money for a veil proper but instead wears a woven crown of daisies from the fields beside the chapel cemetery. The groom's shirt has three different colored buttons, and the handkerchief he dabs at his eyes is frayed and stained.
When she takes his hands in hers and they finally gaze into each other's eyes, full of tender love and unabashed affection, Yuri thinks they're the most beautiful people in the whole world.
The feast that follows is memorable, too, but even young Yuri has a soft spot for the more formal ceremony that preceded it.
“Mom?” he asks while the food is passed down the peeling picnic table, “when I get older, can I get married?”
His mother smiles so widely her eyes shut. “If you find the right person, or if the right person finds you, never let them go.”
Commit the teachings of the goddess to memory so that you may use them to guide your hearts, minds, and actions. St. Seiros
Seiros IV:1
“Can you stir the pot, Dear? I’d hate for the vegetables to burn.”
“Yes, Mom!” Yuri scrambles to his feet and bolts towards their run-down kitchen. A few seconds later, he returns to their other room, where an elderly man sits comfortably in their nicest chair. There’s a game on the table, or what’s left of one. The board is faded–the missing map filled in with pencil and crayon–and the pieces are haphazard stones found on the roadside.
“I have had ample time to think of this next move,” he says, patting the small, creaky chair next to him. Yuri hops back up onto it and studies the board. “Watch closely.” The man takes a soldier (a rock) from his barracks (a stack of rocks, buttons, and one lone bottlecap) and moves it three spaces due east, taking up position near a fort.
“So even though your soldier is weak on his own, he can use the castle for protection,” Yuri concludes.
The elder smiles. “You are right, young lad. Never underestimate the power of a single soldier, for it takes but one man to turn the tide of war.” He laughs to himself. “At least, that is how the story goes.”
“You mean the King of Liberation,” Yuri says quietly.
The man laughs again. “Correct again! Your knowledge of the scriptures is so vast at such a young age. Soon, I will have nothing else to teach you.”
Forgetting about the game, Yuri quickly shakes his head. “That’s not true! I can learn so much from you! My mom, too!”
“Speaking of the lady of the house,” he points towards the kitchen. Yuri’s mom wipes her brow, then nods towards the table. “It appears we must postpone our game. Dinner awaits!” The elder sweeps his arm, knocking all of the pieces to the floor with a hearty laugh. “I say, Leah, I have never tasted your cooking’s equal in all my years of traveling Fódlan.”
“And I have never fed a man with as ravenous an appetite as yours,” she cheekily replies, setting the bubbling pot down directly on the table–its previous owner scorched it beyond repair–and handing chipped bowls to her guest, then her son, then herself. “And I’ve fed many, many men.”
Yuri rocks on the wobbly leg of his chair, still upset that the elder had lamented his role as teacher.
“Now, do not be like that. I was teasing, lad.” He pats him on the shoulder, then grabs his hand. His mother’s too. “Let us thank the goddess for her blessings this day, and every day.”
When the elder prays or reads from the Book of Seiros, he’s like a completely different person. He carries himself with a certain reverence that he normally lacks, although the times when that reverence vanishes tend to be Yuri’s favorites.
“Read this passage to me,” the elder says.
Yuri nods and holds his finger up to the tattered page.
“The goddess looked upon those that threatened her people with a gaze that could rend the heavens.
‘Take that foul waste and return it whence it came!’”
“See that?” the elder says with a mischievous grin. “The virtuous goddess told them to shove their crap up their–”
Yuri’s mother bursts through the door, and the elder zips his lips.
Yuri himself can’t help but giggle. The goddess is strong and noble, but she’s also silly and crass.
“So you see, the goddess gave part of herself to her creation,” he finishes like he hadn’t stopped just before a no-no word. “Not only her power, but her wit as well.”
“We ask that the goddess bless our meal and those that partake in it.” The elder’s voice yanks Yuri back to the present. “May she guard this family that showed me so much kindness.”
“May it be so,” Yuri and his mom say in unison.
“Now, let us eat!”
***
The elder teaches Yuri after supper every day. Mom didn’t learn how to read and write growing up, so these lessons are as much for her as they are for him.
“Reading is the gateway to all knowledge,” the elder had insisted, “and writing is how that knowledge is shared.”
Mom writes her words with her finger on the table, and Yuri scribbles his in a worn notebook that the elder had given him. “Soon, I will have nothing left to teach you,” the elder reiterates. “You have learned much, both of you. I am happy to have been able to share this time with you.”
Yuri doesn’t realize that their days together are dwindling.
When you love, love fully and freely. Once someone is gone, you can only hold onto the memories you shared together. St. Cethleann
Seiros IV:32
Dame Clair’s wedding is the last from his village that Yuri remembers. While her brother had married his best friend from childhood, she is joined with a wandering minstrel from Albinea who had saved her life when she was in the army. The minstrel never tires of reiterating the story: how he found her washed up on a riverbank near Lake Teutates after her pegasus had been shot by an enemy archer, how he sang of her beauty to rouse her from her injury-induced slumber, and how she immediately slugged him in the nose upon waking. She shoves her hand over his mouth before he can continue the tale, but that doesn't stop everyone within earshot from guessing at what had happened next.
Yuri remembers the minstrel playing the lyre and all of the village children dancing along, vying for the bride's attention. Though she wears the same dress as her sister-in-law, to the young ones, she looks like a royal princess. Yuri eagerly takes her hand when she offers it, stepping carefully in routines that the elder had shown him. After humoring him with her own unpracticed ballroom dance, Clair takes him into her arms and swings him around in circles. His shoes fly off his feet, and he can't stop himself from giggling. When she holds him up, she gives him a view of everyone in the village. The elder has taken his mother’s hands and slowly dances with her. Both Clair’s brother and sister-in-law hook elbows with each other and hold toddlers in their lone free arms. The minstrel dances and sings while he plucks out his chipper tune, and young and old spin, sway, and bounce to the rhythm. Yuri makes up words to the song and shouts them at the top of his lungs. Everything around him is beautiful and wonderful, and he prays that the moment will last forever.
***
The next week is a blur. Yuri sleeps for hours on end, waking up to bouts of nausea and almost unbearable stomach pain. The wash rags his mother sets on his burning skin barely ease the throbbing pain underneath his skull.
In a haze, he vaguely remembers his mother's hushed words to the elder. "The whole village is suffering. No one knows how to cure it, and even if we did, we can't afford treatment. I… I don't know what to do. I just–wait! I can't have you sick, too!"
Cool, withered hands rest against his cheeks. "Sweet child, beloved by the goddess, walk in her ways.”
Yuri tries to answer, but he only groans, then passes out.
***
When Yuri wakes, his head is clear and his hunger has returned. His mother could have filled an ocean with the amount of tears she cries seeing him alive and well. The elder smiles at him but doesn’t move from his spot on the rickety old chair. When Yuri’s eyes meet his, the elder closes his own and slumps over.
Yuri and his mother bury the man near the chapel. She assures Yuri that he died of natural causes, that he was not in pain, and that he wished nothing more than for Yuri to live a long, fulfilled life.
The weeks that follow are filled with similar burials, all of villagers that had died from the wretched disease that almost claimed his own life. Yuri watches people of all ages return to the dust. The most painful is one of Dame Mathilda’s young children, barely one year old. Their pain pierces his soul, and he decides right then that he will not let this happen to his village again. The goddess preserved his life. She blessed him with intellect, strength, beauty, and charm. To ensure that the people he loves will not have to suffer, he will use his gifts to aid the poor and helpless.
His mother begs him not to go at first, but after hearing his resolve, his words resonate deep within her heart. Though her own quest to rise out of poverty had failed, her son’s dreams may yet become reality. She gives him all the money she has, kisses him on the forehead, and sends him away with a bittersweet reminder, “You always have a home here. I love you.”
He packs his nicest clothes and sets his faded notebook on top of them. It’s all he has left of the elder, now. He prays it will guide him. With the goddess’s blessing, he marches due east towards the heart of the Kingdom.