#He still pulled on Cichol's beard though

[randomnameless]

I know it wouldn't technically fit with the timeline but -

Fodlan AU :

Jerry doesn't leave when the kid is 2 weeks old, but waits a bit, and tries to ask around how "normal" babies behave, because Billy is still abnormally calm.

"Maybe they're broken or something ?"

Some nuns throw him dark glares, his kid is alive, how can he say something like that?

Rhea spends time with them, giving bby!Billy Sitri's old :) golem plushie, even if Jerry thinks it's trash ("what the crap is that thing??"), bby!Billy seems to appreciate it, always trying to reach it whenever Rhea, or some monks/nins, dangle it in front of them.

One day, Jerry finally manages to convince another doctor to examine his kid but forgot that Rhea was playing with the baby. Jerry becomes a bit tense, after all, Rhea already grilled him on him asking around if Billy is "normal" even after she told him they were alright. Just before Rhea could ask what was going on, bby!Billy suddenly started to chew on her hair, distracting her enough ("good, my ears aren't still showing!") to forget about Jerry and the doctor.

Garreg Mach doctor was so amazed that this random nobody baby was chewing on the Archbishop's hair that he stopped thinking for a bit, before recomposing himself, assuring Jerry that his kid was alright, after all, it's normal for babies of that age to try to discover the world by putting stuff in their mouths.

Happy that finally, someone else than Rhea found his baby "normal" and "alright", Jerry sighed in relief. However, only Aelfie (who wanted to spend time with Sitri's child) kind of freaked out because no, even if Billy is Billy, they should unhand the Archbishop and not munch on her hair!

Both men tried to pry Billy out of Rhea's hair, while she was just saying them to let them be, the baby is just having a bit of fun !

Jerry then realised - while Aelfie was trying to make Rhea reconsider because she has an important appointment with Count Varley and definitely can't show up with a baby drooling all over her - that sure, Billy doesn't laugh nor cries, but at times, they want to play with their odd :) plushie, and at other times, prefer to play with the stuffed bear, what if Rhea wasn't just saying nonsense, and, despite not laughing, Billy was having fun?

Maybe there's no need to leave the monastery?

[glowingbadger]

It is the S/O’s first time and she has to deal with, as you call it, Seteth’s “foot long Dragon cock”? That one text post where you wrote that still has me rolling

/cracks knuckles/ FAIR WARNING folks, we're going full Size Queen today and I am not about to apologize for it.

And like idk if this is even good I just went into a fugue state and got carried away and here we are xD

Seteth (FE3H) x Reader's first time

NSFW 18+

Seteth had been absolutely meticulous about your pleasure. If your sense of time weren't so thoroughly scattered by now, you'd guess he'd easily spent an hour worshiping your every curve, seeking out your every precious sweet spot. You'd felt stray locks of emerald hair tickling the flesh of your chest and stomach, the harsher graze of his beard along your inner thigh, the long, luxurious warmth of his tongue pulsing at your cunt. All the while, large, strong hands explored and adored you with barely restrained hunger. And Goddess, you longed to see that restraint crack. To see what lied beneath the trappings of Seteth's day-to-day existence of paperwork and reports, stern looks and perfect posture.

Yet as of now, he hasn't even removed his breeches, though you'd been bared and thoroughly pleasured already. He wraps one arm under you as he lies by your side, and his free hand brushes tentative fingers along your soaked lower lips. Your breath hitches in your chest, and you barely manage to focus your eyes enough to meet his.

"Seteth," you say, closer to a moan as a fingertip presses to your entrance, "You... don't have to- to do all of this for me," the words rush out of your lips so you can finish your thought before he pushes into you. Your head tilts to the side, nuzzling against his shoulder, and you force just a few more words out, "What about you...?"

"I am quite content attending to you, Y/N" he says, his voice low and even, even as his finger curls at some wonderful spot, and your body arcs into him. Once he's satisfied with the first, he pushes a second digit into you, thrusting at a deep and steady pace. He varies his movements and angle, slowly opening you up, relaxing your body beneath him and coating his fingers in your juices.

"Please..." you whisper, clinging to his sturdy frame, "I... I want- mmmh-!" You're already close again. His fingers spread apart, stimulating you in a completely new way. When your pleasure-blurred eyes meet his, you can just barely glimpse the restless need behind them. "I want to help you... fell good too... Please, Seteth?"

He exhales heavily, and his fingers ease out from you. You catch your breath as he pauses in silence for a moment, seemingly grappling with some last hesitation. You're still collecting yourself when he gets to his feet to finally discard the last of his clothing, but when your eyes refocus and you glance over at him, your heart skips and your body warms through.

"Oh... I, uh... wow." Your pupils are blown wide as you size him up. Sure, you had never been with a man before- not really, anyway -but you know enough to quickly realize that the pious man before you is near impossibly endowed. His massive cock stands almost entirely erect, yet pulled down just slightly by its own sheer size and weight. Seteth clears his throat, a hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

"You understand now why I have been so insistent upon preparing you," he says as he moves to join you on the bed once more.

"I suppose so..." you mutter, unable to keep your eyes from wandering his body in a way that any devout believer would consider sinful.

"Men of my kind possess certain... reproductive advantages over humans." he goes on as he positions himself over you. A hand beneath your chin urges you to look him in the eye, "Promise me you will tell me if I hurt you."

You nod. And then, you feel the tip of his manhood, hot as it pushes between your lower lips and against your opening. Seteth's brow is furrowed in focus, his expression so intense he's practically glaring at you, and it's all you can do to keep your eyes on his as he begins to spread you open. In a moment, the bulging head of his cock is nestled inside of you, pushing out against your inner walls as he stays himself for a moment to check on your comfort.

You're already panting softly despite yourself. Your cheeks are flushed a dark crimson, burning almost as hot as the rest of your body. With nothing but unabashed lust in your eyes, you look up at him and whisper,

"Seteth... muh- more, please..."

The holy man utters a low groan and grits his teeth. His head dips down to rest on the pillow beside yours as he sinks deeper and deeper into you.

"Don't... I can't bear it when you plead with me like that."

And for a moment, you think to test that bit of new information; but then he's pushed several inches into you and he's stretching you like nothing you've ever felt before, and it's all you can do to spread your legs just a bit wider for him. Wordlessly, he reaches down and hooks an arm under your knee, drawing your leg further up and opening you up more for him. Before he's even thrust all the way into you, his hips begin to sway just slightly, and you're grateful now that he made sure you were wet enough to take him. Every stroke of his cock sends a jolt of electrifying, stimulating pleasure up your spine.

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. His breath is hot, panting softly against the crook of your neck, and now he's bucking into you just a little harder. The muscles of his back are wound so tight, and his moans are shaky, unsteady. He's doing everything in his power to hold himself back for you, and you can tell, but you know it's for the best. Every time he drives deeper into you, you're more full than you ever thought possible. Soon enough, his thrusts do bring a tinge of pain amidst pleasure- yet you don't think for even a moment to ask him to stop.

And it dawns on you that, in some way, you find it intensely thrilling that the Church's Right Hand is fucking you so deep you can't think with a cock that would seem like an exaggeration to speak of. Even the pain is arousing, and you wonder if Seteth would believe you if you told him. For now, you simply cling to him until with one final push, he pauses. His arms have both traveled under the arch of your back to hold you flush against his body, and your legs are wrapped around his hips, and he growls against your chest,

"That's... that's all of it..." he huffs out a deep breath, then raises his head to kiss you so sweetly that you wouldn't think his manhood was stretching you to your limit at that moment. Your eyes are watering just a bit, and he murmurs your name softly.

"Goddess..." is all you manage.

"Language." he replies with surprising levity, and it barely even registers in your mind that Seteth just made a joke- on purpose, at that. But then he's shifting his hips against you once more and your mind is dashed of all but your heart and body's worship of Saint Cichol. He pushes himself up from you just a bit. Just enough to watch your expressions, either out of caution or fascination or both. He begins slow, easing in and out of you until you adjust fully to his size- at least, as well as you possibly could.

Then, his hands are at your hips, holding you firmly in place, and he's bucking into you harder and just a little faster and you can feel his abdomen flex with each tightly controlled motion. He checks in with you at least two or three more times as he edges closer and closer to fucking you in earnest. You're impressed at how coherent you manage to be when you tell him not to stop, that he feels incredible, that you adore him. His head tilts back for a moment, and at long, long last he lets out a true and unabashed moan of pleasure. The sound alone floods your body with new heat, and you feel yourself clench around him, your thighs shaking. You're not certain how long you manage to last after that, but by the time one more electrifying climax has swept through your body, Seteth has lowered himself to hold you close to him once more.

And once he does, his hands grip you more tightly, his fingers digging down your back. You gasp aloud as his entire body shifts forward over you and his hips meet flush with your inner thighs. Every thrust sends a jolt of pain and pleasure up through your core, radiating through your nerves. His voice is low and husky when he frantically says,

"Where-"

"Inside- please, Seteth-!" you don't need to consider this for a moment- it's how you'd always imagined it. Hissing your name through his teeth, his entire length throbs powerfully inside of you, and suddenly the intense heat of his orgasm begins to fill you. You feel the first shot or two, but before long you're so over-full and over-stimulated that you merely allow him to pour out his load into you while you lay beneath him, boneless and panting and utterly giddy.

You're both entirely spent. Seteth exhales as he carefully pulls himself from you, even this one last moment of friction causing you to squirm beneath him. He collapses at your side and rests his head on your chest, a hand lazily tracing loving paths along the curve of your waist. You can feel his cum trailing down your backside, but you're too sore to move and too content to care.

"I... I apologize if I-"

"Hush." you kiss his hair, and he softly laughs, his breath feather light across your skin. "I won't have you apologizing for making me feel that good." you add, your arms cradling him in turn. He smiles and blindly kisses whatever inch of your skin is closest- anything will do if he can show even an ounce of his adoration.

"Then I apologize for underestimating you. You are far too good to me, my love."

[sp00kworm]

Assal (Chapter 8)

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN LINK

Pairing: Seteth x Female Byleth

Warnings: Illness and Illness Symptoms descriptions and mild medical procedures. Mild gore. 

------

The physician was completely flustered, her hair a mess as Seteth tore back into the room, the look on his face something Byleth had never seen before. Black dripped past her lips as she tried to gargle out words of comfort. Her stomach heaved as her lungs clenched, a cough spewing a sluice of liquid past her lips, spraying black over the sheets again. The gelatinous substance wobbled before melting into water, black and foul smelling, staining the sheets the colour of charcoal. Byleth retched and reached to cover her mouth as Seteth grabbed for her again, grappling her onto her side as Manuela blasphemed behind him. Her hands shook before she steeled herself and moved to grapple the Archbishop.

“We have to get the liquid off her chest! She will drown!” She screeched at the man before slamming her hand against Byleth’s back, watching black mucus spray from her again, “Keep doing that! I have something to help, but it will hurt.” Manuela scrambled for her medical kit as Seteth made Byleth heave more liquid off her chest, her chin wet and running with black fluid.

“MANUELA!” His fists clenched in Byleth's nightgown as she gasped, cheeks beginning to turn from red to purple, eyes red and rolling.

“Hold her!” Seteth did as he was told, and Manuela held a great needle in her hand, tearing Byleth's nightgown up to see her ribcage.

 The physician took a shuddering breath before sliding the needle deep, the tubing attached sitting outside of the woman as she pierced the lung. Black liquid rushed out of the tube, splattering against Manuela’s slippers before a helper rushed to place it into a bed pan. Byleth took a rushing gasp as her lung emptied in a waterfall of black water.

“Thank the Goddess.” Manuela cursed again, pushing Byleth’s long green hair away from the mess in the sheets.

“Byleth?” Seteth gripped his wife’s cheeks, thumbs stroking under her eyes as he pushed himself to be level with her. The colour was receding from her cheeks as her lung emptied and the air returned to her.

Shakily, Byleth reached for his chin, fingers stroking the green beard softly before searching up into his hair for his pointed ears. Her fingertips grazed the point, “I’m okay, my love.” She wheezed before smiling, her eyes closing with weariness, “Thank you.” Byleth muttered, gripping his hand as Manuela held her shoulders still, watching the last of the black water drip from the tubing. The Archbishop’s chest still rattled, as though there was a deep-set infection.

 “I’ve never seen such a colour in any infection.” Manuela squinted at the bed pan, looking at the black water and mucus inside of it, “Blood and green...even brown, but never this. It’s like...like rotten.” She shuddered and toed the pan away to a tired maid, who blanched at the colour and ran to dispose of the liquid. With a sigh, Manuela gently pinched the end of the needle, taking a thick patch of linen in her hands to cover the puncture site.

“Hold still, my love.” Seteth took hold of her gently as Manuela swiftly slid the metal out and away into a bag to be disposed of. She oppressed the compression material to it swiftly and uttered words of white magic, sealing the wound shut and healing the deep tissue as best as she could. Byleth twitched at the pain but bared it as the Physician moved to give her room.

Byleth wheezed and coughed again, thankful for the taste of her own spit instead of the black mucus, “This...this has to be...” Her eyes rolled with sleep, and Seteth hushed her with a kiss to her feverish forehead as he helped raise her for the maids to change the sheets and blankets.

Seteth eyed the dragon pillow Finn had been laid on many a night before he'd put him back in his own room. It was covered in black, the fine embroidery stained with charcoal and pus. He handed it to the maids just as the door to their little boy’s room creaked and his footsteps thumped up the hall.

“Mama?” He pushed open the door only to have a maid usher him away gently, trying to coax the teenager away from the door. He was barely thirteen. Seteth let the maid take him away, holding Byleth's limp body in his arms as Finn caused a great ruckus in the hall, “Move!” He hollered and wrenched the door open, gangling arms flopping to his side as he looked at his sniffling father and pale mother.

“Fionntán, she is fine.” Seteth muttered to stop his son’s fighting, “Your mother is ill and asleep. Calm yourself.” The man placed his wife in the fresh bedding and wiped her mouth before Manuela placed a cool towel over her forehead for the fever.

 His son strode to his side, smaller than the other children his age, yet his human blood was letting him age faster than Seteth expected. He was all arms and legs at the moment, yet still small enough for Seteth to wrap his arms around him and rest his chin on top of the boy’s head. Seteth hid his tears in his son’s hair.

“Will she be alright?” Fionntán asked softly, holding onto Seteth's night shirt.

The advisor let out a wispy breath, “With rest and white magic.” He whispered gently, green eyes closed as he held his son tight to his front.

“Its like the Goddess doesn’t want me to leave you both.” Finn chuckled and escaped Seteth’s arms to sit next to Byleth.

Manuela scoffed, “Your mother has merely run herself into the ground. You should go and experience the world boy, just as your parents have.” She yawned and patted her night gown before gathering her medical supplies, “Call me if she worsens, Seteth? I’ll make some concoctions in the morning for her when she wakes. Now, I’m off to get my beauty sleep.” The medic left them in peace.

 Seteth closed the door with a ‘thank you’ before moving to change his black covered shirt. Fionntán changed the cloth on Byleth’s head while moving away her hair from her face. She was propped up on pillows to let her breathe better and Seteth was quick to sit on Byleth’s other side.

“I will tend to your mother...Go back to bed.” Seteth placed a hand on his sons cheek fondly before ushering him from the room and back to bed, “Some rest and medication will have her better, I promise you.”

Fionntán sighed, rubbing his eyes as he trailed back to his own room to sleep. Seteth sighed as he left and locked their door, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he wiped away the remains of the mucus that had infected Byleth’s lungs. He swallowed and raised the cloth to his nose. It stank of rot. Like the bodies of rotting soldiers. It was an ominous sign. Still, the Nabatea had seen something like this before, a plague which wiped across the continent. Himself and Flayn were immune, such was their heritage. How Byleth had contracted such a thing a thousand years after it was around was beyond him.

 A Wyrm. A black snake in a cave.

 Seteth gripped Byleth’s hand and prayed to the spirit of the Goddess that it wasn’t something they should fear.

 Fionntán was the first one into the room that morning, his tired eyes falling on his ill mother, and his father who was asleep in a chair next to her, his head slumped in the covers on her chest. The teenager smiled before making sure to cover the windows and stop them being woken up so early in the morning. He moved back to the bed and gently shook his Father’s shoulder, watching Seteth awake with a startle, his hair a mess around his head, under his eyes a dark colour from exhaustion.

“Finn?” Seteth yawned behind his hand, “Is everything alright?” He was instantly fussing over Byleth, ringing out the cloth before moving to cover it in cold water.

“Papa.” Fionntán took the cloth from Seteth’s hand and moved his father back towards the bed, “Sleep. I’ll cover this in cold water. She needs to sleep before Manuela arrives, and so do you.” He smiled and ushered Seteth back to Byleth’s side.

“I cannot…” He felt himself go dizzy before Fionntán pushed him into the bed.

“You are working yourself to exhaustion. Rest. I will wake you before Manuela arrives later.” His son pulled the sheets over him in the bed. As his son laid the cold cloth over his mother’s forehead, Seteth realised he was slowly becoming a man.

 Byleth was awake when Seteth next opened his eyes, feeling an ache deep in his bones from the deepness of his sleep. His wife smiled, reaching her fingers to touch his cheeks, her breathing clear and her face warm with colour.

“Byleth.” Seteth croaked, raising his hands to hers, cupping them with a great sigh of relief, his chin wrinkling with focus not to shed tears, “I was so afraid, my love, so afraid.” He utters, breathless before her bright eyes once again. Sometimes he wonders if she missed her natural colour, the blue deep like an ocean. The Goddess’ hair suits her, the bright green ethereal, and that’s all Seteth can use to describe her as she chuckles and kisses his lips, fingers pinching his beard covered chin, stroking at the hair he had begun to grow out.

“I am fine, beloved.” She whispered against his lips, “But this is an ominous sign.” Byleth frowned as she pulled away from Seteth, touching her chest, “That was from that beast I awoke, my love, I am sure of it.”

 Seteth sighed and rubbed at his face before pinching the bridge of his nose, “Are you sure? Could that dream not have been a product of the fever?” He took her hand tightly, trying to think on what he could and should tell her. Everything. His heart screamed to tell her everything.

“It is, Cichol, I know it. That…thing, did this to me.” She drew her nightgown away and looked at her skin, unmarked apart from the beauty spot on top of her breast. She was littered with the things. Seteth enjoys kissing them often, telling her they are like stars. The memory made her smile as she held of Seteth’s hand tighter.

Seteth took a deep breath, “I have seen your illness once before, while Cethleann slept.” He let go of her hand and pushed himself from their shared bed. The advisor moved to their bookshelf and pulled one of his own hand-written histories from it, his fingers stroking the pages before he found one of the passages, “It was a plague. It wiped out a third of the continent with ailments similar to yours. A few humans sought refuge where Flayn slept, thinking it to be holy. They spewed the same black liquid from their lungs for days before dying. I…” Seteth snapped the book shut.

“You watched them die, didn’t you?” Byleth hushed him with a kiss to the cheek.

“I had such hatred then, you must understand. I watched that illness take them and tossed their corpses out like…”

 Byleth snatched his face, turning his chin to face her, his sharp eyebrows creased, the lines around his face reflecting his age.

“I am not dead. I do not resent you for what you have done. Now,” Pragmatic as always, she took the book from his grip, “Tell me more about this plague. It could be useful information that links us to what I saw.”

Seteth smiled down at his wife, kissing the top of her hair as he opened the book again and presented the brief passages he had recalled and written, “There isn’t a lot. I didn’t study it with a medical knowledge in mind. I simply recalled symptoms.” He pointed out a little sketch of the buboes that appeared too. They were small and filled with the same black gunk.

“That didn’t happen to me.” Byleth noted thoughtfully.

“You have a Goddess’ powers, Byleth, perhaps you fought it off before you could truly become ill?” Seteth offered, tucking his head into her shoulder.

“You have a point, my love.” She hummed and read the rest of the passage before closing the book and thinking, her hand tucked under her chin.

“Perhaps the serpent was responsible for the outbreak originally?” She hummed.

Seteth tapped his own chin, “You could…be onto something. If this creature is something of a deity, who knows what power it possesses?”

 The ominousness of that statement sat in Byleth’s gut as their chamber door opened and Fionntán poked his head in.

“I brought Manuela.” He smiled brightly, pulling his hair back into a hair tie as he let the brighter looking physician into his parents’ room, “She has a tonic…”

“I have brought a tonic for…” Manuela announced before her eyes went wide, “But it, ahem, looks like you are well, Byleth?” She deflated a little.

Byleth laughed and watched as the woman came to her side of the bed, the tonic bottle in hand, “I will still take it, just to be sure, but whatever it was seems to have gone, thanks to your quick work. Again, thank you.” She took Manuela’s hands gently.

The opera singer went red in the face, offering the medicine, “Ah, you’re making me embarrassed!” She huffed before moving away, “Now take it three times a day! And make sure to rest, my dear!” The couple chuckled at her escape before Fionntán moved closer to his mother’s side, taking her hand.

“You promise you’re okay?” He asked, his youthful face still round like his mother’s.

“I promise, Finn.” She tugged him down to kiss his cheek and pinch the spot to redness. He grumbled at their laughter before escaping to go and practice with his uncle. Indech was no doubt wondering where he had gotten to today.

 Word of Byleth’s illness was confined to her close council, and even these Knights failed to see how she had ever been ill in the first place. Still, Seteth felt something, in his spine, after the events. He pushed his thumb to the base of it in yet another meeting, his anxiety high as the weeks whirred on and everything settled back into routine. Byleth was stronger than ever, dragging him along as a sparring partner after their duties every day. Seteth hefted his axe with a smile, his shirt drenched and flapping. He placed the blade in the dirt and tore his wet shirt off before hefting the weight of the axe once more.

“My love, how unfair. You know I can never focus properly when you take off your shirt.” Byleth teased with a coy pout from across the training yard, her sword in her grasp.

Seteth chuckled, slicing towards the woman with a heavy blow, “Come now, surely your restraint is greater than this, my world?” He felt the vibrations of their weapons clashing in his arms, gritting his teeth before he twisted and tucked the blade under Byleth’s, trying to drag her weapon from her grasp.

 The Archbishop was not easily fooled, and slid the blade free, sidestepping out of the way of his reverse swing before swiping for her husband’s legs, “It makes me want to beat you a little more!” She confessed as they continued to go at one another, slashing, dodging and grunting as they circled each other again and again. Seteth heaved as Byleth slammed her elbow into his abdomen, her bone sharp as it connected, bending him over double, giving her the opportunity to throw him to the ground and press her sword to his throat.

“Yield.” She smirked over him, hair sticking to her head as her husband grumbled on the floor before laughing, a gentle noise escaping him. The creases around his eyes made him look so much softer. He was happy.

“I yield, Byleth, I yield.” He pushed her sword away and sat up, letting her help him up from the dirt, his trousers covered in a layer of brown over his backside. His skin was streaked with dirt too from their tumbles on the ground throughout the match.

 “I love you Seteth.” She kissed him as he rose, and he returned the kiss shyly, hoping no one was watching the two of them spar.

“I love you too, Byleth.” He whispered before brushing at his chest and searching for his shirt in the corner of the training grounds, thankful for the chance to have worked off some of his worry.

 A year passed all too quickly, and before the two of them knew it, the King of Faerghus was back for the change of the month to the Garland Moon. He returned with his assembly, Felix, Ingrid and Sylvain behind Dimitri and Dedue in the chain of nobles and soldiers filtering into Garreg Mach. Byleth smiled from her balcony, waving to them as they entered the grounds, horses snorting and weary from the weeks of marching to the centre of the continent.

“A year has gone by so quickly.” She lamented on the balcony, watching with old eyes as the nobles of the north filtered into the keep.

Seteth’s mouth was pinched, his face sour looking as he watched Dimitri disembark. The King reached to straighten his cloak as the women swooned. He wasn’t a boy anymore. She ushered her own maids away from the windows as the two heads of the Monastery entered the council chamber again. Byleth walked past her chair and turned to face her sour husband.

“You knew this was coming, my love. You cannot take your promise back from him.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, white sleeves brushing against him.

 Seteth sucked a breath in through his teeth, green eyes forlorn as he looked at his wife.

“He is barely a teen.” He whispered as she cupped his face. His own fingers reached for her hands, cupping the backs with hot palms.

Byleth smiled, “We were all young when we fled the nest. He wants this. Let him go north and learn.”

He knew she was right. The advisor chewed his lip with thought as she reached to brush the tips of her fingers over his ears.

“I... I am scared we will never see him again.” It was a hushed confession as he drew his wife close, hands clutching her waist, pressing her to his front.

Byleth looped her arms around his neck and pressed her nose into his jaw, “Dimitri will not let anything happen to him. He will not die, and he will not forget his place here. You know he will visit as often as he can.”

Seteth nodded, a hollow chuckle escaping him, “I cannot help but worry. If he takes after his mother, he will rather sacrifice himself than see his peers hurt.”

A scoff was breathed hotly against his neck, “Then he will not go wrong. If he has our brains combined, he will come home.” She promised, pressing a kiss to his cheek, brushing her fingers against his beard before pulling away, “Come. We have to greet them.”

 Seteth followed with a sigh, the tails of his overcoat sliding against the steps as he followed.

 The party were stood before the steps, nobles behind their King as Dimitri stood with his lance, strong, towering over his subjects. The people gathered gushed and cheered within the market, lining the stairs as Dimitri waited, face the picture of control.

“The Archbishop!” The gatekeeper announced, and the knights followed with a slap of their greaves and a salute, stood like shining statues against the crowd as Byleth appeared from beneath the archway. The crowd dipped, the nobles and knights following. Everyone except Dimitri bent forwards in respect. The church was not higher than the King. He bowed his head, smiling at his oldest friend as she invited him to climb the stairs with a gentle gesture of her hand. The King did so, blue, fur lined cape dragging up the stone as he climbed towards her. When he stood face to face with her, Byleth nodded her head, smiling brightly.

“The church welcomes you and your party, my King. Take refuge and partake in the festivities.”

“We thank you for your kindness, Archbishop.”

 The crowd cheered again as they turned to enter the grounds, Dedue and Seteth walking behind them both closely, the man’s closest Lords next in line. Dimitri sighed by her side as they passed the gate and turned towards the private hallways.

“You’ve been King for a long time, Dimitri, surely you are used to such attention?” Byleth teased as they walked, trying to ignore the age showing on Dimitri's face as they moved up the stairs. He was approaching forty, and the idea of that scared her deeply.

Dimitri rolled his eye at her, “I’ve never had the grace of everyone else with it, but I can present myself better than most, I think.” He chuckled as they climbed towards the council chamber.

Felix hissed through his teeth behind them, “Even I am a better speaker than the King more often than not.” Rolling his eyes as Sylvain cracked a smile, new scars covering his pretty jawline. Ingrid gave him a look before he could provoke Felix further, her lips curled in her own smile.

“Sure, Felix, everyone just loves how abrupt you are.” Sylvain teased, unable to help himself as he pressed his elbow into Felix’s side, “Just like I’m sure Fionntán will grow to ‘love’ it too.” He dodged Felix’s sharp backhand and scuttled up the stairs. Seteth fixed them with a withering look as they entered the council chamber but didn’t comment as the King and Archbishop sat.

 “Seteth.” He knew that tone. Seteth gazed at his wife, looking at the consoling look with a sour stomach, “Get Fionntán, please. He needs to be told of the route he will be taking...And hopefully get a few more horse riding lessons before they march back north.” She smiled at her former students.

Sylvain clicked his tongue, “The boy still can’t ride? He better be a quick learner, teach.” He laughed good naturedly.

When Seteth stepped out of the room, Byleth sighed, “He can...but he has a habit of not really bonding well with any of the horses.” She placed her hand against the table, “He’s better off riding the shires than anything else, they can put up with his strong-arming in the saddle. The war horses won’t put up with him for longer than an hour.” She laughed at the memory of the boy being thrown off the Great Knights’ horses.

Felix rubbed at his face, “Certainly reminds me of someone.” He looked to Sylvain.

“Hey now, Gautier horses are less finicky and stronger than the horses here. He would do well to earn one of them.” Still he looked uncertainly at Byleth. Dimitri caught the look and leaned over the table.

 Before he could say it, Dedue spoke the words he was thinking, “Archbishop, are you certain he is cut out for this trip? It is not an easy journey...nor would my lord go easy on him.”

Byleth smiled, “I know. Trust me, I am as worried as Seteth, but I think this training will do him good. To be away from his father’s overbearing arms will also let him grow.” She looked back at the door as it opened. Dimitri smiled as Seteth let his son walk in. The green haired boy looked nervous, still half gangly arms and legs, but he was beginning to fill out a little. The King stood to meet him, towering over the boy still, his face scarred and his gaze intimidating. Yet he didn’t speak harshly.

“Are you ready for this, Finn?” It was gentle, spoken with familiarity. Byleth knew Dimitri saw her son as his own in many ways. He would perhaps die heirless.

Fionntán looked up at the King of the Kingdom of Faerghus and nodded, his green hair flying around his head as he looked back at the King, “I want to learn with you, Lord Fraldarius and Margrave Gautier, my king.”

“Then you are welcome to come with us.” He placed a single heavy hand on Fionntán’s head and smiled before grappling him in a hug. Seteth watched with a serious look before sighing, clutching Byleth’s shoulders in a comforting gesture as Finn cheered and rushed to gush to his parents.

 “Dimitri?” Byleth addressed her former student in the gardens, her face soft as he stood to address her. Dedue moved past them both, bowing, his armour clicking as he moved to guard the gates to the small garden. The students around them were quick to filter away as well, leaving the small pavilion empty for the two of them to speak.

“What is it I can do for you, Byleth?” He asked as he sat across from her.

Byleth took a breath, “Promise me you will look after my son.” She spoke frankly, fixing Dimitri with a harsh look.

A smile graced his face as she smoothed her sleeves, “You have my word. No harm will come to him while he is under my care.” Dimitri pushed his hair from his eye, pushing it away from the eyepatch as well, “I already made the same promise to Seteth. You are both so similar, and I think I see that now.” A ghost crossed his eyes as he looked at her, his eye digesting the fact that while he was aging, his professor appeared as youthful as ever.

“I know, but…He is young Dimitri, younger than he should be.”

Dimitri smiled at her, “He is your son, but I promise, there is no safer place for him than at my court.”

Byleth gave him a smile as her mind whirred, “Thank you, Dimitri, and please, do not hesitate to ask should you need anything…or if Fionntán needs a scolding. I’m sure Seteth would fly there on his Wyvern faster than I could read the letter.”

The King only laughed in response.

 Seteth clutched his son tight before he climbed onto the horse. The mount snorted, foot slamming into the stone as Fionntán held the reigns a little too tight. Sylvain was quick to reach over and adjust the grip as Felix wrangled his own quick-footed beast. The lord walked the mare in quick circles as Seteth held his son’s leg, his hands pressed to his son’s horse’s flank.  

“Papa. Don’t look at me like this is the last time you’ll ever see me!” Fionntán laughed atop the grumpy horse as Seteth sighed, rubbing his eyes as Byleth moved to pull her son down and press a kiss to his cheek, patting it as the knights laughed. Finn went red in the face, pouting as the horse snorted beneath him.

“I can’t help but worry.” Seteth snapped before fastening his son’s saddle bag, before chewing his cheek and calming himself, “But I…I know you will learn, and you will come home.” He looked at Fionntán and remembered the words he had told Flayn before she went travelling, “No matter where you may stray, you will have a home here, with me, and with your mother. Do not forget that.”

Byleth touched his arm, her fingers curling into Seteth’s muscle.

“I won’t, Papa.” Fionntán promised as the party began to move. He turned in the saddle to wave to his parents as the King led them away from the Monastery.

 Byleth held her husband’s hand as they watched the party move over the hills from her balcony. She looked at the early dawn sky and sighed at the stars as they disappeared behind orange.

“Dragons cannot survive in the cold, my love.” She whispered as she looked to the snowy mountains.

Seteth clutched her hand tighter, raising her hand to his mouth to press it to his lips, “Let us hope that is the case.”