#i feel like thyrsus in particular should be more

[yukiwrites]

Byleth, Being Helped

Thank you for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse ! This is such an interesting topic to write I was done before I knew it!

Summary: Unsatisfied by Rhea’s words after confronting her about the Heroes Relics, Byleth kept his investigations a secret, finding in Hanneman the perfect partner to uncover their mysteries.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 -  Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9  - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14  - Part 15

Ever since Byleth had that confounding talk with Rhea regarding the origins of the Heroes Relics, he took it upon himself to research the ancient weapons in secret.

However, since they were legendary weapons of old, they weren't exactly easy to come by, though the Professor was always grateful whenever one of his students inherited the Relic of their House and entrusted it to him. So far, he had the Lance of Ruin (back in his hands after House Gautier formally passed it down to Sylvain), Lúin of House Galatea and Thyrsus of House Gloucester. He had a somewhat restricted access to Catherine's Thunderbrand as well, but since the Knight wouldn't part with the sword long enough for Byleth to study it, he left it as back-up plan should he ever find the need.

The more time he spent scrutinizing every detail of the Relics, the more certain he was that they were truly made out of the bones of powerful beings. Byleth even dared touch the Crest Stones imbued unto the weapons, feeling an unsettling and constant pulse coming from them.

It felt exactly the same when he checked his own heartbeat. He had none, as though his own heart wasn't doing its work of distributing blood through his body, yet the blood flowed irregardless. The pulse was there; a constant, never racing and never stopping, much unlike a normal person's heart.

However, very much like the pulse he felt through the Crest Stones placed within the Heroes Relics.

Could the Stones be for the Relics what the heart was for the man? If these weapons were made out of the bones of ancient beings, where did the stones hail from? Their flesh? Their own, beating heart?

Whenever Byleth started trailing down that way of thinking, Sothis would metaphorically kick his shin by yelling as loud as her non-existing lungs allowed. "DO NOT THINK OF THIS!" She'd forbid, light-headedness claiming both her consciousness and Byleth's body as a result.

It got to a point that Byleth started using Sothis' queasiness as a guide towards the right path. The more she kicked, screamed and refused to allow him to go any further by trying to forcibly shut down his senses, the more he knew he was about to uncover truths his mindmate's very being refused to remember.

Of course, he was doing all of that to find out what had happened to her in the first place, as someone who cared deeply about the little voice in his head. He wouldn't push through her limits simply for the sake of knowledge, so he would often allow her plenty of time to rest in between his research.

After she had almost literally exploded his head the previous week, Byleth decided to lay low on the subject for a while by using his free time to help the faculty members. That particular sunday, Byleth was helping Hanneman organize his laboratory, though it didn't need much tidying -- it felt like it was more of an organized mess than the chaos that was Mannuela's room on an average day.

"I must thank you again for your willingness to help, Byleth." Hanneman huffed a laugh, leaning on his desk for a quick respite. "Only the goddess knows how long it's been since I've tidied up the lower shelves." He rolled his shoulders, readying himself to tackle the bookshelf while Byleth worked on the ground level. The older man's knees weren't what they used to be, after all. Having a younger helper to take care of the things he struggled to reach was an invaluable asset.

Byleth simply shook his head, comfortably sitting cross-legged by the carpet, separating the documents by subject. "It's no trouble; I'm just glad to be of use." He replied nonchalantly, barely paying attention to what the older man said -- a safety mechanism, if you will, shared by any who had spent more than ten minutes in Hanneman's presence.

The younger Professor went through the motions of separating the documents, his mind almost entirely blank, safe from Sothis' commentary every now and then about how 'that old man doesn't shut his mouth!'. 

An unidentified amount of time later, Byleth started a new stack of papers, though he saw Sothis' hand materialize on top of his own once he picked a particular document. Blinking, the Professor looked at the floating girl, whose expression was somber. "This... is it not a research on the Crest Stones of Heroes Relics?" She said in a tune just above a whisper, clutching her chest with one hand.

I thought you didn't want me to look into this for the time being? Byleth directed the thought at her, watching how she changed her scowl from the paper to himself.

"I am curious about the matter, however I condone the way you forcefully try to yank it all out of me." She crossed her arms, sitting beside him. "Go on, read it. Let us see if our babbling friend here can help us solve this mystery."

Sorry about that... Byleth lowered his head, apologetic. He received a mental slap on the shoulder in response, which made him chuckle before reaching for the document.

There wasn't much in there apart from unnecessarily hard scientific jargon given the negligible amount of Heroes Relic Hanneman managed to get ahold of during the time he wrote the paper. It seemed to date a few years after he first joined Garreg Mach as an instructor. "This paper..." Byleth said aloud, catching Hanneman's attention. "You talk here about the strange pulse you felt while handling the Stones."

"My word!" Hanneman hurried to Byleth's side, whimpering as he lowered himself to whisper. "That is a very old theory of mine, son, one that I kept hidden away precisely because we are right in the bosom of the Church."

Byleth almost turned his head to make eye contact with Sothis, though managed to stop himself in time. He leaned closer. "Did you try to talk to Lady Rhea about this? When I mentioned the Relic's resemblance to live bones, she started behaving oddly to say the least."

"Hah!" The crestologist sneered. "Talk with the one who holds the most power in this continent slave to Crests about something sketchy as this?  Any scientist with half a brain cell would steer clear of her!" He patted Byleth's shoulder as though comforting an upset child when the younger man frowned slightly for being looked down on. "There have been many, many cases of scholars delving too deep into the studies of the Relics simply... disappearing after trying to make their discoveries public. The Church holds much power, son, and anyone foolish enough to go against it head-on must either have an army to back them, or a very special connection with the top brass."

"Rhea would have people executed for studying the Relics?! And yet she calls herself a woman of faith? What is this goddess of hers preaching?!" Sothis kicked her feet beside Byleth, who nodded, closing his eyes in thought.

Ever since he had arrived, Rhea had treated him with special care. Even as he touched on a seemingly forbidden subject, she did not turn hostile towards him, though it was dangerously close, now that Byleth thought about it.

Rhea. Crest Stones. Sothis. Special Treatment. Heroes Relics.

Byleth could feel that he was almost grasping the truth -- he had all the right pieces in hand, though little to no knowledge to help him sort them in their places.

"My students entrusted a few Relics to me." Byleth raised his gaze to Hanneman's, seeing the sparkle of a scholar whose interest had been piqued. "After comparing them with one another as well as with my own Sword of the Creator, I can't shake the feeling that we're dealing with something completely different that the Church's been telling us. The weapons look and feel like bones; the Stones pulsate much like my own chest-"

"Hold!" Hanneman gripped Byleth's shoulders. "What did you say?! Your heart beats at the frequency of a Crest Stone-"

"Hahhhh," Sothis groaned loudly. "There you go, babbling about things better left hidden!"

Byleth narrowed his eyes as he nodded, taking one of the crestologist's hands and placing it over his chest. "Feel it for yourself. My heart doesn't beat, but the pulse- it is exactly the same as the ones I felt on the Crest Stones."

"No heartbeat! How are you alive, my lad? This is- I must- we must investigate this further! Tell me everything you know-" He scrambled to sit down on the floor, though his old bones complained. "Wait, let us move to the table, shall we? Ah, and close the door while you're at it -- there are many ears who cannot listen to even a whisper of this conversation.”

Nodding, the younger Professor helped the older one up, shuffling himself to the door to lock it for good measure, heading back to the desk so they could start their discussion.

Hanneman could be a pain to listen to due to his eagerness to spread his wisdom, but it was precisely because he held such an extensive amount of knowledge that he was the perfect partner in Byleth’s endeavor. He wasn’t stupid, either; he knew when to keep quiet and when to speak up.

And this matter; this single matter was one that the both of them would either take to their grave or die defending.

Sothis sat on the desk as the two men talked, more than a little disgusted about the level of intimacy of the questions Hanneman threw at Byleth, but still managing to hold it together enough not to pass her own lightheadedness to her headmate. With the addition of Hanneman in their little party of truth-seekers, Sothis felt that they could actually accomplish something behind Rhea’s back, though she still couldn’t help but feel that it would all come down to talking to the Archbishop about all of this in the end.

Rhea held all the answers, but Byleth and Sothis had the right questions.

A fire being ignited into his chest, Byleth felt that they could finally start learning something with Hanneman’s help, though he still wondered if he should disclose Sothis’ existence to him or not. For the time being, however, they would focus on the Heroes Relics’ origins, materials and their connection to Crest bearers.

There was still much to learn before they could bring it all to the surface.

[mariafullofwrath]

Hopecanon: I’m Sorry

Vakna and Crane, April and Alex, they were laying next to each other in bed when she finally asked. “What happened between you and Wren?”

He sighed, but his face was neutral. “I figured you’d get around to asking.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

She felt the comforter move as he shrugged. “Yes. I made a promise to Irrlicht and Poirot, when we first formed the cabal. I had a particular reputation, because of something that had happened between Wren and I. I used to be in his cabal, you know. It was my first. I promised Poirot and Irrlicht that I would never use my magic against them. When you woke up in the safehouse, Irrlicht and I were having a disagreement about the particular meaning of the word ‘against.’” He smiled just slightly.

“I remember a very civil debate,” she said, dryly but not unkindly. “So…what happened between you and Wren?”

“Okay,” he adjusted his pillow and took a breath, as if he was getting ready for a long story. “My awakening…you know, you’re one of the most open mages I’ve met, both in general and in terms of their awakening story. My awakening was…very different from yours. But it shared some similarities. It was painful. I came close to death. And I was left with scars, which I asked a powerful Thyrsus to heal for me. And when he did…I stole the memory of what he had done, because I wanted those scars erased in every way possible. And he doesn’t know precisely what I did, but he was more powerful than me back then, and he knew I’d done something, manipulated something. And he hasn’t trusted me since. Rightly so. And that was Wren, and…I don’t think either of us is sure if I left of he kicked me out, but…that’s the end of that story.”

“Why would you…why would you risk so much, lose so much, just so one person wouldn’t remember a scar you used to have?” She looked at him searchingly, wrinkling her brows.

“Because…” he shrugged again, but she had a feeling he was anything but nonchalant about the subject. “One person becomes many very quickly. And I wanted those scars gone, not just physically. I’m a coward, April, I tell you my faults quite regularly and I don’t think you believe me.”

“Whenever you say you’re a coward, I think of when we fought the Azlu. And every fight since. I’ve never seen you hesitate, never falter. Yeah, you kept us away from the Pure, but…you might have been right,” she conceded. “That might have been a fight we couldn’t win. So how are a coward? Because you do say that a lot.”

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it? Being what we are. Seeing so much…even after the attack on the city, there’s so much that sleepers don’t see, so much waiting in the dark. But…this sounds trite. Maybe it’s just me. But I’ve always found some things much more frightening than any beast or manifestation.”

“So if I asked you about your scars, you wouldn’t tell me. Because you’re a coward.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

She brushed her hand across the cold piece of iron that replaced part of the skin of his right arm.

“You told me about this.”

“Yes, I did. Poirot and Irrlicht have seen it as well. Muse hasn’t yet, but likely will, eventually. It’s surprisingly handy; turns out it fits fae magic’s definition of cold iron.”

“That’s not what I mean. You told me about Scythe…”

“Everybody knows about Scythe.”

“You’re dodging things. You told me about Scythe. It makes a difference. It means something.”

“I told you a little about Scythe. A few sentences. How she died. That doesn’t encompass a whole person. No one should be remembered by the way they died.”

Her hand moved down to grasp his, “Do you want to talk about—”

“No, I don’t.”

“You told me about Wren, and the scars.”

“Anybody who asks Wren knows that story.”

“Half of it. They don’t know about the scars, if Wren doesn’t. You told me.”

“What…what is it you want from me, April?” Frustration had started to creep into his voice.

“I…anything, Alex. Anything.”

“No, that’s not it. That’s not it, at all.” He took the hand that she held and brought it to his chest, above his heartbeat. “Not anything. Everything. This. This is what you want.”

“Why won’t you show me? I’ve let you in. I’ve let you in, in a thousand ways. But you won’t show me.”

“I did. Once.” And that was why she couldn’t help pushing, even when she knew she probably shouldn’t. Because she hadn’t been able to read wounds to the spirit the way she could now, but she had certainly been able to see them. And Alex’s…Alex’s had been terrible.

“I was only learning. I couldn’t understand what I saw.” And every time there was some story he wouldn’t tell her, some topic he avoided, she felt the ghost of that memory. And the question, what had happened to him?

“But I didn’t know that. I do know, though, what you could have seen. You know how your magic works. I felt you brushing my old scars…April, you spend your days with people and their scars, and I don’t want to be that to you. I’ve let you in…”

“With your magic. That you control. I’ve let you see everything, but your mind is filled with locked doors, like some gothic mansion, like Bluebeard’s Castle a hundred times over…”

“Am I Bluebeard, then?” He sat up.

“No, Alex, that’s not what I meant, it’s just…”

“Do you trust me?”

And she didn’t answer. He got out of bed, started getting dressed.

“I saved your life. And you won’t forgive me for it.”

“Alex…stop,” she said, her voice stop, rising and putting a hand on his arm. “How am I supposed to feel? Whether I was right or wrong, how is it supposed to work between us, if you can do things like that, when you can end an argument by putting me to sleep and hoping I’ll be more amenable when I wake up…”

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I should have the answer to that. You’re young, April, you’re young and filled with hope and the world hasn’t torn you up yet, and I just…I just want to protect you from it.”

“And it doesn’t matter what I want?”

“What about what I want? Do you know what I don’t want? I don’t want to be…to be saved. Or healed. Or fixed. But that’s what you do. People come and show you their wounds and you smile and you cry with them, but I don’t want a healer, April. I want a lover.” And she could hear frustration in his voice, but when he looked at her, she could hear the truth of the last statement in his eyes. He wanted a lover. He wanted to be loved. And she…she wanted to love him. But she couldn’t. Not like this.

“I just…I just want to know who you are.”

“But you do! You do. Why…why do you have to know everything, April, every story? Why isn’t my present enough for you?”

“I…Alex…Alex…” she sat down on the bed. “I don’t even know your name. I don’t even know your name, Alex.”

He sat down next to her. “I’m sorry.” He put an arm around her shoulders.

“For what?” she asked, quietly.

“I don’t know, but I’m sorry.” He shifted, resting his head on her shoulder. The both faced forward. It took a moment after that, a moment for gravity to do its work, before she felt the cool moisture of a tear wind its way from his face to her skin.