So, uhh... it's recently been brought to my attention that I forgot to upload this chapter on FFN, despite having put this up on ao3 back in November after a several month break from writing...
Not gonna lie, I've not been working much on this story for quite some time (been very busy with starting a new PhD), and the fact that I've forgotten a fair amount about FE3H didn't help, either.
Regardless, for those who don't browse AO3, hopefully this chapter is at least slightly decent. Like I mentioned on AO3, the style may have changed slightly after inactivity from writing for quite some time.
Chapter 11: Fluvial
Fluvial: adj. of, relating to, or living in a stream or river
Shortly before the Blue Lions and Golden Deer Houses returned from their missions, Byleth had been struck by an excellent idea.
It was why he was now at the head of a lecture hall, looking at the faces of twenty-four curious students, with his father, Flayn and Seteth also in attendance. Jeralt was sitting over by the back – unsurprisingly Leonie had chosen to sit beside him – while Seteth and Flayn were in a little corner of their own, the deceptively young-looking girl still looking frail after the ordeal she had been through just days prior.
Word had spread of what had happened, and though he wasn't normally one to pay attention to gossip the rumours still somehow managed to find their way to him. Most of them were absurd, and he had heard recounts as far-fetched as him bravely fending off Tomas who had intended to seize Flayn for his own nefarious purposes, and then pleading with Seteth for his 'sister's' hand in marriage.
…there was a scattering of truth in even the boldest of rumours, but he genuinely had no idea where anyone could have come up with such outlandish claims. Had these students truly nothing else better to do?
He ignored the better part of his brain informed by memories of hundreds of years that yes, the vast overwhelming majority of students and staff alike in the monastery had far too much idle time on their hands.
Jeralt was looking equally curious and concerned at Byleth, and he had a good idea as to why. With the Golden Deer only returning to the Monastery just the day before, he hadn't yet had time to tell Jeralt the version of events he had informed Seteth of. The plan was for them to sit down following this lecture and discuss the latest developments, his own fabricated personal circumstances that had been told to Seteth, and how to proceed going forward.
In all honesty, he was feeling apprehensive about his planned revelation to come. Although it was still much easier to accept than the truth of the curse he had found himself in eons ago, he hadn't resolved to speak with Jeralt about anything even remotely close to the truth in all of his recent past lives.
Though it was now a distant memory, and he'd long since forgotten everything else that happened in those lives, he distinctly remembered the many conflicted looks of pain, rage and anxiety in his father's expression in his early lives where he'd tried to gather as many allies as he could if only it meant that he could get some answers as to how to break himself out of the loop. That helplessness only grew when nothing ever managed to work.
The inevitably of his circumstances had led him to stop pursuing that route ever since. There was no need for others to worry for him, when no answers would be forthcoming. This burden was his alone to bear.
His more recent experiences, however, challenged that line of thought. He needn't stand alone against the inevitable tide, if he had capable and talented students by his side. His gambit with Linhardt had showed him that.
After his more recent reflections in the wake of Flayn's abduction and miraculous revival, he had decided to more seriously train his students to prepare them for the war to come. The glaring problem with his plan was that during his five years of forced absence in virtually every life, his students in past lives had always made use of the skills they had honed during their time in the academy against each other in the inevitable war, which only further crippled Fódlan to be ripe for the Agarthans' taking.
The plan he had in mind now was aimed at correcting that. He'd taken inspiration from his tea party with Edelgard a month earlier. At the time, he had put his foreknowledge of her personality to use, and deliberately revealed that he was aware of Hubert's presence following their conversation. The princess had tried to rein her emotions well, but even he noted the surprise that slipped through the cracks in her armour.
Truth be told, Hubert had hidden himself fairly well, and even with his many experiences of dealing with assassins, had he not known of Hubert's tendency to ensure Edelgard's safety in all situations he might not have been able to discern his eavesdropping. Byleth had since not noticed Hubert tailing him, which he suspected may have been due to Edelgard's direct orders. It meant that his gamble in deterrence had paid off.
Edelgard's pragmatism had stayed her hand in taking active steps to eliminate him as a threat. It was on a completely different scale, but who was to say that he couldn't attempt to delay her from starting the upcoming war by making sure she knew that her rivals were more than capable of standing up to the might of the Empire?
In times of peace, prepare for war. Even though his attempts at diplomacy in past lives failed, perhaps this gamble might yet succeed.
He had petitioned to Seteth for him to take up a lecture series given to members of all three houses, breaking the traditional method of tutelage in Garreg Mach that saw the separate development of each house. Though Seteth was a stickler for tradition, it had only taken mere moments for him to agree. Byleth suspected that the recent kidnapping of Flayn thwarted only by sheer luck on his part and the frankly miraculous act that Linhardt had performed was weighing heavily on his mind.
It probably helped that he felt a debt of gratitude toward Byleth, however undeserved it may be.
Byleth had, of course, not told Seteth the complete truth regarding why he intended to teach the students. Just because he had divulged some of the circumstances that had plagued him through his many lifetimes veiled amidst half-truths and outright lies, didn't mean that he was willing to tell Seteth everything.
He could hardly tell the older man that Edelgard was plotting with their ancient enemies to overthrow the Church, and break the fragile peace that had held over Fódlan, after all. Despite how restrained and cautious Seteth normally was, Byleth knew that he was willing to do anything for Flayn's sake, probably even going so far as to attack and kill Edelgard outright.
Removing Edelgard from the equation wasn't the solution, as he'd learned the hard way in many, many lives long since passed.
Besides, for all that she had done and would come to do, he didn't quite want to see one of his dear students killed just like that. It was why he had saved Linhardt's life back in the library, despite having a chance to obtain information from Solon and kill the Agarthan mage after. Somehow, that paid off, seeing as it resulted in Flayn's life being saved.
Instead, he had framed the pitching of his idea in the context of uniting the three houses as a way of preparing them for the upcoming battle against the Agarthans, which strictly speaking wasn't even completely a lie. His hope that Fódlan wouldn't tear itself apart from within was primarily aimed at ensuring that the Agarthans couldn't simply conquer what remained when the bloody war came to an end.
While it was his optimistic hope that teaching them together as he had already done with his group sessions in the training grounds would strengthen inter-house relationships, and in so doing possibly delay the coming omens of war, hundreds of lifetimes had long since rid him of his naivety. He liked to think that he now had a healthy amount of cynicism.
He eyed the room once more. The students had mostly settled down, waiting for him to begin his hastily arranged lesson. It was a foreign sight, seeing all of his students gathered before him. The only times he had ever seen them truly together outside of the innumerable battlefields they had fought in were during the White Heron Cup and the grand ball that would be held during the Ethereal Moon.
Some were as they were in lives past. Bernadetta and Ignatz were shying away in their seats, squirming as others attempted to include them in conversation. Raphael was speaking animatedly to Claude, the noble offering his one quips every now and then.
Annette already had her notebook and quill at the ready, softly humming to herself, Mercedes waiting serenely by her side, while Felix tried his best to look as though he wasn't secretly enjoying listening to Annete's 'singing'. Dedue was the very image of stoicism, sitting by the side of the prince he had sworn to serve.
Ferdinand was staring at the back of Edelgard's head – who knew what his competitive spirit had conjured – while the girl in question was waiting patiently for the lesson to commence. For an instant, their eyes met, and as always her expression was unreadable.
Had her allies informed her of what had transpired? Did she know who he really was? In past lives, even when he had allowed Sothis' powers to manifest, she never directly opposed him up until her assault on Garreg Mach. Would this be yet another change amidst the many others that had already happened this life?
And Hubert…
…well, Hubert was being Hubert; ever by Edelgard's side, peering at Byleth as though attempting to discern the nature of his intentions in conducting this lesson.
Then there were some students that behaved much more differently than he'd remembered, the products of the changes that had been enacted in this life. Whether they were good changes still remained to be seen.
Lysithea was less bubbly than even her usual stern and uptight self, which was a feat in and of itself. His still-murky conjecture regarding the interactions between her Crests and her ability to use magic had obviously weighed heavily on her. Though she normally paid rapt attention during his classes whenever she had been in his house, at present she seemed as though to be struggling even to remain awake.
Dimitri simply looked tired, and for good reason. His moment of bloodlust and madness as his mind returned to the massacre at Duscur at a time far earlier than usual couldn't have been good for his mental state. The fact that he had injured Edelgard, his childhood playmate and step-sister likely didn't help matters. He'd already seen how Felix had behaved more derisively toward the boar-prince in the few sessions at the training grounds that Dimitri had attended following that episode. Dimitri never stayed for long after that.
Then there was Ashe, and he was a case unto himself. In some ways, he was the Ashe Ubert that Byleth always knew – kind, gentle and considerate to his peers – while in many others the altered version of events with Lonato had changed him greatly. He was more cynical than ever before, with a passion that exceeded even the life where his classmates had nicknamed him Kyphon.
Byleth cursed the part of his mind that thought of how his student would be far more valuable in the war to come, despite the toll that the metaphorical whirlwind of reconciling with his father in all but blood shortly before being informed of his gruesome murder would have on the boy.
Ah, but perhaps he had spent too long a moment inspecting them. Already, some were growing restless, and he had a distinct impression that the small wad of paper that had been shot toward him had originated from a bored Claude.
To be fair, it wasn't like he was trying to hide it at all, given how he had promptly stood up and waved as Byleth looked suspiciously toward him.
Best to move on with it, then. He raised a hand, and the class fell silent.
"Glad to see all of you once more," he began saying. He pointedly ignored the simultaneously lazy and enthusiastic applause from Claude. How in all of Fódlan he could manage that was still a mystery to him. "In light of the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion taking place near the end of the Wyvern Moon in two months, I have requested for Seteth to allow me to teach all of you about battlefield tactics."
For his planned goal of deterrence and delaying the onset of war, his primary focus was making Edelgard second-guess the plans she had for the upcoming war. In that regard, he had plenty of material to draw from, having been exposed to her particular brand of tactics as part of both the aggressor and defending armies.
"Haven't we already been doing that?" Caspar asked, confused. "We've worked with each other in the training grounds."
Byleth shook his head. "You've been working on tactics for skirmishes," he corrected. "When you're leading entire armies, you will need to employ completely different strategies. What the Black Eagles and Blue Lions did during the mock battle months earlier is an example of that."
"What do you mean?" Annette asked curiously, a glint of academic curiosity in her eye. She hadn't been part of the battle, but more than likely she had weighed in during the Lions' discussion prior to the mock battle.
The rest of her House along with the Eagles seemed to be equally interested. He noted the light furrow in Edelgard's brow and slight inclination of her head, a sign that he'd come to recognise as one of concentration and reflection for her.
Good. Highlighting the flaws in her strategies may cause her to second-guess herself when the time came that she ascended the throne. Hopefully, it would at least delay the start of war slightly.
Still, the purpose of this was to highlight the strength of her current peers and future enemies. It wouldn't do good for him to answer this question.
"Claude, your thoughts?" he asked instead.
If he was at all surprised at being called to answer, he schooled his expression quickly, adopting an easy-going demeanour that hid his propensity for devious schemes and brilliant tactics. That same façade had more than once disarmed Edelgard and her forces when she chose to attack Derdriu. Sometimes, the combined forces of the Leicester Alliance and his Almyran allies even managed to deal a devastating defeat to the Empire in a decisive battle, turning the tides of war.
"Ah, well…" He scratched at his head, as all the attention that had been directed toward Byleth was diverted toward himself. He thought for a moment, before a devilish look came to his eyes, practically gleaming in the split-second that his gaze flickered toward Byleth.
Byleth had the distinct impression that he was going to regret his decision of allowing him to demonstrate his penchant for strategy.
"His and Her Highnesses sent half of the Lions and Eagles to engage us back then, right? Little Teach single-handedly took out, who was it again… Ashe, Mercedes, Dorothea and Ferdinand?" He nodded in jest toward Byleth. Byleth again decided it was better to ignore the chorus of groans that that reminder brought. "Three cheers to –"
"Please be serious, Claude," Jeralt interjected from where he sat in the audience, already massaging at his temple. Ah, how nice it was, to have support in dealing with his unpredictable student.
"Aww, how sweet. Teach is looking out for Little Teach." He mock-swooned, before finally adopting at least some modicum of seriousness when both Jeralt and Byleth glared at him. He'd mastered that particular look after hundreds of lifetimes of dealing with unruly students, while his father had probably picked that up in his time as a knight-captain and mercenary leader.
"Fine, fine," Claude acquiesced, turning his body to a position that allowed a view of both Byleth and the class. "Well, in a real battle between armies you need to keep an eye on logistics, right? Troops, supply lines, generals, battle formations, terrain and more; while in the mock battle all we really needed to do was for Little Teach to beat the ever-living crap out of –"
"And I'm stopping you right there. Thank you, Claude," Byleth interrupted, his tone of voice conveying that he was, in fact, not thankful.
Still, Claude gave a mock bow, before sitting down in his seat. He'd at least gotten his message across, based on the look of deep consideration that Edelgard currently held.
"Claude isn't wrong. In that battle, the Blue Lions and Black Eagles each lost two of their members before the Golden Deer took any casualties. While a probing force works well in times of war, that failed gambit led to a numbers advantage for the Deer." He looked over the crowd before him, gauging their reactions. Most had already come to realise what he was getting at.
Now he had their attention. Time to switch things around.
"The Battle of the Eagle and Lion will not be a simple skirmish. Unlike the mock battle, victory is not determined just by taking out your fellow students. You will have each have entire battalions of troops to command, and the entirety of the Gronder Fields will be your battleground. To put things in perspective, there will be thousands of soldiers on a battlefield a hundred times larger than in the mock battle."
Some perked up at that, listening with keen interest. Others, such as Ignatz, almost shrivelled at the thought of taking command.
"While personal formidability in combat still plays a big role, more often than not battles between armies are decided outside of the battlefield. Controlling the flow of information, interrupting supply lines, controlling enemies' movements, using the terrain to your advantage, general troop formations and use of strategic assets play a key role in a battle of that scale. Sabotage, diversions, or honourable combat; nothing is beyond limit."
As he spoke, he scribbled down his general points on the board. These weren't even his original ideas, since they were paraphrased and stolen from past strategies that had been used by all three factions in previous wars. As far as he was concerned, leaking such foreknowledge was fair game, even if it meant that some of their planned strategies for the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion were now moot. If it meant delaying the war, everything would be worth it.
Besides, now that he thought about it, he quite looked forward to seeing how they would perform in the traditional Battle now that he wasn't quite here in the capacity of a Professor.
It would be the first time watching all three houses strategise and execute their plans without him personally taking charge over the house he was teaching. Already, he could see Claude eyeing his competition with a growing smirk, and even though Dimitri looked exhausted there was no mistaking the slightest gleam in his eyes that denoted the competitive spirit that had just been ignited within.
He knew very well how each of them approached clashes between opposing armies, having been part of all their war councils before. Now, he was actively sharing such knowledge with their rivals before they'd even thought of such plans, all under their very noses.
Had the situation not been so dire and his foreknowledge not earned by the spilling of blood on uncountable battlefields, perhaps he might have been amused at it all.
Edelgard was methodical to a fault, and willing to make any sacrifice if it meant gaining an advantage for her army. More than once, she'd baited opposing forces toward the central platform of the same battleground during the actual war, and then set it ablaze once they drew near.
He'd had to witness Bernadetta's growing terror as flames spread across the wooden structure from which she'd been sniping at targets, evidently having not been told of Edelgard's plans.
Dimitri favoured a more direct approach. In the times where he was of lucid mind, he chose battles where he could engage an enemy head-on and emerge victorious. Of course, in the early months after his return from forced separation from the events of Fódlan in each life, the king had been reduced to no more than a feral creature, seeking battle wherever it may be found.
In those cases, it was the assistance of those by his side that took charge of what strategic advantage could be had, even though his personal bloodlust saw him triumphant over many of his foes.
Claude was the hardest to pin down by far. He was the antithesis to Edelgard's brand of strategy, adapting as the situation demanded. He tended to switch up his approaches from life to life, and Byleth had picked up many tricks for combat in both small and large scales from the master himself. Poison, ambushes, disguises and unlikely alliances, nothing was above the prodigy at his craft.
Despite that, he shied away from suffering a loss of any kind, even if doing so could mean delivering a crushing defeat to his enemies. His orders in each life were clear – engage the enemy, but retreat the moment things ran south. No matter how much the circumstances of each life and the plans that Claude came up with on the fly changed, that single directive remained constant.
"Right, then. Any questions at the moment?"
Ashe, surprisingly, raised his hand. Byleth tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"Byleth," he greeted with a soft smile, although it looked oddly conflicted. "I know that the upcoming Battle won't be the same as the mock skirmishes we've had, but isn't using underhanded means a bit too much?"
It seemed that several others had the same gnawing thought on their minds. Though Raphael and Caspar beside him were their usual cheery selves, they'd clearly been slightly uncomfortable when he'd mentioned the bitter reality of warfare. Dimitri wasn't paying as much attention as he'd been accustomed to in past lives, no doubt thinking back to the treachery at Duscur that had killed those he held dear.
He hated himself for having to do this, but peaceful days in the monastery wouldn't last forever. Edelgard had already demonstrated that she was willing to go beyond what her peers would find acceptable limits, given her attempted assassination of her fellow leaders while in her Flame Emperor guise. He needed to level the playing field, and emphasise to all his students the grim reality that those rising to the stations they would come to hold would need to accept.
It was a gamble, one that could either intensify the flames of war or paradoxically maintain a tenuous peace driven only by mutually assured destruction. Hopefully, Fódlan wouldn't be destroyed in the five years of his forced inactivity.
"You're all training to become knights and leaders," he began saying. He noted how Felix scowled at that, obviously thinking this to be the lead-up to some drivel about how they would become responsible for those under their charge and that sacrifices would be demanded of them.
Fortunately (and unfortunately), this was going to be a very different kind of lesson.
"Make no mistake: As I told Felix months earlier, peace is by far preferable to war. You've all already seen battle and put down threats in the form of bandits and monsters, but I hope, for your sakes, that you never have to deal with war." He meant that sincerely, but it was still an empty hope. Within the span of a few more months, they would all be dragged into Edelgard's war one way or another.
"But not everyone sees things that way. Peaceful though Fódlan may be for now, threats that could disturb this unity still lie in the shadows. Your enemies will not hesitate to use any means at their disposal when your paths cross." He stared pointedly at Petra, Dimitri, Dedue, and then the childhood friends of Glenn Fraldarius in turn. "Some of you will have personally known that."
Petra narrowed her eyes in seriousness, every bit the Brigid huntress he had come to know. The aftermath of the bloody Dagda and Brigid war against the Empire had left her as a political prisoner in all but name. Meanwhile, the Lions' faces hardened, and he didn't miss how Ingrid turned to stare with hatred at Dedue, a reminder of what she'd lost.
He really needed to deal with that soon. He could hardly have the Lions fractured once the war started.
Then, without missing a beat, he gave Edelgard a brief look, one that didn't forthright say that he knew who she was, but implied it nonetheless. He'd tipped his hand to the Agarthans already, and now was the time to move on the offensive and throw them off. There were a million things he could have been referring to with that glance alone, and he knew that Edelgard knew that.
Though she didn't visibly flinch at that, he saw how her eyes widened. Good.
Edelgard hated uncertainty. Every move she made was carefully calculated, and perhaps toeing the line around her could distract her from concentrating on her ultimate goals. She would question just what his intentions were, whether he suspected her involvement in the Agarthans' plans, and if so why he wasn't immediately going against her.
He returned to addressing the class. "Being knights and leaders of Fódlan means doing things outside of your comfort zone. Sometimes, when the situation calls for it, you need to lower yourselves to the level of your foes, because I can assure you that they will spare no such consideration for you."
And oh boy, did he know that well. While bloodshed was something he was keen to avoid, hundreds of deaths had taught him that nothing was beyond reason during the inevitable war, because there was no metaphorical line to be crossed in the first place. Then there were the many lifetimes where he'd been captured and tortured, by forces of the Empire, Kingdom, Alliance and Agarthans, with and without the input of his former students.
"You're saying that we should sink to their level?" Ashe questioned challengingly, his face darkening. He had hoped the boy wouldn't have found out just how Lonato had died, although his reaction told him all that Byleth needed to know.
At least he wasn't down the path of vengeance so far that the act of taking a life didn't faze him. Dimitri hardly had the same level of restraint when he succumbed to madness.
"Yes, and no. I'm asking you to consider that not everyone adheres to the same standards you hold yourselves to." Though his reply was directed at Ashe, he hoped the rest of the class was listening. They couldn't remain innocent children forever, not if he planned for them to play key roles in stopping the war. "You've all already seen how bandits fight. Lord Lonato's assassination, the attack on the Holy Mausoleum, and more recently Flayn's kidnapping have shown that there are those who seek to destroy the peace we have."
Again, he gave a cursory sweep across the students, pausing just fractionally longer over Edelgard. Too fast for anyone else to pick up, but it would throw her off-kilter. He didn't miss how Seteth's grip on Flayn's shoulder tightened, or how Flayn's still weak body shuddered slightly. The Agarthans hadn't been kind to the Children of the Goddess, both in eons past and just days earlier.
"Why are you telling us all this?" Edelgard asked, her expression unreadable. "Those events are most unfortunate, but surely there is no reason to think that a war is coming?"
If she was baiting him out to reveal just what he knew, he wasn't about to fall for it. Instead, he chose to deflect.
"Be that as it may, there will be times when you cannot rely on personal skill alone. Almyra continues to probe at Fódlan's Throat for any sign of weakness; uprisings can occur at any moment. Battlefield control is very different from the field exercises you have undertaken thus far. You need to be prepared, and the Battle of the Eagle and Lion will be an excellent staging ground. The rules will be different, since killing is not permitted, but the general principles remain the same."
He paused for any other further questions, and cleared his throat when none appeared to be forthcoming. Time to put his plan into action. He recalled the many battles between the Empire and Kingdom armies on a stormy battlefield, two resolute forces that refused to bow down before their adversary as they advanced through blood-stained soil and mud toward each other.
It probably wasn't fair to Edelgard that it was mostly her future military strategies that were going to be dissected and eviscerated in these lecture series, rather than those of the Alliance and Kingdom, but he had learned just what fates awaited those who played fair eons ago.
"Right, then. Let's move on with the lesson. First of all, let us consider a hypothetical battle between two armies on the Tailtean Plains…"
-o-o-o-
"Alright, kid. What was that lesson about?" His father cut straight to the point the moment they'd entered Seteth's quarters following the lecture. "I know for sure that I didn't teach you those tactics. And why are you telling the kids about all of this now? Is this about –"
He held his tongue, cutting himself off mid-speech, unknowing of just what Seteth had been told regarding his present circumstances. Byleth saw how Jeralt eyed Seteth with slight distrust from the corner of his eye. "Why is Seteth here as well?"
There was frustration in his eyes, one that Byleth knew well. Frustration, worry and concern. Helplessness. It was the look that had kept Byleth away from revealing to his father everything he knew about the time loop and the events that were fated to befall unto Fódlan over the countless lives he'd lived.
"Flayn isn't here?" he asked Seteth instead.
"I do not wish to involve her in any of this," he said in a tone that bode no argument, more than his usual sombre self. "I hope that you can understand my reasoning."
He thought about how he'd kept so many secrets – was still keeping secrets – away from those he held dear, and suspected that his reasons aligned with Seteth's.
"Perfectly."
In that time, Jeralt seemed to catch on with what was being said, his eyes widening as he whirled onto Seteth. "Do you mean to say that –"
Best that he made sure both Jeralt and Seteth were on the same page. Before that, though, he needed to ensure that their discussion remained private.
He held a hand up, forestalling any further questions. Abruptly, the two senior figures of the Church fell silent, and Byleth took several seconds to listen carefully for any sign that they were being eavesdropped upon. He wouldn't put it past Hubert to creep by, especially after the many deliberate signs he'd left during the lecture that he wasn't quite who he seemed to be.
Just before the silence grew unbearably long, he lowered his hand, and nodded. "I've told him some things about myself, father. Things that I haven't yet told you about."
"What?!" Jeralt burst out, equally outraged and uncomprehending. "You mean to say that there are other things that you haven't informed me about?"
Rather than responding immediately, Byleth exchanged a look with Seteth, nodding slowly at each other.
They were in agreement, then. There would be no turning back from this point.
"I ask that you listen to everything we have to say before making your own judgment, and to keep everything you learn to yourself for now," Byleth said seriously. "I'll answer anything that I can after."
He waited for his father's agreement. It took barely a moment before it was given; desperation for answers, confusion and concern warring within.
"You may want to sit down for this."
With that, he began elaborating on his carefully woven tale, truth and lies mixed in equal measure.
He told his father of how he knew who his mother was. He told him about Sothis' heart and just how his mother had saved his life at the cost of her own, Rhea's experiments and how he'd seen battles past, present and future, framed in the context of dream-visions. He had seen how Jeralt's jaw clenched tight at those revelations, but still he continued to listen.
He told Jeralt about the nature of the Goddess, of her Children, and of their ancient enemies. He explained the true version of events that had occurred with Nemesis and the Ten Elites, and the true identities of Seiros and the Four Saints. He didn't mince words as he spoke of Crests and how the Agarthans had desecrated the bodies of the Children of the Goddess following the massacre at Zanado. He made sure that Jeralt knew just what the Sword of the Creator was.
Then, at last, when he'd explained his part, he waited patiently.
"It's… unbelievable," his father finally said, once rage, incredulity and a dozen other emotions had simmered. "To think that Rhea could have – that she would – that the entire Church was founded upon a lie, and that Crests were…"
For the first time, Byleth could honestly say that Jeralt was dumbfounded. In the past, he'd been a lot more restrained, but then again Byleth hadn't ever made such stupid mistakes that forced the Agarthans' hand and nearly killed both him and his father that early before, had he?
"Byleth – son…" Jeralt said, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry…"
This was why he hated telling anyone of his fate. Needless to say, if a minor revelation like this yielded such a response, being told that he'd lived through the same futile cycle hundreds of lifetimes over tended to produce a far greater reaction.
"It doesn't matter," he dismissed. "What we need to do now is to plan how to proceed going forward."
"But –"
"It really doesn't matter," he said more forcefully, not looking Jeralt in the eye. "Let's just focus on our future plans."
With that, he glanced at Seteth. He took over, explaining his part in all of this mess that had shaped Fódlan's history. "What young Byleth has failed to mention is my role in all of this. I know that there are a great many things weighing down on you now, Captain – Professor – but I insist that you swear once more that none of what I am about to tell you is to leave this room."
Jeralt turned his head fractionally toward Byleth, and he understood the unasked question.
"You can trust Seteth," he assured his father. In all his lives, Seteth had always made his intentions clear both friend and foe alike, sometimes even bordering on brusque and overly direct.
"…Fine, then," he said after a moment's pause, carefully scrutinising Seteth's expression. "I swear."
Seteth took a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly. Moments later, when they opened once more, they held nothing but unwavering resolve.
"Very well. While you have already been told of the truth regarding the Four Saints, Byleth has neglected to mention that my true name is Cichol."
It took a moment to sink in. Jeralt spluttered, and Byleth couldn't blame him. Seteth certainty didn't mince words.
"But that would make you –"
"Indeed," Seteth nodded serenely, as though he hadn't just unloaded world-changing information unto his father. "I am one of the Children of the Goddess, though as Byleth has mentioned I am unable to assume my natural form."
"And Flayn?" Jeralt asked sharply.
"Flayn…" Seteth grew uncertain, his eye flickering toward Byleth. He nodded slowly. Seteth inhaled once more, and continued speaking. "Flayn is my daughter, Cethleann.
Though he was visibly surprised at the man's revelation, Jeralt was clearly thinking about everything he'd been told, putting together the scattered facts in a comprehensible manner. Byleth had never interacted that closely with his father in a professional setting during his many lifetimes, since Jeralt was often off on missions for the Church and he'd long since forgotten how he'd conducted himself in his time as a mercenary, but he could now see why the Blade Breaker and the famed mercenary captain had risen to such prominence.
He was compartmentalising, the same way that Byleth had come to master over the long years of war. His mind had to remain clear through the fog of war. Any hesitation meant death on the battlefield, and though death meant little to him given his circumstances he had trained himself to separate Byleth, the idealist from Byleth, the soldier.
"If that's the case, then…" Jeralt considered aloud, deep in thought, before snapping his head toward the other two people in the room. "Flayn's kidnapping – that wasn't a coincidence?"
"No." Seteth growled the word out, his controlled mask breaking at the reminder of his daughter's death and revival. "No, it was not. They – the Agarthans – they sought to…"
Once again, Seteth was lost for words, just as Byleth had witnessed days before upon his return from his failed mission in Fhirdiad. He took over, seeing as grief and rage rendered the normally stoic Seteth tongue-tied.
"Solon – one of their leaders – was disguised as Tomas. He kidnapped her and brought her to Zanado, where they found a way to remove Flayn's Crest." Byleth's own voice shook as once again his mind conjured the vivid image of his student's lifeless body, Seteth's anguished cries echoing through the vast empty canyon. "Linhardt managed to bring her back to life, because they share the same Crest."
Frankly speaking, he still had no idea how that feat was managed. Crests were something so far out of his realm of expertise that he didn't know where to begin pursuing a line of questioning.
"They removed her Crest?"
Byleth nodded. "Crest Stones are derived from the hearts of the Goddess' Children, and Crests come from their blood. With it, they managed to empower a monstrous White Demonic Beast that we only just managed to destroy."
"That is most troubling," Jeralt mused, his brows heavily furrowed. After several more moments of deep thought, he looked toward Byleth. "What else might they be able to do?"
"I don't know," he replied honestly, fists clenched. This was uncharted territory even for him. "We have to assume that they still retain the power of Flayn's Crest, along with the Sword of the Creator. With the remains of the Goddess and the power of the Crest of one of her children in their hands, we have to be ready for everything."
Seteth nodded in agreement, a forlorn and tired look in his eyes. A potential repeat of the massacre of Zanado and the desecration of his kin that he had personally lived through must have been troubling indeed.
Again, there was silence, each of them pursuing different lines of thought.
"No one else knows of any of this?" Jeralt finally asked.
"Yes," Byleth confirmed. "And I intend for it to be kept that way. The Agarthans have already demonstrated themselves capable of infiltrating the Monastery."
It was a shallow lie. He knew most of their identities, at least for their leadership, but there was still a chance for them to don their magical disguises to blend in with the crowds at the Monastery. Besides, the fewer people knew of their plans, the less of a chance there was that the Agarthans could devise ploys of their own.
Goddess forbid Rhea catch wind of what was going on. She would either become overly protective of him, leaving him unable to do what needed to be done, or she would seek to retrieve her mother's heart by force, if necessary. She had always been difficult to predict, after having spent eons in the guise of Seiros and later Rhea championing stability in Fódlan, all while harbouring resentment for humanity. In his many lives, she had been both his closest ally, and his deadliest enemy.
"Fine," Jeralt said. "Fine. What do we do now?"
"Seteth and I have discussed matters briefly. For now, we plan to train the students to prepare for a possible confrontation with the Agarthans, while still keeping the truth of the matter between the three of us. My lecture earlier was an example of that. When the time comes, they will be ready."
"I see," his father mused. "What else do you have planned?"
"I have made the necessary arrangements for the Knights of Seiros to be recalled at but a moment's notice," Seteth said. "Catherine, Gilbert, Shamir and Cyril have been contacted to return to the Monastery. Meanwhile, the rest of the Knights will remain vigilant for any movement of our foes."
"Students, and the Church," Jeralt considered aloud. "I suppose I can reach out to some of my mercenary contacts."
"Can they be trusted?" Byleth asked.
Jeralt snorted. "Don't forget, kid, you and I were mercenaries." Funny, Byleth hadn't thought of himself as one in… well, hundreds of years. "Most are in it only for the coin, but there are a few who will be willing to help, with or without payment."
It hadn't been an avenue he pursued before. Normally, when he made any arrangements outside of Garreg Mach, they were groups started by himself, such as the time when he'd single-handedly founded an entire network of assassins and information brokers to influence the political landscape of Fódlan. Needless to say, that venture hadn't turned out well.
Perhaps Seteth was right in bringing Jeralt into this mess.
Byleth was striking a fine line informing them of relevant information while obscuring the truth of events, but all things considered, things were shaping along well. His students were reasonably well-trained, certainly more than they'd been in his first few lives, and they had engaged in cross-house activities far more than any time he had been directly associated with any one house in particular. At the same time, he was setting events into motion to hopefully delay the onset of war, and equalise the differences in power between each of the three houses, and by extension that of the rival territories of Fódlan they would come to lead.
The question that remained, then, was just where their loyalties would sway toward once Edelgard made her bid for power. Was bloodshed inevitable? Would he awake five years from now, only to find that several of his students had fallen at the hands of their peers? Would he –
"Byleth," Jeralt interrupted his thoughts. He turned, only to find his father looking at him with sincerity, devoid of the barrier that had existed between them since he could remember. "Thank you for entrusting me with all of this. I won't let you down, son."
…Byleth hated that it stung less than it should have, given that there were still many more secrets he was hiding from his father. The accursed time loop and his many lives were the foremost examples. Ailell be damned, even what he had revealed were based mostly on well-manufactured lies.
"I trust you too, father," he half-lied, a very complex set of emotions he couldn't begin to disentangle warring within. He mustered as much effort as he could to return the warm smile Jeralt had directed toward him, albeit twisted by troubled thoughts in the wake of their latest revelations.
"I did tell you that you could trust your father," Seteth commented, amused for the first time since Flayn's kidnapping. He looked toward Jeralt. "From one father to another, I can only imagine what you must be going through, Professor. Rest assured that I will do my best to repay the debt I owe to you and your son."
"There's really no need for that," Byleth tried once more. He just didn't get that none of what happened to Flayn should have happened. "It was nothing."
"You saved my daughter's life," Seteth disagreed. "That is most assuredly not nothing."
"But –"
"Son," Jeralt interrupted, a wry smile forming across his own face as he looked between Seteth and Byleth. "From one father to another, I can assure you that you will not convince Seteth otherwise."
A complicated look was exchanged between the two fathers. Byleth assumed that whatever it was wouldn't be worth the effort deciphering.
At least the gloomy outlook that had taken hold of their discussion had dissolved somewhat.
Come to think of it, he'd never seen Jeralt and Seteth interact that often in past lives. They did fish together on occasion, but Seteth had never trusted the Captain enough to divulge the truth of his origins.
Byleth knew he was playing a dangerous game. With the students, he was paradoxically providing instruction in the art of warfare in the pursuit of peace, while his relationship with the two mentor figures he had entrusted some of his secrets to was built upon a finely-woven web of lies. He had denied the Agarthans of some of their agents within the Monastery and the Faergus, but at the same time provided them with armaments they had never possessed in his past lives.
At any point, the house of cards he had set up could come crashing down, all while the Agarthans plotted in what was uncharted territory for him. It was exhausting, which was saying something, considering he'd not known rest for quite possibly hundreds of years. He could only hope that his many gambits would pay off.
"I am afraid I must take my leave now; Byleth, Professor," Seteth said, standing from his chair. "I will need to check up on Flayn."
"She's with Linhardt?" Byleth asked. Since she had awoken from her sleep, Linhardt had been curiously finding any chance he could to speak with her with a zeal Byleth had come to recognise stemming from his academic curiosity in Crests, while still giving a respectful space for her recovery.
"Indeed," Seteth sighed. "He has been asking a great many questions regarding her Crest. It is proving difficult to provide the answers to some of his questions."
"Will you be telling him about Cethleann and Cichol?" he asked.
He knew Linhardt could keep secrets, since he had chanced upon the truth of Lysithea's and Marianne's Crests in past lives even before his students had divulged the same information to Byleth. Still, this was Seteth's decision to make.
"Eventually," Seteth said. "I owe the child a debt I cannot possibly repay, but I cannot entrust the safety of my daughter to him just yet. For now, however, I will be observing him carefully."
Again, the two fathers nodded at each other. Byleth had the distinct feeling that this was something only a parent could comprehend.
With that, the three of them exited Seteth's quarters. Following a hurried goodbye, the father and son duo stood in the empty hallway, the sound of Seteth's footsteps quickly fading away in the distance as he rushed down the stairs.
"Byleth," Jeralt broke the silence. "How about we take some time to catch up?"
"I would like that," Byleth said automatically.
After a moment of consideration, he realised that he did, in fact, mean what he said.
A wide smile spread across his father's face, and again he felt that mix of warmth and a twisting in his gut at the relationship that had been rekindled upon layers of lies and veiled half-truths.
"I heard that the monks have refurbished the sauna near the training grounds in our time away," Jeralt said, leading Byleth through the many corridors of the Monastery. How odd. He hadn't remembered about there being a sauna in the Monastery, but he hardly paid attention to such mundane matters since many lives ago. "Trust me, kid, if its anything like the one from when I was a Knight, there's nothing more relaxing."
Byleth smiled faintly. Jeralt had never been forthcoming with his past life as a Knight-Captain, after all that the Church had taken away from him, but again this life was proving to be different.
"So what happened in Goneril, anyway?" he asked curiously. He hadn't yet had the time to ask any of his former students, and in past lives that particular mission had never been assigned to his House.
"Please don't remind me," Jeralt groaned. "You won't believe what the brats put me up to during our time in Goneril."
"Claude von Riegan?" he guessed.
"Claude von Riegan," Jeralt confirmed. "And if you thought the brat was bad enough, let me just advise you to keep him and Duke Goneril separated if you value your sanity."
It had been lifetimes since he'd met Holst Goneril in person, but he could empathise heavily with his father. For all that he was renowned for his skill in combat, the famed general had wit and cunning that rivalled Claude's.
"Sounds like a story."
Jeralt nodded in resignation. "You bet it is. During our first night at the Goneril estate, he…"
At the end of the day, when he'd finally retired to his own chambers, his mind was awhirl with the mixed uncertainty over a future made more turbid than before, and the sense of contentment that the time he'd spent with his father had brought. He had allies, now, with shared loyalties cemented through the new adversities this life had brought.
He may not have gotten any training done, and he was not the slightest bit closer to countering the Agarthans' yet-unclear schemes, but he felt that the burden he carried may have just lessened ever so slightly.
Not sure when the next chapter will be, but there will be 1-2 more chapters in the lead-up to the Battle of the Eagle and Lion (I think).
See you if that day ever comes!
