A/N: HELLO!
I'm so sorry for how long it's been, this story got put on hold for a while and I forgot how much I desperately love writing it so I'm so excited to return with another chapter! I'm afraid I can't promise an update super soon since I'm back in school, but I'll do my absolute best to not make you wait for another eight months (yikes!)
I hope you enjoy this chapter, it was a BLAST to write (honestly, these two just seem to write themselves at this point, I love them so dearly) and I can't wait to hear your opinions on it! You know I had to give them their Tangled moment ;) The lake is also inspired by Lover's Pond from the game Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild!
Sending so much love to you all. I really did miss you and this story and can't wait to hear from you all again :)
xo Ever
Seteth has only been speechless - really, truly speechless - three times in his life.
The first was when he saw his daughter for the first time: a small, smiling bundle of green, his little girl, and even then it was like joy exuded from her tiny body. He hadn't been able to speak a single word.
The second was when he was informed of his wife's passing. When his world broke into a million tiny pieces and all he could do was dry heave on the floor until the morning came and the sun scattered its sickeningly bright rays across his bedroom floor.
The third is this very moment, where he stands, one hand on Byleth's doorknob and the other raised awkwardly in the air in what started off as a greeting and has now become a sort of shocked wave.
She stands in front of him like a goddess, an otherworldly sort of being that he can only describe as ethereal. Her gown fits perfectly, accentuating her curves and shimmering in the dim lantern-light of her room, the lavender accented by the green of her hair and the sparkling, infinite seafoam of her eyes.
And her eyes, well, they're rimmed in sort of a smoky black that only draws his attention to them even more, and he is well and truly captivated.
The worst- and, he must admit, perhaps the best -part of it all is that the dress has a sort of corset attached that displays an ungodly amount of Byleth's chest, and he blushes down to the roots of his hair. He's fairly certain he's seen this dress on Manuela before, and he's also fairly certain that he gave her a dress code citation for it that she'd promptly tore up into shreds.
Well, he never claimed to not be a hypocrite. He may be a Saint, but that doesn't mean he's saintly all the time.
"Hello," Byleth says, her voice soft and tentative, and Seteth immediately tears his gaze away from that damned dress in utter embarrassment. Goddess above, what must she think of me?
"I- You- My-" He can't do it. He can't speak. He just stands there, gaping like a fish, and oh Goddess, this is going terribly, and they haven't even left her room yet, and he's just clenching and unclenching his fists and he was a fool for thinking this could work, that he could pull himself together, and-
"Seteth." Softly, deftly, she reaches out and puts a hand to his shoulder, steadying him. "You look quite dashing."
"Oh!" Seteth exclaims quickly, looking down at his white uniform, accented with golds and navy blues in a way that makes it look more like a suit than church attire. "I- Thank you." Suddenly, he remembers that he's supposed to talk. "And you! You look absolutely breathtaking, Byleth."
"Thank you, Seteth," she says, the gentle beginnings of a smile present on her lips. "I can't wait for tonight. Where are we-"
Suddenly, there's a muffled shriek, and a loud thumping noise echoes through the darkness behind Byleth. She turns quickly, a mortified expression on her face, and Seteth attempts to peer over her shoulder.
"Damn it, Claude! I told you to stop squirming." It's a girl's voice, sharp and high-pitched, and almost comically, the door to Byleth's wooden dresser swings open, and four screaming students tumble out into a heap on the floor.
"Me? It was you who kept stepping on my foot!" A boy picks himself up from the floor, dusting himself off, and Seteth immediately recognizes him as Claude, heir to the Leicester Alliance and utter nuisance. Beside him, Hilda is straightening a very scared-looking Marianne's collar, who stares at Seteth with what can only be described as the look of a frightened deer who's about to be shot. And standing above them all, hands on her hips and a grin that lights up the whole room plastered across her face, is his ever-intruding daughter.
"Oh! Hello, Brother." Flayn rocks on her heels - sheepishly, to her credit - grinning at him all the while. "My apologies, Professor! It seems your closet was not big enough for all four of us to eavesdrop peacefully."
"Clearly," Byleth says, and she puts a hand to her temple, massaging what's most likely an impending headache. "Seteth, I'm… Well, there's no use apologizing for their behavior. I'm sure you're hardly surprised by it at this point."
"I'm glad they are… enthusiastic," is all Seteth can say, and to be honest, he's quite grateful for the interruption. It seems it's helped him to regain his power of speech. "Flayn, we'll talk about this later." He shoots her a scathing look, which is of course not enough to knock the grin from her face. "Byleth… Shall we be off?"
"I thought you would never ask," Byleth says with the hint of a smile, and she steps through the doorway, slipping her arm through his own, and the minute her fingertips brush his uniform he's reminded of a certain kiss, and it sends his head spinning. Before she shuts the door, she seems to remember the situation behind her, and she turns back to her room. "You four. Out."
Reluctantly, Byleth's Golden Deer stumble to their feet, grumbling and bickering as they make their way out into the cobblestone corridor.
"Well, have fun, kids! Don't stay out too late," Claude chides, giving Seteth a stern look as he saunters past. Marianne practically hides behind Hilda as they scurry past, and Flayn blows Byleth a quick kiss before giggling away after the other two girls. "And leave room for the Goddess! That means you, Seteth! We all saw how handsy you can be at the Ball," Claude adds, shouting after them, and Seteth is blushing again.
"Thank you, Claude, that'll do!" Byleth shouts after them, and with a loud chorus of laughter, the Golden Deer disappear into the night, no doubt off to commit more crimes and plan more schemes. The night is still young, after all. "Sorry about them. Again."
"Do not worry. It seems that the more those four get involved with… us, the closer we seem to get," Seteth muses, and the two of them turn down the corridor and begin to make their way towards the marketplace, the evening sky just beginning to melt into night and casting their path in a soft indigo. "It seems you have trained your students well."
"Is that right?" Byleth shakes her head, her eyes laughing. "Perhaps they've really got the hang of this whole matchmaking thing, after all."
"I assume they helped with your…" Seteth looks at her dress and immediately regrets it, his face becoming a blushing mess at the mere sight of her. By the Goddess, get it together, Seteth! "... Outfit."
"Oh, this?" Byleth looks down at her lavender ensemble, her steps falling in time with Seteth's as the two of them pass by the greenhouse, the moonlight reflecting off of the ivy-strewn glass panels. "Hilda's idea. Apparently Manuela owed her a favor."
"Well, you're a vision in anything, but this…" Seteth doesn't want to seem too over-the-top, not this early into the date, but he can't help but want Byleth to know just how completely speechless she makes him. "In this, you are simply mesmerizing."
"Seteth." The sound of his name on Byleth's lips is just as sweet as it always is, and he's pleased to see that he's got her blushing now, too. "Do you plan out these lines ahead of time, or are you always this suave?"
"I think by now you are well aware of my overall lack of suave-ness," Seteth says with a laugh, and her smile deepens, her grip tightening slightly on his arm. "But in this particular case, there was no need for preparing lines. I'm sure every single one of these merchants we're passing is composing sonnets about you in their heads as we speak."
"Sonnets?" Byleth's eyes gleam, and Seteth's heart squeezes at how much she's enjoying his compliments. He wonders if Byleth has ever been complimented like this before, beautiful and brilliant as she is. Perhaps mercenaries are not as kind as a church full of nobles and princes. "I should hope not. Jeralt…" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "My father always used to say that poetry is the enemy of all good, honest literature."
"Is that so?" Seteth doesn't want to pry deeper into the subject of Jeralt, especially at a time like this, but he doesn't want to dismiss her comment entirely. At times, it feels like conversing with Byleth is an art, a slight push-and-pull that he's never shared with anyone before. Every word means something between the two of them, that much he is sure of. "And what literature did Jeralt enjoy?"
"Oh, all kinds. He was a fighter, of course, but reading was his greatest passion, although he'd never dare admit it." Byleth smiles wistfully, the stars reflecting in her pearly eyes. "He used to read me fairytales, the ones with armored princes rescuing their damsels in distress, only he'd change it all around so that the princess was the one slaying the dragon."
"Really?" Seteth is surprised at this, the image of the Blade Breaker reading bedtime stories one that would seem quite foreign had he not known just how kind the man's heart truly was. "I… I used to read to her, too. To Flayn."
"That's wonderful." Byleth turns back to him, and he checks to make sure she doesn't look upset. Instead, however, she seems perfectly happy, and he's glad that reminiscing on memories of her childhood is no longer too difficult a burden for her to bear. He's glad he can help her share it. "I always thought that those books made me a better fighter, anyway."
By now, the two of them have left the marketplace and are strolling down a winding lane that leads off into the distance for just a few more paces, and Seteth realizes with an embarrassing pang that he's completely forgotten to tell Byleth where they're going. Some gentleman he's turned out to be.
"Are you tired of walking?" he asks, hoping she doesn't think him terribly rude for his thoughtless behavior. "I was thinking that we could stop by my favorite teashop, it's just a bit further down the road. And then, perhaps, I thought I might show you a little surprise."
"A surprise?" At this, Byleth comes alight, her eyes flashing with something Seteth can only describe as excitement, although there's more to it than that. "You're so thoughtful, Seteth. And I'd never tire of walking, not if I'm at your side while I'm doing it."
"R-Really?" How can she say these perfect, perfect things with such ease? For the love of all that is holy, Seteth, if you don't stop blubbering like an idiot you're going to drive her off completely. "Well, in that case… I'll lead the way."
The tea shop smells like rose petals and peppermint, and it's filled with a soft warmth that makes Seteth feel at home the minute he steps inside. He sits with Byleth in a corner booth that's lit by a few flickering candles, and the two of them order ginger tea for old time's sake. Their extravagant attire (particularly Byleth's gown) draws more than a few eyes, but Seteth barely even notices. He's too busy looking at beautiful, brilliant, mesmerizing Byleth.
It goes by in a wonderful blur, every minute he spends with Byleth better than the one before. The two of them talk about everything - weapons, books, students, first crushes - and it feels like no time goes by at all, and yet, Seteth is grateful for every second of it.
He barely realizes an hour has gone by until the waitress comes over to ask them to please leave, you're holding up the booth and also some of our single customers have complained that the way you two look at each other is making them feel even lonelier than they already are, and he takes Byleth by the hand before sprinting out of the shop, the two of them laughing like they're a young couple who've just been caught together in a broom closet.
"That was such a lovely shop," Byleth says, panting slightly as the two of them begin to make their way further down the road, her fingers intertwined with his own. "A pity our lustful stares were too much for some of the customers."
"I've never been kicked out of there before," Seteth says with a grin, slightly winded from their escape out of the shop. "Who knew that our connection was so tangible that it would affront so many?"
They laugh all the way down the street until the road ends, and Seteth realizes that it's showtime, and if this brilliant surprise does not all go according to plan he is going to have to do some serious damage control.
"Where are we?" Byleth asks politely, looking around at the dark, sandy beach that stretches out before her, and Seteth is certain she's most likely assuming he's about to murder her in a secluded location away from prying eyes.
"This is the bank of the river," he says, taking her hand and leading her further down the bank. Once they get a little further across the sand, a little rocky path begins to twist away, and the water comes into view, sparkling in the dim light of the lanterns that light the thin pathway. It's barely wide enough for the two of them to fit, and Byleth presses close to Seteth's side, her hip brushing against his thigh, and it takes everything in him to not focus only on her touch. "And right over here is…"
Suddenly, the two of them reach the end of the lantern-lit path, and at the end of it all, lined by little posts adorned with globe-like fairy lights, is a glimmering, heart-shaped pond.
"Oh," is all Byleth says, the word barely more than a breath as she steps forward, taking Seteth's hand with her as she stares out at the shimmering water. It's golden in the lantern light, and all around them, little fireflies are out against the night sky, darting in between the light-posts and settling on the water.
Suddenly, she sees it, and her eyes widen: at the edge of the lake rests a small, ornate rowboat that is carved with swans and gilded ivy, the wood curling at its bow and a pair of oars resting against the side. There are white flowers twisted into the wood around the edges, and Seteth thanks the Goddess that they haven't wilted since he put them up only hours ago.
He's nervous, he realizes, so nervous, and he watches Byleth intently as she takes in the scene, eyes wide and completely silent. What if she hates it? What if she's afraid of water? What if she never wants to see me again and-
"Seteth…" She trails off, and suddenly, she turning to him, and her eyes are full of starlight, and she's ethereal, she's perfect, and she's wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him close. "It's so… it's so beautiful."
When she finally pulls away, she's smiling, one of those real, full smiles that are so rare from Byleth, and it fills his heart near to bursting.
"It's called Lover's Lake," he says quietly, leading her towards the boat and holding it as she enters it cautiously, rocking slightly as she takes a seat. "I was on a walk with Flayn, once, and discovered it. I thought… I thought you might like it."
"I adore it," Byleth says, and she gestures across from her so Seteth sits down, gently picking up the oars and slowly beginning to row them out into the center of the water.
It's not a large pond, but it certainly isn't small, and it takes him a minute to row them all the way out to the middle. The water ripples as the boat cuts through it, and he watches Byleth touch her fingertips to its glassy surface, her hand leaving a trail through the little waves.
"Did you do all this… for me?" She looks around at the lights, the flowers, the boat, and when she looks back at him, there's something like tears shining in her eyes.
"I set it up a few hours ago," Seteth says, looking around to try and check for the twentieth time whether or not he made a mistake with the decor. "I know it's probably too much, and perhaps I was a little too eager, but I tend to go overboard with these things, and, well-"
"Seteth," Byleth says again, and she leans forward, taking the oar out of his hand and locking it gently against the side of the boat so she can intertwine her fingers with his. "This is truly the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me."
Slowly, he brings her fingers to his lips and kisses them, his heartbeat going a mile a minute as he stares into her eyes. How could he have gotten this lucky, after how cold he was to her, after how cruel he was? How could he, Seteth, widowed father and washed-up Saint, have gotten so incredibly lucky?
"Look," he says, and he reaches out to guide her chin to a spot just above the shore, where the small lights of the town flicker like the fireflies around them, barely any bigger than the fairy lights from how far away they are. And above it all, nestled on top of a hill, is Garreg Mach in all of its glory, alight with a soft glow that matches the stars above their heads. "I always find it more beautiful when I'm away from it. When I can take it all in."
"It is beautiful," Byleth agrees, and when he turns to look at her, she is smiling up at the building. "I never thought I would be so fond of it as I've turned out to be. Or, perhaps, it's not fair to give all the credit to the building. It's more the people in it." She turns back to Seteth, smiling. "Or perhaps, in this case, the people out of it."
"I cannot imagine Garreg Mach without you. It was not even half as vibrant as it is now." Seteth doesn't like to think back to those days, the ones before Byleth came, where it was all loneliness and quiet and the ache of hundreds of years spent alone.
Hundreds of years spent alone.
It all comes rushing back to him in a moment, and the wave of just how many secrets he is hiding from Byleth hits him like a train and he has to close his eyes for a minute, if only to compose himself. To compose his thoughts.
He cannot tell her, not everything. It would not be fair, to place such a burden on her shoulders. He was lived for hundreds of years with this burden, and it was hard enough to put Flayn through the struggle of an immortal life. He cannot bear to put it on someone else.
And yet, what if she is like him? Rhea is hiding something, about Byleth, and now her new coloring… He cannot help but to think - to hope - that she may share his curse, this curse that was meant as a blessing.
"Seteth? Are you alright?" Ever-conscious Byleth puts a hand to his cheek, looking into his eyes. "You seem distant."
"I'm sorry. I was… lost in thought, for a moment." He curses himself for making her worry. This is their first date, for the Goddess's sake. It's hardly time to spill every dark secret of his soul to poor, unsuspecting Byleth. "I seem to have a lot to think about, these days."
"I know what you mean," she says. "I suppose you know about the Revelation I am to receive at the Holy Tomb in just a few day's time."
"Of course," Seteth says, but he'd forgotten about that. He curses himself for being so thoughtless. "I can't imagine what that must be like. I'm glad that your students will be by your side during the ceremony."
"Will you… will you come, too?" Byleth looks almost scared, for a minute, and Seteth frowns. What is frightening such a fearless warrior? Perhaps there is more to this ceremony than he understands. "I'd like for you to be there. It will be easier for me if I know… if I know that you're near."
"I wouldn't think of being anywhere else," he says, taking both of her hands. "I'll be by your side for every second of it, if that is what you wish."
"Thank you." Byleth seems to breathe a sigh of relief, her worry slowly fading. "I'm just not sure what to expect, is all. It seems rather daunting."
"I understand. Affairs of the Church of Seiros are often quite elaborate. But trust that no harm will come to you, not when I am by your side," Seteth says, desperate to reassure her. "Although, you are hardly a damsel who needs protecting."
"Everyone needs a little protecting now and then." Byleth smiles slightly, her eyes gleaming. "Even a fearless mercenary like myself."
"And fearless you are indeed," Seteth says, and he suddenly registers how close she is, how her face is mere inches from own, how that damned dress is hugging her so tightly, and he leans forward before he even realizes he's doing it, the tip of his nose ghosting against her own. "Perhaps it's time I brush up on my skills if I am to be a suitable protector."
"Skills?" Byleth raises an eyebrow suggestively, her smile deepening, and Seteth has never been so thankful for the cover of the darkness as he blushes profusely. "Well, I am a teacher, you know. I've been told I'm the best at the Academy."
"Is that so?" Seteth's heart is singing. He doesn't think he's ever felt such utter thrill at being near another person, not ever in his life. "I suppose I'll have to be the judge of that. It's important to make sure your teaching skills are up to standard, after all."
"You'll have to let me know." Byleth's voice is a husky whisper, now, her eyes trained on his lips. "I do so aim to please."
Something inside him snaps, and Seteth cannot hold himself back any longer. In a minute, cordial, proper Seteth has lurched forward, hungrily devouring Byleth's lips as if it's the last kiss he'll ever have.
She's surprised by the intensity, at first, he can tell, but then she matches his energy tenfold, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, closer, closer, her fingers tangling in his hair.
In a sudden burst of courage, Seteth slips his tongue into Byleth's mouth, tracing it delicately over her front teeth, and she lets out a breathless moan that sends his head reeling.
In an instant, she's deepening the kiss, her fingers digging into his head, and he drops his hand lower, toying with the zipper of her dress. There's a voice in the back of his mind that's utterly shocked and appalled at this complete and utter lack of decorum, but he shoves it so far down until it's completely drowned out, fighting for life against the sound of his mouth moving against Byleth's.
"Byleth…" he whispers, his hand pressed flat against her back as he pauses, gasping for breath.
"More," is all she says, and Seteth is more than happy to oblige. He trails desperate kisses across her jawline, down her neck, dotting her collarbone as he inches closer and closer to the neckline of that damned dress, and Byleth's chest heaves under his touch, their two heartbeats beating in a thrumming unison.
He can't think of anything but her, and Byleth is tangling her fingers in his curls, and he's almost at that lavender fabric, now, and Byleth is making these delicious sounds that are sending him into a frenzy and the boat is rocking and… Wait. Rocking. The boat. Goddess above, the boat!
It's all too fast and it's all too late, and before he knows it, the boat is tipping over and Byleth is gasping and there's a loud splash and suddenly he's plunged into the icy water of Lover's Lake, the cold darkness enveloping him as he slips beneath the surface. It's crushingly dark underwater, and the sudden transition makes his head spin as he fights to get his head back above water.
When he finally surfaces, Byleth is clinging to the overturned boat, the water around her strewn with white flower petals, and he swims over to join her, clutching the boat and coughing up lake-water.
"By the... I am so, so incredibly sorry, Byleth. I had no idea this would happen. Goddess above, I shouldn't have-"
To his amazement, Byleth suddenly throws her head back and begins to laugh, louder than he's ever heard her laugh before, and he watches as she clings to the boat, tears shining in her eyes.
"Oh, Seteth… Of course that would happen to us. Of course." She's smiling, and he realizes she's soaking wet and her green hair is plastered to her cheeks and her neck and her shoulders and that dress - by the Goddess, that dress - is clinging to her even more tightly than before, and it's practically obscene.
"Byleth, you must be freezing! I'll flip the boat over, here, take my coat," he rambles, beginning to strip off his equally soaked coat, but Byleth puts a hand on top of his to stop him, her eyes dancing.
"Seteth, no more apologies, remember?" She smiles at him, putting her forehead against his own. "You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. This has been… this has been the best night of my life."
"I…" He trails off, leaving his words behind. There's no need for decorum, not in a situation like this. "For me as well."
"Pity it had to happen at that moment, though," Byleth says, and this time Seteth can't help but laugh, barely noticing the water around him and he clings tightly to Byleth with one arm and the boat with the other. It's at that moment that his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he suddenly notices the trail of love bites he's managed to leave across Byleth's chest, and he immediately blanches.
"Holy- Oh, Goddess. Byleth. I am-"
She looks down, and then she's laughing again, and he's laughing, too, and he knows he'll pay for his wild behavior in the morning when that menace Claude von Riegan undoubtedly notices Byleth's state, but here, stranded in the middle of Lover's Lake with the most beautiful girl in the world clutched in his arms and his failed surprise in the other, Seteth has never felt more at peace.
When they finally make it back to Garreg Mach, soaking wet and freezing cold, the monastery has gone to sleep, dorm lights shut off and merchant stalls shuttered for the night. Everything is cloaked in the darkness of night, and as Seteth kisses Byleth goodnight in front of her door, for once, he's not worried about being proper.
They don't bother with declarations of love in the doorway, don't linger and reminisce on the night they've had. They've got plenty of time for all that later. For now, they need to warm up and shower and sleep and through all of it, dream of the other and stolen kisses in a boat and hands placed where they shouldn't be - or maybe where they should - and a whole lifetime ahead of them.
Seteth hasn't felt such raw happiness in quite a long time, and when he's finally warm and clean and has thrown himself back onto his bed, he falls asleep the moment his head touches the pillow.
Needless to say, he dreams of Byleth. How could he not, after the night he's had?