"That could have gone better."
Claude comments as he watches Seteth's back vanish into the archbishop's reception room. His ears are still ringing from the shouting match between the siblings. Not to mention the lecture slash rant he received from Seteth on how he should have known better as the Alliance leader, blah blah blah. It's not like he can't see where Seteth is coming from either; he'd be in the advisor's place if he hadn't seen and heard everything that had gone down with his own ears and eyes.
Flayn shoots him a pointed look and gestures for them to take their leave, now, before chasing after her 'brother' and vanishing as the door to the advisor's office slams shut behind her.
Talk about a total shutdown.
"It could have gone worse," Byleth replies with a tired sigh and a rub of her temples. "Let's not go too far, just in case."
"For round two? I dunno, Teach, I think I've had my fill of lectures for the next… let's call it five years." There's a brief huff of laughter in response. He recognizes it from their Academy days as her response when she doesn't feel it's appropriate to laugh but finds whatever was said or done funny nonetheless. "But hey, if you're trying to catch up? Be my guest, you can have my share too."
She shakes her head at him, but he catches the way her lips curl into a smile as she passes by.
The monastery has seen better days by far and he winces at the damage done to the once peaceful, busy grounds. A lot of history has been lost as a result of the war, more than he can probably guess, and the faces of the few he's seen are drawn and haggard, dark shadows beneath their eyes and a pinched expression he's become all too familiar with. He wants to tell them why they're there, that the war is coming to an end and it's all over but the crying and the finer details. And the feast of celebration, can't forget that, he'd make sure to throw one big enough for the history books to mark the day the five-year war came to an abrupt and peaceful end.
Assuming they could pull off a peaceful ending, anyway. There was still the matter of the Archbishop left to worry about- he suspected Edelgard had her somewhere in Enbarr proper- and that whole detail about those who'd experimented on Lysithea and Edelgard, plotted the Tragedy of Duscur, and who the hell knew what else needs to be eliminated for the future of Fodlan, no, the world. Fodlan alone wouldn't be enough for people like that in his experience.
He watches the way Byleth pauses, however briefly, at the empty triad of classrooms belonging to the former Three Houses. Her eyes trace the familiar blackboards and empty rows of tables and benches. The podium where she'd stood, or sat, and gave her lectures or brought in others as guests or specialists in their field to those interested.
Too bad I can't get Seteth to shut it long enough to tell himthat's why we're really ending the war. We can't agree with each other, most of the time, but we canagree that we want Teach to be happy. And Byleth's happiness, at the moment anyway, happened to be tied to Garreg Mach and Fodlan.
The selfish part of him still toyed with the idea of having an out, of taking her with him to Almyra if everything went to shit. She'd do well there and he could have an Almyran version of Garreg Mach set up for her. She'd prove herself worthy of respect in no time and he was almost sorry for wanting to inflict her on the nobility there. Almost. There's no shortage of those he'd enjoy watching get what was coming to them and some of them wouldn't make it out of that challenge alive.
Hells, if we can't get Seteth to back down, maybe all four of us can go back to Almyra. That was an interesting idea, one that wouldn't likely work due to Edelgard and Dimitri being way too responsible and dedicated to their homeland. Still an option as far as he was concerned and one he'd held in reserve. Maybe taking them as political prisoners would help end the war? Seteth didn't know his little secret, neither did the Archbishop at the time, so this might tip the scales in their favor.
After giving it a good deal of thought, Claude's come to realize her job as Professor was the first bit of actual stability and structure that she's ever known. Sure, Jeralt's presence was a constant for who knew how many years, but mercenary life always came with the chance one or both of them would never come back. That, as far as he's concerned, isn't stable in the slightest and probably part of why she changed so much in their brief time together five years ago. She had a chance to breathe and really start to open up instead of running on fumes and instinct.
Stability, if one has the luxury of it, is a precious gift.
"What do you miss the most, Teach?"
She gives him a brief look and turns back to the classrooms once more. "...the people."
He watches the way she squares her shoulders as she presses onward and continues tracing the ghosts of patrol circuits five years gone. "The people, huh." Her students across the three houses, the other instructors and staff there at the monastery. Probably the Archbishop too, if he includes her as part of the broad spectrum of 'people'. Claude's not sure what hurts more; the loneliness he practically sees radiating off of her or the fact that five years have changed them all to the point he worries she won't be able to recognize some of them.
Claude follows and wonders just how long he'll spend chasing after her shadow.
Their patrol of the monastery ends pretty much exactly where he expected it to: at the door to her personal quarters.
Her room has been left untouched, as though she hasn't been gone these last five years and war hasn't been raging. Like there haven't been bandits looting left and right. There's a thick layer of dust they kick up when they enter the room. Hazy sunlight casts pale beams as it shines through the door and window. She goes to her desk first, fingers lingering briefly on the dusty surface before she opens a drawer and sifts through the papers beneath. A worn leather journal and pouch still remain and there's the feeling of relief that radiates off of her to the point Claude winces.
She tucks the pouch carefully into the small satchel she keeps with her and just… holds the journal.
Claude struggles with curiosity and the sense he should give her a few moments alone. Whatever the journal may be, it's intensely personal and important to her, and she might need a few moments to just… be alone for a bit. Respect and understanding win out and he pauses at the door.
"Hey, Teach, I'll be right back. I'm going to go check and see if my dorm's still intact or if it got looted." He had a few traps in there set up when he'd eventually left and was looking forward to seeing if he'd gotten anyone with them.
She turns around at that, the journal still in hand. "Maybe I should come with you." There's worry there.
He gives her a grin. "I'll be back in under an hour, promise. If anything goes wrong, I'll make a big enough racket you'll be there in a heartbeat. I might go raid the kitchen, see if there's anything good we can snag for those two back in the hut as a treat if they've been on their best behavior."
Her brow furrows. "Are you sure?"
"Hey, I've got this. Remember; I'm not the one who got thrown halfway across the room for making poor life choices." Claude reminds her.
"This time." She replies with a lift of her eyebrow.
"Hey, I thought we agreed we were going to forget about that little incident."
She gives him that same little huff of laughter and waves him off. "One hour."
"Yes, Ma'am." He offers an exaggerated salute that earns him a shake of her head and a half-smile in return and leaves her to have her moment in peace. They've had many in the last five years, she hasn't had the chance yet.
Claude's easy smile fades as he sets his sights on the second floor of the Academy, more specifically, to the door that'd been slammed in their faces sometime earlier. Now then, I have a lecture for youabout responsibility, Seteth, and you're not going to like what I have to say.