The fire raged, turning night into day between flickers of flame. All attempts to combat it quashed against its fury. The building was a lost cause, the treasures and history within resigned to ash despite the best attempts to save them. This place was his home for over a hundred years. Home to so many memories, good and bad, the family he could have had — of the family he once did. His own parents were a half-remembered blur. Swore to do better with his own kids, if it ever came to it.
Cradled in his arms was his son and nothing was going to stop Jeralt Reus Eisner from fulfilling his promise.
Now was the time. Everyone's attention was drawn to the building aflame; it would be simple to vanish in the night. He needn't worry about any noise alerting the few sentries not attending to the flaming building. He had enough years of practice in stealth and his son… his son did not cry. Despite the heat that lashed at his skin, and the whiffs of smoke that stung at the eyes, his son did not cry. A baby that never cried, or smiled or laughed. Heat enough that Jeralt's skin crawled and yet the baby did not cry.
Archbishop Rhea had done something. Sitri died during the birth. Rhea said she chose their son over herself. He could believe that. She smiled so much when pregnant. But everything else was wrong. No heartbeat, but his blood flowed. His face did not move, save to eat. He'd seen so many smiling babies, heard them laugh, cry… Die. But not his. Not his son. A face of stone no matter what happened. There were no words to describe how unnatural it was.
He'd been Archbishop Rhea's sword too long. He'd seen that soft zealotry that condemned anyone who antagonized her. Carried out the orders too many times. If Rhea wanted something, you didn't get to say no.
He just never thought he'd be on the other end of her power and secrets. Not after so many years of dedication. Not after she gave her own blood to save his life. Extended his into the realm of heroes of old.
Now was the perfect opportunity to just disappear. All he had to do was leave the church and find some small corner of Fódlan to live out life in peace.
But where could he go? What did he know about raising a child? He'd lived by killing for so long that protecting had long faded from his skillset. He had no trade to ply beyond death.
This place had been everything to him for so long.
Friends. Students. Comrades.
This was where she was buried.
What would Rhea do if he was ever found? He knew what she did to enemies.
Jeralt looked back down at his son. Those blue eyes did not blink once. There was no good option here.
Jeralt walked back to Garreg Mach Monastery.
AN: Just baiting the hook for now, hoping there's enough interest to kick me into high gear on a writing front.
Mar, 21, 2021: Long overdue update for Marigold into Sitri, spelling, grammar and wordflow updates.
Sept 23, 2021: Another edit and I'm actually gonna try and go through the whole thing to fix a lot of the problems I didn't get to last time I tried doing this.