Chapter Text
Castle Erebus, Charon, 1173
The historic Castle Erebus of House Charon had seen its fair share of battles, sieges, and political maneuvering over its venerable lifetime, but it was most well known as the site where the Adrestian Empire and the Church of Seiros negotiated the terms of surrender to House Blaiddyd to form what would be the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Perhaps the Western Church had been hoping for a similar outcome when the conclave was called, but Byleth found it difficult to think that Seiros would ever accede to any demands made by the ecclesiarchy of the Western Church.
No, scratch that -- she knew that would never happen. The whole event was pointless. The posturing of the bishops, the furious debates over theological matters that were all ultimately whole cloth fabrication, the unreasonable demands put forth that would be chipped apart, piece by piece in compromise, to somewhere near the true goal - it was all a farce. The church was Seiros, and she would be damned if she would let anyone interfere with her plans, even if it were the humans that she was supposed to watch over.
It was the third day of the talks, and as expected, there hadn’t been any progress. The conclave had adjourned for the day, leaving each faction to sulk and glower amongst themselves. Lord Charon had wisely roomed representatives of both churches in opposite wings of the castle, minimising any chance of encounter and conflict that could destabilise the proceedings further.
Tonight was a good night for a stroll, Byleth decided. The full moon had cast its light onto a cloudless night for maximum visibility. She was upwind of the evening breeze, so her scent wouldn’t be caught. Walking along the battlements, she could see the faint lights of the town in the distance, glowing like the embers of a dying fire, and closer, the torches blazing upon the stone walls of the keep. Guards of House Charon kept their vigil, but even from this distance she could tell they weren’t too attentive. There would be nothing happening tonight.
And even closer, on a terrace one or two floors below her, stood a solitary figure Byleth was well-acquainted with. With a single liquid motion, she hefted herself up onto the embrasure, then --
“It’s me.” Byleth said, as Rhea snapped her head around, despite her silent landing. She had never been able to catch the saint by surprise, but she supposed it was just another aspect of their bond. It would have been a very short-lived and ineffective binding if she could have ambushed her at any point.
Rhea’s shoulders relaxed, though she otherwise didn’t move. “Good evening, Byleth.” They greeted each other like old… equals, now. Byleth didn’t know if either of them had the capacity for friendship. “Did you mean to find me?”
“Saw you down here, that’s all.” Byleth jerked her head up towards the battlements she had been on not a minute ago, while walking up to Rhea until they were side by side, looking out to the Oghma Mountains in the distance. “I’m sure if I had been away for longer, the humans would started screaming at me for ‘dereliction of duty’. Like if anything had happened to you, the entire Western Church leadership wouldn’t be purged tonight.”
“I am sure they are simply exercising caution. The situation is rather volatile, and involves the leadership of the church.” Rhea didn’t look too pleased about it, but it seemed that she had long resigned herself to this fate. “Still, a moment of solitude is much appreciated, especially after today.”
A ghost of something that might have been called mirth twitched on Byleth’s lips. “You mean, how the Bishop of Gaspard stopped short of calling you a consorter of demons?”
The presence of Byleth had long been a sore point of contention in certain theological circles. It was agreed that the Binding of the Ashen Demon was a true miracle by Saint Seiros, but whether the demon should have been destroyed afterwards had been a matter of debate for many years. The official stance of the Central Church was that destroying Byleth would have been too dangerous with several potential unforeseeable consequences. Many priests in the Western Church, on the other hand, felt that continuing to suffer the existence of the vile creature, especially in Garreg Mach, was nothing short of an affront to the Goddess and the Saint-Prophet.
Today, these tensions had come to a head. Rhea had brought her along into the conclave in the past few days as a show of strength and a symbol of the Central Church’s doctrine, and today, the Bishop of Gaspard was finally unable to contain himself. He had exploded, calling her a bloodthirsty monster, a vile demon of darkness, and called for her public flaying.
While the other bishops tried to calm him down and prevent him from working himself into a heart attack, Byleth simply shrugged and walked out of the conclave. She had simply been there for moral support. She had then spent the rest of the day at the nearby lake, trying to see if she could catch anything with her teeth.
"Yes." For the first time, Rhea was - exasperated. “I have been trying to consider it from an external perspective, but I simply cannot understand how it matters so to him. Humans are so…”
"Impossible?” Byleth suggested.
“Difficult.”
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, sharing a mutual understanding, even if they were otherwise completely at odds.
“Well, it’s getting late.” Byleth said. “I believe it’s time you retired to your chambers, Lady Archbishop. You have another fruitless day of wringing blood from a stone tomorrow.”
“Cynicism is a wall that closes the heart from the Goddess.” Rhea chastised, but bemusement twinkled in her eyes. In response, Byleth silently proffered her arm.
Rhea took her in turn, and together, they returned to their rooms.