Work Text:
It had taken many years of collective thinking, persuasion, and convincing to get Seteth to dress up for Saint Cichol’s Day.
And had Byleth known it would only take one excited look from their granddaughter when she told the young girl that Saint Cichol himself would be bringing her something special to have Seteth finally agreeing without hesitation, she would have asked for Flayn’s help sooner.
They planned for this to be a test run, their granddaughter the only recipient, and a week ahead of the holiday. With a good-humored seamstress, and the blessed day closing in, they spent their free time getting ready.
On the morning of, they made sure to get up early. The sun hadn’t risen, but Byleth got herself dressed and helped Seteth put on his new robes. The sides of his sleeves were made up to look like trees with snow upon them, with baubles and beads hanging off it. Red, gold, white, wrapped up together, and a fur-lined hat to go along with it. And though Seteth had balked at the attire when all was said and done, Byleth’s whispered reminder that little Merrin was sleeping soundly in wait had him resigned to this silly fate.
And silly it was.
With one last look in the long mirror, and only a few adjustments to the belts and furred collar around his neck, they were off to sneak away to the paddock that held their wyverns.
Adrestia was quite warm compared to Faerghan winters, which is why the archbishop was able to get away with only a light cloak to keep her comfortable. Their excuse to be away from the bitter cold was taking a small sabbatical to visit family in the south of United Fodlan, the timing could not be more perfect.
And with a day to spare before they flew back to Garreg Mach.
“Ridiculous.”
“Merrin will be up soon.”
“Must I really fly over there? Can’t Saint Cichol walk?” Seteth frowned when Byleth shook her head.
“Need I remind you, dear, you wrote the story.”
“It’s only a rough draft. I must remember to edit.” And despite his mock irritated tone, Seteth still smirked under the getup when Byleth laughed.
Though the amusement was soon washed away when they drew closer to the paddock and heard concerning noises. Snaps, growls, and heavy breathing had greeted them. Seteth rushed forward to open the heavy double doors only to be struck in the chest with a flailing tail.
The Divine Pulse was brushing past her skin before Byleth could even react to her husband’s demise, letting her pull him away from the wyvern’s heavy tail in time renewed. They fell into a heap before Seteth sprung up to his feet.
Seteth’s voice was calm as he called out for the warring dragons to cease, the two girls pausing at his firm command.
Byleth helped wrangle them away from each other, pulling one to a secure enclosure while Seteth did the other. Dusting her hands of dirt, she turned to him to voice her question on why they were fighting, only to freeze in her steps.
The old Saint Cichol stood in tatters, the saddest frown on his lips. One sleeve was shorn from his shoulder, exposing the left side of his chest and stomach and cutting into the bottom of his crimson robes and pants. Luckily, no wounds to his skin, thanks to Byleth’s Divinity and quick thinking, but the tear that escaped his eye didn’t go unnoticed.
Of course he’d be upset. One of his greatest joys was to see Merrin smile.
She sighed, walking up to him, pressing a hand to his chin. She could pull back time to their waking, but then they could have had two injured wyverns at the end of this whole thing instead. Better to cut the loss now, even if it was a morose ending to his clothing and disposition. “Cheer up, my love.”
“Merrin will be saddened to see us cancel.”
Byleth pressed a kiss to his cheek before an idea wormed its way into her thoughts. She took a small step back with a finger to her chin. Yes, the outfit was ripped but maybe she could finagle a different kind of fashion. “What does Saint Cichol think about an asymmetrical look?”
Seteth blinked, moving his head this way and that before he gave a short nod. “If his dear wife can fix it in five minutes, and we walk to give away the gifts,” he said with a sniff, a sigh, and a shrug. “Then I think this day can be saved.”
Byleth laughed as she carefully unwrapped the cloak from her shoulders and began to help him out of his robe.