Byleth has the feeling that it wouldn't be too hard to 'twist his arm' about it, but he's not about to insist on that kind of thing. He just nods, listening carefully to the guidelines of a good party for the moment.
He does stop when Emet tells him to sit, like an obedient dog he returns to his place.
"If you are certain." He says as he nods his head. He supposes it is distracting from the conversation to keep getting up... perhaps it's just his instinct to fetch things for people. He gleans no small measure of enjoyment from it, and all at the monastery always appreciated it. He had always been good at finding things.
Ah, about his father... he considers for a moment, deciding on the best way to describe him.
"He was a very kind man. He raised me by himself in the mercenary company. It sounds like a strange choice, but he was attempting to hide me from those he believed may do me harm." He closes his eyes briefly to imagine Jeralt's warm, comforting face. "He taught me everything himself. How to read and write, tactics, how to defend myself, how to cook and fish. I never properly appreciated him until he was gone."
His eyes open again and he looks down at the dewy grass beneath him.
"I resolved to always try to appreciate those I care about while I have them. He died protecting me, and I have always strived to emulate the lessons he taught me. Be kind, even-handed, trusting but not foolishly so, to always do everything one can for the best outcome. Jeralt was my captain and my father, and I now know how lucky I was to have him as both." His neutral expression shifts very clearly for this. Far more dramatically than it has for anything else Emet has seen of him. A fond sadness, but with a clear sense of pride.
"He always told me I was so much like my mother, Sitri. I never knew her, but apparently I share her affect and sense of practicality, according to him."
no subject
He does stop when Emet tells him to sit, like an obedient dog he returns to his place.
"If you are certain." He says as he nods his head. He supposes it is distracting from the conversation to keep getting up... perhaps it's just his instinct to fetch things for people. He gleans no small measure of enjoyment from it, and all at the monastery always appreciated it. He had always been good at finding things.
Ah, about his father... he considers for a moment, deciding on the best way to describe him.
"He was a very kind man. He raised me by himself in the mercenary company. It sounds like a strange choice, but he was attempting to hide me from those he believed may do me harm." He closes his eyes briefly to imagine Jeralt's warm, comforting face. "He taught me everything himself. How to read and write, tactics, how to defend myself, how to cook and fish. I never properly appreciated him until he was gone."
His eyes open again and he looks down at the dewy grass beneath him.
"I resolved to always try to appreciate those I care about while I have them. He died protecting me, and I have always strived to emulate the lessons he taught me. Be kind, even-handed, trusting but not foolishly so, to always do everything one can for the best outcome. Jeralt was my captain and my father, and I now know how lucky I was to have him as both." His neutral expression shifts very clearly for this. Far more dramatically than it has for anything else Emet has seen of him. A fond sadness, but with a clear sense of pride.
"He always told me I was so much like my mother, Sitri. I never knew her, but apparently I share her affect and sense of practicality, according to him."