Chapter Text
I should bail her out… at some point. Jeralt thought to himself. Ale was in his hand and a warm meal, however, as the noon sun was high in the sky and the knights decided to take stop at a nameless village with too kind tavern owners. Jeralt had to swipe at some of the more pompous guards and knights, who took advantage of the kind folks’ hospitality and remind them not to drink themselves into a stupor— they had to continue marching after their meal was consumed and they rested their feet. He wanted themselves a stone throw away from the monastery by night fall.
Taking the scenic route has been a nice experience. Byleth loosen up, as she always done, when she was far from the monastery. While she lacked the energy of the inquisitive and stubborn child, thrumming underneath the surface was the wild girl. Sure, she didn’t have branches in her hair and scraps on her palms, but her widen eyes and along her often showing off the spoils of her success with escaping— “I haven’t seen these seeds before” she would mumble, before she pocketed it. Ever since the monastery gifted her that little corner of the greenhouse, Byleth’s hyper focus on tending to her flowers and vegetables was something of a delight and ache in his own heart. It was an unknowing habit she inherited from her mother when she first showed interest, but Jeralt has since mentioned as much.
It was actually what lead to her other habit she done whenever she was out— gathering as many wildflowers and pressing them into a notebook of hers, where she marked in meticulous detail: date, place of origin, the name and what it made her feel. The former three, she always done with her notes, but the latter has been a new development brought on by Seteth’s younger sister, Flayn. A question that once stumped his daughter, as she self-examined how things made her felt. Sure, the little green-haired angel sent his daughter down a small crisis, as the young girl often did with a method not too unlike somebody dropping an explosive on you.
The old knight still remembered the time he over heard Flayn mentioning her dread about falling asleep and the fits of anxiety that sent away his own rest, but double checking on Byleth, who been the one Flayn was mentioning her dread to, and both shook their heads in amusement over the fact they were kept awake by the girl’s words.
Jeralt continue to wonder if this was one of those times, if he should check on Byleth and how she was holding up. He watched Byleth powerwalk her way through, her steps with purpose and single-minded goal, a path that many tried not to step in front of. And on cue, the comedic timing of the three other lords, trailing after her, chattering as they headed to the meadow— the field of yellow and whites that the knights decided to deem worthy sparring spar. At a mere glance, one would think the newly formed squad of four was heading there to practice again. And maybe that was the royal trio assumed, but he spotted the book in Byleth’s hand and knew… poor kid.
Byleth has grown these past few years; while in the past, she would simply walk off from a conversation she wasn’t feeling anymore and think nothing of it. Her teen years were full of complaints from nobles and monastery workers alike, affronted by this rude behavior and nonchalant way of dismissing others by dismissing herself. ‘You always said to remove myself from a situation before trouble arise. They were starting to trouble me. I removed myself.’
He gotten a laugh out of it, a genuine one.
Seteth and her etiquette teacher? Pinched faces and lecturing about the proper way to handle conversations.
Looked like their lessons paid off, much to Byleth’s chagrin. The flower pressing activity was something sacred to her, only allowing a few people to know about her hobby and even less are allowed to do so. Only Cyril and Flayn are on that exclusive list. She made the effort to hang around the noble, even going as far to name one of them as interesting— the golden deer leader and her seemed to just circle each other, like they’re in elaborate fencing game—, Jeralt knew she wasn’t that willing to share one of her more sacred hobbies.
Pushing himself off the bench and sliding his drink to Alois to finish up, he grumbled about heading to the training field. Byleth done enough babysitting— it was his turn to learn more about these royal brats.
Byleth didn’t mean to snap.
The moment her words left her lips, she could Sothis wince and herself feeling the licks of guilt, watching the confused and nervous expression crossed Dimitri’s face as he picked up her book. She was hoping they would ignore it, opt to focus on herself and her blade. Only one out of the three did this time, and she scowled at first. Until she realized one of them noticed her book and picked it up.
Byleth hated how often she was flustered by the three. But this was genuine embarrassment, rather than the strange, fluttering feeling she got whenever Claude’s eyes started a little too long or Edelgard’s smile took her by surprise. She sunk her blade into the soft grass, crossing the distance between herself and Dimitri, as she took the book gently from his grasp.
“Private,” she managed out, holding it close to her chest, “I… apologize, your highness, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.” She followed this with a bow of her head and taking a step back.
Dimitri waved his hand, trying to diffuse the situation a “N-No, it was I who should” but even Byleth could tell that some tension appeared in the air. Wouldn’t a normal person go on to explain why they snap? But the mere thought made her grip her book tighter, her eyes glancing away from the blue-clad prince to a face she found more calming.
Claude looked at her with a considering look, like always, but there was a little softness. Their eyes met for only a second, and in that second, she felt something. [“Are you asking the duke boy to help you?”] And Byleth realized that yes, yes, she was.
As if hearing her thoughts, Claude did so, not even a half-second later.
“Yet another thing for me to wonder about, Miss Byleth,” Claude said, “But this isn’t the time. We did badger the poor woman to show us some her swordsmanship— is it not rude for our attention to wander? You ought to lecture us on our attention spans, teach.”
Edelgard scoffed. “Speak for yourselves.”
A laugh erupted from Claude as he nudged Dimitri, saying with a voice full of mirth, “Chin up. Miss Byleth is just protective of her things. It was an honest mistake, right?”
He sent a look her way and Dimitri looked as well, which prompted her to give a hesitant nod, parting her lips to add on—
“Kiddo,” the low voice of her father appeared, as she felt the ruffle of her hair while he strolled up beside her. She instinctively swiped at him, glaring as she pushed back the hair from her eyes— she hated when he did that, but in a way, she loved the gesture. Most are so careful not to upset or touch her, and her father was much like her in the affection department. This was the one gesture she found that he would do, at ease, in a manner that reminded her of what a father and daughter should be. “Are you three still running your recruitment spiel to take Byleth away from us?”
Edelgard and Dimitri immediately looked down, flushing but Claude tilted his head, again with those green eyes, trying to puzzle out the picture for him.
“Well, she seems pretty loyal to the Garreg Mach. Now we’re just competing to be her favorite friend. Which,” Claude grinned, throwing a carefree wave of his hand as his gaze dropped to Byleth, “I think I’m winning. She already admitted I was her favorite.”
Byleth’s mouth dropped.
[“I like this Golden Deer boy.”]
So, in the end, it was confirmed Jeralt was their mystery lady’s father.
The two on the surface looked…. so, unlike each other, it was almost hilarious. While he wouldn’t call Byleth a delicate Fodlan maiden; he seen her arms, and never in his life has he been in awe as well as other more hormonal feelings he quickly stomped down. However, there was a gentle beauty about her. Maybe it was her eyes, full of expressive life that was not sure how to form on the rest of her face. Her hair was messy in a controlled way, but Jeralt actually messing it brought on a cute expression and her trying to fix it. It was that interaction which confirmed it to him; either they were related, or she saw the man in a father-figure light.
And Jeralt looked at him in a ‘this is my daughter, what did you just say’ sort of light.
The axe felt awkward in his hands, but it was what Byleth suggested. He was versed in swords, and back home, axes were more commonly used than easily parried swords that seemed to be preferred here. It didn’t matter, however, because whatever he used, Jeralt would deflect easily and disarm him with such a fluid motion, Claude had no right to be mad.
Jeralt didn’t seem overly angry, but there was an undercurrent of a father judging a suspicious boy; Claude regretted his words the moment Jeralt gave the response of “Oh? She has— you know, I came here to see what you kids are made of. Might as well start with the favorite.”
However, the bonus now was that he got to watch Dimitri and Edelgard struggle against the seasoned knight while Byleth sat beside him, her hands aglow with faith magic as she gave commentary, her words devoid of any excitement— calculated and hilariously monotone as she voiced her disappointment at a wrong move Edelgard made with her axe or Dimitri’s attempts with lance.
“He is called Blade Breaker for a reason,” Claude supplied, and Byleth seemed to jump, her falling into a quiet trance as they watched for Edelgard and Dimitri try to coordinate an attack. She nodded at him; the corners of her lips started to cruel, but the will of a full smile died quickly as pulled her hands away. “Do you watch your father fight often?”
Byleth started to nod, before her brows pinched together, her eyes returning Claude. They sat close thanks to her healing him, but she finished that up minutes ago. For practice, she explained to him when she offered to do so, a friend of mines recently showed me how, and it’s a good way to practice my control with my magic. Bit of a heavy hand for these delicate arts as So… um, some would say. Jeralt didn’t bruise him that hard; sure, some scraps are expected, even at a legendary warrior holding completely back and treating them, what he imagined as, in Jeralt’s version of gentle.
Her faith magic caused for a warm feeling to appear in his chest, as he let her check to see if anything needed closing up. Mainly his hands need it, splinters from the axe embedded themselves as Jeralt broke the practice one with much ease.
A long paused was carried after his comment, but when she did speak, he could hear a pleased tone underlying her surprised. “Do you really think we’re father and daughter?”
Claude glanced at Jeralt; his form seemed so large against Edelgard and Dimitri, not sure if his legend was what made him so grand in his eyes right now or the fear that Jeralt put in him. “Are you not? He does call you kiddo,” Byleth seemed to wilt at that, so Claude continued, “And I can see… it. You two have the same, uh, grimace?”
He was dying here. Really sending this arrow into his foot.
She considered his words, looking over her father, before she asked, “Do you mean facial expressions?”
“Yes, exactly what I meant,” Claude said with a grin, “Also your fighting styles are very similar. I see that you practice with him quite a bit?”
Byleth pulled her knees to her chest, frowning as she shook her head— was that meant for him? She wasn’t looking at him, but he was sure she wasn’t paying attention; her head tilted, as if considering something in her head, and he was about to speak again, when she broke her pause with a “No. Not as much as I want to.”
Claude crossed his legs, waiting for her to continue since she didn’t look like she was quite done. She picked up a blade of grass, holding it out before her as she quietly started again, “They… the monastery is particular about who teaches me what. Jeralt… father, for a while was a Captain and Head Knight, so I didn’t see him as often— it was especially hard when Lady Archbishop would send him away to long missions that would last for months. Then he retired, and became an instructor at the academy, and…” she pursed her lips together, before blowing a lock out of her eyes, “he became busy in a different way.”
She didn’t sound upset but those words weren’t from a child who was okay with sharing their father. He looked over at Jeralt, lecturing out about Edelgard’s footwork as he trips her up; Dimitri doesn’t hesitate to try and use this as his advantage but, hilariously, Jeralt just snatched the lance from his grasp.
“I do feel happy that you say that,” Byleth ended off, tossing away the piece of grass.
Claude smiled to himself, leaning back on his arms as he and Byleth took this lull in the conversation to mull over each other’s words and a possible secondary meaning to them.
“No— um, don’t turn past this page,” Byleth said, flustered, as she grasped his hand. It was a bold step, one she almost felt guilty towards since Claude managed to do what took Flayn a couple of months.
[“You’re happy, aren’t you, child?”] The progenitor god said with amusement. And Byleth couldn’t deny Sothis was correct— she was happy, not too unlike the feeling when she found her confidence in opening up to Flayn for the first time and the other girl flicking through her book with absolute delight. Claude might’ve understood the book meant quite to her, but for now, she can choose what pages he could see and the censor the ones she didn’t.
She didn’t let him view the first twenty or so pages— the ones that contained script not her own, but a woman she always wanted to meet, her mother; on those pages, she sometimes added her own notes on the flower and her feelings, but majority of them were her mother’s, in neat and stylized handwriting of an educated woman.
Claude respected her wish and paid only attention to the flowers she allowed him to view. He would give a comment that made her eyes unknowingly light up, before she pushed him to turn the page and ask if he seen this one.
“If I known you were such a collector, I would’ve brought some bouquets from Fodlan’s Throat for you,” Claude murmured, his fingers trailing along her note of the date when she was given this flower by her father. Byleth looked at him with furrowed brows, before she actually considered what he said.
And delightfully, her face flushed, shooing his hand away from the book.
“I’ll be taking my leave now, Claude,” she said, standing up and nodding her head. With her book clutched closely, she disappeared into the bustling crowd of knights, her cape flapping in the wind as she deftly navigated her way through the throngs of people.
He let out a soft sigh, tapping his fingers against the table as he continued to stare in the direction she left.
“You’re not wrong about being her favorite,” the low voice of Jeralt broke him from his thoughts, making him jump. The scarred knight gave a smirk, not even bothering to ask permission to slide into the seat across from Claude and— man, was the living legend huge. He didn’t get any hostility from the older man… but he didn’t feel Jeralt was trying to be his friend either.
And yes, Byleth and he were definitely related. The intensity of the seasoned knight’s stare could only rival the mysterious swordswoman.
Claude pulled a grin, trying to pull nonchalance as he gave a shrug, “Is that a surprise?”
Jeralt stroked his chin, really considering the boy and his devilish grin; a father would know better than to trust somebody who faked their smiles so easily with their only daughter or son. But Byleth was a woman coming in as her own, and she deserved the freedom to choose whoever she spent her time with. Admittedly, he didn’t mind the Von Riegan boy. He was crafty one, yes, but Jeralt fought a majority of his life, so he knew the worthy ally and terrible foe of a fighter who thought. “Yes. But also no. Out of the three houses, she tends to avoid most of the kids… but like me, she always favored those who end up in Golden Deer.”
Claude furrowed his brow.
“Commoners. And sometimes your nobles as well. While Byleth understands why nobility speak the way they do, she likes people who speak honestly to her and you do not speak like you were raised in the same manner as the prince or the imperial princess.”
Claude’s face twisted into an expression that Jeralt couldn’t decipher before a laugh startled out of him. “Because I was not.” Before Jeralt could question that, the boy already was charging ahead and changing the subject, “So are you planning on being the head instructor of Golden Deer?”
“Hm. You’ll find out soon enough.”
He started to rise from the table, but Claude then asked something else, causing the knight to pause. “And is… Byleth teaching? Or, err, will she be around?”
Jeralt couldn’t help the smirk, raising a brow as he simply said, “She’ll be attending and likely be in the house I end up instructing.” With that, he parted from the boy, who allowed these words to sink in.
Claude was torn— whether to bring this information to light with Dimitri and Edelgard, letting them know that Jeralt confirmed she was going to be a student like they hoped… or to follow the legendary Blade Breaker, a plan already formulating in his mind.
“Sir—”
Claude rose from his seat, jogging to catch up with the knight and Jeralt tried to hold the laugh down. While each of the royal pains had their interesting quirks, Byleth was correct— this year’s Golden Deer leader was an interesting brat.