Chapter Text
“Please don’t go… You know what they’ll do to you.”
“But they don’t know what I’ll do to them.” The teal-haired woman said resolutely, a threatening glint in her eye. She squeezed the captive maiden’s hand encouragingly, trying to quell the fear in her eyes. There was no fear in her own eyes, however. Instead they burned with a violent fury. People once called her the Ashen Demon, her existence striking terror in hearts across Fodlan. They had little reason to give her such monikers – until today.
Byleth stood and rushed to the elaborate wooden door and quietly opened it ajar, peering through the gap. She spied no guards close by and realised this was her chance to escape.
“Wait here, I’ll clear a path and come back for you.” She instructed with a nod to her companions, before turning and taking the first step out of her confinements. It was Byleth’s first time leaving this cage willingly, and this newfound sense of freedom pulsed through her veins.
It had been a long time since she was taken captive by the Faerghan nobility - since the bastards had executed her father; or rather, murdered her father. Jeralt the Bladebreaker was accused by King Rufus of conspiring against the crown to sow discord amongst Faerghus. He was then sentenced without trial, imprisoned, and executed all within the day. His daughter had no idea what had happened until after they dispatched a significant force of soldiers to detain her and “bring her in for questioning”. She fought, but as much as Jeralt had prepared her for the unexpected conflicts mercenary life wrought, their band had no leader, little time to prepare, and was no match for the scale of soldiers that had been sent to dispose of them. It was Byleth’s first taste of defeat. The Faerghan soldiers seized her arsenal, bound her, and implanted her with a magic weakening serum.
The questioning lasted no more than two evenings which surprised her. It was led by a plump, aged lord, decked out in a multitude of golden fineries, who revealed himself as the King’s dignitary of military affairs. She was fully expecting him to give the order for her to be sharply questioned, but to her great suspicion, he did not, and the interrogation was surprisingly humane. But once the inquiry had finished, the truth of her captivity became clear to her.
The hoggish noble escorted her to a room so intricate and decorated that she could be mistaken for royalty herself should one find her here. A guard stood inside the room like a statue, not moving or responding to any of the happenings of his employer or the events of the past few days. Not even when the lord came up behind her and slipped his hands under her coat and skirted his sweaty fingertips over her breastband.
“My fiery bird… I burn for you.” He began, pressing his oversized belly against her back and pushing her forwards, trapping her against a bed column. She willed the strength to fight him off but was unable to muster it, realising how likely it was that she would be immediately struck down by his troop before having the chance to finish the letch’s worthless life.
“Too restrictive… We should find something to match your wild temperament.” The twisted creature mumbled, sliding his hands over her clothes and armour. He bit down sharply on her ear, and Byleth felt a trickle of blood trail down her lobe. She smelt his foul, rich stench as he leant in closer whispered into her ear, “My paramour.”
With that, her new life of imprisonment began.
They topped up the serum once a moon, and with all means of self-defence stripped away, she was at the mercy of their twisted noble harem. She found companionship among two maidens; also taken as political prisoners and subjugated to this sexual transaction between the elected council of the King. The two women thought they were merely tools of pleasure for these men, but Byleth was sharp. She knew what they were – a gift and reward for loyalty and good service to their liege, a physical reminder of what good service looked like.
But she refused to fall to her knees and give into victimhood. She satiated their appetite, indulged them, made sure their cups overflowed with wine - it helped her immensely later into the night, allowing her a greater chance of finishing them in other ways. Most ladies willed their first time to be with the one they loved, to be pleasant, tender, cared for – she did not get such luxury. The only saving grace from the goddess, should it be called that, was that she was treated better than expected for most slaves of the night. She was fed, kept clean and had many fineries of their choosing - they needed to make sure she was a worthy courtesan of their status, after all.
The sycophants called them their Caged Birds, whom they charged to sing, dance and please those within this perverted cult to their own tunes and appetites.
But little did they know they had a growing dragon amongst the flock, ready to breathe her fire down upon them.
Byleth darted through the hallway, the expensive sashes of material from her revealing dress trailing behind her like a wave. She ripped the weighty headdress from her hair and tossed it to the ground, not wanting the sounds of twinkling jewellery to alert any soldiers she may come across. She needed a weapon. That was her first task.
She continued stealthily racing through the halls, keeping to narrow passages where she could to avoid the commotion that rang through the halls and outside the castle walls. She ducked and dive through various candlelit passages, looking for any semblance of either protection or the outside world, whichever came first.
Eventually she pressed herself against a stone wall, noting a small guard of soldiers ahead of her.
“Goddess there’s going to be a sacking at this rate.”
“Who cares, let’s hope the riots kill the spoilt brat.” The slightly taller guard spat in disgust.
“A kid conjuring up an army to break through these high walls? Don’t make me laugh. This will be over within an hour I promise you.”
The soldiers discussed mockingly, disdain dripping from their tones.
Three of them, she thought. She could take three, not that she would be left with much choice except turning around and returning, a fleeting thought she couldn’t begin to entertain.
In a flash, she bolted round the corner and grabbed the guard with his back to her from behind, whipping his dagger from the sheath at his hip and dragging it across his throat, his body falling to the ground.
The remaining two guards immediately withdrew their longswords in surprise and immediately alert. But once they saw the woman before them in her thin, revealing gown, they simply looked at each other and smirked before looking back at her. She saw the familiar hunger in their eyes, as well as derisive amusement.
“You’re from the cage? Go back you stupid bird. Unless you’ve grown bored of fat men and want me to have a go at you.” The leach grinned wickedly; his intentions clear as day.
She answered him by pointing her bloodied dagger to the corpse beside her.
“I’m sure you miss your friend; I’ll send you to meet him.” She tilted her head, calm, collected and cold. “Oh but don’t worry, the crows will enjoy feasting on your rotting corpses.”
Byleth had clearly hit a nerve, the men’s nostrils flaring. “We’ll be the ones dining on you, before splitting you in two”
Then the dance of death began. She weaved and dove through their flying blades, dodging their blows as her hair and fabrics flew about her. Byleth snuck under the arm of the shorter fighter as he lunged his heavy sword towards where she was, and then swiftly slashed his exposed calf. He screamed in pain as he crumbled to the ground.
The final, remaining guard growled, clenching his teeth in rage as a blinding fury took hold.
He kicked her in the gut, sending her flying across the floor, coughing as pain immediately shot through her abdomen. She started to struggle to her feet before she felt a boot clad foot on her chest and the tip of a sword sliding down her cheek and neck. He spat on her.
“I’ll leave you pretty for your owners.”
The guard lifted his sword, but as he was about to bring it down on her, she hissed, grabbed the dagger and threw it at his head, the blade lodging in his neck. The man spluttered and gagged, before his towering form came hurtling down beside her. Byleth winced before sighing in relief at her victory. She pushed the body off of her right side and stood up, pulling the dagger from his neck. The weary woman leant against the wall and gasped for air, feeling somewhat light-headed at the exertion and stench of blood.
After a few moments, she heard more voices. It sounded like they were approaching.
“This way. We can’t leave any stone unturned.”
Byleth pushed herself off the wall and snuck through further, not wanting to get blocked in the area. She darted through the hallways, but as she rapidly turned a corner, she collided with someone. They both stumbled backwards and she clenched the hilt of her dagger in her hands. She shook her head and looked up, seeing a blonde-haired man in some form of uniform grasping a lance in his hands, looking dumbstruck. She took this opportunity to bolt forward towards the stunned man, swiftly disarming him as his spear clattered to the ground and threateningly held him up.
“Don’t move, or I’ll do to you what I did to the guard back there.”
The male blinked and his eyes went wide.
“You took care of my Uncle’s guard? Impressive.”
“Prince Dimitri!” An armed soldier shouted in their direction, and she felt her heart race as she stared up at the blue eyed male she held at knife point. The crown prince was who she had disarmed and was using as bait? She wasn’t sure whether to laugh at his inability, or to mentally punch herself for letting her guard down and crashing into the most conspicuous person possible.
She held the dagger closer against her victim’s throat, and his party stiffened; horror, shock and anger spread across their faces. The prince simply put his hand up, gesturing for them to halt, to which they obeyed.
“May I ask your name?”
The mercenary hesitated. “Byleth.” She eventually answered before glowering pointedly. “Byleth Eisner.”
The young man’s eyes widened and understanding suddenly took hold of his expression.
“Eisner… You don’t happen to be related to Jeralt Eisner, the Bladebreaker?”
“My Father.”
Anyone else in that moment may have faltered at the mention of their long-departed parent, but Byleth was cautious, controlled, and wise enough to realise the precarious position she had landed herself in.
“I did not realise he had any children…” His shoulders drooped as if in mourning just at the mention of her father’s name. Guilt was wrought upon his expression. “I am so sorry
Byleth… What happened to your father— …the blame lies entirely with me. If I was stronger, perhaps I could have stopped it.”
She blinked through how glower. Was he showing her sympathy? What kind of trick was this? She remained silent, evaluating his every move, tightening her grip on the dagger tracing his skin.
“I have not been privy to the rational by which my Uncle has been ruling Faerghus. I hear whispers but have been all but powerless to take my own actions for this kingdom. He has been very careful to limit my influence in any way he can. Not that it is any excuse for my not taking actions, nor the sins he committed against you and your Father.” He said, bowing his head in respect and heartfelt apology.
Byleth was hesitant to let her guard down, but for some reason felt herself ease hearing his words against her own better judgement. He continued.
“May I ask how you came to be in Faerghus? Did you not leave after your Father…” The prince trailer off, hesitant to put into words the reality his Uncle had created. Byleth scoffed.
“Leave when under lock and key? Don’t be a fool.” Dimitri simply blinked, confused yet concerned. Did he really have no idea? What kind of prince let such disgraceful acts run rampant in their future Kingdom? She sighed, frustrated at the ignorance, but deigned to continue. “Rufus’ right-hand men have some twisted harems squirreled away within the keep. The other women and I haven’t seen outsiders for years. You really didn’t know?” Byleth narrowed her eyes. “Or maybe you’re playing dumb and you really did have something to do with it.” She spat, twisting her blade against his throat, so close it almost cut. She could feel tense air as the royal guard held their breath behind him, sensing the building desire within them to simply rip her apart.
“My apologies but, I see you’re injured…” He commented, his eyes looking in the direction of her right shoulder. She glanced over and noticed the blood seeping from a mighty gash. The adrenaline and fight or flight instinct must have prevented her from feeling the pain from her previous entanglement with the King’s guard.
Suddenly her strength left her, and the dagger she held clattered to the floor as she felt her legs give way beneath her. But instead of hitting the cold, stone slabs below, she instead felt a warmth wrap around her. She gingerly looked up to see her previous victim supporting her with care, his arm around her waist and the other gently holding the arm connected to her wounded shoulder. Why was he helping her?
“Please escort Ms. Eisner to an infirmary.”
“But your highness—” A guard stepped forward in protest, but Prince Dimitri turned his head and frowned at the individual questioning his directive, quickly putting a stop to the objection.
“Refusing treatment to the wounded would make me no better than the King we have just overthrown. That is not the sort of King I will be.”
She wasn’t sure whether to believe what she was hearing, or whether this was some trick. She’d long abandoned any trust for Faerghan nobility. But she had little choice but to succumb with her strength fading and leaving her body.
“I’ll take her, Dimitri. She’ll be right as rain in no time.” A soft voice said, as a young girl stepped forward with one of the kindest smiles she had ever seen. She carefully helped Byleth stand, allowing Dimitri to loosen his hold on her. “Please, allow me. We’ll have you back to full health in no time.”
“Thank you, Mercedes. Come to me directly should there be anything you need to help our guest.” The prince instructed, and he then turned to his squadron of soldiers.
“Everyone else, we make for the throne room as planned. The castle is almost ours. Let’s put an end to my Uncle’s tyranny once and for all.”
“I’ll accompany you in the vanguard, your highness.” Uttered a deep tone which was suddenly by his side. A man of light hair and darker skin. He didn’t appear Faerghan.
“I’d expect nothing less Dedue.” The prince replied, something akin to a sarcastic amusement in his tone and expression.