Chapter Text
The low roar of the tavern washed over Byleth like a warm welcome, comforting in its familiarity as she pushed the heavy door open. The warmth of the low fire pricked at her chilled fingers, and she shook the sensation away as she took her favored seat at the worn bar. She slid a coin to the barmaid, a curvy, red-headed little thing with a coy smile and a warm bed, who tucked it into her apron with a wink before pouring out an over-full glass of mead for her.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, voice dipping with intention. Byleth shook her head, and the barmaid nodded, leaving to go serve at the other end of the room, but not without a flip of her hair and a flash of pale neck. Tempting, but she was entirely too tired tonight.
“Good job out there today,” came a deep voice from behind her. Byleth relaxed, almost instantaneously, turning to tip her glass at her partner as he sat next to her with a wince.
“Your hip?” she murmured, narrowing her eyes at him as though daring him to lie to her. Jeralt grimaced and nodded, reaching for her glass. She ducked and moved it out of his reach.
“No way. If you want a drink you have to get one yourself,” she told him, batting away his reaching hand.
“But Marie doesn’t like me,” he grumbled, almost childishly. Ridiculous for a man of his age and stature. Byleth snorted into her drink, turning her gaze out to the rest of the room, eyes picking over the crowd as she counted out their men. Twelve in total, each in varying degrees of insobriety.
“Maybe if you paid your tabs—” she began, only for Jeralt to roll his eyes and scoff, leaning one arm onto the bar as he reached his other to ruffle her hair. She wrinkled her nose at the action, ducking out from under his hand.
“Stop that,” she chided him. “I’m not a child anymore.”
“You’ll always be a kid to me, kid,” he said, although he withdrew his hand nonetheless. The two sat in silence for some time, Byleth nursing at her drink, Jeralt lost in thought.
“We were offered two new contracts. Another bandit sweep is needed in Gautier territory,” Jeralt told her. She hummed thoughtfully. Lots of bandit problems these days. That was never a good sign- well, it was good for mercenaries, bad for everyone else.
Jeralt cleared his throat before continuing, “The other is a higher-paying mission. Guard duty. In Leicester.”
Byleth’s fingers tightened around the handle of her mug. A mission in Leicester territory.
“I won’t go,” she told him. Jeralt sighed.
“It’s been five years, kid,” he said, his voice weary. “You can’t avoid Leicester forever.”
“I’m not talking about this with you,” she said, her voice short as she rose from her seat. “I will not take a job in Leicester. End of discussion.”
“Kid, if you would just tell me why—”
Byleth’s stool slid out from under her with a clatter as she dropped an extra coin on the table for Marie.
“I’m going to bed.” She said cooly. Jeralt was silent as she left, but she could feel the burning weight of his gaze on her as she stepped back into the chilly night air. She made it two, maybe three lengths before the door swung open behind her, and she knew without turning who it was behind her.
“You can’t keep doing this, kid,” Jeralt said. “Some day you’re going to have to-”
Byleth turned on her heel and stared down her father, a thread of anger rising from her gut and leaking into her gaze. Most men would have backed down, cowered away from the stony face of the Ashen Demon. Jeralt was not most men.
“I don’t have to do anything, actually.” She said as evenly as she could manage. Jeralt snorted.
“As if I’m not painfully aware of that.” He nearly growled, narrowing his eyes at her. Byleth stared back unflinchingly. “You won’t tell me about any of it. Hell, you barely talk to me at all anymore. Not since I found you-”
Byleth turned once more, but before she could take a single step Jeralt grabbed her by the arm, his grip nearly bruising.
“Do you have any idea what that’s like?” His voice wavered before settling again. “I finally find you again after so long and you’re different. You won’t tell me what happened in Almyra or why you’re here, and all I know is that you have a new dagger and a scar that from the looks of it almost killed you. You refuse to speak to me, to any of our men, hells, you won’t talk to anyone but that Judith lady, and even then just barely.”
“I don’t-”
“Finally we get you to start talking again you clam up at every mention of Almyra.” Jeralt continued. “And then for two years, you refuse to step foot out of Leicester. You start screaming and losing your mind at the thought of leaving and you still won’t tell me why. And suddenly one day you say you want to leave. Fine. We pack up, head out, and ever since you’ve refused to go back. You’ve changed, Byleth. You’re so distant now. Untrusting. I don’t know what happened but sometimes I damn the day I decided to take that mission in Almyra.”
Byleth said nothing, silence settling heavily around them.
“I’m going to bed,” she said again, yanking her arm out of Jeralt’s grasp. He sighed wearily, finally admitting defeat.
“Rest well,” he said. “We’ll leave for the Kingdom tomorrow.”
Byleth did not run back to the inn, but it was a near thing. Once ensconced in the safety of her room, she changed quickly into her sleepwear, shucking her armor and boots into a corner of the room before sitting heavily on the bed, dagger clutched in her hands. She bowed her head, touching her forehead against it for a moment before putting it down under her pillow.
“I’m sorry, friend,” she whispered to the night air. “I’m afraid I’ve failed you.”
Ever since leaving Almyra, her dreams had become tumultuous. Dreams of battles, of death, of bloodshed. Dreams of thousands crying out to her, all of them waiting for her, needing her, begging to her, their voices meshing together into cries that washed over her in waves, distant and roaring and just beyond her understanding. Sometimes, she dreamed of a girl. Of flashes of green. Of something boiling beneath her skin, just beyond her knowledge, just out of reach.
That night, she dreamed of a battle. Two armies clashing on a battlefield soaked in blood as the heavens wept, each viciously and cruelly determined to eliminate the other. A woman, radiant, determined, frightening in her rage as she tore through the masses, cries of hatred and anguish ripping from her throat as she cut her way to the front lines, blood and mud soaking her feet as she ran. A man, meeting her halfway, the sword in his hand calling to Byleth so painfully it was like nothing she had ever known, ever felt. The rain cleared, sunlight streaming upon the plains. The man and woman locked eyes, a thousand words unsaid in the glance they shared as they attacked. The battlefield stilled around them as they fought, dirty and vicious until the man fell, and the woman ended him, tears unshed in her eyes as she cradled the sword in her arms.
“He’s gone now, Mother,” the woman cooed to the sword, her voice tremulous as she cradled it against her cheek.
No , Byleth wanted to tell her, though she didn’t know why, he’s not.
The dream changed. A girl with green hair was speaking to her. Asking her name, who she was. Byleth answered, though what she said she forgot as soon as she said it. But something about this girl was important. Different.
She knew her, somehow.
Green eyes burned into hers as the dream faded.
It is almost...time to… begin…
Byleth awoke with a start, just before dawn. Her breathing was shaky, slow, as she regained her bearings. Her dreams still gripped her, refusing to fade from behind her eyes as she stretched, then dressed, washing her face as she prepared for a day of travel. Her lower back twinged at the thought of a full day of riding. Her mare was a good enough mount, reliable and steady, but far from a comfortable ride.
For a moment, she longed for the steady gate of an Almyran war horse. She thought of Yamud. Something in her chest ached, hard and vicious, and she cut away the thought with practiced care, snipping at the tendrils and dropping it with the rest.
Yamud was gone. So was her past. She had only her future, now, and that future contained a perfectly good mare and the Gautier lands.
Traipsing down the stairs, she saw that Jeralt was already waiting for her, the circles under his eyes alerting her that she must have been crying out in her sleep once again. She averted her eyes as he looked at her.
“You dreaming again?” he asked her, low and slow like a spooked animal. She nodded, once.
“I was dreaming about a war,” she said. She explained what she had seen, the memory of it still clear as day behind her eyelids. Jeralt frowned, his brow wrinkling with thought.
“Massive armies clashing on a vast field? There hasn’t been a battle like that in over three centuries,” he said, his voice trailing off in thought as he pondered her dreams. He shook his head, motioning for Byleth to follow him. “In any case, put that out of your mind for now. The battlefield is no place for idle thoughts. Risking your life is part of the job for mercenaries like us. Letting your mind wander is a sure way to get yourself killed.”
Byleth nodded, moving to follow him towards the door. Jeralt paused, though, turning his head to stare at the wall of the inn.
“About our conversation last night,” he said. Byleth froze. “I understand that you don’t want to tell me what happened. That you may never be ready to tell me what happened. That’s okay. We all have secrets. It’s what makes us human. But kid, don’t let your past dictate your future. Let it guide you, inform you. But don’t let it control you.”
Byleth took a deep breath, the movement calming her thrumming nerves. She nodded to him.
“Someday,” she lied. “But not yet.”
Jeralt smiled wanly.
“That’s all I can ask for, kid.”
He opened his mouth as though to say something else, when one of his men burst in through the door. Angus, one of the new recruits.
“Jeralt! Sir! Sorry to barge in, but your presence is needed.” Angus’s voice was serious, all business. Byleth felt herself stand at attention.
“What’s happened?” Jeralt asked, his attention diverted from their conversation.
“Kids, sir,” Angus said. “They need help.”
The early morning air was cold around her as Byleth exited the door behind her father, hand on her sword as she breathed in the damp spring air. Birds trilled around them as they made their way out to the clearing just past the village border where the kids were waiting for them. Byleth paused just before they reached their destination, turning to glance at the sky as her father continued on and approached a trio just past the tree line. She swore she saw something flicker in the sky above her, amongst the fading stars.
“Please, forgive our intrusion,” said the first distant voice, male. What was it that she had seen? “We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire.”
“What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?” her father responded. There it was again, to her right. Her gaze scanned the tree line, before returning to the skies. A large bird, perhaps? Maybe some sort of war hawk?
“We’re being pursued by a group of bandits,” the voice explained. The stars grew bright, framed almost unnaturally by the tops of the trees that surrounded them. Pine. Byleth’s breath caught, unable to look away. “I can only hope that you will be so kind as to lend your support.”
“Bandits? Here?” Her father’s voice was concerned. Byleth knew she should be paying attention, should make her way out from the woods but she could not draw her eyes from the stars as they gleamed.
“It’s true.” A girl’s voice this time. It was like… like they were trying to tell her something. She held her breath, desperate to understand what message the heavens were trying to impart to her. Something was happening. Her heart began to pound. “They attacked us while we were at rest in our camp.”
The stars burned into her eyes.
She blinked.
The vision faded.
“We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered.” Came a third voice. Byleth’s breath caught again. That voice. It was familiar. Distant, deeper, lacking its accent, but as familiar to her as the grip of her sword and the scars on her hands. “They’re after our lives, not to mention our gold.”
Byleth turned and stepped out of the darkness of the woods and into the clearing, finally facing the group that was speaking to her father.
A girl, on the right. Diminutive, but powerful nonetheless, her aura spoke of one who knew of many hardships, many battles. Her hair gleamed like starlight in the predawn.
A boy, in the middle. Lanky, gangly, but strong despite his stiff awkwardness, blue eyes gleaming eerily, something lying beneath them that warned Byleth to stay away.
A final boy, on the left. Tall, shoulders back, deceivingly casual despite the situation. Brow hair slicked back from his face, golden skin sparking recognition as she took in the shape of his face, the arch of his brow, the tone of his voice. His clothes and accent were as Fodlani as possible, but sure enough, standing before her was Melik, returned to life.
The three turned to look at her.
Green eyes met her own. They flashed- confusion, recognition, fear, hope, one after the other, too many for her to catalogue before they settled to well-rehearsed apathy.
Byleth’s throat dried, her breath catching in her mouth, eyes blowing wide.
No, not Melik.
Her Kerem, in the flesh, standing before her once more.