Chapter Text
Jeralt used to ache to hear Byleth cry or laugh or speak when he was younger. He ached to see whether or not his son reciprocated even a speck of all the love Jeralt poured into their relationship.
One sleepless night, he could himself thinking of all the small things he’s missed in life. He never questioned his son’s love again.
“…Did you eat?”
He would ask when Jeralt came home particularly late from a job. Jeralt could handle himself well enough on the battlefield. Perhaps he was no invincible God, but Byleth trusted his father could fell a simple few bandits. He just wanted to make sure that, if Jeralt was coming back so late, that he wouldn’t at least go to bed hungry. “I saved some food from dinner for you.”
“Here.”
The aid kits were always ready in hand by the time Jeralt turns the doorknob. The company did have a few disasters here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary in terms of mercenary history. There were times when funds were low. There were times where it was just a simple scratch that nobody wanted to waste a heal or mend staff over. When Jeralt returns home from his missions, Byleth was always there. One word and hands clutching the wooden box of salves, there was always a brief look of relief on the boy’s face, “Here.”
“Be careful,”
Byleth would always warn Jeralt, as if it was him that was the parent and not the other way around. Jeralt was always careful. But as Byleth found himself in his first battle and the reality of death hits, then the warnings began to come. It didn’t take words or tears for Jeralt to know what Byleth’s deepest fears were. They only had each other. If people were treasured personal possessions, then they each only hand one thing to lose. “Don’t lose focus out there,” Byleth would echo Jeralt’s own warnings back at him.
“Take me with you next time.”
The first words that Byleth had said the morning after Jeralt returned home heavily injured. The company had suffered heavy loses for a mission Jeralt had foolishly deemed simple. A simple escort mission through a “shortcut” resulted in an ambush. Byleth was already involved on the frontlines of the company by then, but it was such a simple job that Jeralt figured Byleth might as well just sit at home and rest for the day. It took half the company’s death and a close retreat for Jeralt to make it back, bleeding, heavily injured, but alive. “I’ll watch your back from now on,” Byleth’s voice rarely shook, but the sentence was as close to a whisper as you could get.
He didn’t leave his father’s side for a week.
“I’ll get stronger.”
And then he did. The Ashen Demon. The feared father and son duo. Alone, they were fearsome enough. Together, foes gave up even before a fight was declared. Byleth aimed to be as strong as his father. To watch his father’s back on the battlefield. Byleth had the potential to surpass his father. Jeralt couldn’t be more proud. “I know you will, son.”