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Jeralt was dead.
The entire class, the entire monastery, was grieving. Alois and Leonie were heartbroken at the news, but no one was as disconsolate as Byleth. The only child the Blade Breaker left behind, now displaced in his absence.
Seteth cancelled all class activities for the next two days. Morale was far too low for anyone to truly retain any new information or to go through the motions in the training grounds. Byleth, however, was given the week off. Seteth was no stranger to grief; he wanted Byleth to take the proper amount of time to recover, mentally. Claude was given somewhat special treatment as well, as Seteth knew of their close friendship, and was acutely aware that Byleth had no other living relatives.
The Golden Deer were the closest thing she had to a home.
Claude stayed by her side, brought her food whether she ate or not, made her chamomile tea for its soothing properties, and just… held her. Byleth had not been so inclined to physical contact before, but he supposed she’d probably never felt loneliness on such a scale as this either. If stroking her hair while she lay her head in his lap was a balm to her soul, he would tenderly oblige.
She hadn’t cried since the day it all went down; since she’d knelt on the ground holding her father while the downpour drowned out her anguished sobs.
Instead, she sleeps. Well, rests. A middling state between sleep and awake where she rests but remains tired. Sleeps, yet maintains bags under her eyes. Dreams, but only nightmares of a father she couldn’t save.
She doesn’t speak either. Claude can only guess at where her thoughts might be.
Happy, nostalgic memories tinged grey with loss; diminished hopes for the future she probably didn’t realize she’d had until they’d been ripped away from her. Jeralt would never get to see her graduate from the academy, never see her wedding, never meet his grandkids should she choose to walk that path. Claude tries not to dwell on that train of thought, lest he start tearing up himself. He, too, has not shed a tear since the night of Jeralt’s death, since the sounds of his best friend’s grief-stricken wails had shattered his calm façade. His heart broke for her.
Hilda and Flayn take turns staying the night in Byleth’s dormitory. None of the Golden Deer want to leave Byleth alone, truly, and everyone tries to comfort Byleth in their own small ways. Flower arrangements, warm hugs and random check-ins are plentiful from every member, and though Byleth is grateful, they do little to quell the storm of emotions raging inside her.
~
She eventually does come back to class. After her first day back is over, Byleth is asked to stay after class a moment, and Claude waits for her outside the classroom. They talk in hushed tones, too low for him to eavesdrop. She emerges, and they walk in step toward the dining hall, falling into their old routine.
“What was that about?” Claude asks bluntly.
“Seteth wanted to assure me that my tuition and accommodation fees are a nonissue.” Her expression is as blank and indifferent as the day they met in Remire. It’s taken Claude aback, but he matches his mask to hers, a small attempt at solidarity. “The church has taken me on free of charge because I’m the child of a Kni- of a former Knight of Seiros,” she continues, “which is one less concern for my future, I suppose.”
His pace slows. “Concern for your future? Is there something specific you’re worried about?”
They stop walking altogether, and Byleth stares off at the students bustling about on the green.
“Nothing important. My future is just… unknown right now. Jeralt was my only family, and I followed wherever he led us. After graduation I’ll have no home to return to, nowhere to live. I’m unsure what my path will be, but…” She blinks, then finally looks up at Claude. “Anyway, it’s unimportant. Worrying will solve nothing. I just have figure it out for myself as I go along.”
She turns to start walking again but Claude stops her with a hand on her shoulder.
“My friend, you don’t honestly believe that do you?”
She nods carefully, a sinking feeling in her gut at Claude’s scrunched brow and solemn emerald eyes.
“Believe… that I can find my own path? I know it sounds difficult now, but I’m sure I can-”
He shakes his head, interrupting. “That you have to do it alone.”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
He watched her gaze fall to his chest, unblinking as the gears turned in her mind. He pushed down the feelings of rejection and hurt that sprang forth involuntarily. His ego wasn’t important right now; he wanted to be relied on, sure, but he didn’t want to risk pushing her away. After all, before a few moons ago, he wasn’t used to having a partner either.
With a deep sigh he ran his free hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. It’s not as if they had ever discussed the future before; Byleth had vaguely agreed to “share his ambitions” one magical night in the Goddess Tower, but Claude had been sparse with the details and Byleth hadn’t asked him to elaborate. From that outlook, of course she would be inclined to think self-reliantly. Her vision of the future had probably included continued mercenary work under Jeralt. And now that idea was…
Well.
“Byleth,” he started, “you have the entirety of the Golden Deer at your wings, ready to support you. To that extent, nearly all the future lords and rulers of the Leicester Alliance. You don’t even have to ask, if you so much as get a papercut, any one of us would be ready at the drop of a hat with some gauze or a healing tome.”
A blank stare. At least she was making eye contact again, he reasoned. “Alright, I’ll admit that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the intent was there. You have to know that’s the truth.”
“I won’t be a burden on my friends. You’re making this out to be a bigger problem than it is, Claude. I have options.”
He crossed his arms. “Oh? Let’s hear them.”
Her nose scrunched the tiniest bit. He knew he was being a brat, but he didn’t know how else to get his point across.
“I’ll find mercenary work on my own or join someone else’s company. Maybe I’ll get a job here or join the Knights.”
“We both read Jeralt’s diary, and we both know Rhea can’t be trusted. Especially with your safety.” He raised an eyebrow. Byleth was openly glaring at him now, but he forged ahead. “And I have no doubt you could become the best solo mercenary in Fódlan. Anyone with eyes would be an idiot not to hire you. But…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “By, that sounds kinda lonely.”
She huffed. “Well what do you suggest I do then?”
“Come with me to Derdriu.”
Byleth’s eyes widened, and Claude’s heart stuttered. Ok, that was maybe a bit forward, he thought.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “Ah, what I mean is, after we graduate, I’d like to show you the city. It’s Riegan territory, the capital of the Alliance. You would be my guest, of course. But, maybe, you could find a place there? With me, even?” He whined a noise of distress and brought palm to his forehead, dragging it down his face. That wasn’t at all how he’d wanted that to go.
“Um.” Byleth raised a hand toward her friend, unsure. At this point, Claude seemed to need more comforting than she did.
“What I’m trying to say,” he tried again, “is that any of us Deer would welcome you in our homes in a heartbeat. That’s what friends do. Although, in truth I would feel much more… secure in the future if you continued walking by side. I won’t force you into anything, positions or timeframes, but will you at least promise to give the capital a try with me?” He reached out for her arm and ran a thumb over her wrist. “You did promise to share in my ambitions, after all.”
She nodded heavily, as if it took all her willpower to allow that one expression of acquiescence.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He brightened.
“I’ll admit, I’m not used to… relying on others,” she grimaced,” of all the times everyone told me this year that I can rely on them, I thought I had accepted it, but I still always saw myself as the one being relied on, not the other way around. But I appreciate you. All of you.”
Claude smiled brighter than the afternoon sun. “Good. Great. Let’s go get some lunch then, yeah?”
~
The next few days passed in relative normalcy. The Deer continued to keep their protective watch over their grieving friend. Claude began accompanying Byleth to the training grounds more often than usual when she reached a stage of anger. For a week he often found her there, exploding at training dummies at strange times of day. This time it was two hours past midnight, and after a nagging feeling kept him awake, he’d wandered outside to find his gut feeling proven correct.
She slashed at a training dummy with wild abandon, tore it to shreds until the pole itself was cut to the ground, and the entire object was no longer recognizable.
Claude watched from the shadows, a silent guard over his friend, only able to watch as she unleashed her vengeful wrath on the only target available. No one challenged her to spar while she was in this state, her rage made her power unmatched, as if she wasn’t already undefeated in her title as the Ashen Demon. A match would only end in injury for one or both parties.
She lets Claude stand by for a short time, and as soon as the next dummy had been reduced to straw and ribbons, she turned to face him with a growl in her throat.
“I do not require a constant guard! I can do things on my own!” She threw her sword to the side with force and it struck the sand at an angle, sticking outwards.
A tired smile. “You’re right.”
And she breaks.
Claude’s gentle reassurance completely deflates the fury building within her, and she falls heavily to her knees, head hanging in defeat. One glittering tear falls to the sand, a mere glimpse of the tempest behind her eyes, and her face falls back into a hardened mask of neutrality.
He approaches slowly, eventually falls to his knees in front of her and pulls her head to his chest. It’s a bit of an awkward angle; Byleth’s arms stay still at her sides, but he doesn’t move away. It’s a long while before Byleth finally returns the hug, arms squeezing tightly and eyes finally dry. Longer still before he ends the moment, having waited for Byleth to let go first, and then walks her back to her room.
~
After that encounter, Byleth’s anger died down, along with the rest of her emotions. It was if she had flipped some sort of switch inside herself and settled comfortably into numbness. Her minute ticks and tells of emotion were gone, she began training alone rather than with others, and generally kept to herself. She turned down all invitations to tea, and she could no longer be found spending free time at the fishing pond. No doubt it reminded her of her father.
Claude lets it go on for a week before he decides he needs to step up and do something, anything. He’s never lost a parent or experienced the death of someone so close to him, but it’s been nearly three weeks since they’d lost Jeralt. Surely at this point she’d be up for a distraction?
He would pull her out of her melancholy, even if only for a moment.
The next day, Claude goes to the marketplace in search of some quality tea leaves and steps in line in front of a reputable merchant’s stall. There’s two women conversing in front of him, whisper-yelling excitedly about newly purchased wedding presents. Claude couldn’t help listening in. They were standing right in front of him, after all.
“Did you already put an outfit together for the reception?”
“Well… remember how I told you I still hadn’t finished sewing the sleeves onto the dress?”
“Martha, you still haven’t finished it?! The wedding is tomorrow!”
“I know, I know! Between everyone else’s garments and the work orders put in for the event, I’ve barely had time to work on my own!”
They keep chattering, but Claude’s mind has drifted off in thought. A wedding? Tomorrow? He looked closer at the two women. He didn’t recognize the one who seemed to be a seamstress, but the other woman looked very familiar. Where had he seen her before?
Think. Think. “Oh!”, he exclaimed in his mind. “She’s the woman who tends the bar in the village just outside the Monastery.” Just how he knew that was a secret between Byleth and himself. They’d snuck out more than once, bonding over pints and a shared lack of… noble breeding.
He offhandedly wondered who the happy couple was, but it was of no consequence. He wouldn’t know them anyway. No, what mattered was that weddings were a celebration, and festivities were exactly what he was in the market for. (Besides the tea, of course.)
He and Byleth were going to crash a wedding.
~
Claude walks up to Byleth’s dorm at midnight. It’s well enough past curfew that he could get a serious lecture if he’s caught, but just early enough to be sure that the party will still be in full swing when they get to the village.
He knocks softly just before he turns the doorknob, relieved to find it already unlocked. He had warned Byleth earlier in the day to expect him. This wasn’t their first time sneaking off the grounds, so he should’ve known she would be prepared.
Claude walks in and finds Byleth perched on the edge of her bed. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, and she stares at her desk with vacant eyes, surrounded by the same somber aura she’d had all day. All week, even. Her heartache weighs on his shoulders for a moment before he regains his casual manner and holds out a hand to pull her up.
“Come on, I want to show you something.”
Byleth automatically takes his hand. “Ok.”
“Oh, leave your jacket here,” he said while pulling her up. “It’s still warm enough that you won’t need it, but I know you run hot regardless.” He ruffled her hair affectionately but instantly felt guilty when she made no motion to fix it and instead just shucked off her jacket and looked up at him with large, trusting eyes.
“Sorry,” he whispered, neatly smoothing her hair back out before placing a hand on her back and escorting her off the premises.
~
The village square is glows bright and is lively as ever when they cross into town. There’s a large bonfire just beside the heart of town, which is a cobblestone square where everyone is clearly meant to gather for dancing once the band starts the next set. Dinner ended a while ago, but there’s still plenty of alcohol to go around and Claude is quick to snag some pints for Byleth and himself. They sit side by side on a bench at an empty table; not many guests are sitting anymore, most are content to mill around and mingle until the music begins again.
She stares into the pewter mug, amber liquid sloshing around enticingly. She inspects the bubbly white foam on top for too long and sees her father’s hand holding the mug instead of her own, can hear him toasting their ragtag crew for a job well done. She didn’t feel very celebratory now, despite the setting. She observes the people around her instead: women complimenting each other on their dresses, a drunken man telling animated stories about the bride and groom to an equally tipsy audience, and children chasing each other through the maze of adults. It was easier to watch than participate. There was a small comfort in watching everyone around her enjoy the festivities while she sat in her own bubble of wistful nostalgia. She cast an inquisitive glance at her companion. Hadn’t Claude said something to her of that nature after Jeralt’s death?
“…Even while you’re standing still, the world keeps on moving.”
Another similarity between them. She’d been keeping track since the day she agreed to join his House, and despite all his declarations of being different, too different to fit in anywhere, with any group, she basked in the solidarity that came with each shared quirk and knowing look. Their fast-forged bond was unexpected, and she tried to keep her mind from slipping down the dark path following the question: What would her life look like after Jeralt if Claude hadn’t been there this month? She didn’t want to imagine.
At that moment, Claude finished guzzling the last of his drink and slammed the mug down with a satisfied exhale.
“Good stuff.” He looked over at Byleth’s still full mug and tilted his head. “Not thirsty? You’ll miss that buzz in a few minutes when the music starts up again.” He grinned, but his usual impishness was overshadowed by the foam that hung over his top lip. Normally, she’d have said something or just reached out with the sleeve of her jacket, but she’d obediently left her jacket in her room, and the thought of pulling words all the way up through her vocal cords seemed exhausting. Instead she grabbed his chin with her thumb and forefinger, then wiped the foam off his lip with her free hand and flicked it off onto the stone floor below. She released him and wiped her hand on her shorts, but when she looked at him again he was turned away, facing the table and head leaned on one hand, covering his eyes. She wondered if he felt sick. He had drunk the ale pretty quickly.
She tentatively reached for his arm. “Claude? Are you -- “
They both looked up, distracted, when the band chose that instant to start back up again with a few resounding drum beats. Everyone cheered, forming a circle around the dancefloor and the real song started up gradually as fiddlers and flutists joined in. The entire town square was abuzz with energy now.
Claude cleared his throat and pulled Byleth out of her seat on the bench by her hand.
“Dance with me?”
But she stays rooted to the spot, eyes on the crowd and a frown pulling at the corners of her lips.
“Not up to joining the crowd? Ok, let’s dance on our own then.”
He gently pulls her along as if she is liable to run off at any moment and doesn’t stop until they’re closer to the tree line than the festivities; the light has lessened from the bonfire and the candles decorating the square but they still had the stars’ glow to see each other clearly. Byleth looks back at everyone laughing and dancing in a big circle, longing to join in before her sorrow sets in again, reminding her of when she’d last seen dancing in this setting; when things were easier, when the mercenary company would celebrate a finished job and gold-heavy pockets with ale and music. Claude repositions their arms for a typical waltz, knowing it’s the only dance Byleth had ever been formally taught. He brings one hand to her face and tilts it back towards his own, calmly demanding eye contact.
“Focus on me, ok?”
She stands straighter, wordlessly accepting the challenge.
“Remember how we danced at the ball?” As he speaks, he smoothly pushes her forward a bit, leading the dance like he had during the night he referenced. She nodded, falling into step. This was familiar, this was muscle memory; she’d spent weekends practicing the waltz after she’d been chosen to represent the Golden Deer in the Heron Cup. But unlike the ball this music was faster, less orchestral and more folksy. As the dance went on, Claude sped up the pace to match the music, adding a bounce to his steps and stopping to give Byleth a spin every time the symbols crash loudly.
Between their proximity and how tightly they hold on to each other, Byleth has no choice but to copy his movements until they’re moving in unmarked shapes instead of the usual box, hopping around in the same fashion as everyone in the square. The constant spinning makes them both a little lightheaded, and the adrenaline almost has Byleth smiling. The real thrill comes from watching Claude’s face light up with laughter as their dancing becomes a bit sloppier, falling away from the rigid waltz and becoming a fluid movement dictated by wherever their feet lead them next. She feels so free, and Claude’s bright smile is enough to temporarily distract her from her heartache. The rest of the world fades away and they are once again just Claude and Byleth, up to their usual mischief.
Guests started clapping in time with the music and cheering at the height of the tune, and before she had time to prepare herself Claude was already lifting Byleth into the air, his hands on her hips and a grin-turned-laugh taking over his face. He spun around once before setting her back down, breathless, and led her back into the dance. His laughter is contagious, and she can’t help the way her eyes crinkle with happiness and quiet puffs of laughter bubble out of her chest. She knows it’s the show of emotion he’d been waiting for all night, for weeks, even, but she can’t help sharing in his joy at seeing a sliver of her old self, especially when he scoops her up into a bear hug and spins her around a few more times.
Eventually the song fades to an end, but they keep holding on to each other, both attempting to catch their breath. Byleth still wears a small smile when she exhales a “thank you”, but Claude’s cheerful expression nearly vanishes, replaced by an intensity Byleth hadn’t seen from him since he’d asked her weeks ago if he could read her father’s journal.
“Of course.” He nodded. “Anytime. I mean it.”
“I believe you. I mean that, too.” And she did. She was really starting to accept that as much as she would do for him, he would be there for her as well, and it was ok for her to accept his help.
Her admission brought the smile back to his face, but now it was different. Less effervescent cheer and more secret delight. He tilted forward and rested his forehead on hers, flattening her bangs and very lightly nuzzling her nose with his own. He’d closed his eyes, and Byleth was grateful for it when she felt her face flush involuntarily. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, a familiar warm feeling in her chest she wasn’t sure how to name made her stomach flutter and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. Any questions on the topic aimed at the Goddess occupying her mind usually earned her a sassy remark, so Byleth had learned to stop asking and just accept that Claude knew how to get under her skin, for better or worse. So instead she chose to lean into the contact, to cherish this night that had been gifted to her by someone who seemingly understood her, wholly. Eventually she would feel okay again, and she would stand on her own with pride. But she accepted now that she wasn’t alone, she had the Deer, her family, Claude, behind her, ready to catch her should she fall.