Chapter Text
Harpstring Moon. Byleth realized, as she stalked the farmer’s market. Produce she hadn’t seen stocked for many moons laid out in crates at different vendor’s stalls. Varley wasn’t a large settlement, and most of the territory space was full of farmlands. Crops, flowers, and fruits were its primary source of income — other settlements in the Empire faction would come to restock on ingredients and food. The market in Varley lined the main street, only setting up wooden shanty stalls every week. The street would flood with patrons and passing tourists.
When Byleth’s eyes met with any vendors she examined produce from, they would shirk back at the intensity of her cold steel-blue eyes. Or perhaps her hand that rested on the sword sheathed to her side, hooked to her scale mail of an interlocking sheet of metal and leather, lent to that unnerving behavior. It was a rare sight to see such well kept armor of quality that only few individuals wore. Individuals of importance, or worse — danger.
Few visitors armed to the teeth visited; and those who did often cause trouble. Her presence carried one that dragged death clung to her feet, a presence of someone who fought many battles in their life.
Byleth paid no mind to the fidgeting of the vendors and continued her thorough examination of their showcased produce. Then, after the crops failed her high standard, she placed it back in their appropriate wooden crates or woven baskets. If Byleth heard the loud relieved sighs when she left the different stalls, she showed no sign of it.
Not that she ever did.
She came across a booth she took a particular liking to. At first glance, the quality seemed favorable, fresh with vibrant hues, clueing its ripeness. Byleth lifted a tomato to eyesight, inspecting it for a good few moments.
“M-may I help you, miss?” The vendor stumbled over his words. Byleth’s chicory eyes shifted to meet the gaze of the vendor. His eyes broke contact quickly, shooting to the side.
“I would like to buy a combined bushel made of varying produce.” Her voice flat, void of any give to her thoughts let alone feelings.
The vendor bobbed his head, overly excited by the way he moved with speed—ducking behind the stall to pull out a woven basket. Perhaps he had had brief service, or so Byleth figured, oblivious to the man’s terror in her commanding presence. It was how everyone reacted to her—not just in Varley — several other small towns were just as petrified.
Byleth was completely unaware of this behavior — emotions often eluded her; a foreign concept. To her, the speed at which the vendor worked must have been the norm. It’s not like she was around anyone long enough to realize it was far from the norm and one that was seeded in fear.
Byleth felt a familiar hand pat her head. Well, there was at least one person she was always with. “You did, yet kiddo?” Her father, Jeralt, asked.
His physique was taller than her by a good head or two — his build easily thrice her size, too. Though he was her father, he looked nothing like her, with his scruffy blond hair shaven on the sides and what was left in the center had been pulled back into a small braid. His armor was in the same quality as Byleth — heavy steel pauldrons and gauntlets with chain-mail tucked under his fading orange tunic. Steel lost in ancient times, only now recycled into makeshift necessities.
“I was just going to pay.” Byleth droned out.
Jeralt looked at the basket that was laid with produce, and the pricing scrawled on a wooden sign in charcoal. “You sure this is the right price?” He asked. “Seems a bit steep.” Or had the economy of this fallen world really deteriorated to such an extent? He mused silently to himself.
“I-it’s free!” The vendor shouted, spine straighter than the tilting pricing signpost.
Byleth blinked up from her gold purse. “Are you sure?” She tried to meet the man’s eye to eye, but the vendor refused. His own eyes met the sky, praying to a long dead goddess to save him from a feared sudden death.
Byleth’s unintended daunting behavior may have been coined to her aura and aloof expressions; but her father’s contributed to his size, towering over most people. Though, the stink of combat far succeeded Byleth’s.
“Y-yes! I insist!” He shouted. The stone frigid woman was bad enough, but her companion was far more intimidating than her.
Byleth hummed contemplatively and took the basket. “You have my thanks.” She said, and led her father away.
Her father barked a laugh and patted the woman on the head. “Nice job, kiddo. I don’t know what you did, but you saved us a paltry sum of gold.”
Byleth shook her head. “The vendor was probably over excited for patronage. I said or did nothing.”
Her father stared at her. His daughter, he had come to terms with centuries ago, was as oblivious as she was intimidating. Jeralt couldn’t fault her. He blamed himself (and her) for her lack of social perception. Her lack of any social skills. Perhaps he should have focused more on that than training her to kill. Though he was never good at that either. Jeralt doubted that even if he did, it wouldn’t change the stillness inside her. It was with her when she woke from—
“Did you hear?” Passing gossip reached his ears. Gossip usually turned into potential job prospects. He pulled Byleth’s shoulder to stop with him. “The mayor’s daughter is missing. Rumor is she ran away.”
A missing daughter? Jeralt snuck a peek to Byleth. She remained as impassive as ever, listening in on the gossip intently.
“I mean, can you blame her? The mayor is ruthlessly strict with her. Haven’t you heard how mean he is when he scolds her in public?”
Jeralt nodded to himself. Not a job he would want to take then. He wouldn’t dare try to bring the child back to such a harsh home. His palm released Byleth, silently gesturing her to move on. They hadn’t even reached three steps forward before a loud, bellowing voice carried itself over the chatter of the settlement’s streets.
“CAPTAIN! JERALT!”
Jeralt sighed and dragged a hand over his rugged face. The voice was older, but he still knew exactly who it was. The fact they even called him captain was enough of a clue.
A man sprinted at them, skidding on his heels before he crashed into the two. It surprised Jeralt at how old Alois looked.
Jeralt cupped his chin and eyed the man. Jeralt knew Alois when he was but a preteen — but now the kid matched the age Jeralt seemed frozen in. Alois had grown facial hair, Jeralt noted — the kid always tried to grow some so early in his life. The man saddled in dented and worn makeshift armor. (Ah, how times had fallen when not even proper steel armor existed. Jeralt thought wistfully.) Alois’ brown hair peppered with the beginnings of grey. Jeralt couldn’t help but envy the kid—man, Jeralt had to correct — for the signs of aging.
Alois’ eyes may have still held that enthusiasm from his childhood, the subtle wrinkles that began inching itself into his face only highlighted his current aging. Even his laugh lines were becoming more prominent.
Perhaps Jeralt was losing his touch in keeping track of time? Who was he kidding, he forgot the years and days when he hit two hundred and forty-four. Time seemed irrelevant after a millennium of aimless wandering.
“Alois?” Byleth questioned, though it sounded more of a statement in that deadpan voice of hers.
Seeing companions age when he and Byleth didn’t would never get any less surreal. It was also heartbreaking. Jeralt didn’t have much of heart left to deal with it at his age. Let alone when Byleth had never had to deal with such a thing yet. (And he selfishly wished deep in his heart she wouldn’t have to — just to save her the inner turmoil she would surely have to adjust to.)
“Miss Eisner!” Alois loudly declared, earning glares from passing locals for his volume. “Why don’t you look a day older than when we last met!”
Byleth bowed her head curtly. At least he taught her basic manners, Jeralt reassured himself. “Thank you Alois.”
Jeralt eyed his daughter. If she was any bit confused or surprised, she didn’t express it par for the course. Did she even notice? Or did she not care? Was it but another thing she brushed off so casually?
“And Captain! Why you still look just the same as well! Ah, such a blessing to have ageless beauty run in the family.”
It was more of a curse, but Jeralt bit his tongue. “I’m not a captain, Alois. Stop calling me that.”
“But you are! Captain of our merry little mercenary group back in the day!”
The title Captain left a sour taste in Jeralt’s mouth—it always had. Dredged up memories from ages past. Memories that left him secretly bitter, even to this day and age. Not that he would ever share with anyone. Perhaps Byleth. One day. A millennium still felt like it was too soon.
“Alois,” Byleth spoke up, “Why are you here?”
Alois’ face lit up as he remembered his true reason in Varley. “Ah! I have been looking for you two! Rumors of your sighting had reached me and my employers! They sent me to find you and bring you back for a job, if you are interested.
“I will need mo— “Jeralt said, but Byleth beat him to the punch.
“Sure.” She bobbed her head nonchalantly.
Jeralt coughed and bent down to his daughter. “Kiddo —” He grumbled.
Byleth peered up at him. “We have no work at the moment. We need the coin to press on our travels.”
Jeralt sighed. It was a waste to argue with her—she was much like her mother in that regard. “Fine,” Jeralt mumbled. Where’s your employer located?” He asked with reluctance. He was sure Alois had managed to be conned in joining a sketchy company. The kid—man— was as gullible, and as loud as they got. If anything, he would have to take out his employers to save Alois from contracted servitude.
Alois posed proudly, one hand on his hip the other pointing to the sky. “Garreg Mach knights!”
Jeralt coughed, and pounded his chest.
Alois had joined the sketchiest of companies.
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Byleth wondered why her father seemed to be in such a mood. Ever since Alois announced the employer, her father immediately turned dour. The walk to Garreg Mach wasn’t far from Varley, she learnt. It caught her by surprise. She had never heard of the faction, let alone its location. Her father — who clearly knew the place never mentioned it on their travels.
Byleth eyes Alois led them in an exuberant march. He always had such energy. Even as a kid —
Kid.
He had mentioned she looked the same, yet he was no longer a kid of the age of twelve. It was strange and left a feeling she couldn’t decipher churn in her heart. It wasn’t a significant detail. Byleth brushed it aside for another day. Instead, she leaned towards her sulking father. “What’s Garreg Mach?”
Jeralt spun towards her with the speed she only saw on the battlefield. “Kiddo, listen to me. Do not trust the people of Garreg Mach.” His words carried with the same seriousness as when he would instruct her in combat. It was low and slow, almost a growl that gurgled in the back of his throat. She nodded. Her father released her and continued walking next to her. With less space distancing them than usual on their travels.
“Is that why we never went there?”
Jeralt nodded with a huff.
“Why?”
“One day kiddo,” He said, his eyes glossed with an emotion she couldn’t place. “I will tell you everything.”
That was enough for Byleth. She worked for coin with far fewer details than that.
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Garreg Mach wasn’t as big of a faction as she expected. Though, she supposed, it was to be expected. If it was as large as the Empire, or the Alliance, it would have not escaped her eye or detection. Unlike the other three factions (Empire, Kingdom, and Alliance) where settlements dispersed across the lands, she noted that the settlements in Garreg Mach were more clustered towards the center, where the ruins of a tall cathedral stood. It was almost like the towns were the walls protecting the cathedral.
Cathedral.
She had never seen such a holy —
No. She corrected her thoughts. She did, long ago. So long it had almost faded completely from memory. She found an abandoned temple. A shrine and two statues stood—though in such disrepair that she couldn’t read the inscriptions on the plaque of the statues. Her father found her and ushered her out and away, and left the area immediately.
Was that place related to Garreg Mach?
Byleth pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She always had time to reflect.
Alois led the two through the settlement positioned right in front of the cathedral. When he stood at the foot of the crumbling stone stairs that led to the entrance, he flung his arms out wide. “Welcome to Garreg Mach Monastery! Home to the Knights!”
Jeralt growled low, his eyes glaring at the figure who stood atop the steps. A stainless white gown draped the woman who stood there. It was strange to see such well kept clothes—let alone white fabric. The woman’s long mint hair hung over her shoulders and back. A simple gold headpiece adorned the top of head. She was the leader, Byleth was certain.
“Rhea.” Jeralt muttered under his breath.
The woman smiled. Her face, gentle and kind—but her eyes. Her eyes were cold and taciturn.
“Welcome home.”