Chapter Text
A light rainfall had settled over Garreg Mach. The gentle pattering sound would provide many students and staff a soothing night’s sleep and clean fresh air come morning. It made it all the more a shame that Byleth couldn’t relish in the relaxing atmosphere this evening as his mind was trapped on an ever-turning wheel of the day’s events.
A deep sigh pushed past the young man’s lips as he dropped onto the leather cushions of the couch in his father’s private quarters. As the day’s exhaustion seeped from his pores, Byleth’s strength went with it as he flopped onto his side and tucked in his legs. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but he found the position was more relaxing. In fact, it was the most relaxed he could be outside of his personal quarters. It was seldom for there to be curious eyes on him when within these four walls, here there no one to impress and no pressure to uphold the pristine reputation Byleth had been burdened with as Garagh Mach’s new professor. Well Teach, as his students had been calling him as of late.
“Ah, kiddo. I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” Byleth lifted his head at the sound of his father's voice. He mumbled a greeting to the older man, watching as he closed the door behind him and strode into the room.
Jeralt gave a half smile at the sight of Byleth curled on the couch and proceeded to move towards his desk. Byleth was grateful that there was no need for small talk between the two of them and relished in the silence. Ever since Byleth’s employment as a professor and Jeralt’s return to the Knight of Serios, the father and son had agreed to still make time to spend together when off duty. Maintaining weapons in the armory, fishing at the fishing pond, and evening chats like this were normal afterwork fanfare. It made Byleth feel a bit guilty that he lacked the energy for conversation. Truthfully, he only made an appearance due to his exhaustion and desire to rest on the couch in his father’s quarters as it was closer from where he was coming from, Lady Rhea’s office.
A dull clunk announced the presence of a bottle of spirits and a pair of glass cups on the surface of Jeralt’s desk. The bottle was lifted and Jeralt poured himself a glass. He settled himself into the seat and propped his feet up with a groan of the day's weight. “I heard you and your class had quite the eventful day. What was it I heard? Bandits caught you by surprise and caused a ruckus?”
Byleth made a sound of confirmation, sitting up slowly from his laxed position as he did so.
“Glad to see you see you made it back in one piece. I was told that it was a dicey victory.”
Byleth nodded and rubbed a hand over his features.
“No need to feel bad. There were no casualties, and you led your students well despite the position you found yourself in.” he paused to take a swig of his drink. But the pause lasted a touch longer out of surprise as Byleth rose from the couch and snatched up the glass from the desk. At the son’s gesture for his fill, Jeralt obliged with a slight frown. “Hm, guess it was worse than I thought.”
Whenever they had these evening chats, Jeralt always left an extra glass out for Byleth, for hospitality’s sake, despite both knowing that Byleth didn’t drink all that often. Of course, Byleth wasn’t against drinking in honor of celebration, which left many to perceive that it was because he was a professor and refrained for the betterment of his students. That of course was just a baseless rumor, but Byleth much more preferred it to the actual reason, that being the time Jeralt offered him his first drink. It was an unsavory memory, occurring after a well fought victory when Byleth was at the ripe age of sixteen. With how much his father and the other mercenaries enjoyed the beverage, Byleth had expected it to have a pleasant taste. But, with a sputtering gag, he quickly realized that alcohol’s acquired taste and sharp burn wasn’t for him. However young Byleth still downed cup after cup, as he was unable to turn down his father’s generous offer and the other mercenary’s loud cheers of approval. Thankfully, no one laughed too much when Byleth was reduced to a vomiting pile of deadweight in the morning.
Ever since then, Byleth only had a taste for certain types of spirits and while the one being poured for him fell outside that limited selection, he decided to partake anyway. Even he understood that a drink, regardless of his enjoyment of it, could help dampen his nerves after such a harrowing day. With a filled cup, he returned to the couch, watching the bubbles on the drink’s surface.
“Our task was only patrol work. I wanted to give them something easy as a reward for their victory in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.” Byleth took a sip from his cup, allowing the warmth of the alcohol to fill his throat before swallowing down a cough and grimace. “We were a day and a half’s journey away from the monastery when we were ambushed. My students…they were still a bit overzealous due to their win and…they simply got careless.”
Jeralt hummed at the words. “A rather clean story. Sounds like something you’d told Lady Rhea, hm?” There was no need to hide from this fact but still, Byleth turned his gaze towards the rain outside, as if feeling guilty as he made a noise of approval. To that Jeralt gave a dry chuckle. “That woman, she’ll believe any lie so long as it comes from your lips, won’t she?”
He hadn’t exactly lied; he had just told the archbishop the parts that would arise the least amount of questions. Returning to his drink, Byleth mumbled. “If only Seteth let me off that easy.”
Before now, Byleth had spent the better part of an hour listening to the green haired man rant about how he couldn’t let his students grow lax due to one victory. But if Byleth recalled, it was Seteth himself who stressed the importance of the annual battle of the Eagle and Lion, claiming it as most critical mock fight of the semester. Byleth had witnessed how hard his student trained to achieve that success and couldn't fight back the irritation he felt with Seteth’s disregard of it. But he held his tongue, knowing that the lecture could have been much worse if Flaynn had been in attendance when disaster struck.
“Care to tell me what actually happened?” Jeralt asked, moving to refresh his dwindling drink.
“I…I’d rather not.” Byleth answered, watching the alcohol swish around his cup as he swirled it.
Jeralt gave a curt nod, “Was it gruesome?” The question was a straightforward one, almost too much so. But between the two of them, it was one Jeralt asked to ensure his son was alright. It was the same question he had asked when Byleth had returned from one of his first missions without him, drenched in blood, eyes distant. Back then Byleth hadn’t answered the question, but there was no need when Jeralt had found the boy huddled beneath the blankets of his bed that evening. Byleth refused to move, too scared to sleep alone. They both disregarded how cramped it had been sharing a bed. It was the first time Jeralt had heard the kid cry.
“No. Everyone was mostly fine.” Byleth drew in a breath, but it left as a sigh. “But I’m guessing you already heard about Claude, yes?”
His father gave a grunt of confirmation.
There was silence after that. Nothing but the sound of the rain and the swish of alcohol. It left Byleth defenseless to the exhaustion that arose again. It had only been a few hours ago, but already the monastery was teeming with whispers about the Golden Deer house. There was worry about the house leader, returning bloodied and battered, and the other students who were frazzled and depleted of the optimism the Golden Deer house was known for. Everyone was aware that their assigned mission was an easy one, so Byleth knew that come morning he’d be swarmed with questions he didn’t have the answers to. And even if he did, they would stay trapped in his throat, unsure if they could be spoken aloud. Even now he couldn’t shake the images of the sneering bandits and the uncharacteristic, terrified expression that blanketed Claude’s face.
“Father, I learned something I believe I shouldn't have.” Byleth’s voice was as soft as the rain, but the older man looked up with an attentive expression, always ready to hear the few words his son bothered to say. “I…I don’t know what to do with what I learned…but I….” He remembered how Claude refused to meet anyone’s gaze and stayed silent on the trip back. He remembered how his questions burned in his throat, wondering why their attackers seemed to know the student and how it appeared to haunt the boy. Byleth was thankful that the alcohol loosened his tongue and forced a lingering question out. “What would you do if you stumbled upon some…information that could be life threatening to another?”
“Hm, that’s an odd question, even for you. Don’t tell me the alcohol is kicking your ass you already, kid.” Jeralt jested.
Byleth breathed a small laugh but returned his gaze to his near empty cup as another bout of silence settled between them. Had he already said too much? During the short time he had spent with his students, he had gotten a better handle on what he could be blunt on, what should be approached more delicately and when he was better off not interfering at all. Each student was different of course but considering the day’s events he could easily put Claude–and anyone else residing at Garagh Mach–in danger. Refusing to dwell on such a fate any longer, Byleth tipped back his cup, downing the last few mouthfuls. He coughed as the drink burned down his throat and sent a fizzling sensation up his nose.
“Careful, I wouldn't want you to choke before hearing my advice.” Jeralt waited for the fit to die down before saying. “But in regard to your question, the best advice I can give, is to tell you to forget about what you learned.”
“Forget? That sounds a bit harsh.” Byleth said.
“Well, sure but it's the best I can do since you gave me no context.” Jeralt pointed out. When Byleth parted his lips to say more, Jeralt stopped with a raised hand. “It’s probably best to keep it that way, Byleth. By keeping it to yourself, you’ll be offering at least some safety to whoever this applies to.”
Byleth deflated against the couch a bit. Logically that made sense, he could do no harm so long as he left the issue alone. But what would happen if his suspicions were true? What if the day’s events festered into something bigger down the line? More importantly, was Claude aware of what he saw and heard? Byleth knew he’d have to inform him; it was the least he could do after all.
As the minutes dragged on, Byleth winced at a headache forming behind his eyes. Jeralt must have picked up on it and suggested that they both call it an evening. With a gentle smile he announced that Byleth needed to rest after such a long day and he needed his, since he had an annoyingly long meeting with Seteth in the morning. Without an argument Byleth agreed and started to make his way to his quarters and drew in slow steady breaths as the weight of his exhaustion attempted to crush him. It sunk into his bones and muscles as if to remind him of how things could have been a lot worse. Byleth could still recall seeing Hilda race full speed into camp. In hindsight that should have been his first sign that something was amiss. On her heels was Raphael, but no Claude and he was sure he had sent all three of them to collect firewood. Breathless the two of them explained the house leader’s absence was due to bandits.
“There were a bunch of them! T-They came out of nowhere on horses and charged right at us!” Hilda said and described how they seemed to deliberately split them up before snatching Claude and riding off.
“Which direction did they head in?” Byleth gathered the Sword of the Creator, his brain suddenly racing in the wake of this problem. After doing his best to calm his students, Byleth split them into groups and instructed them to sweep the area. “Remember if you come across the bandits, send out a signal and we'll come and assist.” He had made sure there was a student proficient in magic in each group, as they agreed that a blaze of fire magic would be used to determine their location.
With his students on their way, Byleth started to survey his own section. It had been within the denser part of the woodland that surrounded their campsite. After spending nearly half an hour shoving through the dense foliage, Byleth heard voices. Approaching as close as he dared, cloaked in the shadows the trees provided, Byleth was able to find faces to go with the voices. There were six individuals within a small forest clearing he’d stumbled upon but unfortunately found no clear route to proceed due to the lookouts keeping watch from where they were perched in the surrounding trees. Their garb didn’t really suggest that they were bandits, and their appearance–strong builds, the large, bladed swords, and axes they carried and a notably warmer complexion–made it clear that they were more unified than the average band of thieves he and his students normally encountered. But how was that possible? Their mission had sent them too far east into Leicester territory for them to encounter such a well-supplied group of bandits.
Before Byleth could ponder if this was a random new group of scoundrels planting its roots, he realized that they had resumed speaking. But the language…within a few seconds of listening, Byleth realized he didn’t recognize it. Such a fact would have startled Byleth if that wasn’t already done by the loud shout from one the not-bandits. Their large frame initially had Byleth seeing a man but listening to their voice and it’s pitch made it clear it was a woman.
She cut an imposing figure and the elaborate sheaths of the two curved swords strapped to her hips was the best indication that she was the group’s leader. However, it was what she had gripped in her sizable hand that truly illustrated her dominance. Claude’s face was almost crushed in the woman’s grip and with each word she yelled, she emphasized it with a painful jerk of her prisoner's head. Byleth was stunned, most adversaries they faced understood the worth of a noble and the need to keep them in good condition if they wanted to exchange them for a hefty ransom. But they had tied Claude’s arms tight against his back and bound his legs in such a way that he was forced kneel. And as his head was jostled, Byleth could spot a stream of red trickling down the side of his student’s neck.
Byleth’s grip grew tense around his sword’s hilt. He couldn’t just rush in. There were too many of them to handle on his own and launching a fire spell to summon his students would tip off the lookouts. Byleth’s chest tightened at a cry of pain when the leader toppled Claude with a strong kick to the chest. The leader had started shouting again and was applying pressure to Claude’s chest with every few words. No…breaks in a sentence? Language barrier or not, it was clear that the bandit was demanding something of Claude. But all his student could do was wheeze in pain and fight for air around the blood that dripped from his lips and nose. Shit, they were going to kill him at this rate. Byleth readied his sword and lifted his hand to summon fire magic when the female bandit looked in his direction. Freezing Byleth refrained from drawing breath, watching the woman scan the tree line. He hadn’t been spotted but that mattered little when the woman spoke:
“Did those fools not know they have been harboring an enemy all this time?”
There was an accent, and the grammar was a tad off, but Byleth certainly understood what was being said this time. But what was she talking about? Enemy, what enemy? Byleth’s gaze dropped to Claude, assuming that the leader was speaking to him but flinched upon seeing his student’s gaze connect with his. His green eyes were blown wide with panic. There was no relief at being found or a silent plead to hide, just naked fear. It was the last thing Byleth could recall about Claude before a fireball whooshed passed from behind. The not-bandits shouted in alarm as the spell exploded into flames and smoke.
“Teach, we’re here to back you up!”
Byleth never once thought he’d dread the sight of his students. They burst through the woodlands; weapons drawn as they rushed towards the clearing at full speed. There was barely any time to warn them to take caution, that these weren’t the bandits they were used to fighting. But the only thing the Golden Deer students were focused on were smiting those who dared harm their house leader. What occurred, however, was barely contained chaos.
The bandits spared the advancing students a momentary glance of confusion, but their leader was unfazed. Lifting her fingers to her lips, she gave a sharp whistle and before anyone could think, the thundering sounds of hooves rumbled into the clearing. Half a dozen horses crashed through the tree line to which the bandits mounted with speed. The dense foliage surrounding them and the bandits directing the horses to give chase forced the students to break into a run and Byleth cursed as the commotion made him lose sight of the leader who had vanished alongside Claude. But with his students' shouts of panic Byleth forced himself to focus on keeping everyone close as the bandits were efficient on horseback. Their foes raced their horses on either side of them, smashing through vegetation and weaving among the trees as they took turns veering in close to swing their weapons and creating openings for their archers to take cheap shots at them. Just as Byleth was beginning to piece together a strategy to use the terrain’s tight quarters to their advantage, his student’s sloppy formation fell apart as they spilled out into an open field. Byleth felt his stomach fill with dread: it was a trap. What greeted them were two dozen more combatants and with the ones approaching from behind, he and his students were surrounded.
“How foolish they are to be falling for such a simple trap, to be stupid enough to pick fights they can not win. These are truly the ones you sought refuge with?” It was the leader, her voice echoing from where she was on top of a nearby incline. She was seated on the back of a large ebony horse and slung carelessly across her lap was Claude, bound and bleeding like before. “It is a pity that these children have distracted us. But children or not, mercy shall not come!”
In her foreign tongue, the leader shouted orders to which the other bandits–no soldiers, Byleth deduced. Their combat stances, weapons and organization were far too adept for the title of mere bandits–executed without hesitation. They charged forwards with shouts of certain victory and killing intent.
“Keep the formation tight and don’t let them scatter you! Focus on cutting through and making an escape route.” Byleth ordered as his students braced themselves for the fray of battle. “Once I return with Claude, we’re putting all our efforts into retreating!”
It pained Byleth to leave his student to fend off unpredictable opponents, but the heir to the Alliance would have demanded it to be done if it was one of the other students in his position. Armed with the Sword of the Creator, Byleth did his best to cover as much ground as he could, using the weapon to distract and disorganize whoever was in his path and disposing of the foes that refused to stand down. Before long, the educator had made an opening to advance towards the hill where the leader was stationed, watching over the chaos on the field. Breathlessly pushing forwards, Byleth considered his actions: it wasn’t practical to attack the woman head on–not without knowing if she would use Claude’s life as a bargaining chip–and if the leader did value Claude's life Byleth couldn’t have her riding off with him. Recalling the map of the area, Byleth knew that beyond the tree line that surrounded the clearing was miles of open terrain and if she retreated on horseback, there would be no way to catch up and attempt Claude’s rescue.
“You dare approach me? Are you so eager to taste death?” The leader had noticed Byleth’s approach and sneered down at him. “Or do you wish to duel me for the life of this pathetic spineless one?” The woman grabbed a fist full of Claude’s hair and yanked him upwards, making a painful looking arch of the boy’s back. “I speak the truth when I say, this welp is not worth spilling blood.”
A few of the fighters had broken away from the clamor at the sight of Byleth’s brazen approach to their leader and raised their weapons to defend her. Byleth advanced to face them but with his attention split between the four combatants and looking for an opening to rush in and grab Claude, Byleth knew he had to end this quickly, lest he be overwhelmed.
With faith in her soldiers the leader, still holding Claude by his hair, had begun speaking her native tongue. Her eyes narrowed as she hissed out one word after another, taking amusement at the terror that grew more palpable on Claude’s features. Byleth heard a break in the leader’s words, when it was followed by silence, her voice grew to a shout. She began repeating a certain word, growing angrier and jostling Claude’s more harshly head with each iteration of it. Just as Byleth was crossing blades with the last soldier, the leader gave a growl of frustration, tossed Claude’s head from her hand, and unsheathed one of the swords on her hips.
“You wish to bite your tongue, so be it! Fodlain’s people scatter at the smallest wind’s gust and I pity your lack in understanding.” As leader shouted in Claude’s face, the professor noted how Claude grew ridged but not at the blade hovering overhead. The woman bellowed, “The ones you find refuge with should learn of your deceit you little snake–”
“Enough!” The shout Claude gave was a wild, panicked one, equally matching his actions as he maneuvered his bound body enough to slam his weight against the leader’s abdomen.
It was enough force for the leader to falter in her balance on the horse, causing the creature to rear upwards and throw both the rider and captive to the ground. Delivering a fatal blow to his last opponent, Byleth rushed towards where the two had fallen. The space between them was large and despite Byleth’s command for his student to remain still, Claude was lost in his panic, squirming in an attempt to get away. However, the leader, now enraged from the tumble, gave a shout, and delivered a kick between Claude’s shoulder blades, forcing him face first into the ground. When she brought down her foot a second time it was backed by all her weight onto Claude’s back and bound arms. There was a sharp snap, and the grass did nothing to stifle the boy’s wail of pain.
What came after, was hard for Byleth to recount. He recalled using the Sword of the Creator’s extended reach to strike the woman, throwing her from where she stood with her blade raised to give his student a fatal wound. Byleth recalled the burn in his legs as he hefted Claude’s writhing form over his shoulders and raced back towards his other students. There was the scalding heat of the flames and stifling smoke as his students used fire magic and explosives to disorient their foes and cut them off once they retreated into the woods and set the foliage behind them ablaze.
Everything after their escape, Byleth realized, was lost to his panic to get everyone back to the monastery safely. If he had hesitated for just a second or if one of his students had performed a single misstep, the day's events could have been far more dire. Byleth groaned at this thought and was thankful as he rounded the corner to his sleeping chambers.
“Professor?”
Byleth looked up and blinked. Standing at his door was a familiar face.
“Ah Professor Byleth, I’m so glad you’ve returned.” It was the Gatekeeper that his students and himself had grown fond of. He was always so cheerful whenever they had arrived, even today as he quickly helped everyone get inside and called for healers.
“Yes. Is there something I can do for you?” Byleth asked, hoping he didn’t look as drained as he felt.
“Yes, it's Manuela. She requested that I come and fetch you.” Gatekeeper gestured for him to follow. “Despite his injuries, your student, Sir von Reign insists on speaking to you.”