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Peach sorbet
It’s a rare sight–Jeritza sitting in the dining hall among the former students–and Byleth takes full advantage of this opportunity to approach him. She’s positively giddy with a bounce in her step that carries as she sits down across from him, eyes wide and expectant. He’s staring down into his bowl, totally focused on his sweet treat. “Are you eating more ice cream?” she asks.
Jeritza picks up his head and meets her eyes with unbridled ire. “This is… peach sorbet,” he answers.
The dish’s name means nothing to Byleth, so she nods with the same bright, blank expression.
He sighs and takes another bite. “Nevermind. One such as you could not hope to understand.”
Possession
Jeritza has faced the Ashen Demon in battle twice before, and both times he has found her to be an enthralling opponent, one that forces his all in battle and exploits his every weakness. Both he and the Death Knight can feel her presence when she steps onto the battlefield, and they seek her out to sate their desire for blood.
The one who charges him now looks just like her but has none of the fire and drive he has come to desire from such an opponent.
From atop his horse, Jeritza points down at the creature in front of him with a declaration and a command. “You are not the one I crave,” he says, and then, “Return my pleasure to me.”
The being jerks Byleth’s body around, then vanishes from his sight. A childish voice speaks from behind him, “My vessel belongs to me, not you. Who do you think you are, commanding me like that?”
He turns in time to see the creature charge, sword aiming to slay his steed. He swings his scythe down, parrying the blade, but not disarming as he had intended.
“Threatening to destroy me is a grave crime, indeed,” the child speaks again, twirling the sword in Byleth’s hand and poising for a second attack. “For that, I must kill you swiftl–Augh!” Byleth drops her sword and crumples in a heap.
To end her like this–while she kicks and writhes against whatever being had taken control of her– would not quench his thirst for her blood, so he does nothing but morbidly watch.
Cats and Ice Cream
Byleth takes a bite of ice cream. The tabby cat is in her lap. The shorthair is on her left shoulder. One with orange stripes nestles on her head.
Jeritza takes his own bite of ice cream. None of the cats crawl over him. It’s infuriating.
“Do you want some of mine?” Byleth holds out her spoon.
Jeritza stares at the melting treat, then at the three cats cheerfully cuddling up to her. He sighs and leans forward, closing his mouth around the spoon.
Byleth smiles and lets go, reaching into her lap and picking up the tabby cat. “Mr. Whiskers is ready for you, now.” The cat tenses when Byleth sets him down next to Jeritza. “Just think pleasant thoughts. He can sense your reservations.”
Jeritza looks down at the cat. The cat looks back up at him. Mr. Whiskers bolts right back into Byleth’s lap.
Running Away Together
From the moment they crossed blades in the Holy Tomb, Jeritza has been fascinated by Byleth. In fact, every member of the aptly named Black Eagles Strike Force saw something unique in Byleth that drew them to her. “Emperor Edelgard has plans for you once this war draws to a close,” Jeritza says.
Byleth nods. “Yes. She says I am the only person who truly understands her and can walk beside her.” Others claim that Byleth is emotionless, but Jeritza sees a battle exploding in her eyes. She wrestles with the confession.
“You are special,” he agrees. Special to everyone. Special to him.
She finally blinks and reaches for him, clutching onto his sleeve. “I want to choose my own future,” she admits. “A war hero, a political figure…those aren’t me. At the end of the day, I’m a mercenary.”
He wouldn’t have her any other way. If he finds himself opposed to her on the battlefield like in their academy days, he’ll once again be able to face her in combat. And oh, how he has longed to taste her blade.
“I’m going to leave,” she says, leaning into him. “After this battle, I’m going to disappear.”
So he would have to seek her out? He knows that the Death Knight will stop at nothing to pursue her, even to the end of the world or the depths of hell. His life is intertwined with hers. He cannot imagine living without her at his side, without a reason to become stronger, without a failsafe if he ever loses himself.
She sighs, finally moving enough to walk her arms around him. “Edelgard gave you everything,” Byleth remembers. “Could you throw it all away, everything she did for you, just to be with me?”
Jeritza’s thoughts screech to a halt. “You are…inviting me to join you?” he slowly asks.
She nods against his chest. “Run away with me, Jeritza.”
He agrees without a second thought.
Gone Swimming
Byleth likes fishing, likes sitting in a boat and casting a rod or net out into the waves, but in all her years of mercenary work, she never had a chance to swim in the ocean. It’s huge and vast and consuming. She can understand why it terrifies Edelgard.
All in all, though, it’s not bad. Her feet sink into the sand below, and minnows dance around her ankles, waiting for her toes to resurface. Farther out, she sees her lover silhouetted by the sunset.
When Jeritza speaks, he chooses his words carefully, and almost always encourages his conversation partner to kindly stop talking. Byleth doesn’t mind silence, and when he feels something on his soul he wants to air, she listens. Right now, he stares out into the sun, uncaring as it burns his eyes. She wades over, plants her feet next to his, and clasps his hand.
It’s not bad, being out on the ocean like this.
Father
Now that the Empire has set up base at Garreg Mach Monastery, Byleth spends some of her free time in the graveyard, looking between two headstones, one for each of her parents. “He would have liked you,” she says, turning from the engraving to the man standing behind her. “You don’t talk a lot, and you’re strong.”
Jeritza rolls his lips in, but says nothing. He saw Jeralt around the monastery when the academy was still open, but he never spoke to him–he never had a need to. And his view of a father figure had soured considerably after leaving his old home.
“And you have a kind heart,” she continues. “The children living in the nearby villages were so happy to see you again when you returned.” She smiles with a warmth someone like him does not deserve.
“I merely taught them how to hold a sword,” he finally says. “I did not want them to be helpless.”
Byleth beaches for his hand and takes it in hers. “You have a kind heart,” she repeats.
If he does, it surely came from his mother. His father had been the opposite of kind.
She traces his fingers with hers, both battle-hardened and scarred. She doesn’t say anything more.
Broken
King Dimitri had ordered the charge on Fort Merceus, the last stronghold of the Empire, and Byleth gives careful directions to her forces, knowing that old friends from their Academy days lie in wait to stop their advance. She sends Ashe to the north, Hapi to the south, and pulls Annette to the rear, not wanting any of them to have to kill someone they spent frivolous days of their youth with.
“Professor,” Mercedes’s voice holds more weight than it usually does. “I know what you’re doing.”
Byleth can’t deny it. “Stay with Annette,” she says simply. “Caspar is here. Linhardt, too.”
“Annie can take care of herself,” Mercedes says. “Let me go with you, Professor. I know you’re going to face him alone. I need to see him.”
Byleth can’t deny that, either. “Stay behind me, then. He’s dangerous.”
***
In the bright daylight, Byleth can barely see his glowing crimson eyes. She hasn’t told Mercedes, but she fought with Jeritza back when he was a teacher at the academy. His movements were swift and calculated, but not mad. The man before her is altogether different than Jeritza, and yet, eerily familiar.
“Have you come to taste death at my hand?” he asks, deep voice echoing inside his helmet. “I have been waiting five long years for you, my pleasure.”
Byleth twists her sword’s hilt in her hand, the blade splitting off into pieces and cracking like a whip. “Death Knight,” she addresses. “I have come to slay you.”
“Then have at me.”
Byleth remembers Jeritza’s swordplay. She remembers his poise and elegance, his noble stature and his eagerness to test his skills against strong opponents. But she also remembers his tenderness, when he taught children to hold swords or when he left snacks out for stray cats. The Death Knight lunges in lunacy, frenzied strikes held back by his body’s human limitations. She is sure that the creature in front of her is not.
Her final blow knocks his helmet off, and his crisp violet eyes bore into her with a mad grin that betrays his elation at his own demise. She can hear Mercedes gasp behind her, but she doesn’t move to approach him as he topples off of his horse. In this moment, he isn’t her long-lost brother. He’s a demon, soul shattered beyond repair. She takes no pleasure in their victory; there is no joy to be found in crushing an already broken spirit.