Chapter Text
“Well, Belle, what do you think of the brats?” Jeralt asked as he watched Quint work on her leg. “They seemed to hold their own in the fight.”
They were sitting on a cushy couch in the captain’s office while Quint knelt before Beleth, metal rattling and clinking with each move he made.
“Brats, indeed,” Quint growled, his muscular form hunched over while he moved one of his tools through the inner workings of his subject. “How the hell did that noble bastard rip off your leg with a training lance?”
Thankfully, the old blacksmith wasn’t wont to raise his voice much whenever he was deeply invested in his work. Unless he was already yelling at them over something.
“His Crest,” Jeralt answered with a sigh. “Kid’s got Blaiddyd blood in him, and the ridiculous strength that comes with it.”
Quint snorted, and something sparked in Beleth’s leg. “Bah! The bastard shredded the wiring! It’s going to take forever to rip out what’s damaged!”
“Father, what are Crests?” Byleth was leaning against the wall, and Beleth saw Sothis sleeping as she levitated next to him.
Jeralt fidgeted, discomfort and distaste etched across his grizzled features. “The Church says Crests are blessings from the Goddess, inherited through the bloodline of the old Ten Elites. They are, more or less, power. Sometimes they boost physical power, sometimes they boost magical energy or conserve it. Each Crest is unique in some form.”
“Like Hilda,” Beleth recalled. “Her Crest amplifies her physical strength.”
“That Goneril girl?” Jeralt guessed, rubbing his beard. “I remember hearing about her brother, Holst...”
“Do we have a Crest?” Byleth wondered.
Jeralt fidgeted and scowled, clearly not wanting to talk about this subject any further, which was evident by his finger twitching around his flask. “I... don’t think so. We aren’t descended from the Ten Elites, so there’s no reason for us to have one of their Crests.”
“Don’t put much stock in those blasted things, anyway,” Quint grumbled, metal squeaking as he twisted one of his strange tools inside of Beleth’s leg. “Crests are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Why do you say that?” Byleth asked. “Increased power would be a good thing, right?”
“Sure, if you wanted to be the object of obsession for every damn noble house in Fodlan,” Jeralt spoke up. “The Kingdom has the worst ones, by far, but still.”
“So, these Crests are highly desirable, I take it,” Beleth murmured, filing that information away.
“That’s putting it lightly,” Quint grunted. “Some of these noble houses treat their children like they’re animals to be bred until a brat with a Crest pops out. They’re obsessed with the fucking things.”
“Take the Gautier family, for one,” Jeralt unhooked his flask and took a deep flask of the whisky he was wont to store within it. “Disinherited their eldest son just because the younger was born with a Crest. I heard a story that the elder threw the younger down a well, once, trying to drown the poor kid.”
“My goodness! I did not think people would be so cruel!” Sothis was awake, her green eyes bright with shock. “Especially children!”
“Sothis, you’ve literally watched us cut people apart,” Byleth grunted next to her, making Jeralt flinch.
“What’s wrong, Father?” Beleth asked, a tremor going up her body as the core in her leg made a whining sound.
He took another drink from his flask and grimaced. “I would be careful about using her name around here, kid. It...has a lot of meaning for the Church.”
“Do I?” Sothis frowned, tapping the side of her head as if trying to jar her memories loose. “I cannot recall at all! You will answer me, Mr. Jeralt: what am I to this strange Church?”
“She wants to know what she is to this strange Church,” Byleth translated, making Sothis beam at him.
Jeralt sighed. “What’d she call me this time?”
“Mr. Jeralt,” Beleth reported.
Their father chuckled. “Well, she’s called me worse. I’ll tell you, but not here, alright?”
“You will tell me all you know right this moment!” Sothis demanded, yelping as she unintentionally kicked one of Quint’s tools.
It tipped over with a loud thud against the floor, making Quint jump and swear as he jerked his hand out of Beleth’s leg. Sparking black wires were gripped in his fingers, and he grumbled before throwing them aside.
“Damn it! Who did that?!” he demanded, looking around in annoyance. “Your ghost?”
The twins nodded, making the old smith grumble again before he went back to working on Beleth’s leg.
“Well, kid, back to my original question,” Jeralt took another swallow from his flask before fixing a calculating stare upon his daughter. “What do you think of your brats?”
“They have promise, but they have far to go,” Beleth hesitated as she considered the mystery that was her House Head. “Although...Claude is hiding much.”
“The Almyran?” Jeralt grunted.
“Almyran?” Beleth frowned.
Her father nodded. “You didn’t notice? Kid’s obviously not from Fodlan: I can hear a faint accent in his voice, but he’s pretty good at hiding it from what I can tell.”
“I didn’t. Why would an Almyran be here in Fodlan?” Beleth wondered.
“That’s his business, but he’s doing a good job fitting in,” Jeralt shrugged. “You’ve seen firsthand how Fodlan natives dislike foreigners, after all.”
Right...Beleth recalled seeing merchants from Dagda and Almyra endure no small amount of prejudice and abuse from their rivals and prospective customers. The Kingdom was especially leery of foreigners after that whole Duscur debacle.
“A fair point,” Beleth nodded, her leg whirring as Quint tweaked something in the mechanism.
“People are people,” Byleth said from the side, ignoring how Sothis was dramatically draping herself across his shoulders as she sighed. “Doesn’t matter where they’re from.”
“We’ve probably killed people from all over the world,” Jeralt muttered. “I know I’ve killed enough to fill an entire country.”
“Can you pipe down?” Quint growled, and Beleth felt the metal connectors that fused her stumps to the false legs tighten. “There we go! The damn things were loose, go figure. Give that a go.”
She slowly swung the leg before her, the metal limb a bit more responsive than it had been earlier. “Feels good, Quint.”
“How do your arms feel, Byleth?” the smith turned to the other man, eyeing his metal limbs. “That girl sitting on your shoulders didn’t throw them out of alignment, did she?”
“Not that I can tell,” Byleth shook his head and rolled his shoulders. “Everything is working.”
“I thought Seteth was going to have a hemorrhage when you offered to let Flayn sit on your shoulders after she complained she couldn’t see,” Jeralt chuckled. “Was kinda nice seeing him squirm.”
“What do you think I should do about Claude?” Beleth asked, and her father’s face soured. “I have noticed that he is hiding much, including his skill with bows and poisons.”
“Keep an eye on him and act if you need to. Your instincts have never led you wrong yet,” Jeralt shrugged.
“Aside from...this,” Beleth gestured at her legs.
“This again? You can’t blame yourself for that, Belle,” her father reached out and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Remember what that monk said? If you hadn’t been where you were, Byleth would have lost his entire head instead of just his eyes and arms. He’s alive because of you.”
“I owe you my life, sister,” Byleth nodded.
She hated those words, but he was alive. That was all that mattered.
Jeralt withdrew his hand and sighed, rubbing his eyes. “You should get back to your brats. I’m sure they’re waiting for their new professor. Just do what you do best and use your head.”
“Yes, father,” Beleth nodded.
Right, use her head. She had to put this impeccable memory of hers to good use, after all.
“Be careful in the future, aye?” Quint gathered up his supplies in their black metal case, giving Beleth a firm nod. “And if that Blaiddyd brat breaks either of you again, I will flay him alive.”
“I didn’t think you cared about them, Quint,” Jeralt drawled, but his grizzled face was lit up with a grin.
Quint just grunted and stomped out of the room, waving a callused hand in dismissal before he left their sight.
“He cares more than you think, kids,” Jeralt mused. “Took him a while, but he came around.”
“I remember how cold and distant he used to be, only interacting with us when we needed repairs or tune-ups,” Beleth said softly as the memories surfaced.
“What do we do, now?” Byleth asked.
“You’re needed in the warehouses to move some supplies of raw materials,” Jeralt said to him. “Seteth told me as such, earlier.”
“Then I shall guide him to the best of my ability!” Sothis declared, silently jumping to her feet. “You shall not lose your way so long as I am here!”
“I trust you, Sothie,” Byleth nodded sagely, missing her annoyed glare at the nickname. “Thank you.”
She huffed. “At least you can show gratitude. No matter: you know I adore you two, and I take my responsibilities quite seriously!”
Beleth would have smiled if she could move her facial muscles.
“We know you do,” she said, instead.
Sothis stuck her tongue out at her and then placed her hand on Byleth’s back.
Byleth and the ephemeral girl strode out of the room, leaving Beleth with Jeralt.
“Good luck, Belle,” her father said. “If you need help with anything, I’m sure the other professors will be willing to lend you their expertise.”
Right...Manuela and Hanneman. Hopefully their teaching skills were more refined than their battlefield abilities.
“What will you be doing?” she asked.
Jeralt looked back at his desk, which had a small tower of papers cluttered upon it, then lifted his flask to take a swig of its alcoholic contents. “Remembering how much I hate paperwork.”
Ah, yes, the bane of the Blade Breaker’s existence: paper.
“Maybe after our duties are done, we could go fishing for a time?” Beleth mused, at which her father’s grizzled features softened.
“I’d like that, kid. Now scram: we both have duties to fulfil.”
“Yes, father,” Beleth left the room on her new leg, balancing easily on the prosthetic.
How many times had this happened since the accident? Five, if her memory was correct, and it usually was.
“Now, Hanneman’s and Manuela’s offices are right across from one another, aren’t they?” Beleth strode down the hall to her left, finding that her hunch was correct.
To her left was the infirmary that doubled as Manuela’s office, and the former songstress was slumped over the desk, groaning as she feebly clutched at a bottle of liquor. Beleth turned to the right and saw Hanneman poring through some books on his shelf, muttering to himself with great fervor.
These two were the most prominent professors? A curious duo, for certain. Perhaps it would be better if Beleth returned later...
She turned and made her way through the halls and down the narrow stairs, her legs clanking against stone every step of the way. Her thoughts roamed to this strange place and its strange people as she walked, conjuring an image of Rhea in her mind’s eye.
Who was this woman? Why was Jeralt so uncomfortable around her?
Beleth walked in silence to her classroom, keenly aware of the eyes following her every move and the hushed voices of the students.
“She lost her leg to Prince Dimitri and still beat him?” a girl with a griffon charm on her waist asked.
“Yeah, and then she knocked out Professor Manuela with that dismembered leg!” another student confirmed. “Sylvain said that she wasn’t even trying to fight and still wiped out everyone!”
“She’s one of the Demon Twins for a reason...” the first girl shuddered, flinching as Beleth clanked by.
“Do you think she heard us?”
They always said that, no matter where she was or who was talking about her when they thought she wasn’t listening. She was tired of it: of all the whispers and the fearful stairs, all the people wondering if this Demon was going to rip their throats out at the slightest provocation.
The whisperers were a bit kinder to Byleth, most likely due to his being blind, but their words were always filled with fear. Nobles would express harsher opinions at times, turning up their noses at the lowly mercenaries who had taken care of what they couldn’t be bothered to dirty their own hands to do.
Beleth remembered trying to kill one such upstart years ago, after he had gone on a tirade of scathing insults about the company, and had nearly cost them their payment as a result of it. Had Jeralt not strong-armed the youth into upholding his end of the deal, the mercenaries may have been attacked by knights in the noble family’s employ and been driven from their territory.
“I don’t blame you, Belle,” her father had sighed after the debacle had been sufficiently defused. “I wanted to hit him, myself, but this is part of the job. There will always be insufferable people like that fool back there, but we have to be professional.”
Be professional. Yes.
Be professional.
Beleth entered her classroom and paused at the chatter that was flowing forth from the students within: apparently, she’d been so wrapped up in her memories that she hadn’t heard them beforehand.
“Did you see how Caspar and I knocked each other out at the same time?” Raphael was laughing. “I gotta work on my muscles even more now! That means more training and eating!”
“Training and eating are all you do, Raphael,” Lysithea grumbled from amidst a plethora of thick tomes, not even lifting her sharp eyes from the pages she was devouring. “You must focus on your studies just as much if you want to be a proper knight.”
“I hope Captain Jeralt was impressed by my skills!” Leonie was maintaining the string on her bow: gently testing the thick cord and rubbing it down with a substance that smelled faintly of beeswax. “I haven’t forgotten anything he taught me!”
“I acquitted myself as any noble of House Gloucester should,” Lorenz declared, but he was looking sourly down at his rose-less lapel before sighing. “Alas, it appears I shall need to mend my slovenly appearance...”
“I’m sorry,” Marianne whispered, staring down at her feet. “You only got hurt because of me.”
“Your apology is not necessary, Marianne!” the noble shook his head. “It is the duty of a noble to protect those beside him, after all! I would not allow a woman as fair as you to be injured on my watch!”
“Say, do you think you could help me out on the battlefield, Lorenz?” Hilda took this opportunity to sidle up to the preening noble, her eyes wide and almost innocent as she stared at him. “I’m not the most confident fighter, and having someone as strong as you protecting me would make me feel so much better!”
“Hilda, we all saw you knock Dedue back before Lysithea blasted him,” Ignatz spoke up hesitantly.
“Hey, Teach!” Claude’s voice made everyone fall silent as their eyes fell on Beleth, making her instincts flare to flee. “How are you feeling?”
“I am fine. Is everyone healed up?” Beleth looked over her students, pleased to see that none of them were bearing serious wounds.
“We’re all hale and hearty!” Claude nodded. “What’s on the agenda next, Teach?”
What was next... that was quite a question.
“Lysithea, I would like to look over those materials with you as soon as possible, if that will suffice,” Beleth turned to the young mage, who finally tore her gaze from her books to nod.
“Of course, Professor. I’d be glad to share my materials with you,” the girl nodded. “I feel I could learn more if you were with me.”
Good.
“And now, regarding your training,” Beleth looked over everyone, gauging their reactions. “We will start with basic form drills and running laps around the monastery grounds to build up your endurance and stamina.”
“Alright!” Raphael pumped a fist excitedly while Hilda stifled a groan.
Ignatz swallowed nervously, and even Lysithea raised an eyebrow at the announcement.
“Each of you will choose two weapons to practice with. Marianne and Lysithea: you will have one melee weapon to work with alongside your magic,” Beleth continued. “One must be able to adapt on the battlefield, and relying on one skillset alone will only spell doom in a situation where flexibility could save your life.”
“Could I not just focus on both schools of magic, instead?” Lysithea asked. “My body isn’t exactly suited for physical exertions.”
Beleth considered the girl’s proposal: a well-rounded mage could be devastating on the battlefield, a perfect mix of offense and healing support.
“If you feel that type of study would be more beneficial to you, then go ahead,” Beleth relented. “Offensive and healing magic from one mage would be quite a benefit on the battlefield.”
Lysithea nodded. “Leave it to me!”
With that, Beleth looked out over the rest of her class, gauging them. “Now, tell me what secondary weapons you wish to use.”
Raphael lifted a meaty hand. “I’m good with axes!”
“I’m not too shabby with an axe, either,” Claude shrugged.
Hilda glumly stretched her arms over her head. “I’ll use a lance if I have to.”
“I’m good with bows and lances, thanks to Jeralt’s training!” Leonie declared. “I’ll show you what I can do!”
“I, um, guess I’ll use a sword?” Ignatz stammered.
“M-me too,” Marianne’s voice was almost too soft to hear, but Beleth nodded in her direction.
“I shall devote myself to lancework and black magic,” Lorenz declared. “Might and magic is the specialty of House Gloucester!”
Maybe he’d be a better mage than a footsoldier?
“Good. You have your goals,” Beleth looked over her students. “I’ll focus your assignments and work around your chosen disciplines, but it’s up to you to follow through on everything.”
“Of course, Professor,” Lysithea nodded.
“Leave it to me!” Raphael pumped his fist excitedly.
They certainly had spirit, save for Marianne. Beleth would have to really work to help her build up some confidence.
For now, however, they would have to work on the basics.
“If that’s decided, then come with me to the training grounds,” Beleth commanded. “We have some drills to start on.”
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“You are amazing, Byleth!” Flayn’s excited voice filled Byleth’s ears while he concentrated on controlling his four arms, a fishing rod clutched in each metal fist. “This catch is simply divine!”
“How could one small girl eat so much fish on her own?” Sothis wondered from where she lingered to his side. “It is quite disturbing, if I am being honest.”
Moving everything in the warehouse had been easy enough: his four arms had made quick work of stacking crates filled with nuggets and ingots for the blacksmiths, sacks of grain and hay for the horses, and planks of wood meant for roofing and other repairs.
Two of the arms tugged as something snagged his bait, and Byleth yanked as hard as he could. Two splashes followed, and he could feel small bodies writhing on the other end of the lines.
“Get the basket ready, Flayn,” he told the green-haired girl as he swung the catch over to her, hoping he wouldn’t smack her in the face with a fish.
“On it!” there was more movement from the rods, and then the lines went still as the fish were removed from the hooks.
There was rustling, followed by a soft thud.
“I think that will be plenty, Byleth!” Flayn declared. “Oh, my mouth is watering just thinking of how delicious these fish will be!”
She really liked fish, huh. It was adorable, if Byleth was being honest.
“Glad to be of service, Flayn,” he reached out with the rods until he located the baskets which held them.
He swung all four rods over and dropped them in with a clatter and the thunk of wood against wood, then turned to where he hoped Flayn was still standing.
“I shall have these cooked up immediately!” she declared. “Oh! But before I forget! Thank you again for catching these for me.”
“I was glad to,” Byleth shook his head, pausing as he heard the tell-tale clanking of his sister’s metal legs. “And we had a deal, anyway.”
“Move it!” Beleth’s voice made him turn his head towards the monastery’s entrance hall. “Faster, Lysithea! You too, Hilda!”
“Come on! We have training to do!” the boisterous voice of one of Beleth’s students called.
“You’re the only one happy about that, Raphael!”
“Do I have to do this?” a young girl’s voice demanded.
“Yes,” came Beleth’s deadpan answer, which made Sothis giggle.
“I almost pity her students,” the girl said.
“Byleth, can I ask you something?” Flayn spoke up again, this time at his side rather than behind him.
He could feel her close to him, her presence a faint glimmer of warmth in the omnipresent darkness. “Ask away.”
She was second only to Sothis.
“I hope I am not prying, but how did you lose your arms?” Flayn asked, tapping one of the metal limbs with her finger.
“Accident, several years ago,” Byleth shook his head, absently reaching up to brush metal fingers against his blindfold. “Both Beleth and I were lucky to survive. The monks and surgeons that father brought us to were barely able to keep us alive, especially after they had to amputate what we left of our arms and legs.”
“Oh my!” Flayn gasped. “What happened?”
It was all a blur, if he was honest: he remembered the mages that the company had been dispatched to eradicate in the Kingdom, remembered chasing them down their cavern hideout, but then everything got fuzzy afterwards.
There was a foul scent, coming off of some strange black liquid that the mages had been harvesting for some reason, and then Byleth remembered a boom unlike anything he’d ever heard.
Then there was the blossoming agony that shredded his arms and seared itself into his eyes before everything went black after a blinding flash, followed by the heat of a thousand suns. He didn’t remember how the duo had gotten out of that cave.
Beleth refused to talk about the details, but Byleth knew that she remembered every moment as if it had just happened yesterday. Sothis didn’t like to talk about it, either: vanishing to wherever she went whenever she wasn’t guiding Byleth.
Maybe to that throne room they’d seen when they were kids?
“I don’t quite remember,” he admitted to Flayn. “All I remember is a cavern, a foul smell, and then a lot of fire.”
He heard Flayn swallow, a soft intake of breath following. “My goodness... that sounds horrific. To think that you’ve endured such suffering.”
“My sister and I have survived then, just like we’ll survive now,” Byleth said with a shrug, making metal rattle. “I do not know how well she will deal with her students, however: neither of us have much experience in dealing with people younger than us.”
Flayn giggled. “It is a good thing that I am not one of those people!”
What? What the hell was she talking about?
“She appears to be younger than both of you,” Sothis commented, and Byleth could practically hear her furrowed brow in her voice. “And yet... something about her strikes me as unusual...”
“Flayn, there you are!” Seteth’s footsteps approached. “And Byleth. I thought I informed you that you were needed in the warehouses? I do not enjoy repeating myself.”
“Brother, Byleth has already taken care of his duties in the warehouse!” Flayn chirped. “He has been catching fish for me in the meantime!”
“You completed moving everything already?” Seteth asked, his incredulity plain in his voice. “It’s been scarcely two hours!”
Byleth waved all four of his augmented arms at the man. “You seem to keep forgetting that I am stronger than most ordinary people.”
“So you say,” Seteth murmured. “I will check to ensure that everything is in its rightful place later. This... is a lot of fish. I hope you do not plan on being wasteful.”
“Of course not, brother!” Flayn declared. “I will cook up what I can and give the rest to the kitchen! Oh, I am so happy to have someone who is willing to catch fish for me!”
Seteth chuckled softly, a gentle noise that conveyed the affection he held for this girl who may or may not be his sister. “I am glad to see you enjoying yourself. Thank you for taking the time to fish for my sister, Byleth.”
“It was my pleasure,” Byleth nodded. “Your sister is fine company to be in.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” the advisor declared almost immediately, his enthusiasm making the corners of Byleth’s mouth twitch.
“He clearly loves his sister, but I feel there is something more here,” Sothis mused from Byleth’s side. “His doting over her feels... more similar to how your father fretted over your sister and you when you were younger.”
Curious.
“I have to ask, however,” Seteth’s tone became harder and much more defensive, and Byleth could have sworn that he felt a chill in the air. “What are your intentions with my sister?”
“B-brother! I am allowed to have a friend!” Flayn spluttered. “I am not a child!”
“If you have any impure notions, I will-” Seteth’s words sputtered out as an impact was followed by a wheezing groan. “F-Flayn!”
“That is enough, brother! I do not need you hovering over me at every moment! I am more than safe with Byleth, and I enjoy guiding him around the monastery!” came the sister’s voice, filled with embarrassment.
“That girl’s elbow is quite strong,” Sothis muttered with no small amount of fear. “Do take care not to upset her.”
“Noted,” Byleth nodded.
“I apologize for my brother,” Flayn sighed. “He means well, but his overbearing meddling can be frustrating without measure!”
“It’s good to have a sibling who cares so much for you,” Byleth shook his head.
“I agree, but he has a tendency to take it too far!” Flayn insisted. “Now, would you be willing to help me take these fish to the kitchens? I wish to begin cooking them!”
“By your leave, Sir Seteth,” Byleth bowed in the advisor’s direction.
“Very well. Do be careful, however,” Seteth replied, which was followed by his departing footsteps.
“Let us be off!” Flayn declared, her fish-laden basket rustling as if she’d just picked it up.
“Lead the way,” Byleth said, the world snapping into focus through Sothis’s eyes as she placed a hand upon his back and granted him her sight once more.
At least this would give him something to do.
He looked after a very excited and eager Flayn as she darted up the steps, her arms laden with fish, and he felt his lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.
“Come on,” Sothis ordered, turning her head so Byleth was once more subject to the unnerving out-of-body view of himself. “The girl may be adorable, yes, but I am still your guide. We are bound together, are we not?”
Byleth watched himself nod, turning his face towards Sothis. “And there is none other I would rather be bound to. I only wish I could see you.”
Sothis faltered, then chuckled. “My, my! Your sweet words never cease to astound me whenever you speak them! If you wish to see me, perhaps I shall show you my reflection, later. As for now, we have a kitchen to get to.”
Right.