Leonie

Loss

A/N - Wanted to upload something Leonie centric what with my other Leonie chapter for Our Trusted Companion. If you didn't know, I started another story, same concept as Our Guiding Light, but with Shez as the main character during the events of Three Hopes. Feel free to check that out should it interest you, the only chapter up IS a Leonie one but I have more to come. I already have ideas thought up for Monica and Marianne, so, look forward to that. 3 Hopes is making me fall in love with these characters all over again, seeing new sides of them and just honestly being able to spend more time with them. Leonie I didn't particularly like all that much in 3 Houses, but after playing Hopes, I wanted to revisit her. That all said, I haven't put much time into Verdant Deer, so my characterization of her might be a little off. Its kinda surface level, if I'm honest with you. Unlike with my Hilda chapter though, I am really happy with how this one turned out, and I do plan on returning and rewriting the Hilda chapter as I feel it is very weak for what I was going for it. But anyhow, enough prattle. Thank you for your patience and support, it means a lot for me to see how many followers and favorites I have on this story. I hope this chapter lives up to some of the wait. Thank you all, and enjoy. Until next time.

Everyone dealt with grief differently.

Jeralt's death hung over the monastery like a dark cloud, it's presence bringing nothing but somber and gloom. He was beloved by all, it seems. Of course he was…why wouldn't he be…

Jeralt, the Blade Breaker…renowned mercenary known across the lands…

Nobles respected his skill, commoners looked up to him like some sort of hero, any warrior worth their salt had heard tale of him and his accomplishments and yearned to be given the opportunity to test their mettle against him…but he was so much more than that. He was also, once upon a time, the captain of the Knights of Seiros…

Byleth had gone on for so long under his father's wing, the man that raised him, and yet, there were whole swathes of his father's life that was unknown to him. To Byleth, he just saw his father, and he didn't need anything else to know just how good a man he was. But this…this was something he never fully realized, the pain that would come from his loss.

It seemed as if everyone hurt, practically everyone coming to the young man to give their sympathies and respects, to reminisce on the man that they all admired. And as he heard each and every story, sat through quietly as these strangers spoke so highly of his father, he began to falter. A sort of guilt crept in, an uncomfortable thing that addled his otherwise sharp mind, dulling it along with his confidence. And why wouldn't it?

Why wouldn't he feel lesser?

These strangers told such wonderful things about his father, and Byleth knew nothing about them. Whole aspects of his life were simply kept a secret, the man not one for talking much of his past. Byleth just simply accepted all this, why wouldn't he?

But now that the man was gone, those things would be lost, those words would never be spoken, those experiences never recounted…

Byleth could now only hear the story of the Blade Breaker, of the great Captain, of the Hero and accomplished warrior, but all these were of a different man than the one he knew…it felt like many of the things said about him by people Byleth had never met before were all about someone else, some 'figure' he had never really met…and never will.

So many things were lost. Who was he really, what was he, why did he leave, who was Byleth's mother…Jeralt was going to tell him all about it, the little ring that sat in his pocket testament to that promise, to the revelations that awaited him…

Byleth was going to meet the man all these others had seemed to meet before him.

But no longer.

All Byleth had of him was the idea of a father, of the man who raised and loved him, even if it wasn't without trouble. It was hard growing up in a mercenary troupe, the two bonding not just as father and son, but as warriors and sellswords. It made for an interesting dynamic…one in which battle was the field on which achievements were won and prided for. And Byleth took to it all so naturally…

Too naturally…

Such was a rare thought shared between the two in his early teen years. There was worry to his old man's tone. It was around that time things had changed. When Byleth had proved himself capable, Jeralt had stopped seeing him as a kid. The two fought, sparring as they usually did, only this time, neither held back. Jeralt didn't get his reputation for nothing, pushing back his child and claiming victory in what was essentially their first familial fight, but Byleth held his own.

It wasn't so much a rivalry as it was an understanding of one another's strength…Byeth only ever really had his father to compare himself to, no one else coming close…perhaps that's why it hurt so much that he is now gone.

He felt alone, even though he knew he was not. He was surrounded now by people that cared immensely for him…but the loss of a father, of someone who has always been there, it left a void that could not be filled, a pain that would not soon go away. And a haunting on his psyche.

The strongest man he had known had died before his eyes, and even with all the newfound powers Byleth had come unto, all that he was ow able to accomplish, he was unable to save his only family. How could it not take its toll on the man?

For Byleth, grieving involved solitude. He was grateful that other's could take his classes for him, they understanding that he might need some time to himself. Part of him wanted to chuckle at the notion…in a way, he was all by himself.

But in another, he wasn't, his other half accompanying him everywhere he went. She sat on his bed with him, cursing the fact that she could not touch him, that she could not run her fingers through his hair and soothe his aching yet silent heart. She could feel it, feel his despair, his depression, his sadness, could feel it all as if it were her own.

And he could feel hers, her frustrations, her helplessness, her anguish that she could not do more to console him. They were each other. They were all that they had in this world, it seemed.

The pain that racked him kept him away from everyone else, Byleth just not feeling ready to face anyone else yet. He didn't leave his room, not even for food, Sothis venturing a joke about how he was turning into Bernadetta. It was enough to elicit a smile from him, but nothing more as he had continued instead to lay on his bed, shut off from the world.

The days passed, some visitors stopped by, and after speaking with them all, with the arch bishop, with Seteth and Flayn, with Claude, he felt it time he get back to his responsibilities. After all, no matter how much it felt like time had just stopped for him, the same wasn't true for the rest of the world.

When he finally returned to the classroom, most everyone was happy to see their teacher on his feet again. Everyone, that is, save for one ginger in his class. Leonie shot him daggers all through the lesson, face upturned in a barely concealed scowl as she seemed to look on at him in disgust. The hostility that radiated from her was enough to warrant a question, but the ever observant house leader simply shook his head at Byleth, letting him know that it would be better if he didn't.

Byleth trusted Claude, even if he showed his devious side far too often. He continued on with his lesson on battlefield tactics, stopping only when Leonie, seemingly put up with having to listen to him, stood in the middle of class and stomping off.

The merc-turned-professor didn't try to stop her, instead choosing to watch her as she went.

As house leader, Claude apologized on her behalf, explaining how she was…going through a lot right now. Even he looked uncomfortable saying that to Byleth. It was simply the most tactful way he could spell it out, but, that didn't make it any less awkward…to tell the man who just lost his father that someone else is taking said father's death just as, if not harder than him…it was not a good spot to be in.

Seeing this, Byleth nodded understandingly, thanking his student for his thoughtfulness before turning back to the blackboard.

Leonie's feelings towards his father was no secret, to be sure. Ever since they had come here at the beginning of the school year, Byleth would often see her with him, and when they weren't together, she would be talking about Jeralt…that, or talking down on Byleth, exclaiming how she was important to the 'captain' and how she would do better than him…

In truth, Byleth never knew if her obsession was born from simple admiration, or just something more…really, it was never something he wanted to think about…she was, at the end of the day, his student.

But it seems like none of that matters. Not right now.

It was clear to him, and everyone, that the girl was hurting. He had to see her, to make sure she was okay, even if it was a painful endeavor…she was, at the end of the day…his student…

It was no mystery as to where Leonie had run off to, many of the other Deer having told him that they had seen her at the practice area a lot recently. It was the first, and only, place that he looked for her. Even without his other student's help, Byleth was well on set to checking that out first. After all, it's where he would've been.

Byleth may have held himself up in his room, but that didn't mean that a fury didn't rage within him. He understood all too well the anger that existed in tandem with his pain…he just chose instead to lock himself away rather than swing his sword senselessly. He thought it better, to be away from the concerned gazes of everyone else…

He shook his head, not allowing himself to fall into any sort of funk again, not when he had something he had to do first.

As he passed by many a people on his way to the training grounds, all manner of individuals paid him respect. Their eyes averted from him, some even giving slight nods. Monks and priests bowed their heads, lips moving in silent prayer. Byleth held steady, keeping his gaze set forward, not wanting to draw himself back down into any sort of pity. For him, the concept of all these emotions was still new to him…

It is not as if he never felt anything before, no. Just, ever since coming here, ever since becoming a professor, ever since he found purpose beyond just taking lives for gold, a change had occurred within the young man. His father had pointed it out…saying that perhaps this place was good after all. That maybe, just maybe, coming to Garegg Mach was for the best…

He knew better than to blame the church for his father's death, but, there was that inkling, that fleeting, irrational thought that crossed his mind…what would his life be had they never come here? Would Jeralt still yet live? He wanted to believe that…but he was a mercenary…they were mercenaries.

People fall in battle, his time would have come one day or another…what tore at his unbeating heart so much was how Jeralt had died…slain, stabbed in the back by some cretin using the face of a student, by someone who spoke ill of him…and Byleth, for all the power he now held, could do nothing to prevent it.

It was a selfish thought, one all too quickly dismissed. If they had never come here, then whoever, or whatever those pale skinned people were, would still be out there. They would be a threat…maybe not today, but someday.

They had infiltrated the church…how far had their reach gone?

If they had never come here, maybe they would have unknowingly been hired to help aid these new and strange enemies.

What-ifs, and what-could-have-beens did nothing but put a damper on Byleth's already tired mind. He could be grateful, at least somewhat, that his stoic features did not betray just how weary he was.

Yes, life had changed a lot since coming here. It wasn't just purpose, but a sense of belonging that truly touched him. The relationships he made, not just with fellow staff, but his students, now meant the world to him. Their deepened bonds opened him up to the world, made him believe in something more than the biting of his steel, made him care not for the words written on contract, but those shared between individuals, and most importantly, those words left unsaid.

It was because of this, all of this, because of them, his students, that he found himself here, as tired as he was. There were many training facilities at the monastery, Leonie having chosen one far out of the way so as to be alone. It amounted to little more than a dirt lot, barrels and crates of gear and supplies strewn about while training dummies lined one end and targets the opposite.

There were few here even on a normal day, but today particularly was one in which no one wanted to be here. Which is what made it so perfect for Leonie.

The sun beat down harshly, so much so that even those so devoted to their training regimen would consider taking to day to relax instead. Thankfully for them, the church had made sure to set up other areas to go about their activities, such as facilities indoors away heat, or other such places with ample enough shade to make it all at least somewhat bearable.

Any that would venture to this out of the way and all too uncomfortable field would already be having second thoughts about the whole thing, but then to see her, to see Leonie as she was now, it only added more of a reason for them to look elsewhere.

The girl struck the training dummy before her, strikes harsh and with great power. She held in her hands a wooden training spear, many others, all broken tipped and splintered, littered the ground around her. Despite being wood, she drove it hard, causing significant damage to her unmoving adversary.

Any who saw this sight, to see the fury with which that drove her on in so bestial a display, face twisted almost as if in a snarl, loud grunts filling the air with each of her thrusts, would immediately be turned away. Anyone, that is, but Byleth.

Without thought, his hand reached up, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt, gripping right before his heart. A pain seeped through its stillness, dull and resounding, threatening to cause his knees to buckle. He looked on at his student, watched as she took out her frustrations. Grief compelled her, anger blinding her, the she felt at the loss of her hero enough to dull out any other sensation of pain that could be wracking her body.

His eyes fell on her hands. Her fingers gripped the wood tightly, darkened by her sweat and tinted by her blood. Splatterings of crimson droplets adorned the dirt and freckled the training dummy, each motion of her hands, every thrust she made just adding more to the mess. He cringed, if only barely, at the sight, her grip on the weapon slipping as she was unable to grasp it firm enough. It seemed only to rile her up, annoyance fanning the flames and causing her to lash out even more, to attack with recklessness that only did more harm to her than to her inanimate opponent.

Her gloves offered no protection, they slickened with blood as she had worked her hands raw. Her mouth was open, shouting, as if this were life and death, as if she were in the frenzied throes of some berserk like state, attacking the dummy as if it was the source of all of her strife. But try as she might, she had no chance of winning.

She lunged forward, throwing her body behind her spear, looking to run her spear through her defiant target, it refusing to let up in its silent refusal to break under her onslaught. A loud crack could be heard, the shaft's durability giving way to the force of her strike and breaking entirely. She gave a yelp, falling to her hands and knees, the wooden stick joining the heap of other such broken and discarded instruments that lay about.

Her jaw was clenched, Leonie groaning as she fought to get up, to stand and continue on. She had to get stronger, had to get tougher, had to do all that she could. She wasn't even fully up, the tired girl on one knee, as she reached out towards the pile of 'fresh' weapons for her to go through still.

It was then that she finally realized Byleth's presence, but by then, he was already upon her. He took the girl in his arms, pulling her close in an embrace. Her eyes widened at the contact, but all too quickly her surprise gave way to resentment, her brow knitting as she tried to push him off.

But try as she might, she just couldn't.

He was stronger than her…that is why…

He was much stronger than her…he had spent a lifetime with the Blade Breaker, with her hero, learning and growing, under his wing, in the tutelage of the man she had admired…he was so much stronger than her…that is why…that is why she fought, why she writhed in his arms, trying to pull herself away.

"Let go!" she had screamed. She needed to go, to get back to her training, to get stronger. For her sake, for Jeralt's sake…she needed to. There was no saving him now, but…this man that held her, this man that cared for her…she had to at least become strong than him, her rival.

But for now, he was just that much stronger…

That was all that registered to the girl.

Strength…that was all that was on her mind…that he was strong, and that she was weak…

She hadn't even stopped to consider the state she was in…she didn't think of how tired she was, of how sore her body was, of how violently her hands were trembling, of how sweaty and exhausted she was…those were just excuses, things not to worry about for this desperate girl, Leonie only focusing on one aspect, on strength…

She needed to get strong, because as she was now…she was hopeless.

But try as she might, she could not get away.

Even as she demanded he let her go, as she insulted him, as she fought against him, he did not let up. It was then that her words turned cruel.

Was it a way to let him release her? She honestly didn't know, the thought never even crossing her mind. She just wanted to hurt him, to let it all out, to scream and thrash and give him a piece of her mind, to let loose what had been bubbling within her.

She yelled.

"Why didn't you save him!? Huh!?" She could feel him stiffen up, his body going rigid as she struck a nerve. "You are so much better than me, right!? So why didn't you do anything!? You got to spend all that time with him, and this is the best you can do!? If I had even half the time with him that you did, I would have never let it happen!"

His hold on her tightened, Byleth drawing her even closer. Her buried his head into her neck, one hand coming up to touch the back of her head. Even despite her words, the embrace could not be described as anything less than heartfelt. Even with her malicious and biting tone, he held no anger towards her, no need to retaliate and hurt her back.

There was agony to be had, but not by his hand. It was inflicted upon both of them by another…by Kronya, by the being that stole from them a man so very important to them.

She was hurting…and so was he.

"I'm sorry…"

Those were the only words he spoke, the usually collected man trembled, his voice so quiet and shaky, it breaking as he bore that guilt. Even if she hadn't thrown it in his face, even if she didn't really believe it was his fault, even if she didn't hold him responsible for the death of his father, of Jeralt…Byleth did. His heart was heavy over the fact that there was nothing he could do.

Byleth could do nothing…nothing but watch it unfold, watch as the one responsible got away…nothing but hold his dear dad close in his final moments…

Tears fell from his cheek, the professor, a man revered for his strength, the Ashen Demon, trembled as he held his student close.

Leonie froze up…the sound of Byleth's breaking snapping her from her blindness…

What am I doing…it's…it's his father! Why would I…!

Her arms came up, wrapping themselves around him, squeezing him hard. She buried her own face into him, shame washing over her as she held onto this man who cared very much for her…and all she had ever done was butt heads with him, was compete against him, was speak to him with snark, to lose her temper with him…her obsession with the ideals set forth when she was young had made her hate the man, had made her think lesser of herself…but why?

He was only human, he was just a man…and he put up with her, he looked after her, and even now, he was trying to console her…console her over the death of his own father…and she lashed out at him. She felt ugly, felt so much lesser than.

He was but a man, and he was hurting.

As was she.

"I'm sorry," she choked. Over and over, she repeated the words, Byleth not responding. They held each other tight, and in each others arms, they expressed their grief for the loss of a loved one.