Title: Claude Hood Races A Quick Mercenary

A/N: For the Fódlan Mists zine! I had to squeeze in a little Claudeleth, as a treat. I think it'd be a lot of fun watching the Golden Deer play Robin Hood.

Summary: Claude Hood had robbing the rich down to an art: you put one damsel in distress on the road, keep a couple of strong fighters hidden in the bushes, and backup like him watched from a distance, ready to adjust the plan if needed. He'd done it a dozen times before. He'd do it a dozen times after.

The only problem? It looks like today the King had hired a mercenary with piercing green eyes. With the way she fought, they might be in for trouble.

Claude wished he'd brought something to eat. He was about to witness a show, and the only thing that would make it better was dinner. The bow in his hand was a very poor substitute, however much it protected him.

Still, at least he had a good seat. He perched on a thick and sturdy tree, the branch high off the ground. From there, he had a commanding view of the forest road below. It also wouldn't break when he shifted his weight, which was important since he didn't want to give the whole gig away.

A muted, steady clip-clop echoed through the vast Leicester woods and Claude glanced to his right just as a small horse-drawn carriage rolled through the woods. Right on time, he thought as the horses slowly trotted down the muddy road.

To his left, Hilda lay on the mud, her pink scarf just barely covering her hair. No doubt she would complain later; he hadn't expected the rain last night. At the very least, her distress would be genuine.

A horse neighed as the driver pulled the carriage to a halt. Vaulting off his seat, the nervous man ran to her side. The carriage door opened as a guard stepped out. Claude leaned against the branch, squinting as he took in the guard's shoulder patch. It looked like an Agarthan insignia.

Which meant the three trunks piled up on the back of the carriage were the latest tax collections.

Grinning, Claude cupped his hand and hooted. As the driver reached down to take Hilda's arm, she yanked him down to the ground and flipped their positions, pinning him in place. Before the guard could react, Raphael barreled out of the woods, a thick staff in both of his hands as he steamrolled the man back against the carriage. The vehicle rocked on impact; Raphael was far too strong for his own good. Fortunately, he didn't break the chests this time. Claude didn't want to spend hours trying to collect all the gold coins after they scattered about the forest.

Well, that was easy, Claude thought as Raphael knocked out the guard. Now he just had to call Ignatz and Leonie to clean up the mess and they were—

"Claude!" Hilda shouted.

He turned back just in time to catch a staff shooting out of the open carriage door and ramming Raphael in the gut, sending him stumbling back. A woman leaped out after, her body tense as she studied her two opponents. Dressed in a simple green cloak, she didn't look like any guard he'd ever seen. She looked more like a mercenary.

Noticing Raphael charging forward, Claude shouted, "Don't—!"

It was too late. Raphael swung in retaliation, only to get smacked in the face. No, the woman didn't look like a mercenary. She was one. His rag-tag team was finally facing some real professionals. And they were going to get caught.

"Ignatz! Leonie!" Claude shouted as he pulled an arrow from his quiver. Hooking his legs on the branch, he hung upside down as he drew his bow. Slowly, he aimed, taking a deep breath before releasing the shot. The string twanged as the arrow flew true to his aim and pierced the woman's cloak. The garment tore off, revealing dark blue hair beneath the hood.

Now wary of him, the woman crouched defensively in front of the carriage, her staff held tightly in her hands.

Hilda rubbed her wrists anxiously as she looked between the mercenary and Raphael. For his part, the big lug looked ready to fight, though Claude wasn't sure how many more hits to the head he could take. Luckily, Claude noticed familiar red and green streaks through the undergrowth. Ignatz made a beeline for Hilda and the pair disappeared together back into the forest.

Leonie stood next to Raphael, a smirk on her face as she slowly circled the woman.

They'd have a long fight on their hands, Claude realized. If she was strong enough to hurt Raphael, she was strong enough to do some real damage to his team, and they needed to get the gold out of here before reinforcements could arrive. Righting himself on the branch, Claude bit his lip as he took in the path to the river. If he went to the rope bridge, he could always cut its tethers after he crossed. Maybe trap her on the other side. Maybe trap her on their side.

It could work. It'd definitely give the others enough time to get the gold.

Notching another arrow, Claude loosed it at the mercenary's feet. She didn't flinch, though she did look at him in surprise.

"Plan B!" he shouted, running down the tree branch to the trunk before shimmying his way down.

"Plan B?" Leonie repeated, glancing at Raphael in confusion.

"Do we have a Plan A?" Raphael asked, equally bemused.

"You two need to be more adaptable," Claude muttered as he reached the ground. Running to the left, now perpendicular to them all, he drew his bow once more. "Leave her to me."

"I can handle all of you," the mercenary replied calmly. Her expression was slightly unnerving this close, as blank as a rock.

"You'll find I'm a little more troublesome," Claude retorted. His next arrow sliced through her hair.

This time, she recoiled. She pulled at her now-shortened lock. "You're Claude Hood?"

"At your service," he said with a smirk and a wink. "I do haircuts too."

Claude and the stranger stared at each other as they listened to the muffled shouting. The wind rustled. A bird hooted. Leonie and Raphael stood awkwardly. And as though some bell had rung, the woman sprinted after Claude.

Shit, she was fast. Claude immediately took off into the woods. He'd expected a little more convincing to get her to ditch the others, but obviously, he must have been the mark. Just how much was his head worth now?

"So," he asked conversationally, leaping over a ditch. He had memorized the terrain at some point, which was good because on flat land, he stood no chance against her. She was as fast as a horse. "You know my name, but I haven't heard yours yet."

She didn't reply, but she grunted as she almost tripped on a raised tree root. Pushing her staff on the dirt, she saved her balance before she could crash. Unfortunately, that didn't slow her down much.

"Not very chatty, are you?" He felt breathless as he ran, but in a good way. It'd been too long since any of the guards had truly put up a fight, and he hadn't realized how boring his escapades had been recently.

"You're like a squirrel," she finally said, breathing hard as the terrain turned hilly and the trees thinned.

"More like a mountain goat." By now, he'd gained on her. A rocky wall jutted out of the earth ahead and he clambered up it with practiced ease. The nooks and crannies were as familiar as the back of his hand, and he confidently pulled himself up onto a ledge. "So you do talk! Just not to me."

Once again, she didn't reply. Her focus was maintained on keeping her footing. It was a difficult climb for newcomers; many guards had fallen back to the bottom by focusing on him and not their grip. Claude pulled himself over the lip of the cliff. Before him was an emerald green plain, leading to a wide, sapphire blue river. At its narrowest point was a rope bridge, easily cut through with two saws of his knife.

He glanced down. The woman was only half-way up. There was plenty of time. Relaxing, he lay down on the grass, crossing his arms as he watched her over the edge. "There's a ledge on your upper right, if you need a break."

Her bright blue eyes studied the spot above her, then him. Something flickered across her face, some expression he couldn't quite pin down before she followed his instructions and pulled herself up. "Thanks."

He stared at her in surprise, not expecting that. "Didn't think you'd listen to me."

"I was already considering that hold," she replied evenly, leaning back against the wall as she perched on the ledge. Her legs stretched into the empty air. Her weapon rested on her lap. "And you don't look like the man who'd kill his enemies."

Claude grinned crookedly. "Even one's a heavy weight. I don't want to add to it."

The woman hummed approvingly. It was an odd sound coming from a stranger. "That's a good attitude."

"And yours?" He raised a brow, curious now. "Do you kill, Miss. Mercenary?"

"Sometimes." She glanced up at him with a sad smile. "Not if I can help it but…sometimes. The weight is always the same."

"You wouldn't have to kill if you joined us," he offered. If asked, Claude didn't know why he'd said that. Sure, he'd rationalize it later as her expertise (she'd fought Raphael after all) or even just giving the enemy one less useful person. But right then and there, it was an automatic reaction. "I'm not sure what they're paying you—"

"Your bounty," she replied wryly, stretching her arms above her. "And then some."

Claude sighed. "Oh. Hmm. It'll be hard to match that. We'd have to give you everything we got from your carriage and…well, for 'defenders of the poor', it's not a good look if we don't give anything to the poor."

"Is that why you do this?" she asked, studying him. "To help the poor?"

"Well…if I said it's because of our morals, I'd be a liar." Claude laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. There were many things people could call his merry band, but good, honourable thieves wasn't one of them. "I mean, our priest Manuela is helping us partially because of the free barrels of wine."

She laughed.

Claude joined in. "I know, it's ridiculous. Raphael eats half our food, Leonie might be doing it for justice, but she's also craving a good fight, and Hilda has to be dragged to every mission. And even the others…" He shook his head ruefully. "There are other reasons than justice."

"And you?" she pressed, not forgetting her earlier question.

"I'm probably the worst of the bunch," he replied easily, picking his words to explain everything and nothing. "Can't say we're all doing it for the right reasons but…well, there's something in us that can't turn away when a village is starving. I like to think it counts for something, at least."

For a long moment, she said nothing. They sat there quietly as her breathing slowed, calming down to a more relaxed pace. Finally, she got up. "I see."

He wasn't sure what she understood, but she was climbing again. Faster this time. Scrambling to his feet, Claude jogged down the sloping plain to the rope bridge, making sure to pace himself so he reached the middle of the bridge just as she pulled herself over the lip. By the time she reached the bridge, he was on the other side, knife in hand.

"Well." With two quick strikes, the bridge fell into the river's depths. The current pulled the wreckage apart. "It's been fun. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." Waving, he turned around.

"Byleth."

Her voice was barely audible over the river and for a moment, Claude thought he'd imagined it. Pivoting, he stared at her. She still stood at the riverbank, her staff strapped to her back. "Byleth?"

"My name." Byleth smiled faintly. "My father, Jeralt, is interested in helping, if you'd like."

"Jeralt?" Claude felt like Marianne's beeswax was stuck in his ears. He was hearing words, but none of them made sense. "Sir Jeralt?"

Byleth nodded, amused. "He wanted me to assess you." Without waiting for a response, she pivoted and heading back the way she'd came. "If you're interested, you know where to find him."

"Byleth, as in Maid Byleth?" Claude spluttered, entirely off-guard.

She didn't reply and didn't even wave. He stared at her retreating figure. No wonder she was so skilled. Her father was a legendary, if retired, knight. And her expression before—she'd been studying him the entire time.

Laughing, Claude ran a hand through his hair. "Byleth, huh?"

Maybe he'd take Jeralt up on his offer, after all.