Chapter Two: The Three
Author's notes:
I really like Jeralt. Going to give him a bigger presence in this story.
Not particularly fond of Byleth's default outfit, she will have the intermediate mercenary level outfit instead and her default coat will come into play later!
Her body shot upright off the bed as she peered wildly around. Byleth released a deep sigh of relief not to find herself crumpled and broken upon a cold stone ground. Instead she was in a simple bedroom with two cots; the other cot empty and neatly made.
That was definitely the most intense dream she had ever had. However, it just raised even more questions.
"Hey, you're awake, good." Remarked a deep and pleasant voice as the bedroom door creaked open. A fair haired bearded man peered in and smiled warmly. Though his smile faltered at the expression of Byleth's face. He stepped into the room, revealing the broad shouldered physique of a warrior, and dressed ready as one.
"Were you having that dream again?" he asked, his voice filled with fatherly concern.
"Yes," Byleth replied. Then after a thought she added, "Though this time that green haired girl finally woke up and started talking to me."
An expression flitted upon her father's face. One that Byleth actually had difficulty reading before it was quickly replaced with his usual matter of fact expression. "Well, dreams belong to sleep and not on the battlefield. Especially for mercenaries like us, we can't risk our minds wandering about mid-battle," he began to lecture.
"Keep your sword sharp, and your mind sharper," Byleth recited from heart.
"That's my girl," her father nodded knowingly. "Now get changed, it's time to get moving as our next job is in the Kingdom." And with that he closed the door.
Byleth slid off the bed and headed towards a neatly folded pile of clothes and armor. She slipped off the long white cotton sleepwear and traded it for a crisp black undershirt, navy tunic with maroon clasps, and sleek navy trousers which tucked nicely into snug leather boots.
She then clasped on slightly worn grey steel spaulders for her shoulders, a pair of dinged up arm harnesses, strong leather gloves for mobile wrists, and sturdy greaves. The poleyns for her knees were the most worn out parts of her armor set. This was less due to opponents attacks and more to her style of fighting, for she sometimes slid on the ground and spun about upon them. The armor had a slight shine, but weren't gleaming from buffing like the armor knights wore. Finally, the last part of her outfit was the most finickiest with leather fasteners here and there, garnished with a well knotted belt.
Grabbing an old bristly brush, Byleth made a sufficient number of swipes to her shoulder length layered dark blue hair that was enough for her lifestyle. As a mercenary she never had the luxury of pretty dresses or make-up, nor the opportunities of going to a fancy ball or even a tea party.
Byleth caught herself daydreaming and quickly headed towards the door that lead into a comfortably sized living quarters and kitchen. Breakfast awaited her at a little wooden dining table. A plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, lightly toasted and buttered bread, and generously thick slices of fried bacon welcomed her. "Thank you father," Byleth remarked with her usual straight face before ravenously digging in. Her father smiled as he continued packing his satchel.
Suddenly the front door flung open. Instinctively both Byleth and her father jumped from their spots and reached for their weapons before realizing it was one of their own. "Jeralt! Sir!" The young mercenary blurted with a slightly winded voice. "Sorry to barge in, but your presence is needed outside."
Jeralt and Byleth exchanged looks, grabbed their weapons and followed the young man. Outside were three individuals Byleth had never seen before. What drew her attention was their ornate clothing, fresh cut hairstyles, and straight postures. A tall fair haired young man with a blue cloak draped over one shoulder, a young maiden with delicate white hair as well as a red cloak, and another dark haired young man with olive skin and a yellow cloak. They practically screamed nobility without having to say a word. And their collective expressions of worry could only mean that they were in trouble.
More rambling notes from the Author:
I hope you liked it so far. If so, please let me know with a follow, favorite, and if you can, please leave a review letting me know what you think. Likes, dislikes, and other opinions so far?
(DISCLAIMER) I do not own nor claim to own any of the Fire Emblem Franchise and Ninetendo's work. It is from the team's own brilliance…my additions are from my own madness.