The Taste of Your Grief
Ethereal Moon
They had assembled in the Black Eagle classroom, Seteth and Edelgard were going over their assigned routes and schedules, confirming the chain of command one last time as they prepared for their shift at the chapel when Alois and Jeralt, freshly returned from his mission, burst into the room.
"Demonic Beasts in the chapel grounds. We need to head out immediately."
"What!? How is that possible?" Seteth exclaimed, as everyone surged to their feet
"That's what I'd like to know!" Jeralt called back, leading the way. He nodded at Byleth when he caught her eye but was unable to spare any other attention to her.
She had never explored out this way. It was amazing how much space the monastery grounds encompassed; how many buildings had been given over to time whatever their initial purpose may have been. Entire towns could fit within the walls and the present residents might never even notice their new neighbours.
She had never fought Demonic Beasts before either. Red Wolves, and the massive birds that made their homes in mountainous regions, yes. She had plenty of experience with those –but these beasts looked tougher somehow.
They were also Wrong.
That same feeling that Sothis had felt from Tomas, and again in Remire. The same strong pulse of it that had overwhelmed them before. These creatures radiated it.
She wasn't exactly used to the feeling, Byleth doubted if she would ever be able to completely ignore that cold unease; but she knew how to manage it, at least.
There were students on the field. Caught weaponless out in the open. They needed to be rescued as soon as possible. Under Ferdinand's command, Byleth lead the troop in an assault charge to create an opening on one of the beasts –drawing its attention away from everyone else.
This did mean its attention was then fixed on them. Ferdinand had an excellent grasp of evasive manoeuvres, however, and the Ashen Demon's stone composure bolstered the troop even in the face of monsters. It died in screaming agony, but where it's body should have been fell instead the warped remains of a person -a student. The sense of Wrong intensified, but she had no time to think about it as they were pulled into another fight.
Little by little the battle progressed. She caught glimpses of other skirmishes happening around them; a dark spell from Hubert snaring a Beast long enough for Edelgard to cleave at it's neck, Bernadetta and her battalion launching a volley of arrows, Seteth wheeling overhead calling out positions, the languid sweep of Lindhart's magic over an ally, the clarion call of Dorothea's voice. Her Father, swinging down off his steed to clap her shoulder and meet her eye with a smile as a cheer went up and he trod over to the chapel to investigate, she trailed behind a little, keeping half an eye on her company and the Black Eagles as Professor Seteth called them in to debrief and account for any injuries, quickly before the gathering clouds burst.
"Run along now."
"Thanks for all your help, sir."
A gasp. AlarmWrong.
"You're just a pathetic old man. How dare you get in the way of my brilliant plan, you dog?"
Jeralt fell.
Byleth had moved time before he hit the ground.
"Run along now."
"Thanks for all your-"
"KNIFE!" Byleth screamed. Jeralt whirled and caught the girl's wrist. She opened her hand and dropped the blade into her other, waiting palm, stabbing deep into his gut before he could react.
Jeralt fell.
No.
"Run along now."
"Thanks for all your help, sir." Byleth drew her dagger and threw it, straight as an arrow at the girl's core. It was intercepted by a barrier as a mage, similar in appearance to Solon, appeared with that sharp sense of Wrong, and then pulled the girl away through a spell.
Jeralt fell.
No.
"Run along now." Byleth's eyes scanned furiously for the mage as she drew her sword and started running
"Thanks-"
"KNIFE!" Jeralt whirled and caught the girl's wrist. Byleth's pounding footfalls distracted her and she glanced over her shoulder. The mage appeared between them. Byleth's sword crashed against the barrier and slid off. The girl opened her hand and dropped the blade into her other, waiting palm.
Jeralt fell.
"Child-"
No.
"Run along now." Byleth started running, drawing her dagger
"Thanks for all your help, sir" The dagger flew from her hand
"KNIFE!" Jeralt whirled and caught the girl's wrist. The mage deflected the dagger.
Jeralt fell.
"Child –this power is not inexhaustible."
No.
"Run along now." Byleth put everything she had into speed, drawing her sword
"Thanks for all your help, sir" The mage appeared to intercept Byleth's sword.
Jeralt fell.
"Child –Byleth –you can't-"
No.
"Run along now." She could run faster. She would run faster. She drew her dagger
"Thanks for all your help, sir" The mage intercepted.
Jeralt fell.
"Byleth…"
No.
Where was the mage coming from? He had to be nearby, watching. Where-
Jeralt fell.
No.
Jeralt fell.
No.
Jeralt fell.
"Byleth, this-"
No!
"-is the last. There is – no –no more. I cannot-" Sothis collapsed.
Byleth threw the dagger. The mage appeared to intercept, but her throw was desperate, sloppy, wide of her mark, released too high, nowhere near on target for the girl's core. Instead it scored a shallow line across the mage's cheek and sailed past as he pulled the girl away.
Jeralt fell.
No. Nonononononono-
She caught him up in her arms and turned him over to face her. Her hand pressed against the wound, calling on everything she had learned about white magic. It wouldn't knit, wouldn't pull together; the edges were too clean. Was that blade the same as the Scythe that hurt her? Where was Manuela!? How soon could-
"Sorry… It looks like –I'm going to have to leave you now."
No…
She met his eyes. Despite everything he was calm, even smiling through the pain. One hand lifted to brush against her cheek.
"To think that the first time I saw you cry –your tears would be for me."
Cry?
His thumb shifted and she was suddenly aware of the tears coursing across her face, along his hand. Aware of the crushing grip inside her lungs pulling her down into it. "Dad-" she choked. His smile lifted a little.
"It's sad, and yet… I'm happy for it."
His eyes closed.
"Love you, Kid."
His hand fell away from her cheek.
The clouds burst.
~o~*~o~
Everyone was fixated on the, admittedly tragic, scene playing before them. Hubert even felt some sympathy for the Ashen Demon, now that he saw what it took to break her mask. He wondered if this would shatter her, or temper her into something even more deadly.
But that was for later. He knew his duty. Everyone else was fixated on the scene. Hubert palmed the dagger, and under the cover of his sleeve scraped the scant trail of blood from it into an empty vial he had to hand, before the rain could wash it clean.
~o~*~o~
It was Alois who finally breached the space around them. He lifted Byleth into his arms and took a step back as his Knights came forward, using belts and spears to lash two greatshields together into a makeshift catafalque.
They eased Jeralt onto it. Byleth, who had been completely pliant until that moment, scrambled out of his grasp and stood at the head of it, standing ready as pallbearer. Alois gave a nod and the knights backed away, allowing the rest of Jeralt's Mercenaries to come forward and take places beside her. Willard was too tall to easily work with them, so he stood behind, holding Jeralt's spear and the reins of his horse.
Alois came in front of them again and raised his hand. They knelt, lifted the catafalque onto their shoulders and stood once more. Alois turned and marched them past the row of students towards the monastery. The students fell in behind them.
Through it all no-one spoke a word. The only sound was the pinging of rain on metal.
The shaft of the spear dug painfully into her shoulder but it was negligible against the gaping maw that had opened in her chest and was clawing its way up her throat and down to her stomach. The ragged edges of it were cold; chilling, numb –but inside it roiled feelings she couldn't even begin to comprehend, let alone express, waiting to burst forth. She focused on the ground in front of her. One step after another.
They approached the main gate of the monastery. Someone must have seen them and run ahead as Rhea and Manuela reached the top of the stairs by the water-wall just as they processed into the entrance hall. Alois halted them and made a lowering gesture with his hand. They set the catafalque on the floor.
Byleth wobbled. From how fast Raoul's hand shot out to clasp her shoulder from behind he must have been expecting it, watching for it. Manuela darted down the stairs and pulled Byleth against her side, opening the expanse of her coat to wrap around her as she did more to hold Byleth upright than her own legs were managing.
Rhea descended the steps and knelt at the side of Jeralt's litter, reaching out towards him. Her hand flinched from touching him, then settled on his temple. Her eyes met Byleth's.
In that look was sorrow. A deep grief and regret. Loss.
Byleth believed it.
Her knees gave out. Manuela showed her fortitude in supporting her sudden weight, then pulling her forward, up the stairs. Byleth moved as if underwater. The air was viscous, everything was a blur. She had a vague sense in her periphery of something yellow and blue –Claude and Dimitri? -but could not focus on anything beyond Manuela's warm side pressed against her. Leading her into the next step. The next step. Something was physically dragging her down as if she were under a weighted net. Her head bowed under the pressure of it, vision tunnelled to the ground in front of her; the next step. The next step.
Through it all no-one spoke a word. The only sound was of the rain. Or was that static in her ears? Were they speaking?
The next step. The next step.
The infirmary.
Manuela guided her to sit on a familiar bed, and produced a handkerchief to wipe at her face. Was she crying? She couldn't feel it. A cup was placed in her hand and she drank without question. Manuela eased her back and murmured something she couldn't make out.
What would happen now? What was she supposed to- How was she supposed to- What- Why-
Why?
She sobbed once.
Then blessed darkness.
~o~*~o~
When Byleth woke again, Sothis woke with her and understood immediately all that had happened. She had felt grief before, she knew. She had lived through it and come out the other side; but she did not remember it.
She stayed silent. Fond though she had been of Jeralt, amused by his gruff manner and how easily his praise and attention brought out Byleth's lighter side, she had not loved him as Byleth had. The girl had spent her whole life following the path he laid out before them. Even in these recent moons, when their paths had begun to diverge, she still remained in his orbit –notwithstanding the mystery of their connection and Byleth's unbeating heart, they had had ample opportunity to leave Garreg Mach. They hadn't, because Byleth had never contemplated a world without her father in it.
Now she would have to. And Sothis, a Goddess without her memories, did not know how best to help.
She settled for being there, as Byleth started to work through the suffocating grey weight that numbed her and pressed her down into the bed.
At length the mercenary opened her eyes.
~o~*~o~
Manuela did not bother to hide her concern as Byleth went through her ablutions with a rote mechanical manner, face utterly inexpressive, motions heavy and slow.
When she finished, she sat at the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. She ignored the tray set beside her until Manuela instructed her softly to eat, then set about clearing the bowl, eyes still fixed on the floor.
It broke Manuela's heart. It always did, when they lost someone. But she had learned to channel her emotions into her work or singing. She would see Byleth through this-
-a harried messenger burst through the door and pulled her aside. The news was not good. The first injured party was already coming down the hall towards them. She needed to triage-
But Byleth-
-was not dying.
Sometimes, having a heart was the most difficult part of being a doctor.
"Byleth, dear" she crouched in front of her at eye level, sparing enough time to wait until the girl's gaze to meet hers "there's been another attack. I'm sorry to ask you to move, but I'm going to need that bed."
Byleth blinked, then stood and made her way to the door.
She waited purposeless in the corridor as a number of monks and nuns -and Ignatz- were shuffled into the infirmary. She remained there a moment and then-
-her father's office.
She couldn't recall how she got there. One moment she had been on the threshold of the infirmary, the next she was trailing a hand along her father's desk. A draw was slightly ajar, she made to close it, but instead pulled it open.
A pouch containing a familiar ring and a simple leather-bound book; the cover embossed with the Knot of Eisner, the same that was stitched across her back and on all the company records and banners.
She sat at the desk and read.
If she could think, she would call it a logbook rather than a journal. Each entry was headed with the date and weather; likely the only reason they didn't also contain a bearing or course was because Jeralt had spent his time land-bound.
She couldn't think. She could only read. The writing started about two years before he met –or rather, noticed- her mother, as though carrying on from a previous book, and what followed was all of two and a half decades of love. First for her mother and then herself.
There was a shaky period around her birth, where he had referred to her as "the child" for a while, before he had taken that extra step and advanced to "my child", "Byleth" and the affectionate "Kid".
She had never seen her father panic, but she could read it in his writing at the times when she had fallen ill; how do you treat a child who doesn't cry when she's sick? Whose face won't express the pain she feels, even as she's burning with fever? Jeralt's answer had been to find a doctor he trusted and follow all advice to the letter. That went a long way to explaining why they had stopped in Remire village so often. Why he cleared her for battle himself every time she returned to health.
He had marked every preference she ever showed. From sweeter foods to swords to how she would make her way to his side when he fished, until he taught her and started bringing her with him in the first place. How as a child she had quietly sought his company over all others.
His pen had lingered over every achievement she earned. Her first steps. Her first words. Her first letters. The first time she disarmed him in training. Her first catch. Her first job. The first time they had fought together as one unit. When she had mastered the Wrath Strike. When she had grown tall enough to ride a horse of her own. When she had lead half the company round in a pincer attack that saved his hide.
The entries since she had taken over leadership of the company, started "coming out of her shell", were full of pride, of happiness, of concern, of bemusement.
Of confidence, that she would see herself and the men through anything.
It was too much. It was not enough. It was everything and he was gone. All at once the numbness that had cosseted her broke.
She wept.
She wept and he was gone. She wept and she could not follow him this time. She wept and the ache did not lessen. She wept and her father had loved her. She weptand she had not told him-
Had he known anyway? As he had always understood her regardless of all the things she didn't say? He had always read her; she'd never needed to say such words. Please let him have known!
She wept, loud, gasping and hiccupping, all tears and snot and spit until exhaustion claimed her again.