Six Years Ago

"They have at least three archers, all positioned along the treeline. Couldn't see if they had any more behind; I had to get out of there after they noticed me." said a young man, exhausted and gasping for breath as the village herbalist applied a salve to the wound on his leg. The arrowhead hadn't pierced him very deeply, but Jeralt knew his man would be out of commission for the fight ahead.

"That'll be good enough, Ardin. Now we have more of an idea what we're dealing with."

Jeralt paced the damp cottage floor, the old wooden floorboards creaking under his weight. Three days had his company fended off bandit attacks. "Poachers," as the villages called them. Among their ranks was the son of the village elder, well versed in the comings and goings of the people of Sauin Village. The first attack had come just after dark on the same day they had arrived. The camp was being set, and a watch had not been placed, which led to the bandits having the upper hand. In the surprise and chaos that ensued, Jeralt's mercenaries had lost their healer, Mel, to one of the bandits. Now, without her healing magic, Jeralt's job here had gotten much more difficult.

Ardin, the wounded man Jeralt had sent out for reconnaissance, slowly rose and sat up straight on the table which he had been laid, his legs hanging over the side.

"Jeralt, I know it looks bad, but I'm still combat-ready for tonight."

"Don't try to pass that kind of bullshit off on me, Ardin. I can see you flinching even now. Listen, we'll manage without you. I need healthy men and women, and that's why you'll lie right here and rest up. I don't think they'll come at us with their full force tonight. Remember how many of them we killed in the last raid? Right now, both sides will be licking their wounds." Jeralt said, as sturdy and confident as ever.

Truthfully, he was worried. When his company had taken on this job, he didn't expect to be pitted against such well-informed and coordinated foes. They were efficiently traversing the forest paths on all sides of Sauin, striking from one side, and then another quickly, surgically even. And although they had indeed thinned the bandits' numbers, there was no telling how many more they had left. The mercenary forces Jeralt led were disciplined combatants. But skill alone would not hold out for much longer against sheer numbers.

With darkness setting in, Jeralt left the cottage and made his way to the stables. His horse needed to be fit for battle, and he was getting restless besides.
The windowless stable allowed the waning sun's final few rays of light in, framing the various animal pens with a warm, subtle glow. He would've liked to enjoy the scene with a tankard of beer, but he couldn't afford to dull his wits. Too many people depended on him; the villagers, his mercs, and his daughter back home.

Behind him, he heard the sound of light footsteps. Carefully, he turned around with his weapon ready.

"Are you going to stop them?"

It was a young girl, no older than 12 or 13, he figured. A little younger than his Byleth. Her eyes were sunken and dull, and she had on the most ragged of clothes. She held in her hands a thin bow; a tiny quiver hung on her waist, a handful of arrows within.
"I said, are you going to stop them?" the girl repeated, looking Jeralt straight in the eye.

"Kid, listen. I-"

"Are you going to stop them or not? Answer the question!" she shouted, cutting Jeralt off before he had a chance to continue.

"...Yes." Jeralt stated, betraying his inner thoughts and reasoning. Sometimes children needed blind optimism, and he had no way of knowing what this young girl had been through. He wanted to tell her what he thought, that he was uncertain, that he had no way of knowing for sure how the upcoming conflict would go. He needed more men or at least some kind of tactical advantage against the bandits.

"Then, please help me," came the girl's muffled reply. She hung her head and stared at the ground, and Jeralt could tell she was fighting back the tears.
"I...I wasn't strong enough to save papa. Those awful people, they..." she trailed off, and wiped at her eyes. Jeralt knew she couldn't be the only person who had lost someone over these bandit attacks. Before he and his mercs had arrived, there hadn't been much violence in the village. The poachers had only threatened violence when their demands were not met but had met with little resistance from the poor village folk. It was his fault, to some extent. Jeralt had taken this job for the pay, thinking it would be an easy task. He had given violent men a reason to act on their violent nature, and it was the same people he was here to protect that were suffering the most.

"They killed him. And after everything he taught me, I couldn't help at all. I felt so weak, so helpless. So please, mister, can you help me get strong enough to fight back? I can't afford to be helpless ever again!"

Then the girl's hands balled into fists, and she raised her head again, and it was at that moment that Jeralt saw her eyes. Inside her eyes, a fire had been lit. He knew that look; it was the same look that he had once had so many years ago. It had fueled his desperate attempt to break through the lines of a hundred enemy soldiers to defend the archbishop, and the same look had been flaming inside of him when he had been nearly killed. He had been a grown man, a soldier. Here now was a young girl, with her whole life ahead of her. A life that would be snuffed out if he let her burning desire for vengeance go untamed.

"Alright, kid, I'll help you, but you have to promise me you'll stay out of harm's way. I don't want my apprentice to get hurt. So if you do everything exactly as I say, I will agree to teach you what I can."

That night was hell.

Surely enough, the enemy attacked again, with greater numbers than anticipated. But judging by the wounded among their ranks, Jeralt got the feeling that they might soon see the end of the conflict. These so-called poachers were sending out men to fight that rightfully ought to be resting and healing up. As for Jeralt's young apprentice, she was making herself useful, perched in a barn loft and raining down arrows in the areas Jeralt had instructed her to. She wasn't hitting anyone, but the fire she was providing herded the bulk of the enemy forces into a choke point Jeralt had set up. He ran them down, his bloodied lance sweeping through the weak armour of bandit after bandit. Seeing they were poorly positioned, many turned aside and tried to clamber up the barricade wall, making them easier targets for Jeralt's lance. Amid the spray of blood and the cries of pain on every side of him, Jeralt managed to focus enough to hear the warning the girl shouted from the barn.

"CAPTAIN JERALT! ARCHERS!"

He was in the open, having trampled his way through the space behind the makeshift barricade. He had no cover, and no time to fall back. All he heard was the thud of the arrows as his horse staggered underneath him. He mustered up enough strength to fling himself over the animal's side as it crumpled to its knees, neighing weakly.

The enemy continued firing, and Jeralt crawled away from there as fast as he could manage. His ankle had been twisted in the fall, and he could not find the strength to stand. He propped himself against the barn wall, his chest heaving. Around him, he could hear the sound of battle growing quieter as if the fighting had moved away. The enemy was routed, and his men pursued the fleeing bandits into the woods. The three enemy archers who remained were now approaching, staying a safe distance away to determine if the village's defenders had left for sure. Jeralt's vision blurred, but he could make out their shapes as they slipped past the defences and made their way into one of the buildings. With dread, Jeralt recognized it as the makeshift infirmary they had set up. He strained himself, trying to stand, to no avail. His movements caught the attention of one of the bandits, who had just exited the building, albeit one man short. Jeralt reached for his dagger, only to remember he had given it to the young girl in the barn loft to defend herself with. The two archers neared, and Jeralt could see that one of them matched the description of the village. Elder's son, the one who had incited the raiding, to begin with.

"Haven't decided to die yet, have you Blade Breaker?" sneered the rogue as he nocked one of his arrows onto his bowstring.

Suddenly, his companion groaned and gurgled as an arrow shot through and lodged itself in his throat.

"Leave Captain Jeralt alone, you bastards!" screamed the young girl, standing on the balcony above them. She readied another arrow and let loose; it planted itself through the foot of the village's traitor, who squealed bloody murder and shouted obscenities at the girl.

"How dare you betray this village? How dare you and your filth rape and pillage your own families? No more. I won't let you take away our strength." She shot again, but missed, lending enough time to the howling bandit to draw his bow. Jeralt threw himself at the man, and his shot went awry. The two men wrestled for a few minutes, but at last, Jeralt had strangled the life from the traitor's body.

The girl climbed down and stood near Jeralt. Her whole body shook, and she was crying wordlessly. Jeralt motioned for her to sit down.

"You did good, kid. I mean that. Somewhere, wherever he is, you made your father very proud."

She looked at him, her deep orange eyes full of tears.

"And you?"

"Me too, kid. I'm sorry you had to be a part of any of this, but I'm real proud of you."

They embraced, and she helped him to his feet.

"Captain Jeralt, sir?" she asked meekly.

He acknowledged her with a nod. Bringing her tears under control, she steadied her breathing and asked;

"Can you train me to be even stronger? And then maybe can I come with you when you decide to leave?"

The question broke his heart, because he knew he couldn't say yes.