A/N: I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its characters
The Tactician, The Demon, and the Lass from Afar
Chapter One: The Reunion
It was best described as a realm between realms, where the lost find refuge, and the desperate find solace. However, in the eyes of many, it was just a simple bar. Yes, a bar between the out realms, where lost travellers tend to wander when travelling between different worlds.
This was where sixteen-year-old Byleth found herself, travelling clothes drenched with the rain, sword strapped by her waist in need of a clean from her last battle. She sat at the corner table, nursing a cold ale, slowly working at her meal.
And that was where she met him. A white-haired stranger, no older than she was. His sad eyes peered down at Byleth, as he bit his lip.
"Mind if I join you?" He asked, voice weak and hoarse. "Drinks tend to be more fun with the company?"
He offered a weak smile, but it never reached his eyes. Cold, empty, barely alive. She knew those eyes. Eyes that belonged to a broken soul. Looks that her father wore whenever he was drunk to the point he couldn't even recognise his daughter.
"I don't mind," she finally said, seeing no harm. She knew she wasn't the best companion, but the least she could do was assure the stranger that he wasn't alone.
"Thank you."
The stranger slumped down in the opposing seat, letting out a loud sigh of relief. He cracked his back, straining his neck before placing his tankard on the table. A peaceful silence passed between the two, one eating away at her meal, the other taking sips from his tankard as if he never held a drink in his life.
Across the room, a little girl watched on. She had long green tresses of hair, dressed regally in lines of silk, looking completely out of place in a place like a bar. Byleth couldn't explain why, but the girl seemed wrong and out of place. Yet the swordswoman's gaze naturally lingered on the green-haired little girl.
"How do people drink this?" the white-haired stranger suddenly asked, coughing. Byleth turned back to face him, watching him spit out his drink back into his tankard. The stranger looked like he wanted to gag from the taste. "It takes like piss."
Byleth stared curiously at the stranger. He couldn't be that much younger than she was right? "You've never drunk before?"
"Never had the opportunity," her table companion admitted, looking sheepish. He couldn't help but grin, his sombre mood slowly washing away to make way for the youthful boyish energy underneath. "In my defence, it's not like I had many opportunities to do so! Mother and I were on the run for as long as I can remember, and she's not the kind to drink. And my home…"
He trailed off, as if a bucket of ice had been dumped on him. His hand trembled, clutching his tankard for support. "They don't take kindly to blood traitors… Especially high-ranking ones."
The stranger shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant, but Byleth didn't need to be emotionally aware to read between the lines.
"And your mother?" Byleth asked, more gently than she anticipated.
"I… don't know. We got separated."
The stranger nursed his tankard gently, seeking comfort in the tiny grains of wood and rings of steel. Byleth stared at the stranger, unsure how to proceed. "I'm sorry."
The stranger softly scoffed. "Thank you. But at this point, I don't know if the gesture is necessary. It's only a matter of time before I'm caught and found… forcibly returned… and sacrificed in some dark ritual… I don't think a stranger's pity will help me much."
Again, Byleth doesn't know what to say, her expression remaining stoic as she took the time to process his words.
"What do I know?" Her table companion moaned, grip tightening. "I barely knew what was outside my own home before we ran away. My only support is gone. I have nothing to call my own except this cursed coat and this–"
He waved his tankard in the air. "–doesn't do anything. Useless bloody thing doesn't even do what it's supposed to do."
The boy grumbled uncomfortably as he forced himself to take another attempt at his drink. Byleth's gaze lingered on the stranger, eyeing the sword still sheathed by his waist. His physique was skinny, far too skinny. Don't get her wrong, she wasn't the most muscular person, but years of combat had honed her lithe body into a weapon. And the boy at her table barely looked like he could hold a stick let alone a sword.
She shouldn't get involved. Her mercenary side knew that it'll be asking for unwanted trouble, and keeping her head down and going for safe jobs was the smart option if she planned on flying solo as a mercenary. But on the other hand…
She recalled her father. It had only been a couple of months since she felt the need to see what else life had in store for her. Since she had chosen to walk away. Byleth made her decision, and while her father had initially been wary, he had given his blessing because ultimately it was her choice.
But this white-haired stranger didn't have that choice and she felt… Well, she didn't know what she felt…
And she was getting low on funds…
Out of the corner of her eye, Byleth saw someone move. It was the little green-haired girl from before. She stood from her seat, almost gliding through the tavern like a ghost. The Green Haired girl looked confused, a single finger tapping her chin in thought as her glowing green irises looked at Byleth and her table companion.
"I've seen this before," her voice was youthful, gentle murmuring that reminded Byleth almost of a pleasant-soothing bell. "You… you're going to ask if he's looking to hire a sellsword."
"Looking to hire a sellsword then?" Byleth asked, gaze forcibly moving to the white-haired boy across from her.
The stranger looked up towards her, sad hazel eyes gazing into her blue ones. At first, he found the suggestion amusing, but upon seeing Byleth's unflinching gaze… "Depends on how confident you are with that blade of yours. And I suppose your rates. I clearly don't have gold on me."
"I've seen battle since I was a child. I've wielded a blade since I could walk," Byleth answered confidently.
Her answer might have been too confident as she saw the stranger contemplate her words, a frown on his features as if judging her. Right. Her father had always said to not be boastful when negotiating a contract. Be punctual, honest, and straightforward.
"I guess you can say I dabble," she corrected.
The boy must have found it amusing as he chuckled at the sudden correction, before evolving into full-on laughter. His eyes were still puffy and red as he wiped at them with his sleeve, but ultimately he looked far happier than he did minutes ago.
"Fair enough. I could use a bodyguard. Covers my weaknesses and all that. And your rates?"
"Depends on how difficult your chasers will be. However, I'm willing to negotiate a better deal as I feel…" she frowned. "Something… but I do need to know, how are you with your blade?"
"It's not really mine per se," the stranger admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I acquired it from an ambush some time back," he grinned charmingly, lifting his finger as a tiny spark of electricity fizzled from the tip. "Don't think he was expecting me to fight back."
Byleth's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You're a mage?"
"I dabble," he laughed. "Though dare I say, and I hope I don't sound too arrogant, I am quite adept with tactics. So, to business then. I'd like to hire your services, miss…"
"Byleth," the swordswoman answered.
"Robin," the boy across the table introduced himself with a wink. "I hope that this will be an interesting–"
Byleth awoke to a foot kicking her in the face. Her daughter, Morgan, snored as loud as a demonic beast, turning over to bury herself further into their shared fur blanket.
Sighing, Byleth eyed the wooden barn ceiling above her, the one that a friendly old farmer had taken pity on and allowed the mother-daughter duo to stay in for the night.
It was cold, the soft sounds of the breeze shook the trees outside, and the nightlife filled her ears. The night air greeted her like an old friend as she lay awake in the hay. She could feel the hay poke at her exposed skin annoyingly. Even though she had slept in worse conditions during her childhood, the past few years had her far too used to the soft bed that she shared with Robin…
Byleth gently reached towards the ring around her chain necklace. The cool silver brought a warm comfort to her, soothing her worries.
Her daughter's foot then once more found its mark against her face.
"Mom… not the peas… taste… bad," Morgan mumbled, rolling over, greedily gathering the majority of the fur quilts and wrapping herself into a cocoon.
Byleth had a bare hint of a warm smile as she quietly slipped out of bed, careful to not wake the sleeping girl.
Morgan was born with a mind beyond her years, and innocent curiosity that always landed her in trouble. Not that she did it on purpose mind you. The whole kidnapping incident only happened because she wondered if it was possible to wrap herself into a box and get a courier to deliver her to the next village. Her parents weren't welcomed within the village any more, but on the bright side a black market ring was destroyed that day as well, so it was a win in her books.
She and her mother had been travelling for the past week or so. Which she still hadn't fully come to terms with. Why did they even have to leave home? She already missed the fluffy comfort of her own bed.
Her mother had been adamant though, claiming that they were going to see her grandfather… But why so suddenly? Wouldn't Dad be worried once he got home?
Morgan pouted.
"Morgan," Byleth called out, face emotionless as she gazed at her five-year-old daughter. "Why are you burying your head in a hole?"
Morgan wriggled around the small hole she had dug, eyes peering out from her dirt-filled hair. "It's to help me think and grow."
"... and where did you learn this?"
"Gardening Essentials For the Growing Mind volume 2."
Her mother's hand found its way to her hip, and she could feel the displeasure emitting from her. "What did this book say exactly?"
"Well, plants grow from their roots, which it needs good fertilized soil and plenty of water right?" Morgan watched her mother slowly but hesitantly nod, showing she was trying to follow. "The human body likewise functions commonly from the head, therefore it's our roots. By burying my head in the soil, I'll eventually grow to be as big as you."
"..."
Morgan found a pair of hands gripping her waist, yoinking her out from her hole. She protested, trying to wiggle free, but her mother was far stronger than she was, iron-like hands keeping her in place. She felt her mother wring her hair through, trying to get as much dirt out as possible.
"I need you to stay by my side at all times," A gentle finger wiped some dirt off Morgan's cheek. "Remire is a large village and I don't want you getting lost."
Byleth had gotten word that her father's Mercenaries were travelling through the area, northbound towards Kingdom territory. It had taken a couple of days of travel, memories of a time long past travelling the same road as a child resurfaced a faint hint of nostalgia in the otherwise emotionless woman.
The mother and daughter duo had arrived at the village gates with the setting sun, the chilly Spring breeze ushered them instead. After a passing conversation with the village lookout – and questions about the whereabouts of the Jeralt Mercenaries – Byleth had turned around to find her daughter missing. After an hour of searching and asking around, she had found her in the outskirts of the farming fields, head in a self-made hole.
"But you were taking a long time," Morgan defended.
"I was talking for a minute at most."
Morgan looked away, unable to look her mother in the eye. "That's… pretty long…"
Unimpressed, her mother carried her into the village. It was a quaint little village, much like the one they had grown up with. But while their home had been remote in the mountains with lots of fresh green scenery, Remire appeared more earthy, with the occasional villager going about their day. Much to Morgan's boredom.
"So Grandpa is here?"
"They arrived earlier today," Byleth confirmed.
"Okay… so then, what's he like?" Morgan asked curiously.
Byleth paused to think. "He's… complicated. I wouldn't be able to describe him properly with just words. But from what I remember growing up with him, he's a good man. Honest to a fault."
They came across their destination. The tavern was dainty, one of the larger buildings in town. Byleth pushed open the tavern doors, a gust of warm air flying out. A warm atmosphere greeted them, the smell of alcohol lingered in the air, and the fiery amber glow of lantern light. Laughter and chatter filled the room.
"You'll have plenty of time to get to know your grandfather," Byleth reassured.
Morgan soaked in the atmosphere, tightly clinging to her mother as her curious gaze travelled the room. She got a few odd glances her way, the sight of children in an establishment such as this was an uncommon sight. Most saw them and went about their drinking, with a few more inebriated patrons casting appreciating glances at Byleth. Morgan wasn't surprised. She knew her mother was very pretty despite Byleth not being aware of it herself.
"Chug chug chug!"
A large portion of the room crowded around one table as two men took turns drinking from their tankards. The grizzly giant of a man raised an arm into the air as he downed his drink much to the cheers of the onlookers. He finished, threw back his head with a roar and slammed his tankard onto the table. A chorus of cheers yelled out in support, whistles piercing.
His opponent sat calmly across the table. He was surprisingly well kept, not what Morgan would immediately assume upon hearing the words 'mercenary'. The man held himself well, still dressed in orange beaten leather, pauldron on a single shoulder and a shield still strapped to his back. A neatly trimmed beard and a roguish smirk completed the look, making him appear far younger than he appeared.
"You might want to sit down," his calm voice pierced the loud cheers and laughter. "I need you in top shape for tomorrow's march, and that's not going to happen if you keel over and smack your head."
And true to his words, his drinking opponent stumbled backwards and had to be caught by the surrounding Mercenaries. A roar of laughter erupted from the crowd.
"You got him good Captain Jeralt!"
Jeralt smirked. He raised his tankard proudly. "Lads, lasses, and assholes… I appear to still be undisputed in the art of getting shit-faced."
A roar of support followed suit earning an uncontrolled fit of laughter from the man himself. Byleth shook her head at the antics.
"Some things never change," she whispered fondly as she started slipping her way through the crowd. The mother-daughter duo got a few curious glances.
"Glad to see some things never change," Byleth called out confidently. "Still need someone to bail you out of your drinking tab?"
At those words, the surrounding Mercenaries started to quiet down, staring at the blue-haired woman.
One of the brave ones stepped forward. "Oi Missy, do you know who the hell you're talking to? That's Captain Jeralt, the Blade Breaker."
Sneers passed around the place, while a few wolf whistles were thrown about. But above it all, she watched her father's shocked face as if he had seen a ghost. His eyes widened, processing if what he was seeing was real.
"By?"
Silence. All the Mercenaries turn to look at their indomitable captain staring at the young mother and child. His eyes flickered from her face to Morgan, mentally connecting the dots and soaking in the appearance of the daughter he hadn't seen in years.
"Been a while Dad."
Various expressions changed at that bombshell. The angry got confused. The confused were shocked. The drunks were still processing. The silence was so thick a drop of a pin would be heard.
But no one's reaction could hold up to the famed Blade Breaker who still appeared to be processing.
"H-How are you-? When did you-? Who is she?"
A comically trembling finger pointed at the curled-up Morgan in her arms, staring back curiously with just as many unanswered questions.
"She's your granddaughter."
Byleth's expression remained emotionless at that bombshell. Jeralt on the other hand peered once more at Morgan. Then back to his daughter. Then back to Morgan. Then back to Byleth once more where it stayed in disbelief. Then, after a few extremely long seconds, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and Jeralt fell backwards.
Once more silence reigned. Morgan pulled at her mother's sleeve.
"Mom, does this make you the undisputed in getting shitfaced?"
A/N:
10/7/2023: I went back, edited as people were confused and some had difficulty following. So I added more detail as I think I didn't set the setting of the story well enough. Hopefully, with the additions, it'll make it a lot easier to understand what is happening.
6/7/2023: So I wanted to clarify that this fic is set at the beginning of each game with a bigger focus on Byleth and Morgan for the beginning portion. I'll be merging the two storyline later in the story. Characters in Three Hopes such as Shez and Arval will currently not be added in as I haven't played the game and don't feel confident in writing them specifically. Sorry if this disappoints a few people.
Also in this fic, both Robin and Byleth are 23 years of age, putting them at 18 when they had Morgan.