A/N: For Fell Star, a Byleth zine! I just really want to write more Byleth & Jeralt, I am so bitter we didn’t get more interactions in the game.
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Returning to the monastery had been full of small surprises. Jeralt wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected when he’d stepped on the grounds, but the swell of joy that came from seeing old friends hadn’t been one of them. Despite his lingering doubt over Rhea’s intentions, he couldn’t deny that part of him had wanted to come back.
Sitri’s grave was here, after all.
Still, the biggest surprise was the one right in front of him. Hunching over a desk, Byleth studiously sorted through various papers. He twisted his lips slightly and scrunched his nose as he focused, clearly troubled by the contents. While others often called Byleth expressionless, Jeralt knew better—there were always little tells, small things that gave away exactly what his son felt.
Knocking on the door, Jeralt poked his head into the dorm room. “Busy, kid?”
Byleth jerked his head toward him, surprised. “No.” He paused, looking as though he were listening to someone, before shaking his head and changing his mind. “Yes.”
“Which is it?” Jeralt laughed. His son had always been terrible with words, a little like his mother that way. She’d been terrible with words too. He wished he had the time to sit in on one of his classes. Was his son just as blunt there? How did he explain things? “You have to be a little clearer with your students.”
“…that’s what Ingrid and Lysithea told me.” Byleth’s shoulders sank slightly and he looked even more concerned than before.
So his students had noticed. Jeralt squeezed Byleth’s shoulders. “It’ll be fine. You can do it.”
Curious now, he glanced at the files scattered across the desk. Jeralt hadn’t seen that many papers since the time he’d taught Byleth how to read. Each folder had a name and a house emblem pinned to the front. Noticing that there were students from all three houses, he raised a brow. “I thought you were only teaching one class?”
Byleth nodded. “I am.”
Sometimes, he forgot just how much he had to pull the info out of his son. Byleth had the exact opposite problem of that chatterbox Alois. “Then why do you have all these files?”
“They want to join my class,” Byleth replied simply.
“Join?” Jeralt stared at his son blankly, then at the files. There were files from all three houses, enough that it looked like almost everyone was going to join Byleth’s class. Jeralt looked at him again. “Kid, they all want to join your class?”
Byleth nodded once more.
Jeralt guffawed, amused and impressed. His taciturn son was fitting in here better than he’d expected. It was completely unlike their tenure with the mercenaries, when Byleth only spoke when he’d needed something. Well, that was probably still the case here, but somehow that hadn’t stopped the students from seeing beyond that. “You’re pretty popular. Guess you take after me there. So why’re you looking so concerned?”
Byleth frowned, tugging on his sleeve. “I need to make a lesson plan.” He paused before reluctantly admitting, “The first class didn’t go well.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised.” Jeralt leaned against the desk, the wood digging into his back. Crossing his arm, he studied his son, the disappointed turn of his lips, the way his shoulders hunched. Something in him tightened. “What happened?”
“I taught swordsmanship.” He looked away, his ears a light red as he remembered.
“Makes sense.” Jeralt nodded, not seeing the issue. “We’re mercenaries, and you’re good at it.”
“Most of them got it, but Mercedes tossed her sword, Ignatz couldn’t lift it, and Bernie refused to touch it.” Byleth’s frown grew deeper and his hand clenched slightly, as though he were holding an imaginary sword. Sounding utterly confused, he added, “It’s a sword.”
At times like these, Byleth’s innate skills were obvious. He’d taken to swordsmanship like a duck to water; it must been impossible for him to understand how anyone could do so badly. Rubbing his neck, Jeralt shrugged. “Well, not everyone’s good or even decent at it. Though, that’s a first. No matter how bad someone was, I’ve never heard of them tossing their weapon. She really did?”
Byleth nodded solemnly. “Every time. Almost killed someone.”
The worst Jeralt had expected was a few fumbles and he chuckled at the image. “Sounds tough. Guess the kids here need more than a little help. It’s a good thing I didn’t teach too; I’m not sure I could handle that.”
His son perked up, his eyes widening slightly. Looking at him with new consideration, Byleth asked, “How did you teach me?”
Jeralt winced, not liking where this was going. “I’m not that great of a teacher…”
This was the point where Byleth usually dropped the matter.
This time, he leaned forward eagerly instead. “How?”
There was a sense of curiosity, a hunger to know, that Jeralt had long thought dead in his son. Even his face was more expressive than usual. Was it the academy? The strange events? The students? Jeralt didn’t know, but for once he was grateful that Rhea had forced them to return.
They would never have had this conversation in their old life. Shrugging, Jeralt answered, “I honestly didn’t have to do much. You were a quick learner. I think you figured it out before I even knew how to explain it to you.”
“Oh.” Byleth pursed his lips, his brow furrowing. He stayed quiet for a minute before asking, “Leonie said you trained her.”
“Oh, right. I did do that…” Jeralt bit his cheek, apologizing silently to his previous student. “It wasn’t really much of a lesson plan, though. Mostly, I just gave her some tips and guided her a bit here and there.” He smiled wryly. “Honestly, it was her stubbornness that helped.”
“Oh,” he repeated, his shoulders sinking slightly, his head bowing a degree.
Again, something in Jeralt twisted at the sight and he stood straight. “Look, kid, how about we go over the student files? We can make a plan together. I might not know much, but it’s still a good starting point, right?”
“Sure.” Despite his monosyllabic response, Byleth perked up immediately. His lips tugged up, almost into a smile, and he started to quickly pull together all the files.
It was such a rare display of open joy. Jeralt watched his son a moment longer, wishing that Rhea wouldn’t keep sending him away on missions. His son kept changing out of sight, in ways that Jeralt often didn’t notice. Like right now, when Jeralt picked up Dorothea’s file. The papers inside were filled with skills, training levels, and aspirations, each sheet peppered with tiny notes about strengths and weaknesses. It was utterly professor-like.
Just how much more would Byleth change, here, in the monastery?
A lump formed in his throat and Jeralt swallowed it down as he set the file back with the others, “Where do you want to start?”
“Hmmm…” Byleth bit his lip before deciding, “Strengths?”
“Yeah, that’s a good place to start.” Jeralt smiled, pulling over a chair so he could sit down beside him.
It wouldn’t make up for all that he missed, but they would do this side by side. Jeralt wasn’t going to miss anything else.
