The Savior King, the Master Tactition, and the Queen of Liberation

Does anyone read these? I dunno. Anyway, I've been writing this story over on A03 for a while, so I have a huge backload of chapters to start posting here. Got a bit carried away, I guess! If you're interested in my A03 site my handle is ReynaAtTheEnd.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem.

Chapter 2

The one time I run into bandits hungry or stupid enough to try and murder royalty, I get paired up with two rulers who don't know how to beat a strategic retreat, Claude thought dryly when he glanced over his shoulder and realized he had not, in fact, managed to slip off and circle about on his own. Dimitri and Edelgard were right behind him, and as a consequence, so were the bandits. Sheesh, do Fodlan generals teach anything besides charging straight ahead?

Or maybe Dimitri saw him disappear, thought he was using himself as a decoy, and was too bloody noble for his own good. That sounds about right. The thought gave him a mix of amusement and a really irritating backflip in his chest. Gah, this is not the time!

"Claude," Dimitri gasped out after nearly crashing into a tree, "where are we going?" The bandits shouting was getting closer; give it another few minutes and those axe wielding nutjobs would be right on top of them...

"Remire!," He shouted back, "Hurry up!"

"That's just a tiny farming village!" Edelgard said incredulously. "If we go there, we'll only involve the civilians."

"You need to keep up with the chatter!," He chided her, stomping on his annoyance. It was strange on the face of it. "Lately, Remire's been the favorite haunt of the Ashen Demon and their fellow mercenaries, and that's not a fight some run-out-of-the-mill bandit wants to pick!"

"The Ashen Demon?" Dimitri parroted, matching his pace with his own as an arrow whipped past, missing them both by a foot. "Claude, that mercenary...! All the stories say that person has no feelings; no pity, no remorse, nothing! Even if they were sympathetic, we have little gold to offer!"

"If you've got a better idea, I'd love to hear it," Claude rasped as they burst out of the trees into a dimly-lit field. "Otherwise, run now and argue strategy later!"

Dimitri choked out a frustrated sentence in what Claude suspected was Old Fodlanese but kept up regardless, repeatedly glancing back to make sure they weren't loosing Edelgard. Fortunately, despite the surprise attack she hadn't gotten hurt at all, only startled awake. Claude, meanwhile, suspected he had bruised ribs judging by the pain radiating from his side. Dimitri's hand was balled into a fist to slow the bleeding in his palm which still had an arrowhead embedded in it.

Claude would give that bandit leader this much credit – it was the first time someone had tried to murder him in his sleep for a while. Fortunately, experience had taught him to keep a knife under his pillow; so he'd been able to slice the tendon of the foot pinning him and free himself before the ax came down on his neck.

Granted, he'd had to immediately throw said knife at the bandit choking Dimitri; it caught the guy in the back of the neck, dropping him. Edelgard then shoved the corpse off of him and the three of them were able to grab their weapons. Of course, they'd quickly been overwhelmed by the sheer number of bandits, including two archers, and he'd known they'd had to run for it. Alois was nowhere in sight, nor was the honor guard – a fire in the distance suggested they'd been lured away. With that in mind, Claude had recalled their last location on the map (and the map itself, it must be said) and drew up a plan as quickly as his tired and pain-addled mind would allow.

The Ashen Demon...really, the name was half a myth. Stories trickled in from traveling merchants and artists about a cold, emotionless mercenary who could carve through dozens of enemies with no more effort than dicing vegetables. Of a single swordsman(woman?) facing immense odds and walking out the other side with a nail embedded in one foot and a ship full of corpses to show for it. It was virtually impossible to tell fact from fiction, but after villagers from Remire mentioned the individual repeatedly in the same breath as the mercenary band that had taken to regularly visiting their home...well, he'd planned to investigate under less frantic circumstances, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

They crossed the first plain, then cut across the second one, where the town's iron-wrought gate were illuminated by torches and the late evening sky. Thankfully, they were still open. Good; there had been a couple of moments in running where he'd thought he'd faint from the pain radiating from his side. Plus we really need to do something about Dimitri's hand. Hopefully the town had a cleric who could tend to him...

"Hey!" Ah, the gods of fortune were smiling on them after all – rushing through the gates nearly caused him to run right into a pair of men in upscale leather armor and golden earrings. Mercenaries who were skilled enough to thrive in the business showed off their wealth in subtle ways. Be it jewelry, silver weapons, or the latest armor; the more expensive their equipment, the longer they'd been around. And long-lived mercenaries were as valuable as any anointed knight. "What's going on out there?!"

Dimitri staggered to a stop just inside the village, wheezing and clutching his wrist. Claude circled back around to him and grimaced, grabbing his arm when the prince tried to hide the injury in his cloak. The blood seeping out of his impaled palm was getting thick enough to stain most of his hand. "Please tell me you didn't rip the arrowhead out," He said a bit sarcastically.

"I needed my hands free," Dimitri protested. His face was significantly paler than normal, visible even in the low light of the torch. He tried to flex his hand and flinched, grimacing. "I can't use my lance otherwise."

"If you'd left it there, it would have staunched the bleeding and you wouldn't have given yourself muscle trauma!" Seriously, don't Fodlan nobles know anything about how to handle war wounds? "You can't use your lance if you pass out from blood loss!"

Dimitri shook his head. "It's fine, Claude; I've fought with worse than this."

"You can't rely solely on adrenaline to stay conscious! Do that, and you only need to stop for a moment, or get distracted once, before you're too light-headed to do anything but collapse. I can cover you against three or four of them, maybe, if I had a good bow and favorable terrain, but if you pass out in the middle of the field I can't fight and carry you!"

"I take it you kids are in trouble?" One of the mercenaries said dryly, causing Dimitri to start and Edelgard to make an exasperated noise. Claude turned back to the twosome and noted that they both had visible scars, and similar-looking ones to boot. So either they were working as a pair...or they were part of a company that was currently in town.

The other took a step closer and hissed at the sight of Dimitri's hand. "Damn, that's nasty. You were ambushed, weren't you?"

"Yes; they came while we were asleep." Dimitri said, quickly burying his surprise under his usual princely demeanor. "Forgive us; this was the only place we could reach with them right on our heels." Distant shouts echoed across the plains behind them. "There were too many of them for us. We...are still in training, after all."

The two mercenaries looked at each other for a moment, then out at the plains. "Hell...they look like kids," The first one sighed. "More pro-bono work. Well, whatever – we needed to break in the new horses at some point."

"I'll go get Captain Jeralt and his girl," His friend said, glancing at Dimitri. "She'll be able to take care of his hand."

The first one snorted. "She can do that and a whole lot more."

"I know. I try not to think about that sometimes." With that totally-not-ominous remark hanging in the air, the man disappeared up the road.

That gave Claude a moment to address something that was bothering him. "Hey, Dimitri, remind me – how did you end up with an arrowhead in your hand? Did one of the bandits use it in place of a knife?" He hadn't seen the guy he'd managed to knock off holding an arrow, but maybe he'd been looking from a wrong angle.

"Oh..." Dimitri blinked, and shook his head. A look of unease crossed his face. "No. I had...a premonition, I guess. I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye and brought my hand up in front of my face."

"...You need better gauntlets." Claude said, his voice carefully dry and observant. A 'premonition?' Is that what you call those little things you try so hard not to react to? A little thing visceral enough to make you throw your hand in front of your face, inadvertently saving yourself? "Can you not buy anything hardier than the standard handouts all students get from the blacksmith?"

Dimitri looked ruefully down at his trembling, bloody hand. "I came here with a limited allowance; the same as you, I wager, seeing as you have little to no armor at all."

Claude rolled his eyes a bit. Has anyone told you you're too bloody noble for your own good? "I'm an archer. If I let people get close enough to stab me, I'm already up a creek."

"Truly talented archers are capable of firing point blank," Edelgard said, her tone slightly lofty. "It's considered an important skill in the Empire. Something worth considering, perhaps?"

Claude made a production of looking contemplative. Before he could fire off a witty retort, the crunch of feet on the gravel and a booming baritone heralded the arrival of their saviors. "What's the situation?" The old man asked; he had the voice of someone who was used to being obeyed, someone who demanded respect, and someone who did not suffer fools lightly. The three of them basically turned around as one, as sure as if one of the teachers had caught them misbehaving.

Claude's first impression of Jeralt the Blade Breaker was holy shit are you actually a walking mountain?, because the man towered over him even more than Nader or his own father. His blue eyes were steely and impassive as they swept over him, Dimitri and Edelgard, assessing them, deciding whether or not this was a trap. He wore heavy leather and fur, with a lance strapped over his shoulder and a sword at his belt. Also, he looked muscular enough to bodily lift Marianne with his left hand and Hilda with his right without even breaking a sweat. Scars cut rough edges into his rugged face, old and faded ones that spoke of many hard won battles. Claude could admit to feeling a little bit of awe, just as his eyes slid to the figure right behind him and the world tilted quite suddenly.

A lithe silent shadow trotted to a halt at her father's board shoulder, impassive blue eyes meeting his evenly with the barest hint of curiosity. She was freakishly tall as well, having at least three inches on both him and Dimitri (which was just unfair) and slender figure built solely of hard muscle and smooth, tempting curves that even the loose-fitted robes of a swordmaster couldn't conceal. She had a blade buckled to her belt, a quiver and a cheap but reliable bow slung over her shoulder. Dark blue hair swept down to her pale neck, cut practically short and pinned away from her face by silver clasps; the only thing she seemed to possess that was at all expensive. The scars she had that he could see, tracing sharp lines across her collarbone, circling the crown of her head, and nicking her jaw, hardly detracted from the divine sight – nah; they enhanced it. Did she have more, concealed by those long sleeves?

Whoa, down princeling! Your Almyran tastes are showing.

Admittedly, her complete lack of expression was a distracting enough that he didn't say or do anything ill advised with her scowling father standing right in front of him.

"Forgive our intrusion. We wouldn't bother you if the situation weren't dire." Dimitri said, keeping an admirable straight face even though Claude bloody well knew he'd had to mentally pick his jaw up off the ground. A quick glance at Edelgard and what do you know, they were all in agreement about something!

The living mountain – the captain, Jeralt (was it that Jeralt? The famed Captain of the Knights?) – raised a solitary eyebrow. "What are a couple of kids like you doing out at this hour?"

"We're being pursued by some bandits. I can only hope you'd be willing to lend your support." Dimitri bowed politely; Claude amused himself by imagining Acheron throwing a shrieking fit at the mere thought of showing respect and deference to someone of lower social standing. If the prince who lives and breathes chivalry can humble himself without complaint, what does that make you, weasel?

"It's true!" Edelgard jumped in, gazing exclusively at the girl. "We were resting in camp when they jumped us."

"We've been separated from our companions, and we're outnumbered," He tossed in casually. "They're after our lives...not to mention our gold."

The swordswoman tilted her head, then walked forward in silent steps and took hold of Dimitri's injured hand. She frowned, studying the gory wound for a long moment, before placing her other palm over it. Claude was pretty damn surprised when a flare of white magic surrounded the prince's bloody skin, wiping away the injury as though it had never been. Okay, since when do physically inclined fighters have aptitude for faith magic?

"Thank you," Dimitri said gratefully, flexing his fingers easily in wonder. "Claude is injured as well – one of the bandits tried to kick his ribs in."

Without a word of acknowledgment, her attention swung straight over to him. If he swallowed when she placed her hand on his side, pretty face lightly bent with concentration, he blamed it on the disorienting run and lack of sleep. The blessed warmth washing the pain away also made for a half decent story.

"I'm surprised you're so calm, considering the situation," The Captain said dryly. Something changed in his expression when he looked closer at them. "Wait...that uniform..."

"Captain Jeralt, sir!" Another mercenary ran up to them, panting for breath. "Bandits have surrounded the village. The ones south are trying to start fires. We've moved the civilians further in, but-"

"Right. I'm on my way." Jeralt rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a tired sigh. The mercenary nodded and darted off the way he'd came, taking the two from earlier with him. "All bark and no brains, these ones." He turned to his daughter and said without preamble, "Kid, you see that?" He pointed out the front gates. The bandits had left the forest and were making their way towards them.

She nodded once. He smirked at that and said, "Good. You're in charge here. No one gets in, no one falls, and these three are your responsibility. I'll take care of the fires."

"Wait, what?" Claude said blankly. Jeralt ignored him, whistling sharply. A large gray stallion shot up the road to his side; without breaking stride, he grabbed the bridle and saddled up before the animal even came to a stop. Then he vanished towards the smoke, leaving just the four of them to protect the entrance to town.

"He can't seriously expect you to fight alone?" Dimitri blurted in surprise. "There have to be at least nine of them – ah, my lady?"

She strode past him, out to the mouth of the gates, one hand dropping easily to her sword hilt. Pausing in the grass, head tilted slightly, she waited, fingers idly tapping against the weapon's guard. After a tense moment of silent planning, she turned around and openly sized them up. What little light had been in her eyes the moment before was gone, replaced by a blank coolness.

"You." His pulse jumped quite without his permission at that rich, resonant contralto. That was an incredibly deep voice for a girl no older than him. "Do you have anything to defend yourself with up close?"

Claude shook his head and gave her his most charming smile. "Unfortunately, I lost my knife in a bandit's neck a while back."

"Mm." She drew her sword – a good steel blade, well maintained – and pointed at a thicket further up the plain. "That's your vantage point. Take out anyone you can reach; I will cover you." Her gaze swung over to Edelgard. "You, take him" she nodded at Dimitri "and make yourself visible further to the right. Let them come to you, and fight together. If one of you gets injured, retreat into the thicket and make use of these." She pulled a number of familiar looking vials out of her coat. Concoctions, unless Claude missed his guess. She shook them pointedly, causing the royals to quit staring and accept the gift. "The cover will provide you a few seconds of reprieve. It may limit your movement, however, so bear that in mind."

She glanced at Claude and said very matter-of-factly, "I will go out ahead and engage them. Your job is to hit them, and try not to hit me." Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away. "Get going. They're almost on us."

It was almost hilarious how all three of them immediately scrambled to obey. Claude would have liked to blame flashbacks to Judith and her frequent use of what he called her 'listen, brat, and listen well' voice; that flat order was almost as intimidating despite the lack of an age gap.

He reached the tree with no problems; his head was much clearer without constantly spiking pain to distract him. The blue haired teen – dammit, he hadn't gotten her fucking name – raced ahead of him, attracting the attention of three enemies. The nine bandits were spread out, the biggest and baddest of them (and thus likely the boss) hanging back with two goons flanking him. A few headed off toward Dimitri and Edelgard, but the others seemed to figure that the single woman made for an easier target. He took out an arrow, notched it and waited.

The mysterious girl's first opponent swung his ax in a wild arc; she jerked her blade up, catching it in the curve and wrenching the weapon from his grip, sending it flying into the grass. Immediately she lashed out driving her foot into his gut and sending him a few steps backward, before bringing her sword down. The blade hacked across his face and dug into his chest. His choked scream indicated she'd hit a lung; she drew back and cut sideways, slicing open his throat. Blood splattered her gauntlets as he fell to the ground. She stepped over her pray without pausing, the battle over in mere moments, approaching the two behind him with easy grace.

Letting out a sharp breath, he aimed for one and – keeping movement in mind – fired. She didn't even flinch at the arrow tearing past her to hit one of her enemies dead in the eye; she shifted her stance accordingly and ducked under a graceless swing aimed at her head. Her sword turned sharply and sliced the tendons on the brigand's leg, bringing him down to one knee as she reoriented herself. If her sword biting into the neck didn't kill the man, then the arrow buried in his collarbone did.

Flicking her blade in a gesture that was a bit too deliberate to be contemptuous, she stowed the weapon away and slung the bow off her back. A roar from further up the field told him what's she'd seen – the boss's two goons were charging. She casually strung two arrows and fired; it was a bit far from where he stood, but he was pretty sure she hit one of them in the thigh and the stomach, dropping him before he got within a dozen feet of her. She jumped back a foot as his partner approached, bow pointed straight at the man's face.

Perfect Point-Blank firing posture. She was highly proficient in at least two weapon types, enough to transfer between them without breaking stride? He felt a twinge of inadequacy even as his third arrow struck home, staggering the brigand right before she put an arrow through his throat.

The tides of battle turn rapidly, don't they?, he thought with perhaps more glee than necessary. Hey, just because he was familiar with murder attempts didn't mean he didn't resent them.

His thoughts were interrupted by a high, familiar string of whistled notes. His heart sped up; gods, how many times had he heard Nader use that old standby? Her troupe must have spent some time in Almyra. That signal meant that there was a change in plans without any dialogue getting lost in the chaos of the battlefield. He stepped out of the tree's shade; she nodded, the gesture barely visible, before gesturing sharply toward Edelgard and Dimitri.

The royals were managing, though they seemed to be flagging a bit. Dimitri had gotten himself hurt – again! – judging by the way he was holding his lance, and Edelgard seemed to be favoring one leg. The girl pointed to a tree closer to them and then darted off, sword in hand.

Really, the brigand stood no chance. He was too preoccupied with Dimitri to notice the girl coming up behind him. Just as Claude reached the tree, he watched her smash the hit of her sword into the enemy face – likely obliterating his jaw, given the cringe-inducing crack he could hear despite the distance – allowing Dimitri to shove his lance into the gut and finish him off. With her managing the prince, Claude took aim again and took out the knee of Edelgard's opponent. He crashed to the ground and was promptly decapitated.

Is that all of-? No, of course not, the boss... The man was making his way toward them, clutching a throwing ax in one hand. Yeah, because that worked out so well for your friends. Claude whistled sharply, getting the girl's attention. If he was the big man in charge, he'd probably be harder to kill than his grunts.

She drove the tip of her sword into the ground, slung her bow off her back and fired. The first shot went wide, but as the man turned to face her directly, the second shot glanced off his arm and a third one sank into his stomach. He didn't fall like the others; clearly he had some actual armor. Claude debated trying to go for a headshot, but the brigand was running away from him and toward his companions, so it wouldn't do to miss.

Fortunately, she didn't need help. She just dropped her bow, pulled her sword free of the dirt and feinted left; his attack missed her as she danced aside and swung her sword upward, slicing his nose judging by the murky screech that followed it. Again she spun past his sloppy retaliation, crouching and cashing into him with her full weight. When he hit the ground, she reversed her grip on her sword and slammed it into his face once, twice, three times. Then paused.

A few seconds went by. Claude licked his dry lips and silently lamented his weakness for men and women who could take him on in a straight fight. After yesterday, that is so unfair. Why show me a menu I can't eat from?

The girl got up, casually wiping her sword on the body of her last victim. Something prickled at the back of Claude's brain, the ease, the casualness of it...she wasn't even injured, was she? He stepped out into the open again, walking over to Dimitri and Edelgard where they stood aside from the bodies. It was all over except for the bleeding.

"Done," Her voice broke the early morning silence. Their rescuer was kneeling in the mud, collecting her bow. She still had a few arrows left; by contrast, his own quill was empty.

"Are..are you uninjured?" Dimitri managed, somehow sounding both awestruck and almost wary within the same breath.

"I'm fine," She replied absently, examining her weapon with a frown. "Damn, the string is broken again. That's a nuisance."

He suppressed a chuckle and asked, "Is that all you have to say?" Her eyes turned to him, cool and empty except for the faintest curiosity. Was she carved from stone? "That's an awfully subdued reaction from someone who cut down five bandits in as many minutes."

"Technically, two of those kills were yours," She responded with a shrug. "Your support was appreciated; I was able to escape without injury this time." She looked over at Dimitri and Edelgard. "You all acquitted yourself quite well, for amateurs."

Claude's burst of laughter was almost involuntary. It wasn't often that someone casually dissed the three most important heirs on the continent! "Ah, you got us there! Oh dear."

"Claude...!" Dimitri groaned in exasperation...though his voice had much less bite in it than it might have a week ago. "That's no way to show gratitude."

He bowed with a wink. "I assure you, I am entirely grateful to our glorious war goddess." She shifted on one foot, blinking rapidly. "It's because of you I'm not dead right now. Thanks for that!" He smiled playfully. "I'd heard there were mercenaries lingering in Remire, but I didn't think you were this good."

"That's true," Edelgard mused, regarding the girl intently.

Claude was finally about to ask for her name when a yell cut them off. Somehow – somehow, considering how freakin' bloody his face was – the brigand leader was back on his feet. And he was running straight for the princess.

Something rippled in the air; he could swear it, he felt something shift, could taste magic like ozone surrounding them as thick as rain. But in a blink, the girl moved again, throwing herself in front of Edelgard and catching her sword in the curve of the man's ax. She jerked backward, wrenching the weapon away from its wielder and launching it somewhere in the woods. The brigand staggered backwards, breath heaving, staring at her.

"You..." He gurgled, "It's you. That soulless creature...the Ashen Demon."

Claude heard Dimitri suck in a sharp breath next to him; a chill of vindication swept over the alarm and surprise that had ruled him only moments ago. The girl, however, merely sighed. "My father warned me that name would stick," She remarked with tired irritation. She brought her bloody steel blade up and pointed it at his chest. "You should have played dead. Goodbye."

A death threat had never sounded so gentle and serene.

Evidently, that was too much for the brigand, because he turned and booked it, fleeing into the forest like a terrified child. The girl, as soon as he was gone, smacked her palm against her forehead. "Bloody stupid, basic mistake," She berated herself. "Cut off the head, sever limbs, and if you don't do that, always check for breathing. Goddess damn it." She looked back at Edelgard. "I'm sorry. That was sloppy of me."

Edelgard recovered quickly for someone who'd nearly been gutted, and shook her head earnestly. "He took several blows to the face! That would stop most men. Please, don't trouble yourself. You saved me, again."

The neigh of a horse cut Dimitri's concern off; Jeralt appeared from the village. Looking at the sky showed that the smoke was clearing up. He must have come as soon as he finished up on his end. "That was...Byleth, did you just...?" He looked worried.

Huh. That was weird. And the weirder thing was...she kind of looked confused too.

Naturally, after everything was over and questions were laying thick in the air...that was when Alois thundered into the clearing, the knights at his side, bellowing about how justice had arrived. "We shall cut you down for terrorizing our students!" He raised his ax triumphantly, only to be thwarted by the empty clearing and fleeing bandits. "Wait, they're getting away! After them!"

Claude rolled his eyes and called out cheerfully, "Sir Alois! You missed all the excitement!" Dimitri facepalmed, and he could just hear Edelgard rolling her eyes at him. The girl...Byleth, Jeralt called her...tensed up, one hand dropping to her sword.

Jeralt groaned as Alois hurried towards them. He dismounted and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "It's alright, kid. He's no threat." She relaxed, before offering up her broken bow with an apologetic look. "Don't worry about that...I'd been meaning to buy you a new one anyhow."

Alois skidded to a halt in front of the mountain of a man, eyes widening comically. "C-Captain Jeralt? Is that you?! Goodness, it's been ages!" Byleth started visibly. Wasn't that interesting? "Don't you recognize me?! It's Alois! Your old right hand man! At least, that was how I thought of myself. It must have been – what – twenty years ago when you vanished without a trace?! I always knew you were still alive!"

Jeralt sighed. "You haven't changed a bit, Alois, just as loud as ever." Claude smothered a snicker in his hand. Dimitri tried to look disapproving, but the twitch of his lip betrayed him. "And drop that 'captain' nonsense. I'm not your captain anymore. These days I'm just a wandering mercenary. One who has work to do." He nodded. "You've got the kids back unharmed; you'd better return to the school. I'll see you around, old friend." He made to walk off. Byleth looked back and forth, then tried to follow him.

Ser Alois spluttered a bit, before saying, "Wait! This is not how this conversation ends! I insist that you come back to the monastery with me."

Jeralt stopped walking and stood very, very still. Claude's eyes narrowed.

So Jeralt hadn't gone missing, he'd chosen to leave without explanation, leaving everything he'd known – and everything he'd gained as the most prestigious Knight of Seiros – without a backwards glance. The man's body language screamed that he didn't want to go back, but he had no way to refuse without looking suspicious as hell. Yet another mystery dangled just out of his reach, begging to be solved. As if he didn't have enough to dig through...especially now.

Why are Fodlan's borders closed...where do the relics come from...the riddle of Duscar's tragedy...and now, why did the strongest man who ever lived run away from the church?

Byleth walked over and placed a hand on her father's wrist. The gesture was small and concerned, and it was the most visible emotion he'd seen from her since the start. "Garreg Mach Monastery." Jeralt enunciated heavily. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. "I guess this was inevitable."

And one more, Claude added with perhaps greater curiosity than the rest, What happened to his daughter that she seems less alive than the statues of the saints?

End Chapter

This story has three rotating protagonist viewpoints for chapters - it goes Dimitri, then Claude, then Byleth, then Dimitri again.

Read and Review please!