Claude had been walking calmly down the hall after the war council when a hand grabs his shoulder and yanks him into a spare room. His hand shoots for a dagger on his belt, only to have his wrist grabbed and wrenched to his back.
“Hey there, brat. Let’s talk,” Jeralt states, causing Claude to internally panic at the furious smell coming from the older Alpha.
“Yeah? How can I help?” he asks, forcing his stance to relax, keeping his scent close. Jeralt looks at him, obviously unimpressed and more than a little pissed about something. The older Alpha motions for Claude to take the spare chair as he sits behind the Captain’s desk. Slowly, Claude complies, his eyes flicking around the room for some sort of escape.
“So, what’s going on between you and my kid?” Jeralt starts off, a frown on his face. Claude raises his eyebrow and gives the other man a smirk, even as his brain rushes around, trying to find every lie in the book to protect himself from an overprotective father.
“We’re working together to end a war. We’re friends, allies, leader and tactician… Take your pick… Sir,” Claude tacks on at the end, eyeing the Captain nervously. Jeralt narrows his eyes at Claude, resting his arms on the desk.
“I think I’m watching an Alpha who needs to stay the fuck away from an Omega,” he growls. Claude swallows, giving the other man an unassuming grin as he internally screams in terror.
“Come on, Jeralt. There’s no time for that while the war is going on,” Claude jokingly scolds, giving the man a wink. Jeralt raises an unimpressed eyebrow before standing up from behind his desk, towering over the young man ominously.
“If you hurt her, or force yourself on her, I’ll make sure that she gets away with your death. You’ll disappear and no one will realize it until your body’s rotted enough that no one will recognize it. Clear?” he intones, glaring at the young Alpha. Claude swallows again, squeaking, “Crystal.”
“Now, go grab that bourbon over there. I’m too sober for this shit,” Jeralt tells the Alliance leader, waving his hand in the general direction of the cabinet, where a tall bottle of bourbon sits innocently on the top.
Jeralt had been out of Byleth’s room for maybe ten minutes, doing a small lap around the major areas still in use, when he smells the little shit of an Alpha’s scent mixing with his daughter’s sweeter scent of heat. Closing his eyes, he fights to control his breathing before groaning and storming into the cafeteria, looking for something to take his mind off the fact that the Alliance leader is taking his little girl’s virginity. Spotting the pink-haired accomplice of the brat, he strides over to her.
“Are you the reason von Riegan’s fucking my daughter?” he asks, getting a little satisfaction at the woman choking on her food.
“Claude’s WHAT?” she shrieks, turning to look at him with big pink eyes. Jeralt leans back a little at the shrill yell, regretting this conversation already.
“Did you send the brat to my daughter’s room?” he demands to know, crossing his arms. The Beta looks around nervously, clearing her throat and humming, obviously buying time.
Hilda tends to try and avoid anything that could get her in trouble, he recalls Byleth telling him, pointing out this specific young woman. He crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at the woman. She looks around nervously before her eyes widen at something behind him.
“Well, you know how us Deer are. Always trying to show the Professor affection and all,” she starts rambling rapidly, flipping her hand back and forth. Jeralt narrows his eyes down at her before spinning on his heel. Frozen in his sight it von Riegan, bitemarks and hickeys decorating his neck. Jeralt gives a slow blink before sighing and shaking his head. Striding up to the tactician, he drapes his arm around the younger man and leans close to his ear.
“You better be treating her right, or I’ll kick your ass,” he threatens, raising his hand and cracking his knuckles with ease. Von Riegan swallows loudly, paling and nodding rapidly while his partner-in-crime watches them in terrified horror. Clapping the Wyvern Master on the shoulder, he starts steering the young Alpha to an empty table, sure that the grin he’s wearing is terrifying if the way people hurry out of his way is any indication.
Despite his dislike of the brat, Jeralt is willing to call the little shit his son-in-law if it keeps making his daughter smile like she’s doing. They stride slowly down the aisle, the white dress looking gorgeous on Byleth while his old Captain’s uniform still fits him well. The look on the brat’s face is as awed as it should be, his eyes never leaving Byleth’s visage. Reluctantly, Jeralt lets his daughter continue to the alter, sitting down on the pew to watch as Claude von Riegan adds Eisner to his name while he slides a golden band onto Byleth’s hand.
“I can’t believe this is happening!” Alois sobs beside him, burying his face into a handkerchief. Jeralt sighs and pats the younger man on the back, blinking back his own tears as his daughter’s face softens in an achingly familiar way, now for her husband as well as for her father.
“Shit, I need a drink,” Jeralt sighs, rubbing at his eyes to wipe away the tears gathering there.