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Survival of the Father

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Normally, if Jeralt saw a little Alpha shit following Byleth around like a lost puppy, he’d go and immediately set the record straight that she wasn’t something to chased after like a prize. Normally. Right now, though, he’s getting some laughs watching as little Cyril (who isn’t so little anymore) practically falls over himself to “prove” he’s a potential Alpha suitor for his daughter. The brat cleans areas that Lady Rhea wouldn’t go into, but Byleth would sit in. He shyly asks for lunches and dinners to be shared with him, pouting when Byleth invites someone else to join them. Hell, the brat even goes out hunting to get more food for Jeralt’s kid. Chuckling, Jeralt drapes his arm around the brat’s shoulders, grinning meanly when he tenses up.

“Let’s go talk, brat,” Jeralt practically chirps, leading the youngest Alpha to his office. He can feel the kid tremble under his arm, obviously nervous or scared of what Jeralt might do to him. Shaking his head, Jeralt leans close to the brat’s face, hissing, “You hurt her, I’ll be the least of your worries. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir!” he squeaks, looking around in terror. Everyone else purposefully avoid eye contact with the two Alphas, staying well out of the way. Jeralt pats the brat on the back, steering the brat toward his office.

“So, here’s what you do to court my daughter while not insulting her competence,” Jeralt starts. The kid blinks up at him in confusion.

“Don’t dads usually scare off people?” the brat asks. Jeralt stops, forcing the younger Alpha to stop too. He turns his head to look down at the brat with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve worked with Byleth for how long? If you think I’m the one you should fear, maybe you’re not the one for her,” Jeralt comments, slowly moving his arm off the kid’s shoulders. The brat shakes his head, waving his hands quickly.

“N-no! Tha’s not what I meant! I meant that usually, dad’s don’t want nobody with their daughters, right?” he tries to clarify. Jeralt snorts, resting his arm back on the brat’s shoulders.

“Kid, I just want Byleth happy, and she seems pretty happy when you’re near her,” he explains. The brat beams up at him, looking excited at the prospect of Byleth liking him.

“What can I do ta make her really happy?” he asks eagerly.


Jeralt enters the mess hall and sighs in amusement at seeing Alois threatening Cyril. The young Alpha looked like he was about to pass out from fear as the self-proclaimed big brother of Byleth. Shaking his head, Jeralt walks up and sets a hand on Alois’ shoulder.

“Easy there, Alois. I’m pretty sure Byleth wanted him to have sex with her,” he soothes, easily smelling his daughter’s scent mixed with the young Alpha’s. Cyril flushed at his words, staring wide eyed at the floor while Alois frowns.

“But Captain-” the Beta starts, huffing at Jeralt’s shake of his head. The knight sighs before shaking his own head.

“Very well. But you better make sure that Alpha behaves himself,” Alois insists, wagging his finger warningly at Cyril before leaving with a grumble of protecting innocents from “predatory Alphas”. The little Alpha lets out a relieved sigh, tensing when Jeralt rests his arm on his shoulder.

“Just remember that I’ll find a nice place to bury you if you hurt her,” Jeralt states calmly. The kid swallows nervously, squeaking out a small, “Yes sir.” Chuckling, Jeralt shoos the brat off, back to his little girl’s room with the food for the next few days.

“Aw, shit. Really? I thought I was going to see something funny,” Cassandra complains. Jeralt turns his head and raises an eyebrow at the woman, who puts her hands up in a placating manner.

“Piss off, bitch,” Jeralt tells her with no heat, raising one of his hands to flip her off. The Alpha laughs, shaking her bangs out of her eyes as her placating hands wave at him while she turns to leave. Jeralt sighs and shakes his head, going up to the counter to get his own food.


If Jeralt knew that he would have a year before Cyril swept his daughter off her feet, he would have spent even more time with her. Perhaps asking if she wouldn’t mind sharing room like their mercenary days, even though they no longer needed to as the Savior Queen of United Fodlan and her General Father. Hell, he might’ve been able to smuggle her out of her duties for a few days of patrolling and protecting some of the villages near Garreg Mach (if Seteth didn’t follow quickly on wyvern, ranting and yelling about proper Queenliness shit). However, as he dances with his daughter, seeing the smile on her face and glancing over to see the absolute love on Cyril’s, Jeralt decides that this is fine.

“Um, Sir? May I cut in?” Cyril asks nervously as the father-daughter dance ends. Jeralt chuckles, coaxing Byleth to spin from him to her husband.

“Just don’t step on her toes too hard, kid,” Jeralt jokes, chuckling as Cyril’s face turns bright red and his little girl laughs, the wind chime laugh her mother gave her. Sitting down, Jeralt watches as the happy couple dances together.

“You seem happy, Jeralt,” the Almyran king mentions idly. Jeralt snorts, smacking the brat in the gut, grinning at the wheeze he gets in return.

“I’d be happier with some of that ale you brought from Almyra,” he mentions. Claude laughs, turning to, hopefully, get him a cup of the spiced ale. Jeralt leans back, closing his eyes.

“She’s so happy, Jeralt. I’m happy for her,” he thinks he hears his wife whisper in his ear. Opening his eyes, he watches as some of the orphans of the Monastery circle the couple, dancing around the pair. Byleth laughs while Cyril tries to scold them through his grin.

“Yeah. She is,” Jeralt agrees, smiling himself.