Byleth's life growing up? Please and thanks!
Raised solely by Jeralt, without their mother. There were no hazy memories of her face, or anything that really reminded them of her, so they’ve never felt right mourning her.
They always saw Jeralt as an adequate parental figure. He definitely did his best, going around while posted at different villages, asking experienced mothers advice on how to care for them/ trading goods for diapers and/or baby food.
Understood/taught as far back as they can remember that they had to be mentally and physically strong to survive, as the work their father did which was grueling and labor-intensive would eventually become their task as well.
When training began, it was extremely rough on them at first. Facing one of the most talented mercenaries in Fodlan, it was certainly a task to stand a chance against his fighting skills.
As the days passed on, however difficult, they managed to finally be able to fight back, even if it was only a few swipes of their swords. Their skills gradually sharpened, and eventually their hands grew as callous as their heart.
Byleth never truly grew attached to a single place, as Jeralt and the mercenaries they travelled with never stayed in one place for long. They would see the other children their age would run and play as Byleth swung their sword tirelessly. The sickly feeling of envy would bloom in their chest as their laughter echoed in their ears.
The children from each town would do their best to avoid Byleth. Their constant emotionless expression sent off a terrifying aura and the product of that was total isolation. The only people they could consider companions were their own father and the other mercenaries.
Their first kill isn’t very exciting. The bandit had left a blind spot open, one even a teenager could spot out; so they chose their moment and struck, just like they were taught. He crumpled over and died without so much as a groan of pain, and Byleth felt... nothing.
After this, they were fully introduced as a working member of the mercenaries. Many who hired them questioned their abilities but had nothing to say once the job was done efficiently and quickly.
Up until they could finally pool enough money together, Byleth grew wearing Jeralt’s hand-me-downs. They were usually twice their size, and a little worse for wear, but it was either the little protection they received from those, or the dirty rags the other mercenaries had to offer.
Their childhood was full of hardships, however they decided that they were in a better place than any, knowing how to defend themselves and make a living
I hope this is sort of like what you envisioned! :,)
