[Of course he wants to know. He wants to know everything about her; Byleth’s air of mystery had always extended to her past. A mercenary with such skill, the daughter of a practically legendary ex-Knight of Seiros. What was it like, growing up in such a way? So sheltered from the rest of the world, knowing what he knows of her?

The sensation of her fingers running through his hair, brushing stray strands aside, is calming. Dimitri closes his eye, kept still by her warmth.]

I can imagine it well. You, galloping alongside your father while mounted on your faithful pony.

[He’s smiling more sincerely now. It really is an amusing thought, trying to imagine her so small, still learning.]

I was even younger when I rode my first horse. Many children in Faerghus are taught how to ride and wield a sword before they also learn how to write — royalty was especially no exception. My father… [It’s difficult, sometimes, speaking about happier times so openly. But just as Byleth shared with him, he will do the same. It’s only fair.] My father placed me atop a warhorse. I was terrified, it was so large, I clung to its mane the entire time he led it around the stables, reassuring me that it would be all right. That riding was in my blood, like so much else in the Blaiddyd line.

[He pauses, letting that settle. Memories weighing deeply on both of them.]

Your father taught you how to wield a sword too, didn’t he? Did you take to it with ease?