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High above the plains of Tailtean, wind ripped through Ingrid’s hair and rain stung her face as she directed her pegasus into the steepest dive she’d ever dared to attempt. Under any normal circumstances, this would be a ludicrous maneuver. For practically any other rider, this would be impossible to survive. But these were far from ordinary circumstances, she was not just any rider, and she needed every advantage she could get. The element of surprise, for example, was critical, and this was how she intended to gain it. After all, even on a battlefield where pegasus and wyvern riders wheeled constantly overhead, it was rare that anyone looked so directly up. Not even the King.
As she tore ever closer to Dimitri, lance locked in position, her speed eclipsing anything she had ever believed she could achieve, time seemed to slow, just for a moment. Ingrid suddenly found herself thinking of the last time she and Dimitri had sparred at the academy, before her transfer to the Black Eagles. About how Dimitri had told her that his handling of a lance was only superior on foot. That she had him every time when they were mounted. Now, of all moments, she prayed that he’d been right.
At the last possible moment, Ingrid queued her steed to spread her wings and level off. Her direction changed drastically, now flying nearly parallel with the all-too-close ground, but her speed barely stuttered. Dimitri’s only warning was a glance in her general direction in the final instant before impact.
Even that, it seemed, was enough.
Dimitri threw himself at the ground, desperately taking the only path he could to avoid the full force of Ingrid’s strike. Lúin’s point was still just able to catch his left arm, drawing a fleeting line of red in the air behind it as Dimitri cried out in shock and pain.
Ingrid wasted no time, wheeling with all speed for another pass. Now that she’d made her move she would have seconds, at best, before Dimitri’s nearest troops came rushing to his aid.
Dimitri, for his part, leaned on Areadbhar to pull himself back to his feet, left arm now hanging loosely at his side. Even still, he leveled his lance and assumed a defensive position.
To attempt unhorsing an opponent with only a single good arm was a ludicrous notion, and he knew it as well as Ingrid did. She also knew, however, that Dimirti’s raw strength was probably just ridiculous enough to let him do it. The risk was unacceptably high. She needed a new approach.
She flew as close as she could before queuing her mount to make a sharp left hand turn. As the turn reached its apex, she released her grip on the reins and freed her feet from the stirrups, letting the momentum carry her the remaining distance.
She hit the ground in a jarring but controlled roll, lance hugged tightly to her chest so it looked for a moment like she was a wheel and the relic an axel. As soon as she was inside Dimitri’s reach she used the momentum to spring back to her feet, landing a shoving blow to his weapon arm with the shaft of her lance to keep his adjustment sloppy. She then followed up with a strike to his head with the butt of her weapon. A disorienting blow would have to do when there was no time or room to bring the point of her spear back up.
As Dimitri finally retreated from grappling distance, the duel became a simple trading of blows. One lance crossed the other as Dimitri made for a cleaving strike that Ingrid was just fast enough to deflect. The King’s cape was ripped to tatters as he barely sidestepped a thrust from Ingrid. Back and forth, back and forth.
Seconds seemed to the combatants like minutes as they pushed each other to their limits. If she had not managed to disable one of his arms and land the blow to his head, Ingrid knew that Dimitri would have had her by now. He was clearly still the stronger fighter on foot.
Eventually, however, her early hits took their toll. Dimitri began to slow. He started to get sloppier, more desperate, as he seemed to realize his last reserves of strength were waning all too quickly. The final clash came as Dimitri overcommitted to a clumsy thrust, giving Ingrid the opening she needed. She took one hand off her weapon, instead grabbing Dimitri’s arm and pulling as she stepped out of the way of his blow.
Dimitri was sent sprawling, his own momentum carrying him face-first into the mud, his lance flying from his hand. He was just able to push himself to his knees before Ingrid brought the tip of her spear up under his chin, forcing him to stay down.
Ingrid couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t fathom that she, of all people, had done it. She almost didn’t notice as the battle around her began to slow. The remaining kingdom units finally throwing down their arms into the mud. The demonic beast that had once been Dedue falling at last. Edelgard had been leading the assault against the towering monster. Ingrid knew her Emperor would be rushing to join her, to see what had become of the King and the knight she had sent after him. For the better part of five years, time she had filled with no shortage of war nor the love of her new family, she had known this day must come. Even still, she could never have truly prepared herself to be in precisely this position.
"Ingrid…" As he croaked out the name, Dimitri looked up at her from where he now knelt. "Ingrid, please. Finish it. If I’m to fall today… I would have it be you, not Edelgard.” Dimitri leaned forward slightly, bringing himself closer to where she held the point of Lúin, steady as could be, aimed for his throat.
“I won’t give her the satisfaction of completing the set herself,” he said. “Do it, please!”
Ingrid felt the sting of tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she beheld the sorry sight. This was the boy she had grown up with. The dear friend she had once been prepared to swear her very life to. The man who, in another life, would have been her King. Now here he was, kneeling in the mud, begging for a death that would at least be one last petty act of spite for her Emperor.
She thought, at that moment, of the day that Byleth and Edelgard had convinced her to study with the Black Eagles. About how she had first thought of the change of house simply as an opportunity to learn more about and build friendships within the Empire, to aid her in life as a knight of Faerghus. How that idea had begun to give way as her new classmates worked their ways into her heart. How the notion had been worn to its last thread by evening chats with Edelgard about the ideals she hoped to live by as a ruler. The moment that the last of the pretense finally fell away upon the revelation that Edelgard was the Flame Emperor. That she was willing to fight, had been fighting already, for those ideals Ingrid had come to see as such worthy aspirations.
She thought of the five-and-a-half years since that revelation. Of Edelgard’s conviction, leadership, and passion for both her cause and her people. The sacrifices she had made to ensure they could stand here, now, on the precipice of victory. Her classmate. Her friend. Her Emperor.
“No,” she said, drawing back and bringing her lance up to stand at attention as she heard the approach of armored boots behind her. “I’m sorry, Dimitri. Your fate is in Her Majesty’s hands, not mine.”
The effort to keep her voice steady was nothing compared to what it took to hold herself still as a look of insane anger streaked with despair passed over Dimitri’s face. Thankfully, she only saw it for an instant.
“Well done, Ingrid,” Edelgard said, laying a hand on her shoulder for a moment as she passed, soon blocking Ingrid’s direct line of sight to Dimitri. “I knew I could rely on you.”
Emotions warred in Ingrid’s chest as the Emperor had one last conversation with the King. On the one hand, it pained her to see her old friend’s final, deluded moments of pain and rage. On the other, she knew she had done as great a service to her sovereign as any knight ever had. A dream she’d had for as long as she could remember, fulfilled.
Cold comfort, really, as she watched the axe fall. Heard the wet thud of the impact. Saw the now headless body keel over into the mud.
After a moment to speak to Byleth, Edelgard turned to her. “Ingrid, thank you,” she said. “I know how hard this must have been for you. If I could have trusted anyone else to break away and get this done fast enough-”
“Think nothing of it, Your Majesty,” the words were so automatic that she barely even had to control her voice. “My lady needed me, and I answered. It’s what knights do. Even imperial ones.”
“Be that as it may,” Edelgard said, placing a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder, “I am still deeply grateful that you chose to stand with me at all, and even more humbled by the depth of that loyalty now.”
A swell of pride in her chest was not enough to push out the sorrow, but it was a nice respite for a moment.
“Come,” said Edeilgard, “We’re returning to camp to recuperate, then making for the capital at first light.”
“In a moment, Your Majesty,” Ingrid replied. “I think… I think I need a moment alone first.”
Worry traced across Edelgard’s face, but she nodded. “We’ll all be there for you, when you’re ready.” One last squeeze of her shoulder before letting go, and Edelgard walked away.
As the others departed, carrying the body with them, the tears would not be held back any longer. She finally let them flow as she spoke a final prayer for the man she had once known. “Goodbye, Dimitri,” she whispered to the air, her voice cracking. “May the Goddess see you and your ghosts to a peaceful rest, at last.”
It seemed like a long, long time that she stood there. She didn’t think she could walk away. Her grip on her firmly planted lance was practically all that kept her on her feet as her legs turned to jelly and her chest heaved with both sobs and just simple exhaustion. It was a marvel she didn’t completely crumple to the ground when a gentle touch came to her elbow, followed by two hands clasped over her free one.
“Ingrid?” Dorothea said, her tone as gentle as Ingrid had ever heard it. “Edie was worried. So am I, honestly. You’ve been out here for nearly half an hour. ”
It was finally too much. Ingrid collapsed into Dorothea’s embrace, weeping and babbling about everything and nothing.
“Shhhh, shhhh,” Dorothea stroked her hair as she soothed, “Come on, let’s get you back to camp. We’re making the final push in a few hours, but till then you need rest.”
Ingrid knew she was right, and didn’t have the strength or will to protest for the moment. She allowed her lover to lead her from the field, trying not to think too much about the battle still to come.