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Ingrid
“C’mon, Petra!” Ingrid called over her shoulder, laughing as she put her steed into a sharp turn around the tip of one of the local castle's towers. “I know that's not all you got!”
Trash talk aside, Ingrid turned her mind to the true object of the course she and her friend were running. The dark-coated pegasus beneath her was a new mount, and they needed to get used to one another. It had taken several weeks of ground training, the mare's wings held firmly at her sides, before Ingrid had deemed the two of them to be fit to fly. It had then taken another week before she thought they might be ready to test themselves like this, and when the day came? Fog, fog over the entire valley in which their fort sat. It was a perfect test.
So far, the little impromptu flying test course had gone well. It was also a nice distraction from their vital-yet-quiet posting overseeing the mountainous border region. When Ingrid wasn’t focused on a task, which these days was far too often for her taste, she found herself looking wistfully to the north.
Since the battle over four years prior, the Monastery had stood empty, according to their scouts. They'd not had a reason or the extra resources to occupy it themselves yet, but ensuring that they kept an eye on the place for any sign of the church or kingdom attempting to set up a base there was vital. Thus, Ingrid, Petra, and the battalions under their immediate command were stationed here, in a sequestered little border fort.
As flying cavalry, it made sense for it to be them. Not only was it much easier for them to scout and monitor the surrounding mountains than it would be for ground units, but when reinforcements were occasionally needed on either the kingdom or alliance fronts, they could deploy from the central location quickly. It also made sense in that Edelgard knew and trusted them more than most others, especially with this particular post.
Ingrid was pulled out of her thoughts as Petra and her wyvern swooped from underneath them, blocking the path directly in front and forcing them to dip to avoid a collision.
“You will need to be focusing more, Ingrid!” Petra called, banking to pursue them.
Ingrid laughed as she began a series of twisting evasive maneuvers over and between the tops of the pines near the fort. Training it may be, but when all was said and done, this exercise was more or less amounted to a very hazardous game of tag. Ingrid had simply asked that Petra and her mount pursue them through a loose course. If they got close enough to touch, then they won. If Ingrid and her new mount made it back to the fort before being caught, then they won.
The rest of the ride was a study in well-drilled fundamentals. Ingrid didn’t feel ready for anything too fancy with this girl just yet, but she could tell it wouldn’t take long before they were truly flying and fighting in sync. Soon enough, they were touching down just outside the front gate.
“Ha!” Ingrid puffed up as she slid from the saddle, Petra coming in to land just behind her. “Looks like I've won!”
“Oh, you are winning now, are you?” Petra smirked as she spoke, discounting as well as the two began to lead their mounts back to the stables. “Because I am remembering being underneath and in front of you.”
“That you were,” Ingrid conceded. “But you never went for the tag that would've actually won you the game.”
“Why would I be doing that?” Petra grinned as she spoke. “That would only be ending your training, and our hunt.” She scratched under her Wyvern's chin for emphasis.
“You know, Petra,” Ingrid mused. “Sometimes I think you may be a little too much of a sporting hunter, as opposed to a soldier.”
“Maybe,” Petra said. “But I don't think I will be listening to your advice until you can really be beating me.”
“Excuse me,” Ingrid said in mock-outrage as she turned her steed over to the stable hands. She'd normally prefer to tend to her pegasus herself before and after a ride, but today promised too many reports to read. “I will have you know that-”
“Lady Petra, Sir Ingrid!” A voice interrupted, and the two of them turned to see a frazzled young man, one of Petra’s scouts that was on watch duty today, as he approached. He practically doubled over as he came as close as was polite, struggling to catch his breath.
“What is it?” Petra asked, turning to face him fully as her posture stiffened, Ingrid mirroring the movements. Whatever this was about, it must be serious to merit one of their watchmen sprinting all the way here from his post.
“Caravan approaching, ma'am,” the soldier said, forcing himself to stand upright again at the example from them as officers. “Seems to be flying the Prime Minister's banner.”
At that, Ingrid and Petra exchanged looks of excitement. Then Petra turned back to the scout. “Why are you sounding so nervous? Ferdinand is always being welcome here!”
“I- well, you see-” the scout suddenly went from tense to embarrassed.
“It's alright,” Ingrid stepped in, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and doing her best to flash a reassuring smile. “It's understandable to be nervous about such an arrival coming so suddenly. We'll handle greetings, but if you could help notify the kitchen of the news, that would be appreciated.”
The scout nodded, saluting them both before turning to make his way into the fort proper.
Once he was gone, Petra and Ingrid took a moment to exchange glances full of excitement once again, grins splitting their faces, then took off for the gate. The fact that it would be a race didn't need to be specified. The two of them had been stationed here together for two years now and that time, taken along with that which they had spent together at the academy, had left them quite attuned to one another. They both knew their shared love for competition, and so they leaned into it whenever they could.
Ultimately, Ingrid won the race to the gates, leaving her feeling slightly vindicated after the training course.
“So,” Ingrid said, taking a deep breath after the run. “Why do you think he's here?”
“I am not sure,” Petra said. “We are always sending letters to each other, and to our other friends, but he was never saying anything about coming to visit.”
Ingrid hummed as she considered that. She had also kept up correspondence with their friends from the academy, and Ferdinand hadn't mentioned this to her either. What could be so urgent that he would not only come himself, but have no word sent ahead?
Ingrid filed the thought away for later as, through the open gates, she saw the first few men, beasts, and carts emerge from the treeline. She and Petra stroke forth, waving to their fellows as they stopped halfway between the gate and trees.
The leading members of the caravan paused their progress as what seemed to be a herald emerged from their ranks. Ingrid and Petra exchanged knowing, amused looks as they waited for the man to finish clearing his throat.
“Presenting his excellence, Prime Minister of Adrestia and Duke of the house of-”
“Gerald, what did I tell you?” A familiar voice came from behind the herald, cutting him off. Soon after, the voice was matched to a rider clad in red atop a white horse that emerged from the crowd.
“B-but sir!” The herald wrung his hands. “Your arrival must be announced properly! It is what befits a man of your-”
“Gerald, please,” Ferdinand said, swinging off his mount and landing with a light splash in the mud of the road. “I told you, out here I am more soldier than noble, and these are my friends! I will greet them as befits that distinction!”
“My my,” Ingrid called, walking a few steps closer with Petra following suit. “How humble of his excellence.” She punctuated the statement with a sarcastically low bow, and Petra chuckled beside her. As she came back up, Ingrid saw that Ferdinand had shifted his attention from his over-eager herald and was now walking toward them.
“Honestly,” He said, a beaming smile on his face despite his words. “Will you never let me live down my old ways?”
“No,” Petra said, embracing him as soon as he was close enough. “I do not think we will ever be doing that.”
“Ha, it is good to see you too, Petra,” Ferdinand said, seeming to tighten the embrace briefly before breaking it. He turned to Ingrid, and she felt her own smile grow as he pulled her into an embrace as well. “And what about you, oh most noble Sir Ingrid?” They pulled apart, holding each other at arm's length for a moment as he continued. “Have you no mercy?”
“For you?” Ingrid drawled. “Never.”
“Alas, I am surrounded by traitors!” Ferdinand laughed as he and Ingrid let go of one another's shoulders.
“Happy as we are to see you,” Ingrid replied. “We can't help be wonder about the lack of notice. What's the news, Ferdinand?”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Ferdinand replied, seeming to sober up slightly. “That would be best discussed in private. Would you mind showing me to your war room?”
“Of course,” Petra said, gesturing for Ferdinand to follow them.
On the way they spoke of Ferdinand’s journey and recent work. The road here had been remarkably calm, all things considered, and from the sound of it he’d been in the capital serving the duties of his office on the home front before coming here. All that only made his arrival more intriguing. He’d also apparently been on several expeditions at the behest of Edelgard herself in the last few years. Nothing too major, just him and his personal command, but it did make Ingrid wonder if she might have something planned that required this reunion. By the time they reached the war room, a sparsely appointed chamber in the heart of the fort, Ingrid’s curiosity had risen to a fever pitch.
“Alright,” she asked, closing the door behind them. “What’s the big news, Ferdinand? It’s a pleasure to see you again, but I can’t imagine the prime minister has all the time in the world to travel to the edge of Imperial territory for a social call, especially these days.”
“I am having agreement,” Petra said. “What is happening?”
Ferdinand, for his part, shattered the tension that had fallen in the room when he turned to face them, a massive grin on his face. “You have no idea how happy I am to be the first one to arrive!”
“What?” Petra asked, sounding confused.
“First?” Ingrid added, her tone much the same.
“My friends,” Ferdinand said. “It is my pleasure to inform you that our former classmates are on their way, the emperor included, to join us in re-occupying Garreg Mach Monastery!”
“What?!” Ingrid and Petra both cried the word at the same instant.
“We’re taking the Monastery, and our friends are all coming to join in,” Ferdinand said. “I’m not privy to all the details yet, but Edelgard tells me that she has plans that are best carried out with the monastery as a base of operations.”
“Alright,” Ingrid siad, gears turning in her mind as to what that might mean.
“I do not have understanding,” Petra said. “Why was nobody telling us when we were writing letters? Why was nobody sending messengers to warn us?”
That was an excellent point, Indrid though. Both of them had been in regular contact with their friends the entire time they’d been posted here, and sending word ahead of a large party that included important people to their destination was just common sense.
“Ah,” Ferdinand chuckled. “A bit of fun suggested by Caspar, when Edelgard first sent word to each of us that we would be doing this. He thought it would be amusing for whoever arrived first to surprise you with the good news. Edelgard wasn’t sure about the idea at first, but ultimately Hubert, of all people, convinced her it might be best to keep her movements quiet for the time being anyway.”
“This is going to be a logistical nightmare,” Ingrid groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Even with proper notice, and even assuming each of our friends is only bringing their personal battalions, provisioning and quartering that many additional people here is going to be functionally impossible.”
“Worry not, Ingrid,” Ferdinand siad, placing a hand on her shoulder. “All of us were told to travel with the assumption of encamping and feeding our own forces until we reach the monastery. We won’t place any direct burden on your own rations.”
Ingrid felt the tension ease somewhat from her shoulders. “That is a relief to hear,” she said. “When can we expect the others, and what will the plan be from there?”
“They should all be arriving within the next couple of weeks,” Ferdinand said. “Those of us that arrive first will make camp just outside the walls for the time being. Once we've all gathered, we'll coordinate to march for Garreg Mach.”
“what will be happening to our post here?” Petra asked.
“No long necessary,” Ferdinand said. “We won't need a scouting post to monitor a position we already occupy, and the monastery itself is just as good, if not even better, for dispatching forces to trouble spots.”
It was only then that it really sank in for Ingrid. Everyone was coming together again. They hadn't all served directly under Edelgard since the first year of the war. The needs of a changing empire and the movements of a full-scale war had soon enough pulled them all, each with their specialized skills honed at the academy, to different corners of imperial territory. It would be good to see everyone again. To be at her liege's side, to spar with Caspar again, she was already thinking up questions for the first time that she got a chance to pump Ferdinand for stories from the capital, Dorothea… Ingrid blushed. Best not to think too much on Dorothea just now. It was a surreal feeling, knowing that they would all soon be together again at the monastery. Joyful, but surreal.
Strangely, though, the joy seemed to dredge up other feelings to join it. Memories of less happy goings on in their year at the academy. Memories she'd not dwelled on in years.
“Well,” Ferdinand said, clapping his hands together and snapping Ingrid back to the present. “With that explained, we should all address our soldiers, inform them of the arrangements for now.”
Petra nodded in agreement and, after a moment to gather herself, so did Ingrid. Her mixed feelings could wait. Right now, she had responsibilities as a commander.
—
Later that night, Ingrid sat alone on the edge of the fort's tallest watchtower, one leg dangling over the side as she leaned against a merlon. It had been an afternoon full of hustle and bustle as their garrison did all they could to help Ferdinand's battalion set up camp. That done, they'd rolled straight into an evening of celebration and sharing food and drink to mark the arrival. It had been a great day, but a taxing one.
Now that she finally had a moment alone, Ingrid found her gaze drawn upward. The stars were bright here, brighter even than they had been back in Galatea territory in her youth. Her thoughts had drawn her home many times today, seemingly unaware that she'd prefer not to cast her mind any farther back than the academy. Momentum, she supposed, was a powerful thing, even in one's own mind.
She'd thought of her father and siblings. About how she'd not heard from any of them since her father’s enraged response to her letter telling him of her decision to stand with Edelgard and her cause. Most days, the hole in her heart where her family ought to be was numb. A well healed scar. Today, though, the joy of seeing her friend and more reunions soon to come had served to remind her of the ones she'd almost certainly never get to have. She realized, bitterly, that she no longer even knew if any of them were alive. Odds were good someone had been left home to see to their own affairs, but not knowing left an ashy taste in her mouth.
“Is the night good for star watching?” Petra's voice drew Ingrid’s attention down to the trap door used to access the tower's roof. Petra's head was just barely poking through it, which made Ingrid chuckle.
“As good as nights get here, I suppose,” Ingrid said as Petra pulled herself up.
“Well then, that is very good!” Petra's enthusiasm was just infectious enough to tug the corner of Ingrid's mouth up, if only for a moment.
“What brings you up here?” Ingrid asked as Petra leaned against the merlon across from her own.
“I knew I would be finding you here,” Petra said matter-of-factly, gazing out at the sky and the new encampment.
“Ha,” Ingrid chuckled softly. “Am I so predictable?”
“No,” Petra replied. “But I have been knowing you too long now to not be noticing things.”
“Oh?” Ingrid grinned ruefully. “And what have you noticed tonight, then?”
“You are being excited about our friends coming,” Petra said. “But you are also sad, and I am worried”
Ingrid felt her heart clench slightly at her friend's kindness. “You needn’t worry,” she said. “I'm… just feeling oddly homesick.”
“That is not odd,” Petra countered. “I am missing home often. It can be… hard, to be here.”
“Well, yes, but…” Ingrid cast around for some indirect way to put her thoughts, but then she remembered who she was speaking to. If anyone would appreciate directness, it was Petra. “Well… you didn't betray your homeland.”
Petra suddenly grew stiff for a moment, then her muscles relaxed again. “Did I not?” She asked, the grin she'd worn since coming outside fading into a neutral expression. “I am fighting for the country that was killing… that killed my father. That made us into vassals.”
Ingrid kicked herself internally. She shouldn't have been so blunt! “Petra,” she said, falling quickly into damage control for her friend's feelings as she pushed her own aside. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-”
“Ingrid,” Petra said, her tone making it clear she wanted the other girl to let her speak. “I am saying that not because I am actually believing it. It is true, a little, but I am not letting that doubt stop me.”
“How?” Ingrid asked as her emotions crashed back in, all the more intense for their sudden shifting.
“Because I am not having any choice,” Petra said, meeting Ingrid’s gaze. “Forward is the only way I am ever seeing to go, and so I go.”
“Even if it means leaving everything else behind?” Ingrid asked.
“For now, yes,” Petra said. “But I am knowing this is not forever. One day I will be going back to my homeland. My feeling about where I am now may be mixed, but I am still being… I’m still sure that this is the best thing I can do for my home right now. I am believing in Edelgard. Believing that she will keep her word to treat us fairly.”
Ingrid thought for a moment, then asked the question that weighed heaviest on her mind. “And what of your family, then? What if, say, your grandfather doesn’t approve of what you’ve done here, in the end?”
Petra was silent for a moment, seeming to turn the idea over in her head before finally speaking. “I would be… very sad,” she said. “But even then, I would know I am not being alone. I have been making a new family here, one that I will be seeing the rest of soon.” Petra grinned again then, more rueful this time, but still with her usual warmth behind it. She gave Ingrid the lightest shoulder punch imaginable. “I am even having a sister who worries too much.”
With that, the tension finally broke, and Ingrid found herself convulsing with laughter as tears streamed down her face. Petra joined in quickly, placing a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder to support herself as she doubled over.
Petra was right, Ingrid though. Even though she was fighting for a world that would be better for them all, it still might be that her family would never forgive her. That Would hurt, it would hurt more than anything she had ever experienced, but even then, she wouldn’t be alone.
“So,” Petra said, recovering slightly faster as Ingrid’s giggles finally began to die down. “I have been wondering all day, will you be need me to be picking up your slack when Dorothea gets here?”
“That depends,” Ingrid said, grinning wickedly as she spoke. “Will you need me to pick up yours when Bernadetta arrives?”
They dissolved into laughter again, and they did not stop until their core muscles screamed for mercy.
“Maybe,” Petra finally answered. “We will have to be seeing.”
“Right, then,” Ingrid whipped the tears from her eyes as she stood back up. “Thank you for the talk, Petra.”
“Of course,” Petra said, following an Ingrid made for the trapdoor back into the fort. “It is what sisters do.”
Long after Ingrid had returned to her quarters that night, a smile still lingered on her face.
Sisters.
Mercedes
"Emile!” Mercedes waved as her brother approached from across The dining hall.”
“Hello, Mercedes,” he said, sitting across the table from her. “How are you?”
“I’m quite well, thank you,” Mercedes said, beaming. “And how is my little brother today?”
Mercedes noticed that Emile flinched as she spoke, but before she could comment, he replied. “I am as well as I ever am.”
“Hm…” Mercedes considered where that bar usually sat, then decided she would ask. “Why did you wince before, then?”
“Ah,” Emile said, looking down at his plate. “I am sorry to worry you. It was nothing.”
Mercedes was not convinced, but she let the matter drop, moving on to more typical lunchtime small talk. Clearly, whatever was going on, he did not wish to speak about it just now.
—
“I tell you, Constance, it was the strangest thing,” Mercedes said over tea the next evening. “It was like he flinched when I called him my little brother. I thought we had moved past those sorts of hang-ups, but now I’m not so sure…”
“Oh, Mercedes, I do wish he wouldn’t worry you so.” Constance sipped from her own tea as she nodded in sympathy. “After everything he’s put you through over the years-”
“Now just a minute,” Mercedes said, cutting off what sounded like the start of a tirade. “He’s not put me through anything. At least, not of his own accord.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Constance winced at the chastisement. “I worded that poorly, but I assure you I had no intent to suggest otherwise. Still, though, I can’t help but wish he would refrain from causing you such concern.”
“I appreciate that,” Mercedes said. “But, in the end, I just have to hope we can finally come to terms with everything that’s passed between us, as well as everything that we missed about each other.”
“Indeed,” Constance said. “Though, truth be told, maybe he’d have an easier time 'coming to terms’ with his past if he didn’t seem to resent even the most basic traces of it.”
“What do you mean?” Mercedes asked, cocking her head.
“Well, for example,” Constance said, taking on the air of a consummate gossip. “Just last week, I called him by his real name in private, just the two of us, and yet he insisted I continue with calling him Jeritza. I understand it in public, sure. He’s a general, he has an image and reputation tied to that name to maintain. But among old friends? It’s just rude, to say nothing of how odd it is.”
“Yes,” Mercedes said, absently, wheels beginning to turn in her mind. “Very odd indeed…”
—
As she sat at her desk that evening, Mercedes’ thoughts spun wildly across her time in a small kingdom church. In that time, she had met a great many sorts of people. It was during that time she had discovered her love for other women. She’d even met a girl named Eve with whom she had shared a sweet, young love, though they had kept it quiet, just to be safe.
She had also met a young woman by the name of Lisse. Lisse had come to them seeking healing for a gash in her leg, but was oddly guarded about allowing anyone to access her thigh to help. After the true priestesses had tried and failed to convince her for nearly an hour to be allowed direct access to the leg, Lisse had seen Mercedes off to the side, hand in hand with Eve, observing quietly.
Lisse had said she would allow Mercedes to treat her, but only if they were given privacy. The priestesses had not been happy, but at that point they were willing to try if it meant ending the ordeal.
Once they had the room, Lisse told Mercedes that she would never take a risk like this were her life not in the balance, and that Mercedes could not tell anyone what she was about to see.
Mercedes, confused, had sworn she would not tell anyone, save the goddess herself.
That had drawn a bitter laugh from Lisse, along with a comment about how that was the very least of her concerns at this point. She had then lifted her blood-soaked skirts to reveal a truly nasty cut in her right thigh, as well as… a certain set of parts Mercedes had not expected.
In the process of treating the gash, Mercedes had learned that Lisse was a woman apparently by choice, rather than birth, and that her home community and their local clergy had held a rather dim view of her as a result. She’d run away, from the far northern reaches of the kingdom all the way here, nearly to the border. Once she’d arrived, desperate for a way to support herself, she found that her unusual situation made her quite a rare treat for certain clients at a nearby brothel. The cut, apparently, was from a client that had been dissatisfied when reminded that he had to pay at the end of the night.
After treating the cut, Mercedes and Eve had kept in touch with Lisse, and through her met several others with unusual situations surrounding their genders or love lives. They had all largely lost touch when Mercedes left to attend the School of Sorcery, but she looked back on the memories fondly. It had been a strange little slice of her life, and one kept closely guarded from discovery by those not within it, but it had felt freeing in a way that she’d never experienced before or since.
She found herself dwelling on those days, those people, more than she had in years. Stranger still, she found herself turning over things she had learned during that time and comparing them to the interactions and gossip she’d had recently with and about Emile. The way he’d flinched at the mention of being her brother, taken together with the way that he’d apparently insisted to Constance that he only be called Jeritza….
These were hardly conclusive, and could mean any number of things, but Mercedes couldn’t help but remember Lisse, as well as a few other young ladies like her, that had recounted similar stories or done similar things when they knew one another. If nothing else, it may merit asking a question, when next she had a chance.
—
“Hello, sister,” said Emile… Jeritza? Well that was what she was here to try and find out, she supposed. “What did you wish to discuss?”
Mercedes took a deep breath as her sibling took a seat across from her, pouring both of them some tea to buy time as she steaded her nerves.
“Well…” Mercedes began, setting the teapot back down. “I had a couple of questions I wanted to ask you, though they may sound odd at first.”
Emile cocked his head in a rare display of curiosity, taking a sip of his tea. “Odd in what way?”
“In the sense that, by all rights, you would think I would know the answers already,” Mercedes siad, taking one last bracing sip of her tea before she began. “Before I say anything else, I just wanted to make sure you know that you can tell me to stop any time, and I will.”
Emile tensed at that, but nodded.
“Alright then,” Mercedes set her tea down. “My first question is very simple: what is your name?”
A strained silence hung over the room for what seemed like forever, only broken when Emile finally set down his tea with a gentle clink of cup against saucer.
“You already know my name,” Emile's voice was cold and hard as steel. “Why would you, of all people, feel the need to ask that?”
“Well,” Mercedes spoke as gently as she could. “Constance mentioned that you preferred to use Jeritza, even with only her around to hear or say anything.”
“That…” Emile paused, not meeting her eyes. “That was not meant to concern you.”
“Well it does,” Mercedes pushed, leaning over the table slightly. “I'd rather not cause you distress by using the wrong name.”
“You are using your brother's name,” still he would not meet her eyes. “Why should you worry that it is wrong?”
Mercedes extended an arm across the table, taking Emile's hand in her own. “Because even after plenty of time for the shock of finding one another to fade, you still flinch when I call you my brother.”
Emile shot to his feet, pulling his hand free of his sister's as he went. He turned his back on her, fists balling at his sides as he spoke. “What else would you have me be, then? You know I am a beast that craves blood, but I do not wish to be so for you. What else, then, would you have of me?”
“You are always more than that,” Mercedes's heart broke as she spoke. “And you are always more than what I would have of you as well.”
“But if not your brother, then what!?”
Mercedes rose, placing a hand softly on Emile's shoulder from behind. “Perhaps, if it is what you truly want, you would be my sister?”
Another tense pause, another moment that stretched unto eternity. Then Jeritza shrugged Mercedes's hand from her shoulder.
“You said to tell you when to stop,” Jeritza said. “So, please, stop.”
With that, Jeritza departed, the door slamming shut behind her.
Mercedes sank to her knees, exhausted. Not knowing what else to do, she prayed.
Annette
“Alright, that settles the plan, then.” Edelgard said, looking up from her maps across the table at various members of the strike team. As she went, she assigned each of them various duties to advance their chosen approach. “Annette and Mercedes” Edelgard said, turning to them, “I want you in charge of our mage battalions entering through the eastern gates.”
Annette nodded, half-numb, as she considered the gravity of what they were about to do. This was it. Dimitri was already dead, and now they were preparing to storm the capital. If it weren’t for the steady drum of the rain on the tent above them, Annette wasn’t sure she’d still be grounded at all.
She’d known for some time that this day very well may come, of course. She hadn’t accepted a post so close to Edelgard and their old classmates without considering where it might take her. Even still, it was almost too surreal to finally be here.
It didn’t matter, though. Come sundown tomorrow, one way or another, they would see the end of the war. Whatever she had to do, she would do it. This was it.
—
Never, not even in her wildest dreams, had Annette been ready to be the one taking on her father’s command. She’d told Edelgard as much once, and the conversation sparked from that admission had seen Edelgard promise to never set her against him, should the occasion arise. She had promised, but today she hadn’t known. Now it was far too late.
Annette shouted commands to her soldiers, watching bolts of fire, lightning, wind, and ice fly overhead as she hoisted Crusher into a ready position. Her fighting style had evolved over the last five years, and the weapon, which had always been deceptively light thanks to the magic that flowed within it, was now nearly weightless in her hands. Air began to twist around it as she held steady, then whipped forth into a sharp, focused blast of wind as she drew the head of the relic through the open space in front of her. She tried not to think too much about the cries of those in its path, or the sprays of blood that sprouted in its wake.
“ANNETTE!” The shout came from her left, and she barely had time to sidestep as a throwing axe tumbled through the air directly in line with where her head had been half a second before. It passed close enough to her to take the ends of a few strands of her hair with it. Annette snapped her head in the direction from which the axe and the shout had come, and all too quickly found her father bearing down on her.
No, she thought, backpedaling as she deflected blows from Gilbert’s axe with the haft of Crusher. No, no, no, not him.
Gilbert, for his part, was furious beyond reason and utterly relentless. “How dare you?!” He screamed as he pressed his daughter ever backward. “How dare you show your face here, after everything you’ve done?!”
Annette tried to block another, heavier blow, but it proved too much for her grip to weather, and Crusher was sent skidding across the cobbles, out of reach. Seizing the opening, Gilbert flipped his grip on his weapon, ready to strike again. Without even needing to think, Annette’s hands flew through the motions she had made thousands of times across her studies and later combat drills. A sphere of air so dense that it nearly became solid formed in her palm, and she propelled it into her father’s weapon hand, causing him to grunt in pain as his axe clattered to the street.
Moving with a speed that caused Gilbert’s eyes to widen in shock, Annette summoned a more substantial gust of wind. Gilbert planted his feet and drew in upon himself, maintaining his position, but his weapon was thrown out of the reach of an easy recovery.
Annette could only keep this spell up for a moment, though, and as her wind died, Gilbert renewed his pushing assault. Even without his axe, he rushed and struck with his shield. Annette continued to fall back, probing his defenses with blasts of wind as she went, looking for an opening. It was draining her magic fast, but she had to try and stop him.
She had known since she was very small that her father was a knight of some renown and skill, and these years of war had given her some appreciation for what that might actually mean. Now, as he pushed her to the limits of her skills in this fight, even as old as he now was, she couldn’t help but find herself marveling at the prospect of what he must have been capable of in his prime. It was one of many things she had dreamed of asking him about, someday.
So much for that, she thought.
In her moment of bitter reflection, Gilbert seized a chance, hooking his foot around Annette’s ankle and pulling one leg out from beneath her. She fell, but years of training and battle had honed her reflexes, and she was able to land without cracking her head against the ground.
Even still, Gilbert towered over her, raising his shield high in both hands, looking ready to bring it down and plant its downward point on her neck with enough force to behead her. This, she realized, was it.
With a heavy heart, the world practically slowing to a crawl around her as the sounds of battle seemed to fall away, Annette raised her hand. The entire fight up until now, Annette had held onto some shred of hope that she might be able to incapacitate her father without killing him. As motes of pure force began to coalesce on her fingertips, she felt that hope shrivel up and blow away. She was nearly drained, disarmed, and her opponent clearly was not going to stop any time soon. Not unless he was forced to.
“Sagittae,” Annette practically whispered the word, commanding the motes of raw force to streak forth. They tore into the weak spots in her father’s armor, then deeper, finding the flesh beneath.
Gilbert’s eyes went wide as his arms fell to his sides, his shield clattering to the ground by Annette’s head. As she rose to her feet, her father fell to his knees, his breaths becoming more and more labored.
“You will… never hurt… lady Rhea…” Gilbert gasped out.
Annette felt the tears begin to roll down her face as the battle around her seemed like it was miles away. Her voice began shaking as she spoke. “Is that all you have to say, even now?”
“Did… my duty… as a knight…” Gilbert bent at the midsection now, clutching his gut in pain with his left arm as his right hung uselessly at his side.
“And what about your duty to your family?!” Annette felt it as a very old, very strained dam broke in her chest. Years upon years of bitterness and anger that she'd never truly let herself feel poured forth. “Your duty to my mother as a husband?! Your duty to my uncle as a brother?! Your duty to me as a father?!” Annette’s voice finally cracked over the last word. “Did I never mean anything to you?”
“You… betrayed-”
“Don't give me that!” Annette screeched. “I'm here because of you! Because you thought being a knight was all that mattered! Because you made me think that too! It tore my father from me, ruined our family, and still I wasted years believing in it!”
“How… dare…” Gilbert trailed off, struggling to finish his statement.
“Just stop.” Annette’s voice was soft now, the rage draining away to leave only years and years of heartbreak. “All I wanted, all I ever wanted from you, was for you to care.”
“Annette…” Gilbert choked out, reaching toward her with the last of his strength.
Annette simply turned, sighing. “I'm sorry I had any hope for you.”
As she walked away, she heard Gilbert's body slump to the ground behind her. She didn't look back.