Disclaimer: The Hetalia characters and their personifications belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. 日丸屋 秀和
What Not to do if You are a Knight by Gilbert Beilschmidt:
55.) Do not celebrate until you're sure the fight is won.
'Be Smart'
Taking the second horse, Gilbert quickly made his way back to the field, heading northward toward the forefront of the battle.
Though he was shaken, angry, and stressed from the incident in the woods, he could not allow his frayed nerves to distract him. Battle was not a time for feeling or remembering... Emotions got men killed. Mechanistic strategy was the only sure path to success in war.
"I'll come back for you, West," he vowed out loud, "some day." With that, he forced himself to put the issue behind him. Ludwig would either work his way free or his shouts would inevitably attract the attention of his encampment. Either way, he would rejoin the Teutonic Knights and most likely be withheld from participating in future battles for a while. He would be safe, at the very least.
Gilbert then proceeded to throw himself completely into the carnage before him. The deadly slash of his blade and forceful stroke of his fists were enough to deter most if not all the adversaries who looked his way. Reinvigorated and fueled by adrenaline, Gilbert unleashed a tirade from within, using the battle before him as a distraction to block all outside thoughts.
That's when he heard that vile, shameful call: "RETREAT!" someone yelled.
Gilbert cursed aloud, turning all about, trying to seek out which one of these spineless ingrates called it.
However, through the fading smoke blind, Gilbert saw that the order had not come from any of his men. It was, instead, the Teutonic Knights who had shouted the command.
Desperate cries of "Fall Back! Fall Back!" echoed throughout the valley and, to his disbelief, the men who were fabled to never surrender, began high-tailing it back up the north hill.
He saw them load up two enormous catapults and release their burning loads upon the castle walls; a last-ditch effort he knew the Knights to pull. It was a solitary middle finger on the way out the door rather than a desperate hope to turn the tide of battle.
He felt his lips curl into a crooked, sinfully-delighted smile.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said to himself.
He began to laugh, almost maniacally. "Kesesese! That's right, run you sadistic cowards! Who are the awesome ones now? That's right: The pip-squeak Queen and the three jag-offs who apparently you're useless without! Go piss yourselves you man-babies!"
It was then that the rain finally burst forth from the clouds and began to pour down. The flaming catapults sizzled out and were hurriedly rolled away amidst the flood of retreating men. Cheers arose across the field and rang off the castle walls. Exclamations of "HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH!" uplifted through the air and grew in quantity as more and more men added their voices.
After reveling in the familiar sensation of victory for a few moments longer, watching the last of the Teutonic Crusaders trickle away in the opposite direction of the kingdom, Gilbert finally decided it was time to head back to inform his fellow commanders of their astounding success. Just as he began to turn his torso back in the direction of the castle, a sharp pain halted him as he was struck forcefully in the gut. He suddenly found it very difficult to breathe.
A large Spanish man hoisted him up around the waist and cheered, "Amigo! We did it! They've fallen back! We won! We won!"
Though he felt like his body was about to be snapped in half, Gilbert couldn't help but laugh along too, overtaken by his friend's greater-than-usual level of merriment.
Then, both of them were tackled to the ground by a blond man with chin stubble and a ponytail.
"Mon amis! What a glorious day!" Francis laughed delightedly.
The trio continued rejoicing whilst entangled in their dogpile on the wet ground. They knew full well they were covered in dirt and blood and more than likely had a few wounds that needed attending, but they were alive. They were together, they were safe, they were young and victorious and nothing in the world could have diluted their happiness in that moment.
A small, olive-toned hand tugged the brunette up from the pile of revelers. "You're not dead, are you, idiota?" Lovina asked, checking him over.
"No! I'm not! Isn't it great? I was totally expecting the opposite!" he said with his signature goofy smile.
"A-and you're not hurt either?" The all-too familiar scowl was present on her face but the bitter look could not hide the flicker of concern in her eyes.
He smiled down at her softly. "No, not hurt either."
Lovina nodded, crossing her arms. "Good. I mean, you better not be! Because I still need you..."
Antonio expected her to finish the sentence with the words "to help me become queen" or "to act as my husband" or even just "to help me". But none of those words came. The sentence lingered in the air for a few moments as Lovina pouted and stared intently at the ground. "...I still need you."
What Antonio was certainly not expecting was for Lovina to wrap him in a tight hug. He did not expect the sensation of joy that shot through him when she did so. After his initial shock wore off, he held her back just as firmly.
She said nothing more, and he didn't expect her to. The show of affection lasted only a few precious heartbeats before it ended... but Antonio understood everything she intended through that single embrace.
Gilbert propped himself up on his elbows.
"Hold it, we're missing someone from this little reunion. Where's Liz?"
The others looked around, scanning the smoldering battlefield. They had no answer to that question.
"We... thought she joined you on the field..." Francis offered.
"She did," Gilbert affirmed, "but didn't she make it back?"
He was met with silence.
Gilbert's eyes became intense. "Oi! I said did she ever make it back? She told me she was going straight back to the battlements and-"
His distressed words died in his throat. A realization seemed to dawn over all of them as they became aware of their surroundings.
They were standing in the middle of a field strewn with corpses. They saw bloodstained, broken bodies, wreckage, ash, patches of burning grass... and damn, a lot of bodies. They all felt a wave of panic surge up from their stomachs.
"I'll give the orders to search the grounds," Lovina said quickly.
"Liz!" Gilbert was up and scouring the field in an instant. "Elizaveta!"
"Lizzie!", "Liz!" joined Francis and Antonio.
The battle was over and so was the glory. Men began the heavy task of cleaning up the wreckage. Limp and lifeless bodies were hoisted onto wooden wheelbarrows, discarded arrows were collected for reuse, as were miscellaneous pieces of armor and weaponry. The wounded were carried off the field. Blood mixed with the watery soil as the cold rain continued to flood the valley. All in all, only 39 soldiers were able to walk away unharmed... and one soldier was M.I.A.
As men and servants scavenged wood, returned the animals to their stables, grieved and rejoiced in solidarity, three men searched rather desperately for a missing girl.
A brave girl.
A girl with green eyes.
Gilbert took the northwest side, Antonio took the eastern front, and the servants were ordered to search the interior of the castle and the battlements.
Francis searched the southwest end of the castle grounds along with the stable boys.
That is where he happended upon the collapsed heap of burnt wood which used to be the granary. The pile smoldered and a small portion was still aflame.
Francis regarded the pile for a moment, clicking his tongue at the destruction brought on by war, before turning away to continue his search elsewhere.
Faintly, from somewhere beneath the broken boards, a weak cough sounded.
At the noise, he immediately began ripping the wood and beams away. He called for help and slowly they worked away the darkness that enveloped Elizaveta.
Francis stuck in his hand for her to grab, which she took shakily. He placed a second hand on her arm and pulled, dragging her limp and gasping form free of the mound.
"We found her!" one of the men announced. He cupped his hands around his mouth and repeated the call slightly louder so that it carried across the valley.
Upon hearing the numbing words, Antonio and Gilbert each came running from opposite ends of the field.
Elizaveta could not stand. The tips of her hair were scorched. Her face was cut and bruised. A large shard of wood was wedged in her metal armor, leaving a nasty dent.
Once his two comrades arrived at the scene, Francis gently passed the fragile girl over to the white-haired young man who knelt anxiously beside him.
Gilbert held her close and whispered desperately, "Liz, Liz, are you okay? Dammit, what did I tell you?"
"What the hell kept that pile from caving in on you?" Francis mused aloud.
The men who continued to dig around in the pile halted in their excavation and tugged at something. When they jerked it free, the entire mound of wood collapsed on itself.
As the dust cleared, all eyes saw that the item they had tugged free was a sword...
...And it had been acting as a support beam. Like a soldier beneath a tent, Elizaveta had been crouching under the sword to keep the pile from crushing her.
Gilbert felt at his side and realized that of the two swords he had been carrying (one being his and the other having been confiscated from Ludwig), only one remained attached to his hilt. How hadn't he noticed that before?!
He glanced back down at Elizaveta.
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him and weakly. "'Be smart'," she quoted in a whisper. Then her eyes fluttered shut and her body went limp in his arms.