"Healer!"
Marianne was already running to the throng of people who had entered from the battlefield. Soldiers who managed to escape the chaos carried each other, some well enough that they dropped off their companions and ran back into the fray.
The healers had set up in the dining hall, far too close to the actual fighting. But it was the best they could do.
"Lorenz!" she cried, seeing her friend stumble in, carrying someone.
"Marianne!" he said, relieved. "Here, Leonie's hurt."
Lorenz wasn't doing much better. There was cascade of blood down his face and neck, but it seemed to have stopped for the time being. His ear wasn't in the best shape, though.
But when she looked to Leonie, her hands were already working. The woman was pale, a gash in her chest. Amidst her incantations, her prayers, Marianne asked, "What happened?"
The exhaustion in Lorenz was apparent as he sat down, though clearly not at ease. "It's bad out there. Ignatz saved my life, I almost died. He was bringing me back but they started to push through our lines. He went back to help. Then I heard Leonie scream and stayed to get her." He gripped Leonie's hand protectively. "It's not looking good out there."
Marianne nodded, the blood finally slowing on Leonie's chest. She began to weave White magic, sewing the flesh back together while trying to keep as much blood on the inside of her as possible. "I'm glad you're both safe. Have you heard from the others yet?"
"Raphael was near us, but I haven't seen him for a while," Lorenz murmured. He turned to Leonie. "Will she be okay?"
She said nothing about the ugly, raw scar Leonie would have for decades to come. "I think she's stable. You got her to me quick."
His relief was palpable. Marianne was at his side in a second. "I need to see your ear."
He tried to shrug her off, but Marianne swatted his chest, surprising him. "You're hurt," she said. "I won't watch you bleed."
"Yes, Marianne," he surrendered.
She reattached his ear together, swallowing her nausea at seeing the cartilage.
"Practice not vomiting," Byleth said, rubbing her back in comfort even though she was the one dripping blood from her hand. "Healers need a strong stomach."
Blinking back to the present, Marianne pulled her hand back. "Done. Will you go back out?"
He nodded. "We forced one of the commanders to retreat. If we push, we might turn the tide."
Marianne nodded and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Goddess keep you safe, Lorenz."
"And her protection over you," he replied, putting his hand on hers. He took a last glance down to Leonie, his loyalty wanting him to stay but duty brought him to his feet.
"If you see Hilda…" Marianne trailed off.
Lorenz smiled as best he could. "I'll watch her back."
Shamir carried Catherine in her arms as if she were her bride. The wounds had closed up, messy, but enough for transport. The woman needed a healer.
Rhea.
She growled at the thought. Shamir snuck through enemy lines, scaled a wall of the monastery with Catherine on her back, and abandoned her unit, for this?
Catherine loved Rhea. It'd been foolish of Shamir to deny it, even if she'd been happy for a time because of it.
Shamir swore silently, ducking behind a set of stone steps as a squad of imperials passed by. Catherine moaned softly at the sudden movement.
She couldn't even look at the blonde without her heart tearing asunder anew.
Shamir wasn't fighting this battle for Rhea. No, she'd fought for Catherine. And maybe it was time to move on.
Yes, she'd go to Dagda. There would be plenty of work there for a mercenary, especially with a war in Fódlan. No doubt Dagda would launch an attack on Brigid before long. There was good money in that.
Hell, maybe she could go to Almyra. Or Sreng. Somewhere other than here, this foul country with its knights and Archbishops.
"Shamir?" croaked Catherine.
She looked down at the broken, beaten, utterly battered woman in her arms, into the face of the woman she loved. Yes, love, the damn word she'd be running from since her previous partner's death.
"Sorry," she said, eyes closing again.
The Dagdan nodded, more to herself than the unconscious woman.
The soldiers had passed and she got up again, holding Catherine more gently than she had before.
If her old partner could see her now, they'd never let her hear the end of it. Her, callous and cruel, carrying a woman like a princess. She scowled at the thought of it.
She'd bring Catherine to Mercedes or Marianne or someone, then that was it. She was done with the Church, their fanaticism, and Rhea.
And she was done loving someone. It only led to hurt.
Had she looked down at Catherine, she might have seen how content the woman looked, how safe the soldier appeared. How beautiful she looked, carried like Shamir had imagined carrying her in only her most private dreams.
But she didn't look down.
Mercedes stumbled to the ground, hands pressing against the soldier's leg. Almost as quickly as it had happened, the wound vanished without as much as a scar.
She said nothing, getting back up in the fight as Mercedes flitted to the next person who needed her.
As red as her hands were, they did not shake. A fierce calm had settled over her as the fighting had started, the Goddess giving her the strength to focus.
The Empire, while starting an unprovoked war, at least hadn't abandoned all ethical reasoning. As a healer, she wasn't targeted so long as she didn't attack. Healers generally knew Black magic or offensive White spells, but if they didn't act the aggressor, most armies were trained to leave them alone.
Still, collateral spells had left burns on her arms and other minor lacerations. But Mercedes couldn't let that weigh her down, she had people to help.
"Do you ever think," Byleth murmured with something of a grin, "you might be too nice?"
No, she'd said. The world always needed more kindness.
Light rushed through her fingertips with a prayer on her lips, another soldier's wound closed up. "Thank you," they whispered before getting up to go get killed.
She tried not to think about it. She tried to only think about healing.
"It's the Death Knight!"
She froze, midstep, turning as a black clad figure walked through a naturally parting crowd. Soldiers red and white alike gave him room.
Him, again. Mercedes shivered, taking a step back.
A brave man, or a fool, charged the Reaper. With the same motion that crippled Ignatz for life, the Death Knight swung his scythe out, arcing it around the man's leg and pulling. The sharpened inner curve cut through flesh and bone effortlessly, knocking the man to the stone. With a simple, effortless overhead swing, he ceased moving. The Death Knight continued to walk forward, as if he hadn't snuffed a man's life out.
No, not the Death Knight. Her brother.
Emile.
"Mercie!"
The voice had come from behind her, though she didn't need to turn to recognize it. Annette rushed up to her, a spell on her lips before anything else. The ground around the Death Knight erupted like a volcano, a ragnarok of flame exploding beneath.
Imperial screams rang out as the soldiers ignited, and those spared were hit with flying rock. The destruction was sickening.
"Annie, stay back," she urged, pushing the shorter woman back.
Annette shook her head. "It's too dangerous, Mercie. Seteth called for a retreat to the courtyard for noncombatants."
Mercedes smiled, even amidst hell. "And you came to find me?"
Annette smiled. "Of course."
A low, icy hiss broke through the lingering flame. "Mercedes." The 's' was drawn out, long and haunting.
Albeit singed, the Death Knight stepped from the conflagration, armor charred and bent, but otherwise unhurt.
"Emile!" she shouted out. "Emile, is that you?"
He stopped. Every Church soldier was far too terrified to approach and his sight was only for her. Raising a hand, he pulled his helmet off.
"Professor Jeritza?" Annette gasped.
"Emile, why are you doing this?" Mercedes pleaded, stepping forward. "You know this is wrong. These people, they have no ill will towards you!"
He looked at her with eyes that she'd never imagined could ever look so cruel, so similar to her own in a mirror. It was a look she'd never expected in any fantasy of meeting her brother. It terrified her.
Her brother took a long look at her. "Emile is dead," he spoke in a monotone. Slowly, he put the helmet back on, content with whatever he'd seen. "Surrender," his voice muffled again, "and perhaps I'll make your death swift."
"Emile, no!" she cried, making to run to him. And she would have too, if Annette hadn't pulled back on her shirt in time.
The scythe swung out, catching the air in front of her with a whistle. Had she been a step closer, her head would be on the ground.
"You leave her alone, you meanie!" Annette cried with a wave of her hand. A titanic bolt of lightning dropped from the sky, hitting the scythe first and running through the rest of his armor.
Emile dropped to one knee as the electricity coursed through him. But only for a moment, and the next he was on his feet, leaping forward.
They'd be dead if not for Annette's quick thinking as she detonated a ball of fire at point blank range. The shockwave from the spell flung them backwards, burned, but safe.
Mercedes batted a fire out with her hand on her shoulder. "Annie, are you okay?" She coughed up some smoke.
Annette groaned, but nodded. Her hair flared with cinders, but she was alive. One of her arms hung limp, broken from the force of the explosion.
Magic was on her lips before she realized. She quickly set Annette's arm back where it should be, a scream from her friend following. The warm pulse of light flittered from her fingers, connecting with Annette's skin.
An armored foot kicked Mercedes in the stomach.
She skid several feet before hitting the ground, knocking her head and seeing stars. Blood filled her mouth, having bit her tongue. On instinct, White magic closed the wound and she tasted iron. With bleary eyes, she looked for her friend.
Emile—no, the Death Knight—picked Annette up, hand around her neck. He looked straight at her, the firelight giving her just enough sight to see his eyes behind the mask.
There were no words, just Annette's pleas as he began to choke her.
"Annie!" she shrieked and began to weave a spell. Just as the fireball was conjured and about to leave her grasp, the Death Knight moved Annette's body in front of him.
Mercedes slashed her hand through the last motion of the sigil, shattering the spell and making it fly haphazard to the side.
"Drop her!" roared a lion.
Dimitri, free of whatever position Seteth had relegated him to, leapt at the Death Knight, jumping from a set of stairs with his lance. The Death Knight threw Annette to the side, colliding with a crumbling stone structure, as he raised his scythe to intercept the blow.
Mercedes paid no attention. She scrambled up to her feet, making a mad dash to Annette, tripping over her own feet.
"No no no no," she mumbled, collapsing beside her best friend. "Annie? Annie!" Pressing her hand gingerly to Annette's neck, White magic left her hand.
And found no purchase on Annette.
"No, no!" screamed Mercedes. She tried again, trying to heal the bone that was broken. "Annette!"
There was no response.
"NO!" Mercedes wailed, collapsing onto her body, weeping.
When Edelgard finally walked through the gate her soldiers had secured, Dorothea was tapped. Her magic was all but exhausted, barely a flicker to her flame left.
Her robes were in shreds, burned, cut, ruined in every way imaginable. Were she a bit vainer, she might have cared.
Far behind her, back in the monastery proper, a fireball sailed straight into the sky, a crackling firework that exploded in the night sky. The signal to retreat, that the battle was lost.
Edelgard's army, and the woman herself, seemed to realize what that mean. They surged forward, pressing all the harder against the battalion Dorothea stood with.
Wings flapped and a wyvern crashed into the ground between where Edelgard stood and the surviving Church soldiers. The rider jumped from its back, holding a lance of sparkling silver, one she recognized as the Spear of Assal.
Seteth stood in front of the Adrestian Emperor and her army, and she stopped advancing.
"Can we put this to rest, Seteth?" she said, almost tired. Regal and authoritative she looked, her tone brooked no joy at the violence.
The commander of the Church's forces slowly shrugged off his vestments, leaving him in only chain mail over a cotton shirt.
The Church forces were beginning to pull back, though those closest to Seteth seemed to wonder whether they ought to remain. Dorothea had no qualms, starting to ease back out of the clump of people she stood in.
"Lady Edelgard von Hresvelg!" Seteth called, drawing all eyes back to him. "In sight of the Goddess and people of this world, I sentence you to die. For your crimes against the Church, against Fódlan, you cannot be allowed to continue on your conquest."
Edelgard said nothing, deigning only to lift her axe at the ready.
Seteth raised the Spear aloft, its sheen glinting in the light of the fires. "Soldiers, people of the Church! Retreat is not defeat, not when the Goddess herself protects us."
"Your false goddess will not save you here," Edelgard responded, voice carrying. "This war ends as soon as it has begun."
Speaking so quietly, Dorothea could barely make out the words Seteth said. "Seiros, Macuil, Indech, Cethleann, I pray you are with me. Grant me strength, my family."
The right hand of the Archbishop slammed the butt of the Spear on the ground and it ignited with light. No longer did Seteth hold a lance—no—he held a column of golden light, brilliant with its splendor.
"Your Goddess watches over you," Seteth shouted, voice deeper. "Her Saints have not forsaken you."
Edelgard moved faster than she ever had in the training yard, making to strike Seteth down with one blow. But he met her attack with equal speed, moving like a man twenty years younger.
Soldiers ran forward, brazen by the holy light, and met their foe with furor. Not Dorothea, she turned tail and fled. She wasn't the only one, but she was the minority.
Just as she made it to the steps, she saw her. Mercedes, kneeling on the ground as Prince Dimitri fought a dark figure wildly. Her eyes barely paused on the prince, instead honing in on the woman she loved.
Her heart moved her legs, running back into danger to her side.
"Mercie!" Dorothea shouted. "We need to go!"
Mercedes said nothing, only stroking the cheek of a body that Dorothea was only able to identify up close. Annette's neck was tilted at an impossible angle, blood still oozing from the back of her head and a dozen wounds across her body.
She was dead.
"Mercedes," breathed Dorothea, sliding down beside her. "You need to come with me."
She made no effort to go, so Dorothea grabbed her, throwing her over her shoulder. The woman didn't resist. Rather, she made no response at all.
"If you see someone go into shock on the battlefield, you get them out of there," Byleth told her.
As her teacher taught her, so she did.
Byleth had been given the mission no one else had been trusted with. Protect Rhea.
Gone was her ceremonial garb, replaced with cheap merchants' finery. Drab enough not to draw attention, posh enough to warrant not killing if attacked.
Her charge had been quiet, which was perfectly fine with Byleth. Rhea traveled amidst the evacuating populace of Garreg Mach, just another refugee to the eyes of the ignorant. Alois was nearby, helping her oversee the evacuation. She suspected he had guessed Rhea was amongst them.
"Eisner," the Archbishop said quietly, punctuating the rift between them. "It is far more important you escape here alive rather than I."
"Is that so?" Byleth replied, neutral. No one paid attention to their exchange, fear running rampant with the sounds of distant fighting.
"Your hair, that is a sign of the Goddess," she hissed. "I implore you, whatever your dislike of me, that you do not ignore that. You are blessed by her."
Byleth made to reply, but an explosion resounded from the monastery. She whirled around, Sword of the Creator already in her hand. Smoke curled from one of the high towers. Her eyes narrowed. If she wasn't mistaken that was—
"My chambers," Rhea whispered, a note of fear in her voice. "It seems the Empire seeks my head." To Byleth, it sounded like wonder, as if Rhea couldn't believe what she was seeing.
There were no further signs through the dark of night, the low roar of battle continued from afar undeterred.
"We should move," Byleth urged, pressing a hand to Rhea's back. She nodded and they began to push their way through the throng of people.
Then, the worst happened.
"Demonic beasts!" cried a distant voice, no doubt part of the vanguard.
Alois, to his credit, reacted fast. "Knights of Seiros, we protect the civilians! Let no beast near them. For the Goddess!"
Byleth bit her lip, then grabbed Rhea's hand, pulling her to the side. "C'mon!"
Rhea looked to the people, her flock, the weak and vulnerable. Hurt flashed in her eyes before she nodded, understanding. "Right."
Together the two women broke from the evacuating force. Claude had floated the idea that the Empire might attack civilians, but Seteth had disagreed. Byleth had too. Unprompted the war may be, it didn't fit Edelgard's thesis to kill the defenseless. So she knew Rhea was using the people as a cover.
The moon dipped out of a cloud, shining the ground with pearlescent light. Byleth looked up, then around. For now, they seemed safe.
"Do you think they'll be safe?" Rhea murmured, eyes fixed on her flock.
No, she didn't say. "Alois will see to it," she said instead. That was true, at least.
She nodded, accepting the answer. But that nod froze as a demonic beast growled. It was close, but not on top of them yet.
Byleth pulled Rhea behind an outcropping of rock and poked her head out. Some two hundred feet away, one of the masked abominations stalked, disinterested with the horde of people and seemingly focused on something else.
Them, perhaps.
Byleth swore softly. She had a plan, but it wasn't a good one. Turning to Rhea, she pressed the dagger at her belt into her hands. "I know you can defend yourself, take this. I'm going to lead them away. See if you can make for Alois or away from here."
"Byleth, no!" Rhea said.
She chuckled darkly. "You're the important one here. The war will end if you die. I might not be fond of you, but I'm not an idiot."
Byleth dashed towards the beast before Rhea could respond, holding the Sword of the Creator aloft as it glowed as brightly as when she struck down Solon. It flared in the night, a guiding light for the demonic beasts to come like moths to a flame.
And come they did. There were more than she had seen. Perhaps too many. But she did not falter.
No, Byleth Eisner never did, from the first strike, to the last.
Claude wheezed as he picked himself up from where the explosion landed him. He'd feel those bruises in the morning. Damn mages, them and their destruction, the wry side of him thought. The burns he'd gotten from Aelfric in their fighting did him no favors either.
Aelfric brushed some dust from his black robes as he looked into the interior of the Archbishop's quarters. Claude's vision was still fuzzy, but even he could see anger on his face.
The bow he'd brought with him was bent and the string snapped, resting on a pile of stone across the grassy terrace. But there was a knife in the back of his belt.
Perhaps he could reach it. Coughing, he taunted, "Not finding what you want, Aelfric?"
The man swiveled to him, snarling, "Where is she? The plan was to have her here where she'd be safest."
Claude had thought so too. But Seteth must have had other ideas, ones he deigned only tell a select few. Or maybe no one at all. But Aelfric didn't need to know that. "Seteth fooled you, huh? Guess that's why we went with the plan."
"So, you know where she is," Aelfric presumed, incorrectly. He raised his hand, black fire dripping from his fingers like sludge.
It was a gamble, one he hoped would keep him alive. "Damn right I do," he grinned. "Spare me a moment to revel in your stupidity, won't you?"
The ball of flame landed near Claude's head, hissing as it melted rock like acid, devouring what had once been a piece of Rhea's room.
"You know where I'm going next, Riegan?" Aelfric's lips curled. "I have orders to exterminate that professor of yours. The one assisting with the evacuation efforts."
Claude's blood ran cold.
"Oh? Touched a nerve?" he chuckled, spinning another web of flame in his hand, as malevolent as before. He took a step towards Rhea's room, his back to the disarmed lord. "Pity I can see the evacuation from here. Perhaps I ought to kill them all, just to make sure I get her."
He grabbed the knife from his belt and flung it at Aelfric as best he could from the ground. His aim was true, the whisk of silver soaring through the remnants of flame and rubble right at the deceiver.
The flame in Aelfric's hand coalesced and ate the blade, weapon passing into his hand and vanishing entirely. Behind Aelfric, a pile of boulders toppled, but the mage was too preoccupied to notice.
"My turn," Aelfric laughed. With a wave of his hand, Claude's feet lit alight, only there was no brightness, just a sucking vacuum of all light. Flames scoured his boots, eating right through his boots.
"Tell me," he seethed. "Tell me where Rhea is."
Claude swore a string of curses in Almyran, far too blind with pain to think. "Seteth!" he screamed, kicking his boots off. But the flame didn't relent.
"Oh?" Aelfric asked, putting a hand up to his ear. "What was that?"
"She's with Seteth," he gasped, an entire guess on his part. He hoped he was wrong, but he had no idea. All he could focus on was the lie, making it at least believable.
"Hmm," Aelfric doused the fire. "That would be prudent of him, to keep an eye on her. Well done, Claude, you've earned yourself something of a quick death." Aelfric raised his hand, the mask replacing his face again, showing the cold pale man who bore too many similarities to Aelfric. He clenched his hand, a motion to kill.
"Hyah!" shouted Ferdinand, emerging from the cover of rubble and slashing at Aelfric with his sword.
Claude tried to stand, to help, to do something, but he toppled over. Fortune was on his side, for Ferdinand needed no hero to save him.
Aelfric leapt back, the sword only slicing a shallow cut in his side. A circle of darkness began to amass beneath his assailant, tendrils reaching up and grabbing at Ferdinand's feet.
But he did not back down. With a longer reach than Aelfric expected, Ferdinand reached out and slashed at the man's casting hand, severing it midway to the elbow.
Three things happened simultaneously. The spell's concentration broke, sending Ferdinand tumbling to the ground. Aelfric screamed in pain and began waving a hand to cast again. And the hand flopped against the grass, oozing blood.
A purple aura engulfed Aelfric and he disappeared with a warping spell, his screams along with.
"Ferdinand!" Claude shouted.
His savior was at his side, grabbing Claude. "I came when I saw the explosion," Ferdinand said, exhausted, but satisfied. "I'm glad I got here when I did." He picked Claude up bridal style. "Come, we need to get out of here."
Claude laughed, more out of relief than any kind of humor. "Thank the Goddess you made it Ferdinand. And I never thank her for anything."
That drew a chuckle from him as he took Claude and escaped from the wreckage.
By the time Claude and Ferdinand arrived at the rendezvous point, Ignatz, Lorenz, and Leonie had already beaten them.
It was a small clump of trees on the outskirts of the monastery. North of the battle, the Deer had hoped it'd be a safe place to meet if the battle went south.
"Claude!" Ignatz shouted with relief. Next to him, the tension in Lorenz' shoulders swept away. Even the barely conscious Leonie managed a halfcocked smile.
The heir to the Alliance stumbled off the horse, feet still wracked with pain. But it did not deter him. "Are you all okay?"
Ignatz nodded, though his leathers were blood-soaked. Thankfully it didn't seem to be his.
Lorenz was in a similar state, but his focus was on Leonie. Claude's eyes drifted to the woman. Her attire was ripped and sundered with bandages wrapping around her torso.
"How is she?" Ferdinand asked.
"She'll live," Lorenz said with a sigh. "It was…bad, for a while. Marianne fixed her up though."
Through her haze, Leonie mumbled, "I ain't out yet, Claude. Throw me at them."
He chuckled and crouched by her, taking a closer look at her injuries.
"Ferdinand, you make it fine?" Lorenz asked, tearing his eyes away from her.
The man nodded. "I was on the east side. After the walls fell, it wasn't as horrible as it could have been. We held for a while before retreating."
Lorenz' reply was lost with the thumping of hooves. They all looked to the noise as a black clade figure rode in with a bright pink.
"Guess this is it," Sylvain said, holding out a hand for Hilda to take. She did so, slipping off the horse.
"Goneril!" Claude cried theatrically. "You're not dead!" He joked, but his relief was palpable.
"Just a few chipped nails," she responded in kind. "Where's Marianne?"
"Not here yet," Ignatz said, casting a worried glance back to the monastery, lit up by the fire in the distance.
"Has anyone seen her?" she asked.
"Yes," nodded Lorenz, "about an hour ago. Maybe more. She was safe then with the healers."
"Hilda," Sylvain said, grabbing her attention. "I'll look for her."
"Sylvain, you can't—" Claude started.
"Felix is still there," Sylvain said, distant. "So is my king. I'm going back."
No one tried to stop him as he turned his horse around and vanished into the woods.
"The Alliance needs to know, Claude," Lorenz said. "We can't lose time. Edelgard could bring war to our doorstep after this."
"I'll go," he said, "once we find Byleth and the others." Claude looked around. "Transportation will be an issue…"
"I'll take you," Ferdinand said without hesitation. "I swore myself to you. I intend to keep that vow."
Lorenz nodded, approving. "I'll make my way to Gloucester. I can take Leonie to her village once she can move. I can trust you to delay my father until I return."
"Isn't that what friends are for?" Claude teased. Lorenz rolled his eyes.
Hilda huffed. "I suppose you'll be wanting me to talk to Holst? Well, I'm not leaving here without Marianne."
A few minutes passed by before bushes rustled. Ferdinand drew his sword and crept towards the noise, relaxing once he got close enough.
Raphael hulked out from the foliage, supporting a broken arm with his free hand. His face was scrunched in pain, but he sported a smile.
"Hey everyone," he said, out of breath. "Don't suppose we have any food here?"
Claude walked up and put a hand on his shoulder, mindful of the arm. "Glad to see you, big guy. What happened?"
His face drew dour. "Caspar messed me up pretty good. He was…stronger than before." Raphael walked right up to Ignatz and gave him a big one-armed hug. "You okay, Ig?"
"Never better," the smaller man laughed. "The blood is someone else's. Most of it probably Lorenz', actually."
"You're the one who shot me," complained Lorenz' without any real bite. Ignatz laughed.
"The others?" Raphael asked.
"Don't know," Claude answered. "Though, Byleth was with the refugees, helping protect them. Hopefully she's okay."
Hilda waved a hand. "Please, she can take care of herself. I'll bet she isn't here because she can't leave them."
Claude silently agreed, though he still felt uneasy.
In the distance, a horn blew. Imperials. Closer than he'd like.
"We shouldn't stay long," Lorenz murmured, mirroring the rest's confliction. "They'll sweep to this area, looking for fleeing soldiers."
It didn't sit well with any of them, but his words had merit.
"Raph, we should make sure our homes are okay. Once we make sure the others are safe," said Ignatz.
The bigger man nodded solemnly. "Gotta make sure your folks and Maya get out okay. They aren't too far from the border."
Another horn in the distance. Claude swore. "We can't stay here."
Fortune favored them, as a horse nickered nearby. Heads turned to see an entirely too calm Marianne arriving on Dorte.
"Marianne!" Hilda shouted, at her side in seconds. "You had me so worried!"
Hilda nearly tackled her off the horse in a hug as Marianne laughed. "Sorry, Hilda, but I couldn't leave Dorte."
"You and that horse," huffed Hilda. "I was worried."
Despite the fear in her voice, Hilda was calming down at the sight of her love. It also may have had to do with the countless kisses she was showering Marianne with. Claude couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy and glance around for Byleth like she would magically appear.
"Get a room!" Leonie called, giggling to herself as her words slurred some. Some of the others laughed, but Claude's eyes narrowed. Did the woman have a concussion?
Marianne apparently had the same idea. She managed to push Hilda off her (only for her lover to latch onto her arm) and went to examine her.
"Has anyone seen Dorothea or Mercedes?" Ignatz asked. Heads shook and his eyes fell.
"Before you ask," Hilda said loudly, interrupting Claude as he was about to speak. "Marianne is not going back to Edmund. She's coming with me. She's not going back to her father."
That hadn't been what Claude was going to say, but he nodded nonetheless. "I understand. Promise me you'll talk to Holst?"
She nodded. "I'll annoy him to death. Just write me to know what you want. So long as it isn't stupid, I'll do it."
"That's the Hilda I know," Raphael chuckled. Hilda stuck her tongue out at him.
Another horn.
"We need to go," Lorenz urged. "Now."
Claude nodded, resigned. "Everyone know where we're going?" There were nods all around. "Marianne, take a look at Raphael's arm before you leave."
"Of course," Marianne said, standing up from Leonie, satisfied with the work she'd done. The woman looked peaceful, relief painted across her face as she slept.
"We should be able to steal a horse," Raphael thought aloud. "With Ig's leg, that's our best bet."
"Let's steal from imperials," Ignatz suggested. "I certainly don't want to steal from anyone innocent." Raphael agreed.
Before anything else could be decided, their final two students trudged into the clearing. Dorothea supported Mercedes, though the latter seemed to have no wounds.
"Dorothea!" Hilda cried. "Mercedes!"
Dorothea mustered a half smile. Mercedes looked despondent, staring ahead, not seeing anyone.
"Is she…?" Claude trailed off.
The songstress looked down. "Annette's dead."
The shock rang like a physical blow to everyone there, Marianne tearing up.
"Are you sure?" Lorenz asked.
"Yes." There was no arguing the tone in Dorothea's voice.
"Soldiers are getting closer," Claude said quickly. "Ig and Raph are going to southern Leicester, Hilda and Marianne are going to Goneril. Lorenz and Leonie are headed to Gloucester. Ferdinand and I to Riegan to ready the Alliance. Any of us can get you a place to stay, or—"
"We're going north, to Faerghus," Dorothea said, holding Mercedes closer to her, protective. "She…I think she needs her family." With a dry smile, she continued, "And I've got nowhere to go now, might as well go with."
"Are you sure?" Lorenz asked, concerned. "We're a herd, we should stick together."
Dorothea smiled. "I'll take care of her, I promise. We'll make our way to Leicester when we can."
"Shit, it'll have to do," Claude said. "The longer we wait, the more danger we're in."
"And the professor?" Dorothea asked, looking around and not seeing her.
Claude clenched his fist. "We…she'd want us to get to safety. She's with the refugees, she'll be okay." It felt like a lie he was telling himself.
Grim nods of agreement came in response.
"Alright, Golden Deer, I expect letters from each of you once you get where you're going," he said, making eye contact with each. "Or else come to Derdriu, you will always have a home there."
Claude looked back over his shoulder, one final look at the monastery in flames, ravaged by the just beginning war.
We'll be back, he vowed.
Author Notes: Lacrimosa is Latin for weeping, as well as a part of the Dies Irae.
Wow, so uh, we made it. There's a lot going on in these two chapters. I joked with myself that I'd write a 15k War chapter and uh, I nearly did. I was not expecting to actually clock in that high.
So the obvious question is, what's next? Onto Part 2! But we have a timeskip to do first. This will take the form of five chapters, each focusing on a pair of characters. We'll cover some of the main cast, maybe a little extra.
Editing Notes:
5/8/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.
10/30/2021: Minor stylistic changes.