The multi-faceted nature of covering three armies duking it out led to a bit of an unwieldy writing process for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. There are shifting perspectives to a whole lot of characters in a lot of different places than usual, and a many of them have not been introduced because of my story so far.
As a result, I talked it over with my editor and we decided the battle would be more palatable if it was split into two chapters.
I don't want to slow the pace of the story down too much however, so I'm going to be dropping part two as a bonus chapter on Monday while continuing with the plot as usual next Friday! If you're reading this well in the future that distinction won't matter, but I figured I would be upfront on my thought process.
Enjoy!
Part 1 — Wyvern Moon
Six months after the school year had begun at Garreg Mach, it was time for the future leaders of Fódlan to demonstrate what they had learned through battle: The Battle of the Eagle and Lion.
The traditional contest would be held at Gronder Field. This fertile area of the Adrestian Empire, now known as the breadbasket of Fódlan while under the domain of House Bergliez, was the setting of much turmoil in the past. Most notably when Saint Seiros defeated the armies of Nemesis, the King of Liberation.
In order to reach the mock battlefield, students and faculty crossed the Airmid River — a border between the Adrestian Empire and Leicester Alliance — over the Great Bridge of Myrddin. It was a long journey, but once they arrived it would not take long for the three houses to prepare for combat.
The sounds of battle across Gronder Field were diffused by heavy winds from 400 feet, where Ingrid's Pegasus hovered. She kept the flying white steed as steady as she could while Ashe nervously clung onto its saddle just behind her.
"Are you sure this is okay Ingrid?" He asks in a warbling tone that was exacerbated as Ashe tries to be heard over the wind.
"She seems okay with it! Don't you girl?" Ingrid responds as she pets her Pegasus' mane. "Besides you've got the sharpest eye in our army, Ashe. I couldn't come up with half as good a scouting report as you could from this angle."
"I… I suppose…" The grey-haired boy mutters reluctantly as he tightens his arms around Ingrid's waist before looking down at the ant-sized soldiers running about.
The Battle of the Eagle and Lion had only just begun when Byleth sent the two on this scouting mission. All the houses had been told were each other's starting positions: Blue Lions to the north past a small river, Golden Deer to the southeast in a tree-dotted grove and Black Eagles to the southwest around a fortified hilltop.
How each army utilized those natural defenses was up to their leaders, which made gathering information as invaluable a use of time as it would be during a real war.
From a high altitude, it was easy to see why Gronder Field was chosen as the Academy's mock battleground for this yearly tradition. It was a microcosm of a divided continent, encapsulated in a bowl of sheer cliffs that allowed spectators to see fighting rage on in all parts of the valley at once; as Archbishop Rhea, Seteth and a myriad of other faculty and students did now.
"I'm starting to think you're more cut out for knighthood than I am if this doesn't freak you out," Ashe says as he looks back up at his driver's blonde hair.
This time Ingrid returns his gaze with a teasing scoff.
"Please, Ashe. You know just as well as I do that flying isn't the end-all-be-all of knighthood."
"But it does give you more of a niche in Dimitri's court should you want it."
Ingrid's happier expression falters.
"It's not all about 'want,' Ashe." She clears her throat and looks ahead, trying to get a good look at the Black Eagles' hill. "We've talked about this."
"Oh." The boy's freckles pop out as his cheeks run red. Her sentiment upset him as much as it had the last time they talked about trading off dreams for responsibilities, but he was in no better place to argue the point now. "Right."
A brief silence lingers between the two until Ingrid feels the guilt of shutting her friend down so quickly run up her neck, raising hairs as it goes.
She looks back at him while attempting to bring back her smile.
"If you're really feeling that nervous about finding a place, just remember Kyphon. He never flew on a Pegasus, but his loyalty brought favor with the King. I imagine you of all people can pull the same kind of strings with Dimitri."
Ashe can tell her smile was a cheap facsimile.
But even though the words came from a place of defeat, in which Ingrid believed she would have to live her dreams vicariously through him, he was still comforted by her encouragement.
"Well, I guess you're right." Ashe offers her a warm smile. "Yet I still think—"
The sharp whistle of a feather-ended arrow whizzes by the Pegasus' right wing, leading the animal to start flying about with a panicked whinny. Ingrid turns her more serious-faced attention to calming her steed and getting them back on track.
"We can talk about this later," she says in a commanding tone. "What's on us?"
Ashe already has his eyes glued down on the forested end of the battlefield, where he heard the arrow fly up from.
Before he can say anything, another projectile whizzes past their left wing.
"That was far too quick to be the same person," Ashe remarks as he tightens the grip of his legs. He lets go of Ingrid so he could draw his own bow. "The Golden Deer must have brought two archers."
"Right." Ingrid nods before spurring her Pegasus so it cries out and starts flying. "Good enough for me. I'm taking us down before one of those arrows does."
"I'll cover us!" Ashe nocks an arrow to fire as they descend.
From the ground, Gronder Field was more of an obstacle course than a continental microcosm. Wars fought hundreds of years ago scarred the ground with man-made barriers to bolster the natural landmarks; the most prominent of which being a series of wooden spike walls running up the northern face of the Black Eagles' hill and a ballista built onto a ziggurat that fortified the rock formation in the center of the map.
However these structures looked as frivolous as playground equipment with the young students of the Officers Academy running about, toys of war at the ready.
There was no better example of this than slight-framed Bernadetta. The typically reclusive purple-haired archer for the Black Eagles was sent to capture the central hill as soon as the battle began. Edelgard knew she could move quickly.
Once she took that advantageous point, Bernadetta began lobbing ballistae fire into the Golden Deer's woods. The Adrestian heiress knew Claude's army had the highest concentration of long-range fighters in the school and wanted them distracted so her more combative forces could advance.
The purple-haired girl mutters to herself while attacking, hoping to stave off the nagging thoughts of potential dangers literally all around her.
"Alright Bernie, doing good." Her voice is raspy as she keeps it down for her personal pep talk. "Just a few more shots and you can go."
She closes her eyes and covers her head after lobbing another projectile into the woods. The loud crash rustles a few trees and sends flocks of birds flying off.
"Nobody's going to… To stab you or… Um… Yeah, you're good! You're all good." A slightly crazed laugh escapes as she scrambles to get another ballista shot. "Soon you can go back to your room and everything will be fine."
While she struggles to drag the giant arrow over to her mounted weapon, an imposing figure in bulky armor crests the top of the ziggurat from the north. His exposed white hair and dark face were glaring above the sleek grey plating.
"Ah!" Bernadetta screams as she drops the encumbering projectile.
She quickly pulls her bow off its strap and backs away from the mountainous man from Duscur. He appeared to be more concerned by her fear if anything, even though his sharp axe was drawn and ready.
An arrow is loosed, but bounces harmlessly off of Dedue's chest armor. He looks down at the barest scuff in the plating with no reaction.
Bernadetta whines fearfully and starts shuddering, her body shutting down. She squats and lets her bow drop to the floor so she can hide her head in her arms.
"Ahhh… P-Please don't hurt me Dedue!"
The armored knight looks over his shoulder and shrugs, and then lets his axe head sink casually to the floor.
"I assure you, I had no intention of doing so."
His voice is gentle and assuring, but does nothing to calm the girl's gentle sobs. Dedue expresses his newfound dismay with a quick glance at Sylvain, Byleth and Flayn as they join him at the top.
"Geez. You have to be so tough on the poor girl, Dedue?" Sylvain teases as he settles next to the armored knight with a pale, boney spear by his side.
"Perhaps my boot steps were too intimidating for a training exercise," Dedue responds with a bit too much of a serious, contemplative tone. Sylvain sighs and pats his shoulder.
Meanwhile, Byleth and his newest student approach Bernadetta. The instructor kneels in front of her, trying to catch her downward gaze.
"It's okay Bernadetta, we're done here."
The purple-haired girl peeks through her fingers toward the calm, nigh-emotionless voice.
"There's no need for us to fight," he continues. "And I certainly don't think we have to capture you."
"And please, do not cry!" Flayn looks down at her with a bubbly smile, hands folded in front of her waist as the twin drill-shaped cones of lime green hair framing her face bounce with every movement. "You fought ever so valiantly. It's quite a shame to see you so upset."
Bernadetta sniffles back her sobs and tries to wipe her face clean before standing up. Her knees were still visibly knocking together.
"I-I'm sorry… Um… I'll just make my leave." She takes a deep bow, trying to hide any fear and embarrassment with her scruffy, unkempt hair. "Good luck Professor."
With that, the archer turns tail and runs down the ziggurat's west-facing stairs so she can make her way off to the Black Eagles' supporters standing around the hilltop. Byleth stands to watch her abscond, a hand on his hip while the other grips the Sword of the Creator on his belt.
"Such a shame," Flayn laments with a sigh. "If her nerves had not gotten the best of her, I would have been happy to let her stay here with us."
Byleth nods in agreement.
Feeling a tap on the shoulder, he soon turns back in the direction of the ballista. Dedue is there, towering over his instructor.
"If you would excuse me, Professor. I would like to join his Highness on the eastern front. It's the only way I can assure his utmost safety."
Byleth agrees with a simple nod and a raised hand. Yet before Dedue can get too far, Ingrid's Pegasus lands near the crowd and drops off Ashe; clearly still shaken-up, with hair blown out by the wind.
"Just be careful on the approach," the blonde rider says. "They've got a couple archers, and I believe we caught some of Lysithea's black magic through the foliage."
"Understood."
Dedue leaves them all with a collected response.
The Professor then looks around at the rest of the group. Ashe takes a few cautious steps to make sure he can walk on land again before commandeering the ballista. Ingrid flies again, looking to circle over the battlefield like a watchful vulture.
Sylvain draws more attention to himself with a few boisterous calls to his friends and teammates, and then moves to the top of the south-facing stairs.
"You guys ready?" He asks with a sharp-toothed grin that elicits a confused look from Flayn, and a blank stare from Byleth. The skeletal Lance of Ruin in his grip is raised skyward, and then the red gem encased at the base of its spear tip flares to life.
"You're not gunna want to miss this."
At the southern base of Gronder Field's central structure, two cavaliers were doing battle.
Their movements created the shape of a flower, with each gallop away slowing into a trotting curve so they can face one another again. Each petal-shaped change in momentum led the two into yet more jousts, despite the fact that a number of them had resulted in no ground for either side.
That said, each clash of their lances was magnificent in-and-of itself. For a brief moment; with their war cries dulled by the rushing wind that pulled back their orange hair as they raced into combat; they were one — in spite of the richness of their blood.
"Just give up now Leonie," calls Ferdinand as their most recent exchange of blows leaves the Black Eagles' noble moving toward the woods. "You stand no chance against the future prime minister of the Empire!"
His opponent, a lithe commoner from the Golden Deer class with more red-orange features, ducks her head as a fireball flies past.
She pulls her horse onto its hind legs to quick-turn toward Ferdinand while her eyes settle on Dorothea, who was halfway up the Black Eagles' hill.
"Please, I'd be kicking your butt three ways from Sunday if you weren't ganging up on me!"
She twirls her lance in a tight circle using her black-sleeved left arm before starting to chase down her opponent again.
When another fireball comes from the hat-wearing songstress, Leonie runs an evasive maneuver to dodge the magical attack. It continues to fly however, and comes close enough to Ferdinand's ascot that he almost falls off his horse while recoiling.
Leonie laughs at the sight while circling back around, which leaves the noble cavalier snarling at his apologetically waving partner.
"Dorothea!" He calls.
"Sorry Ferdie!" She calls back, a little meeker. "You're very close to each other!"
Before she has the chance to continue the apology, a crack of thunder in the distance draws Dorothea's curious gaze upward.
Sickeningly black clouds were billowing into the skies above from a flashing red light on the central hill. They spread across the clear blue expanse like a crack in a piece of fine china — and as unsettlingly out of place.
More thunder rumbles out of the unnatural storm clouds, and a few arcing streaks of white lightning appear from their murky depths.
When Dorothea looks back down to Earth, she finds the dueling cavaliers just as transfixed on the skies.
It doesn't occur to any of them that it would be wise to steer clear until it was too late. Bolts of lightning rain down from the Ruined Skies at random and cut deep, charred marks into the ground. Both Ferdinand and Leonie's horses are frightened by the weather and start running wild, trying to buck their riders. The songstress seemed mostly out of range, but still falls back on the hillside and covers her head to try and avoid being struck.