Apologies for the long delay on this one, folks. In case you missed the brief attempt at a message I sent out in the reviews of the last chapter, work has been grinding me down. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying it a lot, it just isn't leaving much time for me to write these more creative endeavors. Thanks for sticking by.
That being said, I'm not looking to abandon this horse just yet. Originally I was going to skip ahead after the last chapter, but Cosmic Sky [ID: 4306679] seemed interested in the end of the skirmish and I figured there was a narrative opportunity there, so here it is. The least I can offer after that break is a little bloodshed.
Sylvain sweeps his lance at the foot of a swordsman under the pale moonlight shining through gaps in the ceiling of the dilapidated castle. The soldier's knee buckles and he falls back, but he bats away Sylvain's bony relic weapon with his steel sword on the way down.
The redhead easily disables the other man by stomping on his stomach. However, before he can land a killing blow, an arrow punctures the side of his neck just below his jawline. Sylvain clutches the spurting wound around the shaft as he stumbles back a few steps and falls on his ass with a grunt. As the assaulting archer at the far end of the room prepares another arrow, he's struck between the eyes by Ashe, who has to dodge out of the way as a second archer in-line fires off a shot at him.
"Sylvain!"
Ashe looks to his downed companion while nocking another arrow. All he gets a halfhearted wave by Sylvain's not-occupied hand as the future Margrave leans back against the wall.
"Mercie, we need you up here now!" Annette calls over her shoulder and out of the entrance to the castle. The petite mage lobs a sharp gust of wind toward the archers at the far end of the room that blows her long hair back into her face.
That attack sends one of the long-ranged fighters flying into the far wall, knocking him out cold. The leader of the bandits, a merchant who frequented Garrag Mach in the before times who some of the Blue Lions recognized as Pallardó, skittishly jumps away from his subordinate's body as it limply falls to the floor. He throws out his hand, and two swordsmen he had as guards begin to rush down Ashe.
The lithe grey-haired boy quickly pulls his bow up to fire a projectile at one of the approaching guards, who does half a backflip from the impact against his upper body and cracks his head open on the descent.
His partner is taken aback and slows to a halt, just long enough for Ashe to run out of the line of attack toward Sylvain. He ducks and covers his head while passing in front of Annette, who was trading more magic for arrows against one of the two remaining archers at Pallardó's side. The rogue she hits lets loose a wayward projectile that falls barely halfway to its destination.
As Ashe approaches Sylvain he slides on his knees to cover the last few inches so he can immediately start tending to the wound.
He rests one hand on Sylvain's shoulder as the other grasps the arrow that bobbed each time he inhaled.
"Don't worry, Sylvain. I've done this before."
After a shaking breath, he steadies his grip. "Once or twice..."
In one swift motion, Ashe pulls the arrow free and tosses it aside. Sylvain thrashes at first and cries out while trying to put a stop to the heavier flow of blood coming from his neck. Ashe grabs some cloth from a pouch attached to the same belt as his quiver and has Sylvain help him try to apply more pressure to the wound.
That second swordsman guard who was originally aiming to take on Ashe instead focuses his attention on Annette. The girl gasps at his war cry and floats back to prepare another gust of wind, the magic bathing her blue-and-orange dress an iridescent teal.
"Stand back, Annette."
Gilbert pushes past the mage so he can shield her, and takes down the assailant in one fell swoop of his axe. In the process, he knocks her arms asunder and disrupts the magic she had begun channeling.
Annette looks less than pleased.
"Father…" She mumbles.
The old knight had been accompanying Mercedes up the stairs, but she rushed to Sylvain's side while Gilbert took the opportunity to protect his daughter.
She drops to her knees beside Ashe, and gestures for him to step aside. The archer does as he's told, letting the bloodied rag drop to the floor as he stands.
"Don't worry," Mercedes coos. "I've got you."
Sylvain glances at her with a strained groan. "Thanks."
He winces as he drops his hand away from his neck. It hovers just above the floor with crimson running through each finger and dripping down in haphazard splotches. Mercedes crosses both hands over his wound, and they shine with a sage-green luminescence.
The final archer beside the bandit leader tries to fire at Gilbert, but he's easily able to guard the attack with ease using his tower-shield.
Ashe fruitlessly tries to shake some of Sylvain's blood of his hand before taking up his bow again so he can return fire on the lone archer. The distant assailant is easily able to dodge the attack, but is pushed more into the center of the room by Pallardó. He trades blows with Ashe, who tries to inch his way closer for more of an accurate shot.
While keeping his attention trained on the distant archer, who had to split his time between the silver-haired boy and the pair of orange-haired fighters by the entrance, the swordsman whom Sylvain knocked down earlier grabs Ashe by the ankle. He pulls the surprised boy's leg and sends him tumbling to the floor as well. He gains leverage over Ashe and holds back his bow-wielding arm while raising a blade.
"Ashe!" Annette cries.
Before the mage can take the initiative, Mercedes throws her right arm out toward the swordsman pinning Ashe and blinds him with a flash of holy magic, giving Gilbert the opportunity to shuffle over and drive his axe into the rogue's back. That strike loosens the man's grip, allowing Ashe to bash him in the head with the curve of his bow. He's able to push the man off, where he dies quietly beside them.
During that commotion, the lone archer takes aim at Annette and prepares to strike. Before he can, he's caught in an avalanche of old brick and rotted support beams as a chunk of the ceiling collapses under the diving weight of Ingrid's Pegasus.
The winged beast lands on the pile of rubble, and Ingrid looks to the rest of the Blue Lions.
"I hope we weren't too late," she remarks with haggard breaths.
She smiles at the mostly happy reactions she gets back, but Felix is nigh emotionless as he jumps off the saddle from behind her.
"That Dimitri," he scoffs. "He's got the strength of a hundred men, and the constitution of a tablecloth. He would have been at those bandits' throats for hours if we let him."
Sylvain coughs, drawing everyone's attention.
"Is he really that bad?" Sylvain strains voice to say, after which he groans and arcs his back in pain.
"Sylvain please, don't talk." Mercedes gently commands. She focuses both hands over his wound again, and the warm aura surrounding it expands.
"I can't imagine that's a very easy task," Ingrid says with a half-smile.
Ashe snorts back a chuckle, but Felix simply looks up at the girl on her horse with a raised eyebrow.
"Is now really the most appropriate time to joke about that, Ingrid?"
She leans in for a quick haughty response, but just as quickly pulls back and looks away with a huff.
"You would have said it if I didn't."
He shrugs. "And I'm just enough of an asshole to pull it off."
The bitter pointedness of the cuss that he emphasizes draws a frown from the Pegasus Knight.
"Felix, I—"
Before she's able to get much farther, the whole group goes silent as Dimitri seemingly announces his entrance alongside Byleth by aggressively stamping the butt of his lance at the floor of the entryway so he can help pull himself inside.
"The task at hand is not finished," he grumbles through the shaded curtain of messy blonde hair that covers his face.
Byleth keeps his blank stare as he looks to his companion. Ingrid scans around for some signs of a threat, but with no luck she tilts her head to the side.
"What do you mean, Your Highness?"
Without warning, the haggard Prince stampedes ahead like a whole new man, past his former friends and allies. They all watch as Dimitri flicks his lance out to the side like the grim reaper would his scythe, and then drives it forward as he approaches the back wall. Dimitri skewers Pallardó through the stomach, eschewing his attempts to sneak away from the battle quietly.
The pale-skinned thief sputters blood down his front, drenching even parts of his sideburns as he writhes in pain from the fatal wound. The Prince is completely still as he glares down at his prey through the hair in his face. Ashe and Ingrid look away from the grisly scene, but Annette watches with horror, covering her mouth with both hands, as he practically tortures the man by letting him struggle for so long. Gilbert watches on almost unfazed by Mercedes' side as she continues tending to Sylvain, and Felix merely crosses his arms with closed eyes.
After a moment of just watching Pallardó claw at the shaft of his lance, longing for some relief, Dimitri reaches out and grabs the bandit leader by the hair. He forces the man to look up at his cold gaze, and terror overtakes his pained struggling.
"How befitting a rat," Dimitri begins with a slow, calculated whisper. "To drown in his own blood. May it wash away your sins."
Pallardó pulls in a raspy breath. More viscous blood spills over his lower lip from the pooling fluid in his jaw. Then his head slumps forward, and all is silent.
Gilbert and Byleth approach the Prince as he tears his weapon from the body with an echoing crunch that leaves it limp enough to fall to the floor.
"That seemed too easy, wouldn't you say?" Gilbert says to the Professor.
Byleth nods. He keeps one hand trained on the hilt of his sword and looks back over his shoulder.
"Ingrid." She jerks to attention from the back of her Pegasus. "Search around the outside of the castle, see if there are any lingering bandits."
"Be back soon," she responds before rearing her steed back. She then has the beast gallop ahead just enough to pick up momentum so she can fly and circle back around out of the hole in the ceiling.
The two former Garreg Mach instructors stand behind Dimitri. He keeps his attention on Pallardó's body and breathes heavily, letting his lance drip into a pool of blood.
"So uncivilized," Gilbert says. "Honestly, what would Dedue say if he saw you throw yourself around the battlefield so recklessly?"
Suddenly, the statuesque Prince whips his head around with a deathly glare that sends chills down Byleth's spine. He subtly tightens his grip on the Sword of the Creator.
Dimitri whirls around with a hefty step and quickly closes the gap between himself and Gilbert. Byleth hops aside and draws his weapon as Dimitri grabs Gilbert by the collar and holds him up. Even with Gilbert's bulky armor, Dimitri's strength is enough to lift him onto his toes, which leaves the greying older man wide-eyed.
"Don't you dare say his name in vain!" Dimitri spits, his cheeks running red with rage.
Felix, Ashe, and Annette start to run over, by Byleth cautions them back with a raised hand. While Dimitri keeps panting rapid breaths through gritted teeth, Gilbert simply stays calm and quiet until the tension starts to die.
"My apologies, Your Highness. I spoke out of line."
Dimitri's breathing slows, and soon enough he drops the knight. However, he remains right up in the older man's face.
They remain in this stalemate until Ashe finally breaks the silence, taking another meager step forward.
"What happened to Dedue?" He asks weakly, his gut already keenly aware.
The blond Prince takes a few steps back so he can offer a glance in Ashe's direction. All the rage he exhibited just moments ago had siphoned away alongside the color in his face, and his pupil shakes rapidly in its eye socket.
Byleth slowly sheathes his sword again, and the rest of the Blue Lions take that as a cue to come and circle around Dimitri — himself all but unaware of the attention as he stared off into the middle distance.
"Dimitri?" Annette mumbles through dry lips.
His shocked expression melts into utter despair, and his mouth hangs open as he dry heaves on the spot. The lance falls to the floor as his arms quake. It was as though the entire world had just disintegrated before his eye.
"No…" He whimpers.
Annette looks to Ashe, and they share a brief, silent confusion.
"No?" She mimics.
Then Dimitri turns away from the crowd, letting his cape sweep around as he stares at the wall beside Pallardó's body.
"Don't look at me like that!" He screams; gravelly voice replaced with a shrill tone that sounded on the verge of tears. "Can't you see this is all for you? And you too, Glenn?"
This time it was Felix's turn to perk up.
"Glenn?"
Dimitri doesn't respond. All of that terrified energy evaporates, and the Prince falls to his knees, clutching his head with both hands.
"F-Father…" He mumbles. "Stepmother…"
Byleth looks across the room at his students, all of whom look concerned, sickened, or some combination of the two. He approaches Dimitri and kneels beside him, resting a hand on the young man's back.
"It's okay, Dimitri." Byleth says. "Snap out of it."
Meanwhile, Gilbert turns to find Annette hiding in Ashe's arms, muttering about Dedue, as Felix acts unbemused beside them.
"It seems this may not be as easy as we'd hoped," the elder knight laments.