Hello folks! I took a longer hiatus than I initially expected.
What was supposed to be a week turned into, well, much longer. Whoops. Some of that was Stardew Valley's fault, some of it Animal Crossing's, and some good old fashioned workplace chaos with a side of... the big world event we have going on right now. I'm healthy, following the stay-at-home order in my state, and have been doing as much of my work from home as possible.
I'm going to tentatively try to update this at least twice a week. This particular chapter was difficult and I'm hoping that the worst is over. Apologies for the decrease in quality though!
Please, stay safe everyone, wash your hands, cover your mouths when you cough, sneeze into your elbows, and just watch out for one another.
...
"I still can't believe you've been alive all this time." Ingrid says as they await Gilbert and Rodrigue's signal. "We searched everywhere for you and His Highness."
The stoic man in front of her says nothing in return and she's glad that he, unlike Dimitri, hasn't changed all that much.
He has several more scars now, his hair has grown out some, and there's is not quite an ease but something like it in the way he carries himself compared to his stiff, silent statue-like manner from five years ago. But seeing him away from Dimitri, acting on his own without orders from above, reminds her that he is more than just a sword and shield for Faerghus' King. She hadn't expected the brief warmth in his eyes- and he does have pretty eyes, how has she never noticed before?- or the curve up of his mouth at their shock when they'd reunited.
She isn't proud of how she reacted to him, to others from Duscur, and of her behavior overall from her teen years. It kept her awake at night and had her searching for answers within beloved stories of knights she used as both inspiration and comfort. There had to be at least one or two, she reasoned, that handled a similar situation and could help her…
Do what, exactly?
Discard her feelings? Apologize to him and how her fury at what happened to her first love had clouded her judgment? Apologize to him for being such an ungrateful bitch for all the times he put himself into harm's way for her, Felix, Sylvain and Dimitri? Apologize for using the scars on Dimitri's back as an excuse to treat him as little more than an indentured servant barely worth more than a dog?
Apologize for being a foolish child who went with the popular opinion and verdict over seeking truth and justice herself?
Ingrid doesn't consider herself much of a crier but she had wept in shame and horror at the news of Dedue and Dimitri's deaths. No matter her misguided anger, and she knows now that's what it had been, Dedue had not deserved a traitor's execution.
And definitely not deserved the treatment she and others in Faerghus had given him.
Her grip on the lance tightens as Gilbert and Dedue stiffen in place. She can't take back the words and actions she shamefully threw out in the past, but Ingrid can make damned sure that no one ever lays a hand on Dedue again while she's on duty. He might consider himself Prince Dimitri's- King, she corrects herself, it's King Dimitri now.- sword and shield, but Ingrid is determined to be one of the King's most trusted knights.
That means Dedue is going to have to learn how to let someone else protect him the way he protects them all. Her eyes linger at the broad expanse of the Duscur-born man's back and awaits the small signs she'll need to jump into action.
Annette and Lindhart are silent, grim expressions on their faces as they crouch just around the corner and await her signal. Ingrid has conflicting feelings over someone she swears is just a spy from the Empire coming along with them to deal with a Faerghus problem but admits his healing and knowledge is practically unparalleled when he helps guide them through some of the secret passages even Gilbert didn't know about. Raphael is guarding them from the rear and the jovial giant is unusually quiet. She's not sure if she likes a member of the Alliance helping out either, but his muscle and optimism are exactly what they need for their morale to be steady and Annette has been enthusiastically discussing matters of the school of sorcery with Lindhart when it's safe to do so.
Dedue is the leader and Ingrid is still not over the way he gave Gilbert- Gustave- such a dressing down she swore she saw a duplicate of the red-haired knight hovering behind him. Even Annette had stood there with her mouth open like a fish out of water in awe when he'd hung his head and accepted the reprimand as though Dedue were his superior or equal. And, as Ingrid observes further, the longer time goes on, the more she can see the similarities between Dedue and Gustave.
Several pieces fall into place after that and she understands full well now what Dedue's intentions and end goal are; to become what Gustave was to King Lambert.
Ingrid's head turns sharply toward Raphael as she hears Annette's sharp inhale. The big man has flung himself forward with a speed unbefitting of someone of his size and has his fist buried in an enemy mage's stomach.
The woman chokes, unable to draw air into her lungs as they fill with blood, and Raphael does his damndest to make sure she does not suffer and is dead before she hits the ground. His mouth is drawn into a thin, tight line and the gleam has gone from his eyes. He lifts one gore streaked hand, blood running down the wickedly curved metal hooks he uses as his weapons, and offers three fingers. Lowers them. Shows two more. Five total.
A moment later he does another series of gestures that are completely lost on Ingrid but draws Lindhart's immediate interest.
"Two mages," he translates. "One lance. A- another hi- ah, yes. A hand-to-hand fighter and a knight."
Annette looks at him in surprise. "How did you know what he's saying?"
"Merchants have to, ugh does he have to wave his arm around like that? So unhygienic, it's making me nauseous, learn how to communicate with everyone. Not everyone is capable of speech, or loses it at some point, or writing, reading, hearing… you get the idea." He replies, covering his mouth as he yawns. "I thought it was interesting. Picked up as much of it as I could before I became interested in something else."
Annette has a look on her face that suggests she's going to be bothering both Lindhart and Raphael the moment is right over the topic. "You learned it to communicate with them too?"
I didn't even know you could speak without writing or, well, talk. She hates to admit it, but Ingrid is actually impressed by the Empire's dedication to actually communicating with others. The Alliance too. A good knight would be able to talk to anyone, regardless of station, so it might be worth swallowing her distrust of outsiders and asking to be taught. Faerghus prided themselves on their bravery, loyalty, and chivalry, but maybe Dimitri had a point with being so concerned towards those other than the Kingdom's heart.
Lindhart is nobility, like so many of them, so it stands to reason he would find it useful to deal with the common folk and bolster his popularity among the mass-
"No." He replies without batting an eye as Gilbert slips past him to take the rear alongside Raphael. "I did it so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone." As Ingrid stares at the man in abject disbelief, she hears a soft cough from Dedue.
If she didn't know any better, she'd have sworn to the Goddess that Dedue was trying to hide a laugh.
Dedue grimaces as he wipes the gore off his axe. His injuries have taken long to heal and the fresh scar tissue pulls in a way that forces him to second guess what he is capable of. He cannot afford to be injured again or to have the wounds freshly healed reopen on this battlefield. He has to redeem himself. He must prove himself worthy to stand at the King's side once more before he can show himself before Dimitri again.
Gilbert has taken point ahead and is cleaving through his own share of enemy forces. He takes a brief moment to watch the way the old knight swings his axe, the form and arc of the blade and where it finds the weakness even the densest of armors. The keen edge slices through plate like wet paper and through flesh as it would water. The man falls and the red of his tabard turns dark with blood that steadily pulses through the jagged wound.
As young as he had been when he first met the red-haired knight, as young as they both had been when he had vanished in self-imposed disgrace, Gustave had left an impression that nearly rivaled Dimitri's.
Dimitri offered him salvation and redemption- friendship and acceptance too, but it's still a struggle for him to come to terms with that offering when coupled with his own survivor's guilt.
But Gustave? Gustave gave him purpose. Showed him that he had a path, a goal he could pour his blood, sweat, and tears into becoming in order to repay Dimitri's kindness and forgiveness. Gustave was both wall and shield for King Lambert, protector and executioner for those who dared attempt to harm him or any of the Royal Family.
His abandonment in their hour of need was still unforgivable. More so considering that Gustave's presence may have been the deciding factor between their imprisonment and their ability to escape as exiles but living freely to mount a rebel force the way Lord Rodrigue had the last five years. He isn't even going to touch on his feelings regarding the man's abandonment of Annette and her mother.
If he commanded me to live, then I would live. Words spoken in bitterness and anger. It was a rare moment that he allowed the iron-clad grasp on his emotions slip its leash, but seeing him so unchanged and without much in the way of knowledge regarding Dimitri's state of being had sent his vision red. Everything he'd held his tongue on from their Academy days had come in a whip-crack rebuke that had shocked them all, including himself.
He doesn't know much of King Lambert, other than what Dimitri has told him and stories here and there, but if he was anything like his son? He was a respectable man, a noble one, and one who's kindness needed to be protected so that it wouldn't be taken advantage of. Gustave had failed in that regard; but it was not his failure alone and convincing the knight of that is beyond frustrating at best.
There is little time for further reflection as he too cleaves through a pair of mages attempting to sneak up on his former idol. He cleans the blood and gore off his axe with a scrap torn from their robes and heads further into the castle without a word. That woman is there, somewhere, and he needs to be sure his axe takes her head before she can kill anyone else and hurt their future King more than she has already.
"Watch out!"
Pale sickles of light soar past him with a piercing whistle and slam into- and through- a man with a gleaming blade. Dedue is startled enough he takes a hasty set of steps sideways as a red-faced Annette hurries up to meet him. He hadn't even seen the man appear from the shadows.
"Please tell me you're okay, I can't believe I didn't see him and thought you, well, yeah." She's struggling to catch her breath as she stops beside him. Big blue eyes check him anxiously for any sign of injury. Difficult to see, mind, given the blood and gore covering his armor. "That, uhh, is the enemy's… right?"
It takes him a moment to understand what she's referencing and he nods. "None of what you see is mine."
The smile she offers him in response is a spot of light in an otherwise dark place.
Not for the first time, he finds himself struggling not to give her a smile in return. The energetic mage has always been one for easy smiles, easy laughter, and easy… expression of just about any emotion there is. Though it would take much to pry the admission out of him, her expressiveness is one of his favorite things about her. Her enthusiasm, however, is another matter entirely.
She pales at the sight of what her magic had done but swallows hard and stubbornly makes sure the man is quite dead. He silently offers a clean bit of cloth and a splash from his waterskin so she can clean the blood off after. Like when he had assisted her in the kitchens of Garreg Mach, Annette gives him a look of undying gratitude and sticks close to his back.
"The others?" He asks her quietly as they make their way down the corridors leading to where Cornelia should be.
"Ingrid stole a pegasus from one of the enemy troops and took Lindhart with her." Annette whispers back. "They're covering Raphael from above- just in case he runs into trouble."
"You did not accompany them?" He's a little annoyed that Ingrid would allow Annette, small and admittedly powerful a mage as she is, to seek them alone. No one should be heading forward on their own, not without having proven themselves capable of it first.
She shakes her head and puts her hand against his arm to hold him back. They listen for a moment to the sound of steel clashing and the gurgling protest of a dying man. He peers around the corner, prepared to shove Annette back to get her clear of any potential attack that may come their way, and notices Gustave struggling to remove his axe from a massive… he's not really sure what that is. Vaguely humanoid in shape, taller than he is by at least half again, and throwing off blue-yellow sparks and oily smoke.
Annette must have noticed his confusion and ducks under his arm to take a look herself. Her eyes widen and mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise at the hulking monstrosity. There's a small gasp of alarm and Dedue sees what she does a second later.
He's moving as fast as he can and Dedue still knows he won't make it in time. He shouts a wordless warning as the strange enemy suddenly glows a bright and sickening red. The light casts an unhealthy glow across Gustave's face and he freezes, axe in hand, and watches as the construct begins to lift its glowing weapon high. His shield is raised and they both know there is futility in that last defiant act.
"Father!" A blur of blue, white, and copper shoots past him. Annette flings herself into her father's side.
Gustave's axe hits the ground as he catches and tries to fling her behind him, away from him, somewhere other than there and she refuses to let him go.
The glowing blade swings down with a hiss of super-heated metal.
Dedue flings his axe as hard as he can muster with an oath.