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:

28.) Do not flip your love interest into the dirt before your preeminent death-battle with her or him.

FLASHBACK - What it Takes to Win

For the next several days after learning the news of the tournament, Antonio and Francis constantly kept Elizaveta distracted and ensured that she remained ignorant of the execution rule. When she asked why they were not competing, the boys simply claimed that they had no interest in the tournament because they were content with their current positions. Eli didn't press the issue much... Hey, it meant less opponents to face, right?

Gilbert was not worried in the slightest about Elizaveta losing any of her matches in the tournament. She was inarguably one of the most agile, skilled, quick-footed swordsmen in all the land. Further, despite what people said, she was strong enough to hold her own. She knew exactly where to place her weight and momentum. She knew precisely where to strike to inflict the most damage. However, it was her ability to outwit her opponents which often stood out the most.

For the next week, Elizaveta trained vigorously in preparation for the event. She hardly saw Gilbert at all. The only time she had encountered him during those next several days was when she spotted him from behind the monastery. She had been practicing her sword strikes against Antonio and Francis when she saw the fair-haired boy slink by in the distance.

"Hey!" she called. Gilbert did not answer. He only stared fixedly at the ground and continued to walk in the opposite direction.

"HEY!" she yelled angrily. She threw down her sword into the dirt circle and stormed up to the usually obnoxious Germanic child. She cut in front of him, blocking his path to the entrance of the building. Gilbert looked at her, annoyed.

"We got a problem here," he asked her, "or can I go inside?"

"Damn right we got a problem. Whatchya gonna do if I don't let you in?" she challenged.

"I don't have time for this." He tried to go around her, but she abruptly cut him off again. "Alright, FINE! You wanna fight, Liz? You want to prove that you're strong enough to hold your own? You and me. No weapons. Right here."

"Fine!" she shouted angrily in response.

The two young warriors stepped into the dirt circle near Francis and Antonio. They laid their daggers on the grass and began to circle each other.

Both contenders held up their fists and narrowed their eyes. Elizaveta waited for Gilbert to make the first strike, which he usually did, but he only stared at her with those piercing, dark eyes. His abnormally calm demeanor enraged her. She wanted him to do something, anything!

Without any further warning, she charged at him, and he flipped her easily onto the dirt.

She landed flat on her back with an audible thud, so that all the air was knocked out of her lungs. She coughed haggardly.

"Get up," he commanded.

Again, Elizaveta rose and ran towards him. He grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her back, and pushed her again to the ground.

"Get up."

And so the process was repeated, with Gilbert patiently taking advantage of her blind fits of rage, tossing her easily into the dust. Over and over.

Until, finally, Elizaveta could not rise any longer.

"GET UP!" he barked a second time. But when she attempted to stand and collapsed once more, he scowled down at her. "Weak."

He turned, and left.

As Francis ran to help the young Hungarian to her feet, Antonio jogged over to Gilbert. Once they were out of earshot he asked, "Amigo, wasn't that a little harsh?"

"Just adding fuel to the fire," Gilbert replied, still staring forward. He could feel two holes burning in the back of his head from where Elizaveta stared disdainfully at him in the distance.

Part of the reason Gilbert was so busy, however, was due to his secret meetings with Elizaveta's trusted maidservant, Irunya.

He told Elizaveta's maid about the tournament - the whole truth about it, and together they made arrangements.

"You're very brave to be doing this for her," Irunya had told him.

"She'd do it for me," he responded matter-of-factly.

"Of course she would... she loves you, you know."

On the day of the tournament, Elizaveta had risen early and went to the monastery. There she met with their master, Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert. She glared at the latter before turning her face away gruffly.

They rode in a procession to town, where they found the square full to the brim with people. There were banners and music and horses and gallant knights. There were decorated lords and ladies sitting in raised booths. There were peasants, nobles, royalty, and many, many members of the Teutonic Order - including the Landmeister himself, sitting next to the king.

It was incredibly loud there as well. The uproar of the public, the smell of food and the crowdedness of the scene slightly overwhelmed Elizaveta.

When they arrived, Gilbert immediately went off towards the tents. Francis followed him.

So once again, the green-eyed duo were left alone.

"I'm nervous," Elizaveta admitted.

"Don't be," Antonio reassured her as he assisted her in wrapping her shins and forearms behind the lean-to's.

She had on her her tunic and wraps, her wool leggings and some leather coverings on her arms, legs, and chest underneath the tunic. Laced up in chains, straps, and skins, she trod heavy in her boots, but still agile. Her face was dirtied to hide her feminine features, her chest wrapped tightly and her hair tied low like a man's. Finally, her gloved fingers closed securely around her sword hilt, pulling it cleanly out of its sheath around her waist. She stepped over the wood paneling into the soft dirt of the ring, ready for her first opponent.

When the sun was at its highest, the tournament commenced. Her first match was against a boy of about 16, tall and lanky, with dark, curly hair. He did not look all that strong or skilled, but his face showed ferocity. Eli was ready for him.

When the command was given, they initiated their fight. The dirt floated into the air as their boots scuffed across the earth, obscuring their vision. However, as the other male hacked away, yelling animalistically with each swing, Elizaveta retained a collected, serious demeanor. A furrowed, focused brow was set upon her face for the duration of the fight. She showed no emotion, made not a sound and studied her enemy closely. It was quite intimidating, really. She gracefully dodged every one of his thrusts and blows. She inflicted the smallest but most calculatingly painful injuries with her sharp blade.

She drove him to exhaustion, without working up more than a drop of sweat herself.

She stared into him unrelentingly, until he collapsed; bruised, bleeding, exhausted and begging for mercy. Only then did she cease.

And so, for 12 rounds of the tournament, she continued her same methodical relay, beating her opponents each round until they conceded, or until she struck a blow that caused them to lose consciousness.

At the other end of the square, Gilbert faired much the same. He defeated each of his opponents with skill, fierce rapid blows and by spilling their blood. His face was not as stoic as Elizaveta's - sometimes he laughed at their pain, especially when they vomited. Sometimes he'd snarl, sometimes he'd yell out, but both Eli and Gilbert played on the mental element. They intimidated all who faced them, and they meticulously calculated each one of their steps and strikes.

Francis, Antonio, and Sir Frederick looked on, noticing now more than ever the uncanny similarities between the two fighters, and dreading the inevitable final round.

They knew exactly who would be facing each other.