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The defection of the Black Eagles house was something that struck the rest of the Officers’ Academy in their cores; despite learning to fight together, they would have to face each other for the first time as enemies, where their task wasn’t to wound, it was to kill.
The thought alone made Ignatz feel sick. A reluctant knight at best, he would have rather stolen away into the nights, canvases strapped to his back, and fled the monestary under the guise of leading the orphans to safety within the Leicester Alliance, a promise he wouldn’t have been able to keep anyway.
But, there was a weight that settled within him, it felt like swallowing a peach pip, the plant now taking root in his stomach. He felt wrong, and off balance. He had been reasonably willing to partake in training exercises on bandits and thieves, but to train an arrow on a classmate, and shoot to kill? It felt wrong.
Especially when she would likely be among the ranks of the Empire’s army.
He had sought her out after Edelgard had revealed herself, knocking on her bedroom door and asking for permission to come in, but was never granted the chance to enter. He found out she had fled like the rest of the Black Eagles class, and many of the church staff were unsure how many knew of their house leader’s true intentions throughout the school year. Hubert was clearly her confidant, but could the same have been said for the other nobles that walked their hollow halls? Had Bernie known what would come of her studies?
Would Bernie have toyed with him like that?
He had met with her a few times on the now sullied outer greenery that surrounded the monestary. She liked to linger by a large oak tree, where he frequented to paint, and sing songs from the empire as she plucked blades of grass from the ground, and wove them together. Yet, when she realised he had seen her, she bolted.
She was easy to scare that way. Even though she knew that they were alike, often sharing the training grounds during supervised weapons’ practice.
Toward the end of the year, she had warmed to him, managing to speak, offer apologies for being so easy to startle and explained she wasn’t much of a people person. But, even Bernie was intrigued by the art that formed at Ignatz’s hands. She asked to see his paintings, and he admitted that she had inspired a few of them.
Bernie wasn’t much of a singer, not the way her classmate, Dorothea was, but, her voice was light, like a lark’s, and although she wasn’t always tuneful, there was a joy to how she would paint the world with lyrics that Ignatz had strove to capture with oils on canvas.
He had never shown her his attempts of painting her, they would have never done her justice. He knew that.
And after the Founding Ball at the monestary, the pair had danced together, speaking in hushed voices, nestled toward the corner. It was amicable, but neither could keep the blush crawling onto their cheeks by the end of the night. Ignatz had heard stories of falling in love through the thrill of the dance, the way orchestras played their music was like cupid’s arrow, and lovers who may have never met before, would join hands and swear vows under the smile of the Goddess Tower.
He wished he’d had the courage to ask her to go with him.
Hindsight truly was the worst.
In their final weeks together, they had spent hours practicing archery together. He knew better than to try and speak to her with an arrow in her hand, but Ignatz hadn’t expected to be faced by the sharp end of her shots. Bernie was a capable archer, but her anxiety in shooting was something that usually had her missing. Perhaps the wound he sustained was a missed shot in its own right. But, he hadn’t anticipated her to let an arrow fly when he had placed his own arrow in his quiver, having seen that the fleet of thee empire’s archers were supporting her.
He should have expected it; Bernadetta was Duke Varley’s daughter and would have been expected to fight for the empire, just as everyone else had. Yet, he still didn’t like seeing her, wearing the searing red of the empire as she shot him.
She shot him.
Maybe he had startled her, he’d always remarked that her jumpiness would lead to haphazard shots. But, he hadn’t even had a chance to speak with her, raise his hands over his head, and hide with her in the burrow she had fashioned.
When the empire started using barrels of explosives as gambits, there was plenty of debris to fashion a hiding spot out of. She had been shooting low, something Ignatz didn’t enjoy doing; it always seemed to result in muscle pains and awkward injuries, but, it was a great way to attempt to avoid detection.
Perhaps her anxiety had made her wise, it was just the way that the fight or flight instinct manifested anyway. But, even so, when Lorenz abandoned him, leading a charge of church cavaliers at the archers, stabbing, impaling, and killing dozens of the empire’s forces, of course she was afraid. He would have been if the shoe was on the other foot.
But now he was the one crawling across the bloody battlefield in search of a competent healer. The church healers were too focused on the knights to notice a boy on his stomach, arrow lodged in his shoulder, as he went along the floor.
As much as she hurt him, he hoped she was okay, that his cry of pain hadn’t alerted Lorenz to her burrow. He wouldn’t have any mercy for her after she laid such a nasty blow upon him. It seemed stupid to be caring so much about the enemy. He was a knight, or, as close as he would probably be considering the state of the church. Knights were supposed to fight bravely. The Blue Lions and their valiant acts were testament of that, surely.
Hunched over in pain, and hissing through gritted teeth, he had crawled through congealed blood toward Professor Hanneman. He had squawked and cast several healing spells in quick fire succession, and clapped the young archer on the back, telling him that he needed to keep going, keep fighting, the Goddess wouldn’t forgive those who chose to forsake her now.
He couldn’t remember much of what remained of the battle of Garreg Mach. It had been a humiliating loss for the church, and sent the continent into disarray, non-believers clashing with the devout under the Adrestrain Empire’s newest reigime.
All Ignatz remembered was being stopped by a head of violet hair, and his breath hitching. His glasses had shattered on the battlefield and he was almost completely useless without them. He hadn’t hesitated to reach toward his arrows. Bernie had shown no mercy, so, he couldn’t allow himself to make that same mistake again.
“Ignatz,” Lorenz said, “It’s me. Come. Seteth has procured us a wagon. We’re going home.”
The Golden Deep were wearing ponchos made of sheepskin, huddled together on the back of a horse-drawn cart. They were bloody, battered and bruised, huddled together in tears. Their professor had likely perished in the battle and the wounds they had sustained would likely scar over.
Marriane had done her best to heal her class, but sge was exhausted, having fallen asleep, head lolling to the side and onto Raphael’s broken shoulder. He fell asleep grinding his teeth.
Claude refused to rest up, clinging to mismatched bloodied arrows he had salvaged from the battlefield in his splintering bow. His muscles ached as he remained on alert, his classmates holding onto one another as they wept. This was not the graduation they had imagined.
Ignatz pawed at his eyes, the world around him blurry as he shuffled between the tangled legs on his classmates.
“Are you okay, Ignatz?” Claude asked, “Can you see?”
He shook his head.
“When we get to my estate, I’ll have someone bring some money to you so you can replace your glasses, my friend. We can’t have you fumbling around blind, can we?” Hilda said, stroking Lysithea’s tangled hair.
He offered a small smile, “Thank you, Claude, Hilda.”
Almost five years later, Ignatz was wounded, bloody and bruised. He was doubled over; the muddy stream of Gronder Field, having already sustained a small scrape to the back from the back of a man’s shield. He had stained his clothes as he approached a familiar face, having been sent to man the flaming arrows – Bernadetta.
The station that the former Black Eagles students had set up was shoddy to say the least, a plinth barely fortified, with a rickety foundation, and brimming with ammunition. Putting someone as slight as Bernadetta up there was probably due to it being unable to sustain the weight of their more disposable archers.
The station was barely upright, swaying slightly in the winds, jostling the young archer up inside. She seemed focussed, despite the lack of firm ground beneath her, arrows and armory focussed on Ingrid and her Pegasus knight regiment. The young blonde lancer was at the mercy of an animal, unable to steer her mount with the same force she may have been able to on a breezy day. The winds were nasty, choppy, and certainly throwing many off balance.
Despite the heat of battle, Ignatz ouldn’t help but stop for a moment and let his eyes shift upward, Bernie, despite the circumstances, appeared well. She was wearing light, short and breathable material, ideal for an archer in her position. A bow was strapped to her back, while the mounted crossbows were loaded with flammable pods, ready to light and fire at her enemies.
Her usually erratic gaze was steady, cast to the west, where the fleet of Pegasus riders scattered, readying themselves for another charge at the foundations. If they could knock one of the base pillars loose from the rest of the structure, it would collapse, Bernadetta inside, and likely explode, sending debris toward the empire’s troops. It was a smart move from Dimitri, sending Ingrid out there. But, she wasn’t alone.
Ignatz had been fortunate in his insignificance. He had been a fair shot back at Garreg Mach but the five years since he had left the monastery walls granted him opportunities to sharpen his eyes, serving under the Noble House of Count Gloucester and his son, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. The former classmates had been allies in their schooldays, working well together when paired up by their professor, but, Byleth had encouraged Ignatz to make his move alone.
If Lorenz rode close to the Pegasus knights, they would likely pay too much attention to the ground.
No, what he had to do was utilise his slight frame, and make his ascent upon Bernadetta’s rickety post alone meant he was less detectable than if he had moved with men behind him. But, it seemed that he wasn’t alone, travelling the shadow of a forceful assault.
Just a few metres away stood another former ally, creeping in the shadow cast from Ingrid’s mount; Ashe.
He had grown up, too, but still had the same big round eyes and boyish features that he did when they attended the Officers’ Academy together/
Ignatz loaded his bow, training his arrow at the silver haired knight. Ashe seemed to be forcussed on his adversary to care for the lesser archer.
“Ashe,” Ignatz said, “Ashe put the bow down.”
“What? And let Bernie shoot Ingrid out of the sky? Fat chance!”
“Give her a chance to stand down, Ashe,” he pleaded, steadying his aim, “Don’t make me do this.”
“Bernie is the enemy now, Ignatz,” Ashe snapped, “She’s her ally, she’s on her side. Lonato was killed because of her! Why shouldn’t I shoot?”
Ignatz sighed, “Bernie shouldn’t be your scapegoat because Dimitri wouldn’t let you take Edelgard out yourself, Ashe.”
The silver haired boy paled, swallowing hard. He lowered his bow slightly, glaring at his former schoolmate, “Don’t speak of him like that.”
“Bernie didn’t sully your father’s name, and killing her isn’t going to help you sleep at night!” Ignatz pleaded.
He wasn’t sure why he was so adamant; it had been so long since he had laced his fingers together with Bernadetta’s, yet, he longed to have her in his arms once again. Distance had made the heart grow fonder, and imagining her dying when he could offer a hand to her, save her from an execution, was something he couldn’t not attempt.
“Knights are supposed to be loyal, to serve their kings,” Ashe said through girtted teeth.
Bernadetta was beginning to tremble, her bravado wavering as the foundations of her vantage point quaked.
“Bernie!” Ignatz tried, “Bernie surrender!”
She squeaked, and Ignatz paled as she struck a match, drawing it toward the ammunition, sending another wave toward Ingrid. But, before she could duck down and hide, an arrow stuck her in the throat, between her collarbones. She let out a gasp, crimson spouting from between her lips as she fell back, dead.
It was like everything happened at once; Ignatz’s own arrow soared through the air, striking Ashe just below his ribcage, as Ingrid and her fleet fell to the ground, crushed by the weight of their mounts, as the winged beasts lay dying.
Ignatz retreated, boots sloshing through the stream, as he rejoined the ranks of the Leicester Alliance’s troops. Lorenz was quick to sweep him up, taking him by the hand and hoisting him onto the back of his own horse.
Ignatz leaned into Lorenz’s back, using him as an anchor as he took aim at his adversaries, aiming particularly for the enemy mages and swordsmen.
“I’m sorry, Ignatz, but, if it’s any consolation, it was quick.”
“I know,” Ignatz replied, wiping his eyes with the muddy cuff of his sleeves, “I know, but, I wish I could have talked some sense into him.”
“Ashe had his reasons. If I were in his shoes, I would have done the same.” Lorenz said.
“Me too. I just hope Bernie knows there were no hard feelings.”
“I’m sure she did.”