"Aye, at the ready lads!" The Captain called from the far end of the of the line, five dragons arraying themselves along the side of the frigate to launch.

Lieutenant Sir Richard Holland gripped anxiously at the reigns as his temperamental drake, Maria, was freed from her shackles and allowed to stretch her long limbs once more. It was a necessary precaution aboard a ship as small as a frigate to keep the drakes from thrashing about while underway.

This was it, he thought, this was to be his first battle, his chance to prove himself worthy of Knighthood. It would be all of their chances, the squadron was mostly unblooded after all. Why they'd been sent here of all places was beyond him, but orders were orders, and a Knight was to consider duty above all else.

"We'll do our best out there, aye girl?" Yes, of course, they'd do their best and teach these dogs and their masters the proper order. He patted the dragon's neck, receiving a hiss of annoyance for his trouble.

Maria was a wind drake and a fine specimen of her species, but she was temperamental, and as mean as a Germnian mule, turning reluctantly when he pulled at the reigns and often deciding her own path. In all truth they were at least a year too early for this.

It only added to his anxiety, a Knight and his mount were supposed to be two parts of one whole in the skies, but he'd never quite got the hang of it. To quote his instructors, his spellwork was solid, his swordsmanship passable, and his riding sub par. Now he would need all three just to survive.

The last call was made, passing down the line.

"Sir Reginald Ready!"

"Sir Billingly Ready"

"Sir Robin Ready!"

"S-sir Holland r-ready!"

"Flight Launch!" The Captain ordered, spurring his own dragon to dive from the deck. The other riders and their drakes followed closely behind, free falling before spreading their wings.

Sir Holland formed up shakily on the wing of his senior, the flight leader, Sir Robin, who lead their two man pair. Sir Robin, two years his senior and a line Mage of respectable talent. He was nothing compared to the captain, but from Holland's perspective he was a hardened veteran.

They fell into formation with the rest of the squadron as the ships of Albion and Tristain began to slowly array themselves, turning ponderously in the winds to bring their broadside batteries to bear. The dragons banked to the side and below, they'd no business in the face of those guns.

Their battle was not to be fought on the battleline, but all around and between it, threading past ships and dodging cannon fire to wreck rigging and assault the ships from their vulnerable angles of approach. Most of all, they were to prevent their opponents from doing the same.

It had all sounded so daring when he was a boy, listening to the stories of his brothers about the great adventure that was faced by the Knights. But now that he was here, a great deal of the shine had worn off.

"Aye, Richard!"

The Young Knight looked off to his side where Sir Jacob Meinhardt grinned roguishly back at him. The sight of the other Knight relieved Holland immensely. Meinhardt had been the senior cadet and the first of their cadre to receive his promotion to Lieutenant, he was also the only reason that Holland hadn't been thrown out in their first year of training.

"Meinhardt!" He waved back. "Lets give'm hell!"

The other Knight gestured back before following after his own flight leader. Above them, the cannons began to boom. Between the noise and the thick smoke, it was not unlike flying in a sky full of thunder. Thunder that was a good deal more malicious than that thrown about by the Lord, and with particular dislike for the sort that flew about ships atop giant lizards.

Sir Robin gestured and Holland followed as they sighted on their first targets. The enemy dragons were arriving, flying their colors from tassels tied about their tails. Having approached as a squadron, they began to break into flight groups, each selecting and chasing after their own opponents. Now would begin the deadly game of attack and parry.

His heart sped and his breathing quickened, this was it, his moment of truth. He prayed, he prayed that his spells would fly true, that his enemy's would err, and that just this once, Maria would obey him without complaint.

A pair of Knights picked them as their opponents, diving from a higher altitude to gain speed.

Sir Robin lead, gathering up a wind lance and thrusting forward, Holland following suit. With a last burst of speed, both Wind Dragon's closed the range, braving the fire and wind arrows thrown by their opposites, forcing the two other Knights to parry or risk being skewered.

This was a common tactic taught to the cadets, a powerful attack to push past an opponent's guard before racing past. A wind Dragon was weakest in a frontal attack, only the very finest breeds could breath fire and not nearly with the intensity of a fire drake, instead this tactic relied on their superior speed and maneuverability to rush through and then quickly turn back, minimizing their exposure to the spells and breath weapons of their enemy while dropping into a favorable pursuit position.

At least that was the theory, Maria had her own ideas, wanting to pick her own opponent and go after Sir Robin's target instead. 'No you stupid brute!' Holland cursed, getting control and redirecting his dragon's attentions towards his own target, a fire drake and its equally incendiary rider.

Fear dropped away as years of training took hold, the skills learned in duels and tireless drill finally paying dividends now.

The less nimble fire dragon rolled and folded its wings to drop altitude, a ploy, Holland's training told him, don't follow directly, a fire dragon's wings were sturdier and could take the wrenching force of a sudden change in flight regime more readily. Instead he coaxed maria into a loop that brought him between two of the overflying ships and then back down, diving towards the ground, the gathering Reconquista army, and his opponent who had been expecting him to follow close and overshoot.

They traded shots, fire and wind crossing, narrowly missing, grazing, or parried at the last instant. Holland lacked experience and raw power, but this was a battle of speed and his youth meant his reflexes were better.

His last snap parry caught a flame whip and splashed the spell back into its caster's face. The man's helmet protected him, mostly, but the flames had come perilously close to his eyes and he was briefly dazzled if not blinded outright.

A detached portion of Holland marveled at how he reacted without thought or hesitation, confidence welling anxiously within him. He would finish this cur and go on to rejoin Sir Robin.

His next blow would finish it. Kill the rider and the dragon would rage a bit and then flee. His wind arrows formed and sped true through the air, and vanished against a translucent marble of blue-green rimmed by clouds of butterflies.

What?!

Training and instinct caused him to kick Maria into a sharp roll, likely the only thing that saved him from the green blur that shot through the air, cleanly overtaking his previous path.

He gaped as he saw it clearly, suspended in the air on four translucent green wings, it couldn't have been much larger than a child, body clad in sleek silver armor and fine mail that smoothly articulated with its slightest motion, more like a second skin than an iron shell.

In fact, that was why he first mistook it for some sort of golem, raising its sword, wings raking back as it thrust towards him again. Then, Holland found himself once more fighting for his life, this time with much less certainty.

He'd thought it nothing but a passing fancy until he'd heard of the attack on the siege line and found himself reading a very real sheet of paper listing the known abilities of the Fae.

Before that, he'd heard rumors of course, stories told by the other cadets, and then retold over and over again with ever greater embellishment. Winged creatures, Faeries, had recently come to inhabit the Kingdom of Tristain.

They were said to be fast.

He spurred Maria forward, carrying through with his dive before spreading wings to convert downward speed into forward motion. The Faerie followed, accompanied by a pair of its fellows.

So light and nimble that they could dance on the clouds.

Hastily cast wind arrows and whips were evaded, the wings of the Fae which provided lift by some magical means, vibrated and sang like the chords of a musical instrument as they moved about independently of one another.

They possessed strange and arcane magics with which they could steal victory from defeat, songs that could drive a man to battle, and enchantments the likes of which only the Elves might match.

One of his wind arrow salvos, aimed for the leader, nearly struck home before the Fae's wing man reached out, a clawed gauntlet glowing. Another barrier of light appeared and swallowed Holland's arrows whole before shooting them back towards him in a scattered cloud that forced him to guard.

Friendly, the Fae were kind to all and had a wonderful senses of humor, that was, unless you slighted them, then they could show great viciousness.

The leader raced forward, sword held in a double handed grip. Holland was overtaken and nearly swatted from his saddle as he met the blade with his own sword-wand. The Faerie sword actually cleaved into his blade, slicing through metal as if it were flesh. He chanted swiftly, his life depending on his wand work, a blast of air, powerful enough to throw a man a hundred mails or shatter stone if focused properly, struck the Faerie bodily and sent it spinning away, miraculously still holding onto its sword.

And there was one more thing, above all else. They were said to be very beautiful.

Long green hair fanned out as wings arrested the Faerie's tumble. Holland almost stopped chanting as he saw the Faerie's face, her face. Young, delicate, pale skinned, with emerald eyes, and thin, peach colored lips. Why did he notice this now?

Because war was ugly and terrible and such a creature had no business here, no business anywhere on a battlefield. But the look of hatred in those eyes was certainly familiar enough.

Soft, thin lips began to move swiftly, sword coming up in a guard before her. Her eyes never left him, even as her head bowed forward as if in prayer. Arcane runes began to glow and surround her, inscribed on the air itself.

Holland didn't know what he was seeing, but it elicited the deepest fear in him. The woman's chanting was joined by his own fevered spell as he pooled all of his strength into one last wind barrier.

The edge of her blade beginning to glow blue, the Fae woman lifted the sword high and swung down towards him. The world filled with light, and then he felt himself tumbling weightlessly through the sky, vision spinning alternately green, and brown, and blue, and then everything was replaced by black.

When Holland opened his eyes again, he was met by faces. Dirty, ill shaven, faces covered in soot and grime. Commoners, commoner soldiers, and judging by their dress, artillerymen.

"E's still alive."

"There's no way he could 'ave . . ."

"Ee is, see! Get the healer over here, quick now lads!"

Holland felt himself being lifted, head lolling back as he was carried. Behind him, he could see a mountain of flesh half buried in the mud, still smoking where skin had blackened and scales had pealed off.

Above, he saw a dragon baring the tassels of Sir Robin being torn from the sky by a trio of green winged shapes. More traveled swiftly overhead, faster than falcons but not caring one wit for the humans below, like arrogant transgressors who had been beaten back into the mud.

The ships above traded fire once more, and the Faeries began to rise, falling into formation with a pair of Tristanian Dragons as they searched for their next prey.

Holland's last thoughts as the pain began to impinge unabated upon his mind, pushing him back into the darkness, was that it was all true . . . The Children of Medb had returned at last.

Cannons thundered and orders were shouted across decks as ships maneuvered in the skies above Newcastle. The Rebels had opened fire on the Tristanian fleet almost as soon as it had come to hover over the Fortress, and Tristain's ships had risen to answer.

Tristain's battleships were concentrated near the front of the battle line, trading blows directly with Albion's two bigger ships of the line while the smaller frigates tried to stay out of the way. Although Tristain had brought twice as many battleships, the heavier cannons and trained crews of Albion's own ships went a long way towards evening the fight.

Trailing behind the battleships, frigates rose and fell through the air, jockeying for firing positions against one another, their smaller cannon working perfectly well against their own lighter construction.

Broadsides fired again and the space between the two lines of ships was briefly filled with smoke and cannonballs.

Hulls shook and masts were broken like toothpicks. Crewmen ducked low along the decks, seeking shelter from shot and the massive, man killing splinters that knifed murderously through the air. The lucky ones got back up and began reloading the cannons for the next salvo, the less lucky kicked and screamed on the deck, clutching at ruined limbs, when there was any limb left to speak of.

Four third rate ships of the line and twenty frigates against a second rater, a third rater, and the surviving twenty odd frigates of the Rebel fleet. In terms of ships, it was a nearly even match that slightly favored Albion with its larger and more powerful frigates and battleships.

But Tristain had its own secret weapons. In addition to their Dragon Knights, the fleet had a full raid team of Faeries in support.

Green wings filled the skies, darting in and out among the ships, dodging spells and cannon fire while they drove off attacks by Albion's Dragon Knights or flew on the wings of Tristain's own Dragons to guard them from attack.

The Sylphs were inexperienced, their only taste of real battle had been against Mobs and maybe a few dishonored Mages turned bandits, but they were fast learners, using their small size and greater speed and maneuverability to avoid spells that a Dragon Knight would have to parry or shield against.

Above it all, two pairs of Faerie wings, black and white were spread, cruising over the battle in search of where they were needed most.

It was strange, Asuna thought, it was strange how readily she had adapted to flying. For over a month her wings had been lifeless, near useless appendages protruding from her body like some deformity, but now they moved about at her slightest thought, like they had always been a part of her.

Kirito hovered over her, literally, a look of worry crossing his face between sweeps of the battle below. She understood, he was worried for her, seeing how their last battle in Aincrad had gone. But that was all the more reason why she had to fight. The thought of losing Kirito again was just too much. She knew he felt the same way.

Kirito's eyes stopped their tracking, he pointed down. Asuna squinted, perception ability allowing her to see across the distance and through the smoke. A formation of dragons, not just a flight pair but a group of six, had gotten underneath Tristain's fleet while the Dragon Knights and Sylphs were busy elsewhere, braving the fire of the light anti-dragon cannons to strike the exposed undersides of the ships.

The Tristanian ships carried baskets mounted with swivel guns that could hoisted over the sides of the ships to defend their lower hulls, but as Asuna watched the lead dragon belched a well aimed fireball at one of the gun nests, swallowing the basket in flames and igniting its gunpowder. The basket burst like a firecracker, taking its crew with it.

She wanted to look away, but she didn't. If she hesitated, even more people on their side would die. She didn't have that right.

An exchanged glance was all that needed to pass between her and Kirito before they dropped into a powered dive, timing it so that they passed between a pair of frigates just as their broadsides finished and cutting a straight path for the dragons.

Two of the dragons broke off from the formation, clawed forelimbs sinking into the underside of a wooden hull, their Mage riders hanging almost upside down as they began to concentrate spells at a single point near the ship's aft. Magic wards protected ships from fire and to a lesser extent were used to reinforce the hulls against blunt impacts, but that just meant Halkegenia's Mages had devised new ways to overcome their defenses.

One of the Mages directed a jet of high pressure water against the hull while the other conjured up a freezing wind, the tightly packed planks began to groan, swell, and pop. They were were going to break their way inside from underneath and let their dragons turn the ship's lower decks into a crematorium.

"Asuna!" Kirito shouted.

"Right!" Pulling out of their dive, Asuna took the lead.

The Mages were preoccupied but their dragons weren't, the flying lizards alerted their riders with hisses of alarm. Both Mages looked up, responding almost immediately. The first dropped free of the ship, his dragon's wings stretching out and beating at the air to regain altitude, the second stayed with the ship, dragon spitting fire while the Mage whipped up a wall of wind, batting the flames into an expanding dervish of high speed air and fire.

Asuna eyes narrowed as she tracked the incoming flames. It was big and scary, but that was all really, it would be a good deterrent against something the size of a dragon, but a Faerie was another matter. She found her opening and took it, punching through a gap in the wall of flames and catching the dazzled Mage by surprise.

Split Moon licked out, Asuna showered the dragon's head with a series of high speed strikes, aiming for the sensitive eyes and nostrils. The dragon roared in pain, wrenching its claws loose from the ship and falling as its rider struggled with the reigns.

By the time that the Dragon Knight had regained control, Kirito was already on him in a powered dive from above. Twin strokes of his swords bit down, slicing into the dragon's neck and severing the spine. The Dragon went limp almost at once, wings still stretched like an immense glider. It's Mage rider cut himself free of his harness, jumping clear as his partner came around to retrieve him, retreating for now to the safety of their own side of the battle line.

Asuna watched them go with a glare before turning back to Kirito and nodding in the direction of the remaining four Knights who were making their next run on one of Tristain's battleships.

Again, the Knights and their dragons aimed for the exposed anti dragon weapons first, but this time the lead fireball broke against a spherical blue barrier and a shower of butterfly-like lights. A flight of Sylphs overtook Kirito and Asuna.

Sylph Mages chanted buffs while the tanks moved forward, wielding their heavy broadswords as combination swords and Mage staffs. Magic shots were traded, Sylph and Mage barriers rising only to be beaten down by magic or brute physical force. A sylph was winged, a dragon was struck from the sky by the dazzling blue white light of a Faerie Mage's lightning spell.

The Faeries's speed and the power of their spells was balanced by the skill of the Dragons and their Riders. The Knights fired off their fast spells, wind projectiles, fireballs, and water whips conjured from thin air while their dragons were given free reign to chime in with their own breath attacks.

Through it all, Asuna and Kirito took the lead, never hesitating as they clashed with the Knights or pulled the less experienced Sylph fighters from the jaws of death.

The Knights lost one of their number, then two, the remaining two Mages chose to flee rather than press the attack. The Faeries let them go, it was too dangerous to pursue into the Rebel guns.

"Oy! Nice, nice one, we've gott'm on the ropes, eh Kirito-san!" Asuna looked over, one of the Sylphs was flying closer and waving to Kirito.

"Emshael-san." Kirito shouted in greetings. "Good to see you could make it."

The Sylph laughed as if oblivious to the danger all around them, he was either really brave or really stupid. Kirito and Asuna followed after the Sylphs as they made a temporary retreat from the front line to a ship that was standing off behind the Tristanian formation.

The frigate Zeol had been designated as a floating rear line base for Faerie squads to land, rest their wings, and restock supplies before returning to the front.

Faeries flitted all about the frigate like giant Wasps tending to their nest as sorties launched and returned

"Hey, the raid forces have to show the flag! Anyways, I'm just glad you're still alright." The man's green eyes flicked to Asuna. "Mind telling me who your partner is? I don't recognize those wings."

Asuna smiled as she noted the suspicious look that crossed Kirito's face. "It's nice to meet you, Emshael-san, I'm Asuna, Kirito-kun's wife."

The look on the Sylph's face was worth it. He looked back and Forth between the two, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Kirito you dog! No girls in the middle of a battle!"

"That's usually my policy." The Black Swordsman answered dryly as they came to touch down on the deck of the of Zeol. "But Asuna makes it pretty hard most of the time."

Where the skies around the ships seemed to be filled with giant hornets, the deck was like a beehive. While the Faeries used the frigate as their base, with a dozen Faeries on the deck at any one time, the Tristanian forces continued to utilize it as a relay, sending flag signals and messengers all about to coordinate the fleet as it traded fire with the Rebel forces. Midshipmen ran about everywhere, trying to avoid bumping into the constantly coming and going Faeries.

The steady cycling of Fae squads had given rise to a routine where returning Faeries would set down at the back of the ship and then slowly work their way forward, having cuts and burns tended to and buffs reapplied before launching from the bow.

Asuna sipped at a canteen offered by one of the ship's crew while she waited for Kirito's wings to recharge. Looking over her shoulder, that at least wasn't something she had to worry about.

They'd discovered during Asuna's flight practice that her status as a Maeve conferred its own racial bonus, just like those enjoyed by the other Faeries. Asuna seemed to be the only Fae to possess Unlimited Flight. Or at least, her wings hadn't run out of flight magic even after hovering for two hours, although her back had cramped up pretty badly afterwords.

Seeing as ALfheim had set a flight limit of ten minutes, and even in this real world, the best Fae Fliers could only manage around twenty minutes of level flight, it was an ironic parting gift from her old tormentor.

If they ever made it back home, Asuna would have to remember to thank Sugou right before she beat him to a pulp.

When it came their turn to depart, Emshael gave them both a thumbs up as he stepped from the bow, dropping past the hull and spreading his wings to chase after his squad.

"Ready? Asuna asked.

Kirito nodded and they were both about to follow after the Sylphs when shouts and whistles started to spread across the deck.

Asuna turned, her perception skill focusing her attention on the skies above them. A fracas seemed to have developed over the Tristanian battle line where a whole squadron of Albionian Dragron Knights had massed for a charge.

The dragons broke through the unprepared Faeries and Tristanian Dragon Knights, forcing them aside with wind and fire spells before the lead and flanking parts of the formation peeled back like the petals of a flower, allowing the inner half of the squadron to surge forward while they cut off pursuit.

Free to run amok along the unprotected outside of the Tristanian line, the dragons didn't bank to attack but instead picked up speed as they went into a shallow dive.

Kirito responded a heartbeat faster than her, grabbing Asuna and throwing them both from the deck.

"Incoming strike!" An officer barked. "Make ready!"

Ship's crew ran to their battle stations, turning swivel guns and cannons to face the incoming dragons while Sylphs began to chant their heavy barrier spells.

A pair of Dragon Knights and seven Faeries rose to meet the diving dragons, throwing clouds of razor edged wind shrikes and dragon's breath that was batted aside by the heavy wind barriers of the Albionian Mages. There was no time for their more powerful spells before the ten Albion Knights were diving past them, allied Dragons squawking as they beat their wings and Sylphs dodging about to avoid being swatted.

The Sylphs gave chase, the majority of Albion formation falling back to guard against them while a single dragon accelerated, taking the lead, its rider's Arm stretching out towards the top of the frigate.

Starting from aft, the deck of the Zeol suddenly went white and then exploded into flames. Faries were thrown off the deck or flew clear, catching a few lucky airmen knocked from the edge of the ship. The less lucky screamed all the way to ground.

Before Asuna even knew what was happening, Kirito was shielding her with his own body as the flash came again, an arc of lightning crackling across the top deck of the ship, burning sails, crewmen, and faeries, and igniting gunpowder charges left at the ready beside the cannons.

Every Faerie that hadn't already taken flight did so now, grabbing their hurt friends and dragging them along if they had to. The lightning was followed by blasts of fire, seven in rapid succession striking the deck and burning to cinders anyone unlucky enough to not be below decks or blessed with the power of flight.

Ten massive Draconic shapes rocketed past with their wings folded, followed by the Sylphs of the Zeol's defensive contingent who had been unable to stop them from simply ramming their way through.

The dragon's stretched their wings, banking and scattering into four well coordinated flight pairs, the remaining two flying solo. Asuna grimaced as she saw a blue scaled dragon spreading its wings. Was Sir Dunwell really that persistent? But as she looked at it, she had to correct herself, no, it wasn't the Albionian Knight. Her perception ability allowed her to focus on the wind dragon and its saddle and she let out a hiss as she identified the rider.

He must have seen her too, because at that very moment, Captain Jean Jacques Francis de Wardes met her gaze and smiled.