Archive of Our Own

Legram, the Lakeside Town, September 1206

It's true autumn before they come to Legram at last, the trees glowing like fire through the train windows. Duvalie has no idea why Victor Arseid has elected for a train when he has the option of the Courageous II but he had chosen it and Laura had concurred without argument and here they are, listening to the train wheels thrum over the tracks. Laura is resting her chin on her hand, gazing out of the windows with blank eyes. Arseid is quiet, his face unreadable. He has finally commissioned a new coat, one with no sleeve rather than one pinned up and it somehow makes his injury more obvious rather than less.

Duvalie still isn't sure why she's here. She has just followed in Laura's tracks since the Tuatha de Danaan vanished into the sky. Ennea had kissed her cheek and called her a loyal puppy. Ines had smiled knowingly but refrained from teasing so very obviously that it just stung more.

Duvalie loves them, but she's not ready to go back, not sure what the three of them even are without her lord.

So, now she's on her way to Legram, watching Laura S. Arseid watch the world go by. 

As they draw closer to the end of the line, the mist begins to gather in the shadows of the trees, rising from the hidden streams and winding rivers to wrap everything in floating shades of grey. Duvalie prefers it like that. She's not quite ready to see Legram, where her lord lived long before any of them knew her, where she had another life before she ever thought to take up a sword at Dreichels' side.

She not ready and yet she yearns for it. There must be more—more secrets to learn, more stories to commit to her heart, more of her lord to make her feel like she doesn't yet have to make a final goodbye.

She tries not to consider what will come when all the stories are told, all the secrets laid bare.

The train's brakes squeal on a bend and Laura rises. "Nearly there."

There is no one on duty at the station, though the guard makes a hurried bow as he sees Arseid. It's so small—the end of a tiny country branch line. In Duvalie's mind, Legram looms large, but now she's back she sees again that it is barely more than a village, huddled into the steep shore of the lake. 

They exit the station to no fanfare and Duvalie thinks she's the only one who sees the hesitation in Arseid's step, until Laura reaches out and touches her sleeve, holding her back so neither of them overtake him. 

She cannot see Lohengrin. The mist is too deep and she is oddly thankful for it. 

Laura and her father have gone ahead, and Duvalie holds back, watching as the town begins to notice. Two kids race around the side of the Guild and come to skidding halt. Their voices bring others out of the cottages and the shop. Before long, it seems like the whole town is rushing onto the streets, making the Arseids welcome. Laura is mobbed by adoring teenage girls, whereas the adults surround Arseid with warm greetings and eager questions—is he home for good? Are they both home? Is the Empire in safe hands now? What's to come?

Her hometown had been a little bigger than this, but she remembers walking to market, holding tight to her father's hand, turning her face up to meet cries of welcome. She cannot recall if they were as sincere as this—she was too young to tell. She hopes her father was as loved by his people as Arseid is—likes to tell herself he was good and just.

And part of her mind is calculating how much easier Legram would be to defend, how its heights could be barricaded and held by a mere handful of gifted fighters, the access to fresh water and food stores, the possibilities for evacuation by water. 

These people are safe. She is long past the age where she would have hated them for it, but she is fiercely glad for Laura and her father that they will never see their people bleeding in the dirt, their homes set to the flame, their fields salted with ash. 

Erebonia is not as bad as it thinks itself to be, after all. 

Laura looks up from her gaggle of starry-eyed baby sapphics and waves her forward. "Duvalie, let me introduce you to everyone."

The last time Duvalie received that many death glares at once she was supporting McBurn against Class VII. Irritably, she stamps forward and grumbles, "Trust you to have a fan club, ridiculous Arseid."

The gaggle bristle and Laura says reproachfully, "Ah, these are my good friends. Girls, this is Duvalie the Swift. She is extraordinary with a blade. She has come to train with us and share her techniques with the Arseid school."

Oh, is that why she's there? She supposes she can see why Laura might have jumped to that conclusion. Crossing her arms, she says, "Well, I suppose we could see if any of them are capable of beating me."

Laura laughs and starts up the hill. "Come. let's get you settled in at the mansion and I'll introduce you to everyone at the training hall."

Duvalie had assumed she would be staying at the inn, but who is she to argue with the force of nature that is Laura S. Arseid in hospitable mode?

Of course, she argues with Laura all the time.

Maybe she’s just curious to see if these usurpers are maintaining a suitably elegant residence for a family claiming her lord's name as their own.

Yes, that is clearly it. 

The charming room she is installed in, with its own balcony and a comfortable bed, has nothing to do with her acceptance of the situation.

Later, they walk down to the training hall. It's quieter than last time she was here. They are greeted by the master swordsman who likes to playact as Arseid's butler. All he says is, "I see we shall have to draw up some new training programmes, my lord."

"I shall look forward to it, Klaus," Arseid says and disappears into the office. 

Duvalie follows Laura through to the training hall, breathing in deeply. It smells right: wood, sword oil and the faint tang of sweat. For all the high-tech facilities, the salle on the Courageous II had never felt convincing. This feels like a place to test yourself to the limit, to celebrate your growth alongside your fellow warriors, a place to belong.

There is only one disciple at work, pacing through moves with a sombre face. He lowers his sword at their approach. "Lady Laura."

"Gaveli," Laura says. "I wasn't sure if we'd see you here."

"I thought it best to return, lest the hall stood empty."

"Thank you. I shall look forward to training with you once more. Is there any word of the others?"

"Datt gets his release papers next week. He'll be coming back from Crossbell then. Ares is assisting with restoration of the Vander Hall in Parm until they are all demobbed. Fritz—"

His voice breaks.

Laura's hand flies to her mouth. "No."

His blade is trembling in his hand. "In the very first attack. I couldn't help—he was right beside me and I wasn't fast enough."

Laura lifts her shoulders. "It was not your fault. You must not blame yourself."

Duvalie has never understood how Erebonia can be so ready for war and so unprepared for its consequences.

She grips Laura's shoulder warmly and then steps round her to place her hand around Gaveli's. "Lift your sword, squire. Your friend's courage, his good heart, are yours to bear in his place now. Carry them with pride."

"Duvalie—" Laura protests, but Gaveli's spine straightens and he lifts his sword again.

He says softly, "It would be my honour."

Duvalie can see the tears brimming in Laura's eyes, but she holds them back. She too lifts her blade. "Shall we, then? In his memory?"

Gaveli offers her a slight bow. "It would be my honour."

"Duvalie, would you be so kind as to referee the match."

"Of course," Duvalie says, and stands watch while their grief sings out in the clash of blades. 

Later, back in the safe walls of the Arseid mansion, Laura lets her tears fall. Duvalie sits beside her on the couch and holds her hands tightly, offering what comfort she thinks Laura will accept.

"He was so young," Laura whispers at last. 

So are you, Duvalie thinks. So am I.

That first night in Legram, wearied by loss and weighed down by the awareness that nothing can ever again be what it was, Victor dreams himself somewhere else, somewhere beyond.

And in that dream, he fights McBurn again.

Nothing hinders his strength. There is no stiffness in his lungs or flapping sleeve where his left arm should be—no, he has both arms and his full strength to go with them. Nothing slows him and he can't help but smile with the sheer delight of it.

Flames blaze around him, taking the form of wild dogs, of diving hawks, of sharp-toothed lizards twining around his legs. He cuts through them all with blazing sweeps of light, tracks McBurn by the billow of his flames and forces him back towards the wall of purple rock behind them.

McBurn is laughing, his hair white with battle-lust, fire tracing shapes across his cheeks. There has always been something terribly beautiful about this madness, the way he is illuminated by his own destructive power.

Victor's not even sure why they're fighting this time. Perhaps it is just their fate, to be forever locked in mutual devastation.

"Come on," McBurn taunts. "You can do better than this. I'm hardly having to try."

Victor returns. "I would believe that if you weren't out of breath. Have you lost your stamina since you regained your sense of self?"

"I've lost nothing. You've kinda slowed down though, Radiant Blademaster. That lost limb messing with your head? Gotta say, I thought you were tougher than that."

Victor's not sure why he's smiling. "I think I'm tough enough to deal with you." 

He unleashes strike after strike, rising like a phoenix from the flames around him. Within moments, he's on McBurn, their blades crossed and their bodies so close he can see the shimmer of each individual flame in McBurn's eyes.

"There you are," McBurn murmurs. "Yeah, bring me that fighting spirit. Crazy, isn't it? Of all the puny opponents I've crossed in my time on this lousy, flammable plane, you're the one worthy rival out there."

"Not always a rival," Victor reminds him.

"It was sort of fun, wasn't it? You and me against the world. Shame you were stuck behind a mask." McBurn's smile twists and Victor pulls himself away just in time to avoid the flames fountaining up where his feet had been. It's several minutes of thrust and counter-thrust before they're face to face again.

Victor observes, "If my daughter's account is correct, and I am sure it is, you wore a mask of your own at the time."

"Wanna see the real me, Blademaster?"

"Would he offer a greater challenge than this version of you?" Victor asks, his grin widening. Without the end of the world or his daughter's well being at stake, this is actually rather fun.

McBurn's smirking too, and as Victor watches, his grin grows wider, his teeth sharper. His skin shades into blue and horns twist up from his forehead. He says, voice now so deep it sends a shiver up Victor's spine, "This good enough for you?"

"I admit, I was expecting someone taller."

McBurn's laugh makes the flames flicker around them. "I'm going to keep you, valiant mortal."

"I'm afraid I must decline. I have responsibilities and promises I must keep."

"Yeah, word on the street's you're retiring."

"My prime has passed. I must turn my mind to new purposes."

McBurn's demonic face contorts into a snarl. "My purposes."

"No," Victor says.

McBurn's blazing sword vanishes and he's leaning forward. "Yes."

And he presses his dangerous mouth to Victor's.

Victor wakes with a shock, sitting up and reaching for his blade. The movement unbalances him, and he has no way to catch himself. For s moment he teeters on the edge of his bed and it’s only the thought of Laura's face if she comes running to save him that makes him tighten his core and wrench himself back upright.

McBurn is not here. He does not have his arm back. His chest hurts.

It was just a dream, a senseless dream. He is safe in Legram, in the quiet room where he has slept alone since he lost his wife. The moon shines clearly through the window, and he can see Lohengrin silhouetted against the stars now the mist has cleared.

It was just a dream, a strange, unsettling dream but a dream nonetheless. 

But his lip is wet and when he licks it, he tastes blood, as if someone's teeth had grazed it in a kiss.

Duvalie finds the Arseid Hall suits her very well. Laura and Klaus can both offer her a challenge should she desire it. Lord Arseid is too busy with his reconditioning program to duel with her, but she awaits the day eagerly.

In the meantime, she spends much of her time working with Gaveli. He's talented swordsman in his own right, but war has hurt his soul. She thinks he finds it easier to work with a stranger than those who share his grief, so she works him hard. Laura contents herself with the others—Datt and the two new trainees he brought back with him from the army. 

She and Gaveli stop to watch them, and he says, sounding interested, "Darell there might be worth trying with a pole arm."

"I'm not a fan myself, but one of my sister knights uses a halberd to good effect."

"So, you're not a lone practitioner, then? Your style isn't exactly in line with ours."

"I should think not."

"But it's not unrelated. I wasn't aware of any schools that had branched off Arseid."

Duvalie bristles. "Please. You're the branch if there is one. My lord—"

"Could best any one of us in single combat," Laura says wryly. "Duvalie, could I prevail on you to show Aster how you manage that backhanded slash at such speed? I fear I have yet to master it."

"Pfft. You could do it if you tried. You're painfully slow for a blademaster."

Laura admits this with a shrug. "I will improve, I promise. Come, I know it's in the turn. If we walk it through, do you think Aster can make it work without tripping off the platform."

Aster goes scarlet, so Duvalie scrambles up to join them. "Go and stand with Gaveli. You're over-extending."

 She and Laura walk through a duel, calling the elements of each move as they go.

On the second repetition, Aster says, "Oh! I see it now."

Duvalie nods approval. "Come up here and try it."

"Uh, actually, I was wondering..." His words fade into a mutter.

Laura smiles encouragingly. "Go on."

"I was just wondering if we could watch you two duel properly. Not dumbing it down for us, I mean."

Laura tilts her head. "Well, Duvalie?"

"As if I need an excuse. Gaveli, if you please?"

He nods. "Of course. Boys, shadow me. You need to know how to referee a duel as well."

There's always something satisfying about fighting Laura. Neither of them will ever give less than their all, but they're so evenly matched it becomes a conversation as well as a contest, a joyful sort of collaboration where they can indulge in every flashy craft they usually reserve for emergencies. She's faster, but Laura has better reach. Her shield is balanced by the greater strength of Laura's blade. It feels playful, in a way that it never quite is against Ines or Ennea. They work better with her as a team, but they cannot challenge her with this perfect balance.

Of course, just because they've been having fun the last few weeks, it doesn't mean they haven't been learning. Laura tries, not too badly, to pull off the very slash Duvalie just showed Aster. In return, Duvalie launches herself into the air and does her best to cleave the earth between Laura's feet.

Laura dodges it, but only just and calls, "Well-played."

"Hah!" Duvalie returns. "That'll teach you not to use my own crafts against me."

"What? By doing exactly the same thing yourself?"

Eventually, they wear each other down to gasping exhaustion. Gaveli calls the match a draw despite both their protests and sends them both outside to cool down and stop intimidating the new trainees.

It's still pleasant outside, though they're well into October. Laura pours them both a glass of water and brings them to the table. "Gaveli's beginning to sound like himself again. I'm glad. You've done so much to help him."

Duvalie shrugs. "It was nothing."

Laura looks sceptical. "If you say so. I disagree, however."

"You may disagree as much as you like."

"I'm very glad you came home with us. I don't think I've said it yet."

"I didn't come for you," Duvalie retorts automatically. She glances at Lohengrin across the water and looks away, looks at Laura instead.

Laura says, "I could take you there."

"Not yet. I'm not ready." She isn't sure she'll ever be. Though, of course, neither of them can stay here forever.

"What about you?" she asks. "Are you fixed here now? I thought you'd go back to travelling."

Laura sighs and leans back against the railing, her eyes sad. "I'm worried about my father."

"His recovery seems to be going well. He fought his way through the Salt Pale with no problem."

"Not his physical health—well, not entirely. He was sustained by the curse at first and from what he's let slip, after that he was fighting on a mixture of tricks and well, pure determination. It got him through that fight, but to truly master the sword again, he needs significant retraining. His whole balance is different, one-handed techniques are not in any way the same as wielding a two-handed blade, and well, his spirit seems a little crushed. He's having to relearn everything and I don't think he's finding it easy to be a beginner again. Add to that, I don't think he's sleeping well and..."

Duvalie rises to her feet. She's not a sentimental fool like most of Class VII, but she knows when a friend needs comforting (and Laura is most definitely a friend now, however that came about). She offers a quick hug and really has no excuse for being surprised when Laura latches on to her. 

Class VII are, after all, Class VII.

She strokes Laura's hair tentatively and tries to imagine this is Ines or Ennea and so not in any way discomforting. 

"Thank you," Laura murmurs and draws back. Her eyes are a little red.

"Think nothing of it."

"I seem to keep putting my troubles on your shoulders. You've been a source of great strength, but I would hate to think we were impositioning upon you. You must miss your own family."

Is that a hint? Does Laura want her gone? It's not like she was every invited. "Ines, Ennea and I are... not quite sure how to be together at the moment."

That hurts, but not like the void in her life where her lord should be hurts.

Laura's eyes are full of sympathy. "And the rest of your family? Your parents?"

"Gone."

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean..."

Duvalie puts out her hand to rest on Laura's arms again. "You couldn't have known. It was a long time ago."

"Some things still hurt. I never knew my mother, but still..."

"I was twelve—away at school. When the news reached us of the attack, I tried to get home, but it was too late. There was nothing left but ash and rubble."

Laura's arms come back around her. "No survivors?"

"Not one. They never brought the ones who did it to justice. My lord—when she came for me, she promised me that vengeance. And she granted that promise."

"Did it help?"

Duvalie takes a moment to dwell on the memory of her parents, her scholarly older sister, her sweet-natured little brother and his collection of pets. "It didn't bring them back. It was justice, nothing less and nothing more."

"I'm sorry I asked."

"It is no secret." She looks at Laura, beautiful, resolute Laura, who is only now beginning to understand the lesson Duvalie learned so bitterly over a decade ago. "Our scars are not weaknesses. They're what make us who we are."

Laura frowns, glancing at the hall as if they'd been talking about her father and not themselves.

Victor's weary to the bone by the time he falls asleep that night. He has never been so grateful for his graceful, competent daughter and all she and her friend have done to take the weight of leading the Arseid school off his shoulders. And, yet, part of him feels bitterness curl in the gut when he watches her move without hesitation, stepping into his shoes as if she had never been so small and vulnerable he could hold her in the crook of his arm.

This time when he dreams of McBurn, they are not fighting. Instead, McBurn stands, in his horned form, on a vast purple peak, gazing down on a sweeping plain where vast armies clash below a twilight sky. Where Victor comes to stand beside him, McBurn dwindles down to the form Victor knows, so casual the contrast is almost painful.

He says, his usual drawl bitter, "So, come to look upon my kingdom, then?"

"Your kingdom?"

"Probably not so much any longer. Place looks a wreck, don't you think?"

"I don't really have a point of comparison." The armies far below include horned knights mounted on huge scaly beasts, archers hovering in the air on shining wings, ranks of soldiers who must be taller than McBurn's true form, their fists grasping blades twice Victor's height. They have banners too—some in scarlet and purple, some in green and black, others in a bright electric blue which reminds him of the colour of McBurn's hair.

McBurn is watching them too. The blue army seem to be caught in a pincer attack between the other two, but where the lines of the other armies meet on the bottom edge of the plain, they are engaging. If Victor was in command of the blue army, he would make use of that—these are uneasy allies.

McBurn says, and his voice is softer than Victor's ever heard it. "I remember when the Forest of Uisnig grew on the lower slopes of these mountains, the many-branched trees and the sweet fruits they bore which could offer truth or eternal sleep to any who consumed them. The rivers flowed from Uisnig's trees across the sward of Annan to the shore, where the lords of the Overworld dwelt in their towers of sepith and gold and gazed out upon the endless sea and the isles of Ynys Nog."

There are no trees in the plain below them, no greensward or rivers, and the horizon is nothing but hazy dust. 

"What happened here?" Victor asks.

"Damned if I know. Damned if I can remember."

Victor asks, choosing his words carefully, "McBurn, are we in the Beyond?"

McBurn's smirk is cruel. "Would it worry you if we were?"

"Somewhat, given I am merely mortal."

"Yeah, guess we'd have to do something about that. But, no, we're not there yet. Just kind of looking in from the outside. Haven't found my way back in yet, but when I do..."

"Yes?"

"I will end this."

"The war? Throw your support behind one of the armies/."

"Perhaps." McBurn looks uneasily. "Feels like I know all the generals, though. I need to figure out who's who before I do anything rash. If i can figure out how to break through, that is."

"You know them?"

McBurn shrugs, the motion exaggerated. "Could be friends, could be foes, could be family. You know how it goes. Lovers or children, brothers or sisters, or some mixture of them all. I can't remember, not yet."

Victor looks at him, tries to see the sulky, lazy boy and the horned monster superimposed on each other, remembers Laura's shaken account of that final fight, the knowledge that McBurn has been trapped in a body not entirely his own for fifty years. Victor was trapped by the mask for mere weeks and it was unbearable, leaving scars he is still struggling to live with.

"Who are you?" he asks, not sure what kind of answer he wants.

McBurn shrugs again and says, "My name is Meru Cu Baldagh Ruang and once I was their god."

Victor tries to hold the shape of the name in his mind, feels it fade away as if it was not designed for mortal knowledge.

Below them, every army stills and slowly, every soldier on the field looks up, gazing at the peak where they stand as if some great bell has rung a peal to warn of the ending of the world.

McBurn rolls his eyes. "Yeah, guessing that's our cue to leave."

Victor wakes back in Legram and lies staring at the ceiling, his heart thundering in his chest. He has never dreamt like that before, in such a clear sequence and coherent conversation. And why would he dream of McBurn, of all people? McBurn, with his bitter eyes and cynicism, speaking with heartbreak of a world that was no longer his.

Victor turns over, pulls the blanket tight beneath his chin, and tries in vain to sleep again.

Duvalie watches as the next few weeks bring a change in Arseid's attitude. He is still hollow-eyed and contemplative, but he takes up the teaching of the new trainees again. Gaveli is recovering his confidence, and suddenly both Duvalie and Laura find themselves with free time again.

Laura uses it to try to integrate Duvalie into the village, which is extremely irritating. Duvalie clearly isn't going to stay here forever—she has no need to learn the history of every family in the village.

The food in the inn is still outstanding, though, especially once the chef comes back from war, subdued and unsure of himself in everything save his cooking.

And, yes, the children are somewhat charming, even the ones who hate her vehemently for stealing Laura's attention, and she's learning to predict the day's weather by the texture of the morning fog, just like everyone else, and fine, she may have spent an afternoon fishing off the pier, and she supposes she can't deny that she's enjoyed helping out the local bracer guild with the usual inane requests, but—

"You should just admit that you like us," Laura suggests, smiling at her over their latest shared dinner at the Aprikoze Inn. "We're becoming quite fond of you, I hope you realise."

"Hmmph," Duvalie snorts but she can't deny the blush heating her face as she dives back into her meal.

Laura is gracious enough not to mention it. "I was wondering—I know you're not ready for Lohengrin, but we have some relics in the family archives from St Sandlot's day. I'd be happy to show you."

"I—I would like that. I've been wondering—clearly your father's house is of later date, but why is there no plaque on whatever house she did live in?"

Laura sighs. "Unfortunately, Legram has been rebuilt since then. There was a terrible landslide, late in Dreichels' reign, and nearly all the original houses were destroyed. They managed to rescue the old animist symbols and Dreichels himself funded the building of the new quay and the waterways, but nothing really remains. It would have been some arge below us—the current village is built on the new embankment. They did reuse stone from the first village, though. It's likely that most of the houses in Legram contain a little piece of her childhood home."

Duvalie's first reaction is bitter disappointment. On reflection, though... "So her home became the foundation for the whole village? I think—no, I'm sure—she would have been proud of that."

"I only really knew her from the histories and the records, but I've always thought so too. We do have Shion Arseid's diary."

Duvalie sits up, suddenly breathless. "What?"

"It's one of our family treasures. I've read it myself, of course, but it's quite fragile. We tend to keep it quiet, apart from visiting scholars."

"I would—I must—I can't imagine—"

"I'll ask Klaus to get it out of the vault for you," Laura says casually, as if she's not talking about a treasure beyond all measure.

Duvalie reads it that afternoon and has to keep getting up so her tears don't fall onto the fragile paper. She has always seen her lord as being as far beyond her as the stars are the moon. In these pages she meets the girl Lianne, brilliant, determined but sometimes uncertain, still learning the extent and the limits of her own strength, making mistakes and learning how best to resolve them. She witnesses Lianne's first meeting with Dreichels, the testy friendship she builds with the witch Roselia, her fascination with the different fighting styles of Roland Vander and the heroes of Nord.

Laura has waited patiently for her, sitting in the corner of the archives with her own book. Duvalie is glad she's there but has little attention to spare for anything but the diary.

She is not ready for it to end with such brutal finality.

Shion Arseid has been dead for well over two hundred years. He never told the story of his leader's resurrection and eternal life.

Nonetheless, her first words to Laura are, "This should be published."

Laura looks startled. "Really? We've always guarded it closely."

"The world should know this side of her. She's gone. There's no more secrets to guard. Let everyone know the truth of her."

Laura hugs her again and Duvalie cannot resist it this time. She buries her face in the crook of Laura's neck and weeps.

Laura rests her cheek against Duvalie's hair and says unsteadily, "I'll ask my father tonight. I'm sure there's someone at the university in Heimdallr that could be trusted with it."

"You kept it secret so long. Why would you—?"

Laura's arms are warm and strong. "You're her daughter. You're her heir. You have every right to ask."

"I miss her. I miss her so much."

"I know," Laura whispers into her hair, rocking her. "I know, my friend."

Later, much later, when Duvalie has washed her face and listened to Lord Arseid agree to her proposal with alacrity, she looks across to Laura where she is perched in the other end of the couch. "Friends?"

"Of course. Hadn't you noticed?"

"Well, I suppose." Duvalie ducks her head, not wanting Laura to meet her eyes. "So, what are you reading?"

"It's a fascinating book. Part sword-craft, part philosophy."

Duvalie grimaces. "Philosophy? It gives me a headache. I've got a travelogue—nobleman who travelled around Liberl incognito."

"I believe Prince Olivert did that some years ago."

Duvalie looks at her book with new suspicion. "Please reassure me that man doesn't have time to write a book as well."

Laura swings her feet up, sliding them between Duvalie's in the space between them. "I believe he would be more likely to write an opera."

"Dear Goddess," Duvalie mutters and returns to her book, trying to pretend she isn't smiling.

They're on the ridge again, looking down at the blasted plain below. The armies are no longer in battle but camped in close array. Three pavilions stand at the head of each army and in the space between them a white cloth has been spread out, mounted with chairs and tables.

"They have come to parley, then?" Victor notes.

McBurn doesn't turn to greet him. "Looks like it. Maybe my name put the fear of god in them. Or maybe they're all teaming up to kick me out again."

"Did they kick you out before?"

McBurn shrugs. "Fuck knows. Maybe they grieved, maybe they partied. What do little monsters do when the big daddy monster goes poof?"

"I don't think you're a monster," Victor says and is surprised to find he means it. 

"I mean, I appreciate it and all, but I have set you and yours on fire a few times."

Victor says gravely, "Adversity makes us stronger."

McBurn cracks out a surprised laugh. "You mortals are crazy."

Victor refrains from comment. "So, have you resolved they are your children?"

"Again, fuck knows."

Victor is not convinced. McBurn is too focused on this possibility for it to be coincidence. His intuition is clearly telling him what his intellect has not yet grasped. 

"You're, like, dad of the year, right? What would you do if your kids went to war?"

"I only have one and I doubt she would declare war on anyone. Admittedly, she's worth an army in herself, and she and Class VII have a record in stopping hostilities before they get started."

"Fine, if she and your crazyass Rakshasha went for each others' throats for real?"

Victor admits, "I'm not really sure, but I am certain I would be very disappointed in them both."

"Yeah, disappointment always works," McBurn observes absently, which confirms Victor's suspicions. At some point, McBurn has been a father. Victor has never been so grateful that the mask only took his willpower and not his memories. He cannot bear the thought of losing all knowledge of Laura's existence.

"When I finally make it back, I'm gonna knock their damn heads together, whether I recognise them or not."

Victor considers many years of teaching stubborn trainees. "That can work too."

"And then I'll hand them over to you, so you can train them to win without so many casualties."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Sure. Fancy being the warlord of my all-conquering army?"

"No."

McBurn smirk goes hard. "No?"

"I'm a one-armed single father with bad lungs who specialises in duels. Your army might be all conquering, but I wouldn't make it through the first battle."

"Lies," McBurn hisses, eyes on fire. "Lies you tell yourself."

Victor shivers, despite the threat of fire in the air. "Even if I had any interest in leading an army, I'm done. My strength is waning and my hour has passed. I am not the hero you want."

"You are my rival. You have survived my worst. Come with me to my world and your lungs will not burn. Your limbs will be strong again and all the other scars you bear will bring you only honour."

"No," Victor says more firmly. "I am not what you want or need."

McBurn is blazing now. "You fool. You utter fool, Victor Arseid. Go back to your miserable life, then."

Victor wakes gasping and lifts his hands to his cheeks to feel them burning as if if he had been out in the midsummer sun.

"My life is not miserable," he says out loud.

He's not sure who he's trying to convince.

Duvalie settles into a routine in Legram. She knows by now what time the trains come in, and therefore when the shops will be restocked. She knows where the best fish bite and what biscuits will tempt both Laura and Gaveli out of compulsive training when they are cross or tired.

She knows that Laura will silently pass her the good berry shake when she starts snapping at the students, and that she prefers the north end of the couch when they're both deep into a book. She's learnt the rueful face Miles sports when he has a ridiculous request for them and the quiet one he uses for monsters and is hopelessly charmed that Laura treats them both the same.

In her head, she making a list of all the things she learns about Laura S. Arseid, from the way she looks in the morning, hair messy and eyes scrunched at her breakfast to the ridiculous fortitude she shows as she brings a sharkodile down.

She is still taken by surprise at times. When she finds Laura outside the training hall glaring at her ARCUS as if she'd gladly pitch it into the lake, she pauses in confusion.

"What's wrong? Is it broken?"

Laura sighs. "I wish it was. Sadly, this is my failure."

"Do you need help with your quartz setup?"

"Oh, I can do that. It's this blasted messaging app. I cannot work out how to join this new group and I seem to have deleted myself from the old one and now my screen is just full of code."

"I can have a look at it, if you like."

"Oh, please. I'm no good at all with technology."

That's oddly reassuring. It's nice to know Laura's not perfect.

That sentiment rapidly fades when she sees what Laura's done to her ARCUS. Not only is the screen unreadable but she has somehow rammed the cover in place to the extent that her orbment is inaccessible. Duvalie tries for five minutes and then marches her down to Duncan to get expert help.

His face droops as they come in and he spots Laura's ARCUS in Duvalie's hand. "Oh, milady, not again."

Laura looks sheepish. "I'm sorry. I'm just no good with technology."

"Oh, we've all heard about the washing machine in Roer," Duncan says darkly.

Duvalie hasn't heard about the washing machine in Roer and from the blush on Laura's face, she's not going to tell. Damn it, she might actually have to talk to some other members of Class VII if she wants to find out.

Fie will tell her but she's not sure it's worth the aggravation. Elliot may be a better option. 

Whatever Laura's done manages to stump Duncan too.

Laura remarks, blush deepening. "Perhaps Alisa could help. Or Tita."

Duvalie grumbles, "If we end up beholden to Schmidt for this, I will throw it in the lake myself."

She does have Alisa's number in her ARCUS so she calls and grates out the start of an explanation.

"Oh, you're with Laura," Alisa says with a note of that unhealthy enthusiasm all of Class VII possess for prying into each others' private lives. "How wonderful! Is her ARCUS broken again? Send me a picture."

Duvalie does while Laura sidles away to look at this week's new weapons.

"Wow, how did she even get into developer mode? Okay, Duncan, I think I can talk you through this."

Duvalie might be better at technology that Laura but she doesn't understand a word of the following conversation. Whatever Alisa's done, though, seems to have worked. Alisa says brightly, "Laura, get back over here and tell me what you were trying to do."

"Join the new group, of course."

"Is that all—no, don't try to explain. I remember the washing machine."

Duvalie remarks, "Someone needs to tell me what happened with the washing machine."

Alisa promises blithely, "I'll message you."

"Alisa! Duvalie!"

"Now, I'll add you remotely, Laura. Are you in as well, Duvalie?"

"I don't even know what this group is for."

Alisa giggles. "Oh, it's sweepstake for when Rean and Crow finally admit they have feelings for each other."

"You're telling me they're not already together?" Duvalie demands incredulously.

"Nope. They're both still giving oblivious a bad name. I've sent you an invite, but I can put you down for a date now, if you like."

Duvalie rolls her eyes. She's not convinced they aren't already fucking and keeping quiet about it. "October 30th."

"Wow, are you sure? That's less than a week away and everyone else has gone for November at the earliest."

"Anniversary of the start of the October War. Given both of them have a habit of self-recrimination, it might force them to some emotional openness."

"I like your thinking, Okay, you're in—Musse's keeping the accounts so send her fifty mira when you get the chance. If your day goes past, you can choose a new one."

"Only fifty mira?"

"There's already almost forty people in the group and we only opened betting yesterday."

Duvalie rolls her eyes. "You people."

Nonetheless, it prompts her to make a call of her own later that day.

Ennea picks up within two rings and coos, "Duvalie, darling, how lovely to know you're still alive."

"Of course I'm alive," Duvalie says crossly.

"We never doubted it," Ines says, crowding Ennea to the side of the screen.

"But, darling, where are you? Not Leeves, surely?" Ennea's going to give her relentless grief for staying silent so long.

She asks blankly, "Why would I be in Leeves? I'm in Legram."

They both go quiet, the teasing fading from their faces. Ines asks softly, "Have you been there yet? To her castle?"

"Not yet. I'm helping the Arseids at their school. They let me read Shion Arseid's diary."

Ennea takes a sharp breath. Ines, always the most honest of them all, asks, "What did you learn?"

"So much. So, so much. I want to share every word with you."

Ennea whispers, "I don't think we can get there. So much is happening."

"Laura and her father—I asked them—there's an expert coming from the university to look into publishing it. Everyone should know who she was."

Ennea sniffs. "Oh, Duvalie."

But it's Ines who repeats, her tone sly, "Laura? I thought you called her 'that Arseid.'"

"I'm staying in her house," Duvalie points out.

"Well, well," Ines says.

Ennea adds, "Perhaps we were worried that the wrong member of Class VII was threatening our darling Duvalie's virtue."

"It's not like that," Duvalie hisses, aware her cheeks are scarlet. "We're friends."

Ines smirks. "Well, that's a good foundation."

Ennea claps her hand to her cheek. "Look at our little Duvalie, all flustered over a pretty girl."  

"I hate you both," Duvalie snaps and hangs up. 

But she feels better for speaking to them. Irritating as they might be, they're still her sisters, and she wouldn't lose them for all the world.

Victor is expecting the ridge again, but when he wakes in his dream he's standing inside a high domed tent, its sides billowing around him under the touch of an unseen wind. He walks through it, sees the flap ahead and spreads it open with his good hand.

He has both arms again, but he's learning to live with just one. It doesn't occur to him to use both, not this time. An illusion is merely an illusion.

He's expecting to step out onto purple rock again, see those armies displayed on the plain once more.

Instead, he finds another tented room. This one is dimmer, lit by low braziers and floating spheres of light under the dome of the roof. In the heart of the room is a bed, strewn with velvet pillows. McBurn lies sprawled across it, propped up by pillows as he sips at a goblet, lips red from the wine.

When he sees Victor he says, tone mocking, "And here he is again, wandering through his dreams and yet always finding his way to me."

Victor pauses, unsure of himself. McBurn has lost his flamboyant coat and, stranger still, his shoes. His toenails are as pink as the horns of his true form. Victor finds it hard to look away from them.

He manages to drag his gaze upwards, past McBurn's bared belly to his blazing eyes. "Are you drunk?"

"Getting that way. Not getting anywhere else, but drunk is easy. Sit yourself down, Radiant Blademaster. Pour yourself a glass."

Victor looks around for a seat, finds none and looks back at McBurn, who is watching him through lidded eyes. He crosses to the side of the bed and pours himself before sitting down gingerly.

The sheets are silk, soft and slippery. He manages to keep his balance, despite his good hand being full, and props himself up against the pillows without spilling a drop of wine.

"Not using the arm I gave you?" McBurn asks sulkily.

"I've spent too much time training to cope without it. I have no wish to set myself back."

"Wow. Nobody appreciates my genius."

Victor feels compelled to comfort him. "It was a kind thought, but unnecessary."

"You suck worse than Loewe."

"You're drunk."

"I'm entitled to it. Do you know how annoying this all is? Can't get home, can't remember anything, can't even persuade a stupid mortal to run away with me."

Victor doesn't have a response to that, so he takes a sip of the wine to hide his silence. It's potent and heady, warmth already spreading through veins, urging him to sink back against the pillows.

He puts the glass down again. "That's little too strong for me, I believe."

"Lightweight," McBurn grumbles. He's still sprawled across the pillows, but he shifts a little so his spread thigh presses against Victor's hip. "Can you not finish a single glass?"

"I know my limits."

"Sure you do. You might know them, but we both know you never respect them. You fought me, after all."

Victor smiles. "And you ruined me. So, you will forgive me when I say I will not drink."

McBurn sits up, eyes ablaze with indignation. "I did not ruin you."

"You set me on the path to it. Or was it someone else's flames that seared my lungs?"

McBurn moves before Victor can register it, pushes Victor back against the pillows and straddles his hips. Victor considers fighting him off, but his heart is beating hard and deep again and part of him wants to see where this goes.

McBurn leans in, his hair falling in hot licks around Victor's face. "My flames in your lungs? My mark upon you? Do you know what that would make you in the Beyond?"

"Tell me," Victor challenges.

McBurn hisses, "Invincible. And mine."

And his mouth is on Victor's again, hot and demanding.

This time, Victor does not wake from the shock of it. Maybe it's the potent wine. Maybe it's the sheer relief of being treated as something other than a tragedy. Maybe it's just because McBurn dares to demand so much of him. For whatever reason, he slides his hand around the back of McBurn's neck and rises into it. 

When they part, McBurn is grinning triumphantly. "So that's a yes?"

"To what?"

"Be mine. Fight for me."

Ah. Victor doesn't need to consider it. "No." 

McBurn rolls off him and flops back against the pillows. "Kind of leading a guy on there, Arseid."

"A proposition is not a job offer. Not where I come from."

"Yeah, well, I don't come from there."

Victor props himself up on his elbow and looks down at McBurn, his sulky face and unconvincing sneer. He says, and it sounds like an excuse, "I have duties. Responsibilities. On my plane."

"Yeah, whatever. I changed my mind anyway."

Victor tucks his smile into his cheek and then lets himself look, for the first time in decades. McBurn's a pretty, dangerous thing, from the tip of his streaked head, down past that pouting mouth to his bared belly and the bulge in his leather pants. It would be a delight to peel him out of them and take advantage of all he's offering.

McBurn's eyes widen, a ring of flame catching light around his pupils.

But the price would be too high, so Victor closes his eyes and wills himself awake.

He can't lie to himself when he opens his eyes to his moonlit bedroom. His whole body is alive with need. He can barely remember the last time he felt like this, so hungry and alive. He remembers being young, pretty wild girls and boys with sweet, sulky mouths. He had walked away from that, answered the call of duty and honour, married, fathered a daughter, and lost his wife and father within a month of each other. He hasn't had time to think of sex since then, too busy being a father and a blademaster, carrying duty on his shoulders until he stopped noticing its weight.

He is not the boy he once was. He doesn’t have it in him to be wild again.

But he could be wilder than he is.

Arseid is passing, slowly but surely, into Laura's steady hands. He had always assumed that would be the beginning of his end, but now he wonders what else might lie before him. He's not invincible, if he ever was, but he's not done yet. 

If he could choose, choose any future, any challenge, what would he choose? He's not sure, but he stares at the ceiling until dawn comes, feeling the ghost of burning lips against his own.

Duvalie blames the other two for the way she can't stop looking at Laura.

Laura, thankfully and frustratingly, seems to be oblivious to the way the arch of her neck makes Duvalie stumble on her words or how she almost dropped her shield when Laura shot her an encouraging smile across the salle or the way she spilled water all down her front when Laura leaned too far across the dining table and exposed more cleavage than Duvalie can cope with.

Lord Arseid, who has seemed preoccupied all week, looks up in surprise.

Laura says, "Let me get you a cloth," and then comes towards Duvalie as if she's about to start rubbing her chest dry.

"I can do it myself!" Duvalie yelps, before she grabs the cloth and runs away.

She makes it all the way to the Aprikoze Inn where she drops her face against the table and despairs. It's barely afternoon and she's not much of a drinker at best, but oblivion seems tempting right now (and that brings with it a memory of her lord, slyly drinking even Ines under the table, long after Duvalie and Ennea reached their limit).

Her lord would not want to see her wallowing, not over some upstart Arseid.

Duvalie wallows anyway. She has never felt such sympathy with Legram's baby sapphics.

That doesn't mean she's ready for Cindy to pat her on the shoulder and say kindly, "At least you train with her."

Duvalie looks up and they're all gathered around her, as if they've been summoned by the plight of a fellow sufferer.

"And you live with her," Seria points out, not without bitterness.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Chloe leans in and whispers, "Last week she stroked my head and told me I was a very good girl."

Is that supposed to have been a trial? Duvalie hisses back, "I just spilled water on myself and she tried to dry my chest."

Their eyes go wide but Chloe claps her hands over her ears with a squeak. "I'm not old enough to hear this!"

"I am," Cindy says dreamily.

Duvalie bangs her head on the table twice more.

By the time she gets back to the manor, it's fully dark, and the air has that bite to it which characterises the nights that follow even the mildest autumn days. It's strange to realise how familiar she is with the steps out of town now, how they have become second nature to her in the way all familiar places do.

The manor is quiet. She catches a glimpse of Lord Arseid sitting in the dining room, his brow furrowed in thought as he gazes out at the view.

She has no idea how to talk to him, so she slips past and makes her way upstairs. Laura isn't in her room, so Duvalie crosses over to the guest room. She switches the light on and goes to close the curtains against the night.

Laura's on the balcony, gazing at the moon. Duvalie goes out to join her, because how can she not?

Laura turns and smiles at her, a little uncertainly. "There you are. I was worried we'd upset you."

"Not at all. I just got caught in the village, talking to Cindy and the others."

Laura's face clears a little. "I'm glad you're making friends."

That was not precisely what was going on, but Duvalie doesn't quibble. Instead she joins Laura at the rail, follows her gaze.

Lohengrin is still waiting for them, a quiet silhouette against the starry night.

"I used to come out and look at it a lot as a child," Laura says, her arm brushing warmly against Duvalie's. "I used to spend so much time dreaming about being one of the Eisenritter, about learning from the Steel Maiden. And you did. You were."

The Stahlritter have never been the Eisenritter, but Duvalie understands. "She would have rejoiced in you, if Class VII hadn't claimed you first."

Laura considers it gravely and says, "But I didn't need her, not really. I had my father and Klaus—and Class VII, yes—and all the support and advantages I could ever have asked for. I don't think she would ever have come for me."

She's right, and Duvalie knows it, but she can't help but note the wistfulness. What would it have been like if there were four of them, if she and Laura had trained together from the start, if they had eventually turned towards each other just as Ines and Ennea had?

Without even thinking about it, she lifts her hand, as if she scooping up stars, and blows the might have beens away.

Laura's looking at her quizzically.

Duvalie flushes. "We used to do that, where I come from. Sending your daydreams to Aidios."

"I like that."

It's so quiet out here, just the two of them, the stars and the shadows of the mountains across the water. Duvalie wonders what would happen if she reached out and touched Laura now, in this moment where it feels like they're the only ones in the world.

"After you go to Lohengrin, will you leave us?"

It catches Duvalie off guard. "What? No! yes! I mean, obviously. I can't stay here forever, can I?"

"Uh—"

"And it's not like you're not going to leave eventually yourself, is it?"

"Well, I mean—I should return to travelling at some point. I have commitments to the Arseid school—teaching that I should return to eventually."

"Well, then," Duvalie says crossly.

"So, is that your plan, then? You'll return to the Stahlritter when I set out again?"

"I could come with you," Duvalie bursts out. "I mean, if you think it would be of any use, if you still have things to learn from me or that I could teach your students."

Laura murmurs, "I have so much still to learn."

Duvalie's blushing so hard she's glad it's dark out here. "Well, good then."

Laura lifts her gaze to the moon again, sighing a little. "I'm sorry. I'm in the kind of mood where I can't stop thinking about the end of things."

Duvalie's been fighting hot flustered thoughts about touching Laura all day, but when she reaches out, it's to cup her hand around Laura's shoulder and offer comfort. "What's wrong?"

"Ares wrote to Klaus. He's coming back this week."

Ares is the last missing disciple of the Arseid School. What's so significant about him?

"We thought, Klaus and I, that we should hold a memorial for Fritz, once Ares gets here. It would be fitting."

Oh, this is grief, coming back like a fading echo to surprise them yet again.

Laura confesses, "I shall have to be strong for the others then, but..."

"Tell me about your friend. He was your friend, right?"

Laura is hesitant. "You have greater griefs to bear. I would not wish to burden you."

Duvalie shuffles a little closer, feels Laura warm and vital against her side. "Grief is grief."

Laura starts, leaning into Duvalie a bit. "Fritz was—he came about a year before I went to Thors. From Heimdallr, but it was the Arseid style which called to him, not the Vander school—"

"Quite naturally."

Laura giggles and then swallows it, as if she feels laughter has no place here. "He was so—so happy to be here. He had the loudest laugh—Gaveli didn't know what to make of it. He used to tease me for being too serious—said I reminded him of his little sister."

Her voice cracks at that. Duvalie strokes her back and says, to keep her going, "His sister? Could we invite her?"

Laura turns slightly towards her. "Do you think we should? Would it help them?"

"Doesn't hurt to ask." Duvalie cleared her throat. "After—well, after my family had gone, I found out that my sister had been writing to friends in other towns—other scholars, you see. One of them wrote to me afterwards, told me what Maelie had meant to her, but what she had been working on, what she had loved—things I'd never thought to ask and never could... It meant a lot."

That gets her a breath-taking embrace which she has to flail her way out of, but honestly, what did she expect from showing emotion to a member of Class VII? Trying to pretend she's more indignant than breathless, she protests, "Really, why do you people always have react like this?"

"You like us really," Laura says.

"I might like you. I'm not admitting anything about the rest."

Laura throws an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, Duvalie, I'm so glad you came home with me."

And, somehow, that's more devastating than the hug.

Victor wakes on silken sheets again, but this time he is alone. He pushes himself up with his good arm and tries to pretend that he doesn't have two good arms in this dream world.

The walls of the tent billow softly in answer to a hidden breeze. The sheets are rumpled, as if someone else's body has pressed against them not so long ago. There's a table in the corner that wasn't there before, covered in covered metal dishes with steam making the air above them shimmer. There are tall goblets of twisting glass, bottles of wine that shimmer with just too much iridescence. 

It's a scene set for seduction, but he's the only one here.

Victor makes his way across the tent and outside.

They're still on the ridge. McBurn stands on a jutting rock, staring down. He's perfectly still, though the wind catches the flared tails of his coat. 

Below them the armies have moved again, though no blades meet in flashes of steel. Their placement on the plain has changed—the blue army has been forced back further against the mountains and seems much reduced in number.

It's the only encampment where anyone moves, and now Victor looks more closely, he can see flags in every encampment fly at half mast. What kind of war is this, that judders from slaughter to deep and mutual respect?

He asks, "What happened here?"

"A leader died." McBurn's drawl sounds forced. 

"Did you know—"

"No!" McBurn snarls, turning on him. "I don't know—how I am supposed to know who I lost today? He could have been anyone to me. He could have been nobody. I cannot recall."

His eyes are human, red-rimmed and bleak. Victor cannot help that think that his heart recalls, even if his mind cannot explain the loss.

Victor has known loss, all too many times. He knows McBurn has felt it too—has heard how he speaks of the lost Enforcer. McBurn knows he has felt loss again today.

"Should you go to them?" Victor asks, thinking of how everyone in Legram has gathered to share their loss.

"I can't."

"Because you don't trust them to tell you the truth when you return to them?"

"Because we're not really here."

"Explain."

McBurn's face goes flat.

Victor adds belatedly, "If it pleases you."

"Always so polite," McBurn grumbles, but some of that vast and wild loss is fading from his face. 

"Good manners cost nothing."

McBurn rolls his eyes. "Except time and breath."

"Which you too could save if you explain this place to me."

McBurn glances down at the plain again, some of that bleakness returning. "There are places in every realm where the veil between the worlds grows thin. You know them well—places which are always haunted by creatures from another plane, places that draw old legends, where the higher elements are always in play."

"Yes," Victor agrees. He knows of many.

"From there, it's not so hard to see through the veil, to stand in the places in-between, which are neither one world or the next. But to break through—that takes more. That takes knowledge—the kind of knowledge that has been stolen from me."

"By the leaders of Ouroboros?"

"Yes." McBurn hisses the word, drawing it out in a way that is most certainly not human.

"I would be delighted to help you hunt them down."

Victor thinks McBurn's next expression is the most honest one he'd even seen. McBurn says, low and intent, "You said no."

"To being your warlord on a foreign place. Hunting down Ouroboros is another matter entirely."

"I accept." McBurn's hair is paling and there is a hint of fire in his eyes again. 

Victor thinks it suits him better. To keep him distracted from the solemn rituals on the plain below, he says, "Now you need not waste your efforts trying to seduce me into your service."

"Yeah, false modesty doesn't suit you, Radiant Arseid."

Victor flushes but keeps his composure enough to say, "I have a name."

"You should be careful who you give it to."

"You may use it."

McBurn's eyes burn a little brighter. But then his gaze is drawn back to the plain, and he fades a little.

Victor puts a hand on his shoulder. "Is it helping to watch?"

McBurn is quiet for too long, before he asks wearily, "What else am I supposed to do?"

Victor says gently, "Come back inside. Enjoy that meal you prepared. And then I daresay we can find a way to amuse ourselves."

McBurn's attention is suddenly all on him.

Victor bites his smile back and says mildly, "Chess, perhaps?"

"Chess?"

"Vantage Masters?"

McBurn's outrage is funny enough that he can no longer keep a straight face. He laughs and McBurn lunges at him, drags him into the tent and presses him hard against the end of the bed. "Victor Arseid."

"More of a Blade player, then?" Victor asks and doesn't resist when McBurn pushes him down and then crawls over him, pinning his wrists above his head.

Victor grins up at him, challenge and anticipation quickening his pulse. "Of course, it also occurs to me that I haven't been properly kissed for many years."

"I kissed you."

"And you call those proper kisses?"

McBurn says with admiration, "You little shit."

Victor laughs and McBurn lunges down and catches that laughter in his own mouth. This kiss is as slow and relentless as Victor likes, an endless exchange of soft lips and shared breath, of the grind of their hips and the hint of sharp teeth. 

When the dawn wakes him, Victor isn't ready to move. He lingers in bed, pleasantly exhausted, and smiles at the ceiling. 

 The house is waking up around him, and he listens to footsteps in the hall, the sound of the kitchen door and the clatter of the breakfast dishes, Laura and Duvalie talking as they dash downstairs, all the warm familiar notes of morning in Legram.

It would not be appropriate for him to miss breakfast, so he drags himself out of bed.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror and pauses, lifting his hand to trace the unmistakable marks on his throat. They tingle under his fingertips and he remembers, as vividly as if he was still dreaming, the glitter of McBurn's eyes as he sucked hard on tender skin, holding Victor down as he shuddered in response.

He'd forgotten how good that felt.

Of course, it might also be wise to don a scarf today. There are some conversations he's not quite ready to have with his daughter.  

Duvalie sat in the back row of the chapel for the memorial, with the two new trainees uncomfortable by her side. None of them knew Fritz, but they'd obviously felt, just as she had, that they should be there.

"I don't even know why," Aster whispers to her as they wait for Laura and her father to arrive.

Darell says, "It's community, isn't it? We're all members of the same school and live here in this town. Coming together like this, it's not just to remember the dead—it's so we can all share together in the community's grief. Makes us stronger."

Aster, usually fast and twitchy, goes still to stare at him. "Oh, what, now is the time you choose to stop pretending to be stupid?"

"Slow isn't stupid, little pom."

Aster puts his indignation aside as the Arseids come in with an elderly noble couple and a girl in a St Astraia's uniform. This must be Fritz's family, come from the capital. To Duvalie's surprise, Kurt Vander and his mother are with them.

They slip into the back row with Duvalie and the others. Kurt nods to her awkwardly and says, "Sir Duvalie. I hadn't realised you were still here."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Duvalie grumbles. "More to the question, what are you doing here, baby Vander?" She has enough grace to bow her head to Lady Aurier. "Stormwatcher, welcome to Legram."

Beside her, Aster squeaks and Darell kicks him in the leg to shut him up.

Kurt says, "Our families were friends. I was at Sunday school with his sister Lea and Fritz often came to practise with us when he was in Heimdallr. His family never understood his devotion to the sword, but they respected it. They felt we might help them understand what his life was like in Legram."

That may be more than Duvalie's heard him say in one go. She bows her head, "You should know how deeply loved your friend was here."

 Then the service begins, and they all settle to listen. It's all very simple and sincere, from the eulogy given by Lord Arseid, to Gaveli's voice cracking as he gives his reading. Fritz's sister cries and so does Cindy, leaning against her father's shoulder. Laura gives the final reading, voice strong but underlain with compassion. Duvalie watches her, seeing a glimpse of what Laura S. Arseid will become, how she will be remembered down the centuries.

It's a good service, one she would be consoled to know was waiting for her if she fell, and she finds her own eyes prickling. In another world, a kinder world, her lord would have been laid to rest in this very chapel, a hero of a distant war, unburdened by the weight of time and regrets.

When everyone starts to leaves at the end, climbing up the hill to the Arseid school, where they will gather to toast Fritz's memory, Laura lingers.

Kurt Vander hesitates by the door, and she wonders if Schwarzer has taught his students this too, the duty of shouldering all Class VII's troubles, not just their own,

She says to him quietly, "Let me see to it." Then, raising her voice, "Darell, Aster, show the Vanders to the training hall, please."

Aster says something which sounds like, "Eep, yes, Vanders, whaa?"

Darell puts his hands over his eyes and sighs.

Duvalie fixes Aster with a glare. "You are a disciple of the Arseid school. You have no need to be abashed before a Vander."

"I've still got a long way to go," offers Kurt, which is a complete lie but seems to reassure Aster. They depart and leave Duvalie and Laura alone in the chapel.

Laura doesn't seem to realise Duvalie is here, for she goes to kneel in front of the altar for a while.

Duvalie, whose faith is less simple and somehow entirely entangled in her mind with her love of her lord (who is, after all, by many reckonings, a saint), settles on a pew and waits until Laura is ready. It doesn't seem to feel right to leave her here alone.

When Laura does stand, her cheeks are wet with tears. Duvalie sighs and fishes a handkerchief out of her pocket.

Laura allows her to dry her cheeks, looking a little bewildered. "I hadn't realised you were—I made sure to wait. There are others who grieve more, and I have no wish to burden them."

"You're allowed to have feelings."

"I suppose."

"She supposes! Honestly, Laura!"

Laura's smile is small but bright. "You fuss worse than Machias."

"Nobody fusses more than Class VII," Duvalie says darkly. "Are you ready to join the others?"

"Of course. I wasn't expecting to see the Vanders, but I'm glad they came."

They step out into the chill, bright autumn sunshine, and Duvalie says, just to make Laura react, "Well, I suppose it's fitting they show their respects."

"Duvalie! They are our friends and allies, not our rivals."

Duvalie huffs. "I'm your rival, and I would hope that doesn't mean I cannot be your friend."

"Of course you're my friend. And one who takes good care of me, too."

Duvalie hopes her blush can be blamed on the cold air. "What's the use of a rival who's not at her best?"

They find everyone already deep in conversation, and Laura puts on her hostess manners again. Duvalie goes to check on Darell and Aster and finds they have overcome their shyness and are deep in conversation with Kurt Vander. Cindy is talking to Fritz's sister. Everyone is here, the people of the village, the disciples of the school and the family of the lost. Duvalie steps back and looks at them, all these familiar faces, and is surprised to realise she does not feel out of place.

"Sir Duvalie, may I speak with you?"

Aurier Vander is at her side, regarding Duvalie with a thoughtful gaze. Duvalie hadn't heard her coming, which is another reminder not to underestimate the Stormwatcher.

"Of course, my lady."

They slip outside, and Duvalie breathes in the sharp breeze and notes how the mist is beginning to blur the horizon. There will be fog, come morning.

"A pretty place," the Stormwatcher observes.

"You don't like it?"

Aurier's smile is wry. "I prefer cities, though I could be happy enough in a small town were my family close. Forgive me for cutting past the pleasantries, sir knight, but I had not expected to see the head of the Stahlritter as a master of the Arseid school."

"I am not—my sword follows a different path."

"One that is closer to Arseid than Vander, and you are clearly teaching these children well."

"They are far from children. They both served in the recent war."

Aurier's eyes are sad. "As did we all, in our own way. So are you not fully committed to Arseid?"

"I don't understand."

"My son speaks highly of your swordsmanship. If you truly wish to leave the Stahlritter and are not committed to Arseid, the Vander school would be glad to extend a hand of welcome."

Wait, what? Is this a sales pitch? "I—that is, I am honoured, but—I have made no final decisions, but I am happy here for the moment."

"Parm is a small town too."

Duvalie surprises herself with a smile. "I like this small town."

Lady Aurier's shrug is resigned. "I see. Well, I suppose it was worth a try. The Vander style has been too much focused on strength in recent years. A master with your speed would have put some fire in their heels."

"I thought Vander was strength."

"Not purely. Schools evolve. If I understand directly, yours and Arseid's are branches of the same tree. I was a sword dancer before my marriage, and some of what I brought to the school is now part of our canon. Perhaps your branch will be entwined with that of the Arseid school again before long."

"I—"

"The loss will be ours, I'm afraid. I would loved to have seen my husband try to keep up with you."

There's a glint of mischief in her eyes that suddenly reminds Duvalie of Ennea. Oh. Well, in that case... "I would be honoured to visit the Arseid School when I am next in Heimdallr. Perhaps we could all train together, Stahlritter, Arseid and Vander."

"You would be most welcome," Aurier Vander says solemnly, but the mischief is still in her eyes. Duvalie's pretty sure she's just signed herself up for a duel with the Thunder God. Perhaps Laura would care to join her. Or Ines and Ennea.

Or perhaps all three.

Lady Vander tarries a little and they talk of sword craft. It's a satisfying conversation, a reminder that her lord is not the only woman worth aspiring to, and it extends when Laura comes out to join them. 

Lady Vander eventually bids them farewell, gathers her son and Fritz's family, and heads for the station.

Laura watches them go and then asks, voice very casual, "What did she want of you?"

Duvalie sighs. "To offer me a job, if I understood her correctly."

Laura goes very still. "Did you accept?"

"Of course not!" That seems a little too vehement, so Duvalie adds hastily, "After all, I have not yet been to Lohengrin."

"Do you wish to go soon?"

"Certainly not."

"Ah," says Laura, her cheeks a little pink. "Good."

Two days later, Laura gets a call on her ARCUS, which makes her go pale and then bright with joy. She tells Duvalie, her voice hushed and happy, “George thinks he can do it. He thinks we can get Millium back. We’re going to the Workshop tomorrow, all of Class VII, old and new.”

Duvalie has no wish to visit the Black Workshop ever again. She’s quite happy to wave Laura off when the Courageous II arrives.

Victor Arseid joins her on the balcony, watching the ship with quiet eyes. Duvalie still isn’t sure how to speak to him, but she is sure he must feel conflicted. He may have commanded the previous ship but it had also almost been the death of him.

Then he breaks into a wide smile and lifts his good arm in a broad wave. He shouts, “Bring her home, Class VII!”

They all try to reply at once, in a chorus of laughter and excitement. The Courageous II roars away, a flash of scarlet hope against a grey autumn sky.

Duvalie returns to the training hall and steps back into her routine there with determination. She is quite capable of training the inexperienced without Laura’s help.

And if she does keep checking her ARCUS for messages, it’s not because she’s concerned about Laura in the depths of perdition that is the Black Workshop. Class VII and their affairs are no business of hers.

It’s just that what happened to Millium Orion was a great injustice. It needs to be put right.

There’s nothing sentimental about that.

And so, when her ARCUS finally pings with a message, she’s the one to announce to the whole salle, “They did it! They did it! She’s back!”

She has no explanation for how that ends up with the entire Arseid school celebrating in the inn for the rest of the evening.

Laura stumbles in somewhere around the fourth round, smiling and happy.

“Come!” Duvalie demands of her. “Drink with us!”

“We toast your victory!” Gaveli adds jubilantly. He is most undoubtedly the worst lightweight of the group. Even Aster is holding his liquor better.

Laura blinks and then links her arms through theirs. “It was a great victory. She’s alive. Oh, Duvalie, you should have seen Altina’s smile!”

The next morning she wakes to find Laura gazing into the mist from her balcony. Duvalie drags a shawl around her shoulders and goes out to join her.

Laura says, "I think the weather will turn tomorrow. Winter is almost upon us."

"What are winters like here?" It's further south than she has ever lived before, but it also mountainous. She isn't sure what to expect.

Laura grimaces. "Wet."

"No snow?"

"In February, if we get any."

"So, what should we do, to mark the changing of the season?"

She isn't entirely serious, but Laura promptly replies, "I thought we could go swimming."

"In November?"

"True, the water is fresh, but not impossibly so. I think it adds to the joy of a final swim."

Duvalie is not convinced, even when Lord Arseid turns down their invitation to join them with obvious regret. "I would slow you, daughter. Perhaps when I have fully regained my strength."

"I am certain you could keep up, father."

Lord Arseid shakes his head. "I wouldn't want to spoil your fun, girls. Go forth and embrace the challenge."

No one else in Legram is quite so keen on the idea. Gaveli turns them down politely and Datt with a bout of laughter. Darell seems horrified and Aster calls them both insane.

He may have a point. Duvalie has to borrow a swimming costume from Laura and by the time they reach the end of the pier Duvalie is already shivering. 

Laura dives in with such grace and power that Duvalie's breath catches. She doesn't breathe again until Laura surfaces, some way out, and smiles back at her. "Come on! The water is lovely!"

Duvalie executes her own dive with all the competence she possesses, and immediately regrets it.

The water is not lovely. The water is not lovely at all.

The water is so fucking freezing that the only reason she doesn't scream is because she needs her lungs for breathing. 

Laura, treading water with a happy smile, suggests, "Shall we race? To the rock out there?"

"You're on," Duvalie grates out, and hurls herself forward. Perhaps racing will keep her warm.

Laura beats her to it by a finger's length and they both haul themselves up onto the rock. From here, they can see the whole of Legram, tucked into the hillside under the watchful eye of the manor and the Arseid hall. The early fog has burned off, and Lohengrin sits on the horizon, elegant and ethereal in the wintry sun. The light washes over Laura too, and Duvalie is horribly, obscenely aware of how the cold air has made Laura's nipples perky under her costume, how very much Duvalie would like to close her mouth over those little peaks and warm them up again. 

She can feel Ennea laughing at her from another country.

To distract herself, she asks, "Do you do this often?"

"When I want to think."

"What's on your mind?"

Laura gazes towards Lohengrin, her mouth set. When she speaks, she says, "My father. I feel like he's drawing further away by the day, and I can't tell why. He—it doesn't feel like he's content to be here any longer."

"Perhaps he needs to go back to the Courageous II?"

"He's turned Prince Olivert down. Twice."

Duvalie can understand that. She too had felt the ashes of the first Courageous sting her cheek, and she would not have wanted to step onto a new ship if she were Victor Arseid.

She says, trying to find a careful route through this. "When my lord took me in, she never treated me as less than an adult, even when I longed for a mother's love. But, Laura, she never knew me as a child. Your father has always been your hero, has he not? Can you understand why he would not want you to see his pain and uncertainty? And he must be hurt and uncertain, given all he has survived."

"I would never think less of him because of his suffering."

"That is easier to hear than to believe. He does not want to disappoint you."

"I would never—he keeps passing more and more of Arseid to me."

"Are you not ready?"

Laura looks back down at her, eyes troubled, and Duvalie reaches up and curls her hand around Laura's ankle. Laura admits, low and unhappy, "As ready as I'll ever be, but he shouldn't be. Not yet. He's still in his prime."

"He is hurt and healing. It is not so wrong to ask you to ease his burden."

"But that is not my father. My father rises to challenges. He does not surrender to them."

Duvalie considers that. "How old was he when he took on Arseid?"

"A little younger than I am now."

"Well, in that case, I would recommend stripping him of his name and honours and setting him loose in the world to earn his reputation anew. The man is owed his youth."

Laura looks horrified. "Duvalie!"

"I was joking," Duvalie says, though she hadn't been. "Nonetheless, I do think he needs space to learn who he is anew. Are you able to give him that?"

"I—yes, of course. I was remiss not to realise he needed it."

"Loving, not remiss." Duvalie eyes the water grimly. They have been on this rock long enough that she's starting to warm up, but they still need to get back to shore. She's never letting Laura talk her into swimming in November again. "Now, shall we race back to shore?"

Laura beams at her. "Of course."

She loses this one too, but at least Chloe is waiting with hot chocolate when they haul themselves ashore.

Victor spends too much time that afternoon looking out of his window and watching Laura and Duvalie swim. He is glad his daughter has found yet another loyal friend, but he cannot help wishing he was able to swim with them. He is not even sure how to swim with but one arm.

Self-pity will not avail him. He is much better than he was, all the slow dreary rehabilitation he and Klaus have done finally starting to feel natural. There are still days when he forgets, reaches out to pick things up with a hand that is not there, but the gaps between those errors grows wider. He can eat in comfort now, as well as wield his blade, brew a cup of tea, rest a burden in the crook of his good arm while he opens a door, trim his beard and fasten his pants at a decent speed.

He is even becoming used to the way people look at him, as if he has served his purpose in this world and they are surprised he still lives.

No, this is self-pity again. He should put it aside.

He returns to the papers on his desk, but they do not hold his attention. Instead, his mind begins to speculate idly on the great armies of the Beyond. They do not seem to use modern orbments, which suggests there may be a place of value for even a one-armed swordsman.

No. he has no need to doubt his blade. That, at least, was easy to remaster. He is no Divine Blade, but he is close enough that the mastery of any blade is more instinct than learning. No, it is everything else which is so much harder than it should be.

Why do they not use their winged beasts more effectively for surveillance or even airborne attacks? Are they not capable of extended flight or is there some cultural taboo against it?

He really needs to finish reading this report, but the Diet's latest tax reforms do not hold his attention.

What lies beyond the plain he has seen? It cannot be the entirety of the Beyond, so why do they choose to war there?

He has trained long and hard, trained others on the same road. He understands that progress is not linear, that learning comes in peaks and troughs, that all epiphanies must be succeeded by hard work, that exhaustion or disaster can set one back months or even years. He has always known, in an abstract way, that the same can be said of the mind. He must not resent these days, where his thoughts cannot settle in one place or keep turning relentlessly to his losses.

He is only human, after all.

In his mind, McBurn whispers, Invincible. And mine.

If he belongs to anyone, it should be his daughter, his students. his town, his country. Not his enemy, his rival turned seducer.

Dreams should not seem more tempting than reality.

Klaus says, clearing his throat, "My lord, you look tired."

How long has he been standing there? Victor should have noticed.

Klaus says gently, "My lord, it is no sin to take a nap. Or, for that matter, a short vacation."

He is too young for naps, but he cannot say that to the implacable old man before his. "A vacation?"

"I hear there is already snow in Ymir. Or, should a warmer climate appeal, I am sure Sir Cassius would be delighted by your company in Liberl."

"Trying to be rid of me, Klaus?"

Klaus' smile is indulgent. "No, my lord. Trying to ensure you put your own needs first is a far greater challenge for one of my experience." He crosses the room and draws the curtains against the low sun, before rearranging the cushions on the sofa. "Take a nap, my lord. You are brooding, and we both know that does you no good."

Dreams are an appealing thought, appealing enough that Victor gives in easily. "Very well. Wake me, before dinner, please."

"Of course, my lord."

Sleep comes quickly, and with it dreams.

And in his dreams, he is drowning.

No, not drowning, merely making no progress towards the distant shore, his one arm pulling him off balance. 

So, in this too, he must adapt, and swiftly too, if he is to make it to shore before he tires. 

What remains of his lost arm aches less in the water, but it of little help in propelling him forward. He will have to rely on his legs and core more than his remaining arm, use his legs to correct when he loses his rhythm. In enclosed waters, he would turn on his back, but he needs to see to be sure he has not gone off course. Grimly, he sets out, holding the distant island in the centre of his vision.

Why is he swimming to an island? He has no idea? Perhaps Laura could tell him if she were here.

It feels so slow, his estimation of distance out of sync with the strength of his strokes.

He is a little over halfway there when the water changes around him, suddenly lucent, the crest of each wave aglow with blue and green scintillation. It coats his arms as he rises into his next stroke—both arms, now answering to his will.

And with that he knows whose dreams he has returned to and makes eagerly for the shore. It is no longer an island he makes for, but a broad expanse of sand, glimmering a little too pale and silvery for any beach in a mortal realm.

McBurn is waiting for him when he emerges from the water, his gaze lazy and appreciative. That's more of a compliment than Victor feels he deserves—his body is strong, but it is no longer than of a young man.

Of course, it is not his true body either.

"Well, radiant is the word," McBurn murmurs and reaches out to run his finger down the length of Victor's bare chest, pausing on his belly, just above the band of his trunks.

Victor doesn't want him to stop, and yet knows he must. He catches McBurn's hand with his own and sees that he is still illuminated by whatever was in the water, shimmering across his skin. "What is that?"

"The shine? Some sort of tiny beast that lives in the water. You look like you've been dusted in stars."

Victor looks down at his arms in dismay. "It's alive? Does it bite?" 

"They're not even big enough to have a brain. The blue ones won't hurt you, but anything red or purple is poisonous, pretty as it looks."

"Pretty things often are."

McBurn smirks at him. "Was that aimed at me? What a riposte when I was giving you such pretty compliments."

Victor shrugs, and comes further up the shore, leaving the shining water behind him. "Last time I had this many sparkles in my hair, Laura was six and going through a phase where she was enamoured with glitter. The damn stuff gets everywhere."

 McBurn expression shifts from dreamy lust to pure amusement. "Many fathers would have kept their distance."

"Even if her mother had still lived, I would not have been one of them. Although that did once mean meeting with the leading generals of the Imperial Army with pink sparkles in my beard. Thankfully, it was a brief phase."

"And one I shall think of fondly should I ever cross blades with her again." McBurn clearly catches the look Victor gives him, for he sighs and adds, "Not that I'm intending to duel Class VII again any time soon."

"I appreciate it." Victor takes a slow breath, looks around him at the shimmering sea, the pink and silver sunset spread across the sky, the silvery sweep of the beach. It's very beautiful and he is loath to spoil a good moment, but...

"You gave me this arm."

"Kinda looked like you were struggling out there."

"A little, but you should not have done. It interferes with my recovery, with the way I must train my mind to live without it."

He gets a haughty look. "You should let me restore it."

"Its loss is part of me. This—this is just an illusion. Another mask."

That does the trick, because with a flash of McBurn's eyes, it is gone. Victor absorbs the familiar feeling of imbalance and does not look at his stump. It has healed, but it is still an ugly thing, wan and awkward. Instead he looks at his hand, where the sparkles are drying to grey dust.

He's not sure why he's surprised by the touch of McBurn's fingers on his shoulder, or the hesitancy in his voice when he asks, "May I?"

 "Yes," Victor says and he's surprised by the roughness of his own voice.

McBurn's hand slides down, and he's the last person Victor would have expected to be this gentle, but he is, excruciatingly gentle. He cups the end of the stump and observes, "It healed well."

"That was partly your doing."

"You remember?"

"Parts of it." It is still a jumbled nightmare in his head, fire and agony and the crushing grip of the curse seizing on his mind.

"It had to be sealed. You were bleeding out while they argued what to do with you." There is an odd regret in McBurn's tone. "The rest of the healing was others."

It makes strange and perfect sense that McBurn would not let him die. "It would have been a warrior's death."

McBurn's face contorted. "You deserved to live."

"You have my gratitude."

"I don't want your gratitude." McBurn is angry now, trembling with it, but no flames come rising from him to sear Victor's tender flesh.

It is all very confusing and Victor is tired of the muddle his life has become. "What do you want?"

"I cannot be less subtle, Arseid. You! I want you!"

And he kisses Victor again, fierce and demanding, his hands hot and eager on Victor's bare skin. It's a demand and a challenge, and Victor can't help but rise into it. He feels alive again, certain again, in a way he often struggles with these days.

McBurn breaks the kiss and snarls, flames licking up his face, "Why do mortals have to make everything so complicated?" 

Victor says tartly, "Well, I apologise for my limited lifespan and my determination to use it to the full."

"You're wasting half your life brooding. Spend it in glorious battle with me instead."

Victor contemplates his responsibilities and shakes his head sadly. McBurn's mouth turns bitter, so Victor catches his jaw and leans in again. He murmurs, "Not forever, but certainly tonight." He presses his mouth to McBurn's again, feels the moment when McBurn understands and his hands turn tight and possessive on Victor's back.

 When they part this time, Victor points out, "You're somewhat over-dressed. Unless overlords of the Beyond even fuck on the beach in their clothes?"

McBurn appears to have been reduced to speechlessness.

Victor's having fun, in a way he hasn't allowed himself for years. He runs his good hand down McBurn's torso, and toys with the laces of his pants, feeling the nudge of McBurn's erection against his hand. He adds, because he knows as well as any warrior how to provoke a fight (and what is this but a meeting of bodies and a proof of intention?), "A shame. I had been wondering how far down the tattoos go."

That snaps McBurn out of his silence and he leans in to hiss, "All the way."

Victor leans in too, tasting the faintest hint of ash in the heated air around them, and says into McBurn’s mouth, "Prove it."

And McBurn does, right before he shoves them both back down into the shimmering surf.

Victor wakes to a smear of silver sand on the cushions beside him, aches in places he hasn't ached for years, and a stickiness in his pants which is not at all suitable for a man of his age and dignity.

Of course, a man of his age and dignity shouldn't have sand stuck in the places he currently does either. Somewhat carefully, he takes himself off to the shower.

It's dark outside, and Klaus clearly chose not to wake him for dinner. He can hear the girls talking softly in Duvalie's room, clearly back from their swim.

He does not feel like the same man who fell asleep here earlier, but it is a solitary revelation. Everything else in the house remains unchanged, as quiet and as solemn as it ever is. He could stay here for the rest of his life, moulder away like the dusty chests in the attic.

Or he could live, even if it isn't to others' expectations.

When he looks at himself in the mirror, his eyes are wild and his mouth red. He does not look like himself at all.

He rather likes it—thinks if he was wearing his captain's hat he would set it at a jaunty angle. 

He thinks McBurn might be the type to enjoy it if Victor wore nothing but the hat. 

This is going to be an adventure, and he is ready for it.

When they come back from their swim, Lord Arseid is asleep on the couch in his study, looking restless.

Laura hesitates. "Do you think he needs a blanket?"

Duvalie says, with a little exasperation, "You do him no honour by coddling him like a child."

"I worry for him."

Duvalie sighs. "I know. Come, leave him to his sleep. Let him rest undisturbed."

Laura acquiesces reluctantly, and Duvalie points her towards her room. "Go and dry your hair. I'll meet you downstairs."

Her own hair is drenched and she undoes her braids with a wince. As she suspected, it has tangled into hopeless knots. She sits down with her comb and begins to work them out, one section at a time, before they dry in place. 

She's feeling too pleasantly tired to dry it and put in up again, so she wanders downstairs with it loose around her shoulders. 

Laura is already curled up on the couch with a book, but she looks up as Duvalie comes in, and breathes, "Oh."

Duvalie raises her hand to her hair, immediately self-conscious. "I needed to untangle it."

"I've never seen you with it down. It looks so pretty."

Duvalie blushes so hard she has to look around and check McBurn hasn't shown up to set things on fire for a joke. There is nothing particularly pretty about her hair. It is a perfectly workable shade of brown. When wet like this, it hangs to her elbows, and it will dry to something between lank waves and disorderly curls. There is a reason she always wears it up.

But Laura's looking at her as of she's some frilly little thing with ringlets and her brain cannot cope. She blurts out, "I should cut it all off. It just gets in the way."

Laura's face falls. "If that is your wish, of course, but I would think it a shame. It suits you like this, though I understand why you keep it up. There are days when I find my own a trial. The winds of Nord were a challenge."

"Ines has that problem," Duvalie says and makes her wary way to the bookshelf. "I think you are both lucky to have hair that does not tangle. It is a plague."

"A pretty plague."

Duvalie drops the book she had just taken off the shelf.

Laura sits up, eye bright. "Duvalie, did my compliment fluster you?"

"No! I wouldn't be flustered by a mere compliment. Compliments are nothing to me. Irrelevant and irrational things."

"Of course." Laura's mouth is twitching, but it isn't until Duvalie is almost at the couch that she says, "Your eyes remind me of the spring."

Duvalie trips over a footstool and lands face-first on the couch. 

Laura is giggling too hard to help her up. 

Duvalie pulls herself up and says indignantly, "You! You can stop that right now!"

"But Duvalie, it's really quite charming."

Duvalie stamps her foot. "Stop it. You're an Arseid. You're not supposed to be this devious."

Laura says earnestly, "If I were truly devious, I would have found this weakness weeks ago."

"That is not an excuse for using it now!" Duvalie adds, a little frantically, "Besides, your hair is much prettier than mine."

"Thank you," Laura says without hesitation. She doesn't even blush, damn her.

Duvalie flings herself on the couch. "That's not fair."

Laura gets the giggles again. 

Duvalie pointedly opens her book and ignores her.

Laura's giggles finally fade. Duvalie is still trying badly to ignore her when Laura reaches along the couch and wraps her finger in a strand of Duvalie's hair. "It is pretty, though. You should accept that, even if you don't care for compliments."

"You're delusional," Duvalie mutters, but she does not object when Laura continues to play with the ends of her hair.

Dinner is just the two of them, and Klaus murmuring, "I thought it best not to wake your father, my lady."

"Join us yourself, then."

"You're very kind, but I've already eaten with the trainees. Enjoy your meal, ladies."

And so it's just the two of them, sat across the table with Laura still obviously staring at Duvalie's hair. It's chosen to curl tonight, bumping her cheeks and shoulders in a way that always make her feel softer than she is. 

"Pretty," Laura murmurs as they take their plates back through the kitchen, and Duvalie inadvertently tips her plate and lets her fork slide to the floor.

Laura ponder aloud, "Does this work in battle? What happens if I compliment you in a duel?"

"I would not be paying any attention to your nonsense!"

"We should test it. It's important to train away a weakness, Duvalie. I should tell you how pretty you are every time we fight from now on."

Duvalie protests, "You are a menace, Laura S. Arseid. I am going to go upstairs right now and put my hair up sensibly."

Laura says, a little wistfully, "May I help?"

Duvalie's brain goes blank.

Laura does go pink now. "I never had any female friends my own age, and my own hair is no good. It just slides out of everything but a tail. I used to do Emma's for her, at school."

Duvalie thinks of all the times she has let Ennea or Ines braid her hair for her, the times she has drawn a brush through theirs. Even her lord sometimes let one of them smooth a brush through her sunlit mane. It's a little thing, but it was one of the countless things that made them close.

It won't be the same with Laura, of course, not least because she never wanted to kiss any of them the way she wants Laura.

An evening of letting Laura play with her hair would be equal parts torture and bliss. She ought to say no.

"Well, if you really want to," she mutters instead, and has to bite back the urge to slap herself in the face. 

Laura's smile is a little bashful.

Duvalie sighs and abandons herself to fate. "Go and get your brushes and change into your nightwear. If we're having a slumber party, let's do it properly."

Laura says ruefully, "Alisa would insist we need tequila for that."

"Let's not," Duvalie says in horror. It's hard enough behaving around Laura when she's sober.

She manages to change into her own pyjamas in a rapid panic and grabs her ARCUS. Before she can have second thoughts, she messages the other two. 

 TheSwift: How do I make a girl LIKE me? It's an emergency!

TheSharp: Oh, Duvalie, just be yourself.

TheSwift: She is coming to my room to brush my hair!! I need help now!

TheStout: Darling, that sounds like she already likes you.

TheSwift: Neither of you are HELPING!

TheSharp: We may not be the best people to ask, lovey. I only realised Ines wanted me when she showed up naked in my bed.

TheStout: In my defence, it was an extremely successful tactic. Perhaps you should start removing your clothes. I'm sure even Lady Arseid would take that hint.

TheSwift: I am not taking my clothes off in front of Laura!!

TheSharp: Oh, dear.

TheStout: Our innocent little Duvalie.

TheSwift: Why are you both like this?!

TheSharp: Good luck, darling, Remember, we want to hear all about it.

TheStout: Now, now. Good girls don't kiss and tell.

Duvalie snaps her ARCUS shut and snarls at it.

From the doorway, Laura says, "Is something wrong?" 

"Just Ines and Ennea being idiots!"

Laura closes the door behind her and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. "Are they well? You must miss them."

"Well, of course," Duvalie says, trying not to stare. There is nothing erotic about Laura's pyjamas. They are much like her own, a warm fleecy fabric with a crest embroidered over the pocket and little cloth-covered buttons in the same shade of blue as the cloth.

Little cloth-covered buttons which are the only defence between Laura's breasts and the open air—Laura's breasts, which are pushing the cloth out in soft perfect curves which just demand to be touched.

Duvalie closes her eyes and counts to ten in every language she knows. 

"Are you all right? I went downstairs for milk and cookies. Millium always insisted we have cookies at a slumber party."

Duvalie takes three deep breaths and comes to sit next to Laura. "Did you do this often, at Thors?"

"More after Millium arrived. Of course, Fie always used to pretend she was just taking a nap in the same room as the rest of us, and sometimes Instructor Sara would wander in drunk. They could be quite noisy affairs."

Right. That's what Laura's thinking about. Nobody needs to get naked, thank you, Ines.

Laura passes her a cookie—chocolate chip and melting on the tongue. "This is nice. We should do this more often."

Luckily, the cookie saves Duvalie from having to respond. 

Laura asks, "Did you enjoy the swim?"

"A little cold for me, but I liked the challenge. Have you ever been to Lake Hesper?"

"That's north of Lunaria, right? I haven't."

"It's very remote. Five years ago, after Ines joined us, our lord took us there one summer and taught us how to swim. We camped on the beach—just us, the forest and the mountains—for a whole week. We learned to fish and live off the land and in the evenings, our lord told us stories of her life. She didn't talk about her past much, but that week—that week she recounted miracles and wonders. It was a good week."

"It sounds wonderful."

"Yes." It's a good memory, and Duvalie lingers on it even when Laura gets up and goes over to the dresser. When she comes back, she settles on the bed behind Duvalie and begins to draw the brush through her hair.

It feels good, and Duvalie can't stop herself relaxing, despite the awareness of Laura's warmth behind her. 

Laura says musingly, "My father taught me to swim when I was six. We started in summer too, from a little cove around the lake from here. The moment I learnt the knack of it, I decided to swim to Lohengrin. I had very little conception of my own limitations at that age."

"What did your father say to that proposal?"

"You're assuming I told someone before I set out. I was half a mile out before anyone realised I was missing."

"Tell me you didn't actually make it that far at that age? Even for an Arseid, that's ridiculous."

"No, I was in more trouble than I was willing to admit. Luckily Klaus saw me and dived in to come my rescue. From the clifftop by the training hall, of course."

"He did not!" Laura's still drawing the brush steadily through her hair and she's feeling more languorous by the moment.

"It's quite safe. The water is deep below the foot of the cliff."

"Only an Arseid would call that safe."

Laura laughs. "It was another two years before anyone would allow me to swim unsupervised. Although Klaus did eventually teach me to dive off the cliff. It's quite exhilarating."

"Really?"

"I could teach you, if you like."

Duvalie suggests, not too tartly, "Or you could wait until the spring and teach me when the water is warmer." 

Laura's hand stills and she says, a little wonderingly, "In the spring, yes."

Later, Duvalie tries to braid Laura's hair and watches the braid pull apart the moment she releases it. Typical Arseid, she thinks fondly, outwardly so decorous but really so stubborn as to be ridiculous. 

Laura makes a happy little noise and Duvalie very nearly leans forward to pull Laura's hair aside and drop kisses on the back of her neck instead. Then Laura lets out the most adorable little yawn Duvalie has ever heard and says, "Oh, listen. Here's the rain."

Duvalie hears it a moment later, pattering softly against the windows. She imagines it filling the air between here and Lohengrin, whispering into the dark waters of Lake Ebel.

"No swimming to Lohengrin tomorrow," Laura murmurs happily.

"Are you falling asleep?"

"Perhaps." But Laura wriggles round and inserts herself under the blankets.

"That's my bed, Arseid."

"In my house, and we're having a slumber party."

"So, we are." Duvalie gets up and sees to the lights before picking her way back to bed. "Move over a little."

"Only if you say you're not swimming to Lohengrin tomorrow."

"I wouldn't swim anyway. We're not all part fish. I'd take a boat."

"Duvalie..."

It's a good thing the lights are off. She doesn't think she could cope with a sleepy Laura pouting at her. "No Lohengrin tomorrow. I promise," Duvalie agrees, settling under the blankets herself.

Laura's hand comes out to bat her shoulder, warm and relaxed. "Not until the spring."

"Not until the spring," Duvalie says, squeezing Laura's hand.

Laura sighs contentedly and, a moment later, begins to snuffle in her sleep. Duvalie smiles and lays her own head against the pillows, not releasing Laura's hand.   

The second time Victor dreams of McBurn that day, they are no longer on that sun-drenched beach. Instead, they are back on that ridge he is coming to loathe.

McBurn is staring down at the plain again. He wears his true form, towering over Victor, and his gaze is fixed on the scene below.

Victor stands with him and lets the silence stretch out. It's good to have someone who doesn't feel the need to fill every silence.

On the other hand, he thinks this silence may soon need filling. McBurn has given him the challenge he needs to find his way back to himself. Victor doesn't think this ridge, this awful vigil, is what McBurn needs, though.

He says, "Much as I like the horns, could I trouble you to reduce your height. I would rather speak to your face than your belly."

McBurn shrivels down to meet him, though he stays blue. "You like the horns?"

"Very much so."

McBurn grins slowly. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Good. Why are we here? Did you grow bored of the beach? I thought it was another peephole into your world."

"It was a memory of what this once was."

Ah. "Allow me to ask, then. Does this bring you satisfaction?"

"Does what?"

"Watching."

McBurn's face goes tight and fierce. "You know it doesn't."

"Wisdom, then? Insight into the road home? Self-knowledge?"

"No." There is fire in McBurn's eyes.

"Then why do you linger here?"

"This is my home!"

McBurn has started to grow tall again, so Victor looks up and keeps his tone that of a master guiding a recalcitrant pupil to wisdom. "And will suffering here help you find a way back to it?"

"I must bear witness."

"Does that help you? Or them?"

He's either about to get immolated or he's getting through to the man. For a moment, McBurn looms over him, framed by fire.

Then, to Victor's relief, he settles down into his mortal form again. "And what do you suggest?"

"I suggest I buy you dinner and we talk through your problems like civilised men. After that, we can consult the wise and the learned of the world, hunt down your enemies and make them confess the truth, try whatever we can to help you home. I think you would be happier with that than merely bearing witness from afar."

McBurn gives him a long flat look. "Dinner in Legram?"

"There is an excellent inn. They do a good fish supper."

"I offer you glorious war and you offer fish supper in Legram in exchange."

"If that is inadequate, perhaps breakfast would be an adequate compromise. Maybe several breakfasts, in a row. I do have an excellent cook, you know."

McBurn stares at him for what feels like a full minute. Then he repeats, a little incredulously, "Breakfast?"

Victor assures him, "At the appropriate hour, of course. I'm sure we could keep ourselves amused until then."

"Are you?" McBurn sounds mocking, but his smile is more sincere than usual. The world swirls around them, from purple stone and strange constellations to the familiar nighttime shadows of his own bedroom. McBurn illuminates it, fills it with glowing shadows that sway around them as he stalks them both backwards. 

Victor's about to get fucked in his own bed for the first time in twenty years. He's delighted at the thought.

"I should have realised it the first time I fought you," McBurn remarks, shrugging his coat off a lot faster than he did on the beach.

"Realised what?" Victor asks, getting his hands on that fine ass.

"I fought you like I've never fought a mortal before and you just wouldn't go down. And, oh, everyone said you were the most noble and honourable warrior out there, but I should have known better."

McBurn pushes him down on the mattress and Victor settles against the pillows in anticipation, thighs open and hips cocked. "Oh?"

McBurn crawls over him, blazing and irresistible. "You're none of those things. You're just an ornery little shit who cannot give up on a challenge."

Victor says solemnly, "It's an integral part of my sword craft."

McBurn laughs like the crackle of flames, and then all is heat and glory and challenge, here in the waking world as it was in dreams.

Duvalie wakes up warm and happy. The rain is still drumming on the windows, but she's encased in fleece and warm arms, someone snuggled against her back and breathing softly against her neck.

There's a hand on her bare belly, under her pyjama top, fingers spread possessively, holding her close.

Laura. This is Laura, cuddling up to her like she's a Mishy plush.

"Laura!" Duvalie squeaks in panic, which has the unfortunate effect of waking Laura up.

She says, voice low and sleepy, "Duvalie? Why are you—oh!"

And that hand, that terrible, wonderful transgressive hand, is whipped out of Duvalie's clothes.

"I am very sorry," Laura mutters and she pulls away.

Duvalie rolls over so she can see her. Now Laura is blushing. Duvalie points out, "We're not responsible for our actions when sleeping."

"Even so." Laura scrambles out of bed. "I should get dressed. And the take the plates and glasses to the kitchen. And..."

Duvalie flops back against the pillows as Laura bats a hasty retreat. Perhaps she should have listened to Ines, after all. Of course, that would have likely ended in the same way.

She is not the least bit surprised to discover she has beaten Laura downstairs. Sighing, she steps into the dining room.

McBurn is sprawled out on the other side of the table, toasting a croissant balanced on his fingertips. Victor Arseid is watching in obvious fascination.

For a moment, Duvalie just stops, trying to make sense of the nonsensical. She says, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Having breakfast," McBurn answers and she's never heard him so self-satisfied.

She looks from his sprawl to Arseid who is looking almost as smug, not to mention... well, the only adjective that come to mind is 'well-fucked.' Very slowly, Duvalie returns her gaze to McBurn.

He meets her gaze with a long, slow smirk.

"You cannot be serious!" Duvalie explodes. Of all the ridiculous, infuriating, utterly unacceptable things McBurn could have done, he's—oh, Goddess, help her, she needs to intercept Laura!

She's too late. Laura comes into the room, asking, "Father, is all well. I thought I heard raised—" Then, before Duvalie sees her move, her sword is drawn and pointed straight across the breakfast table. Laura says, all grace and danger, "McBurn, I assume you have some explanation for your presence in our home."

"Can a guy not get breakfast without someone pulling a weapon? Seriously, you could have elaborated, Victor. Breakfast and death threats would have got me over here a lot sooner than breakfast alone."

Arseid says, as if there is anything reasonable about this situation, "I doubt that very much. You must have realised there would be some issues to resolve."

"Father?"

"McBurn is my guest. Show him some courtesy, please."

Laura's eyes flicker between them and Duvalie sees the exact moment Laura works out what Duvalie has already realised. Instead of simply screaming, as Duvalie is still tempted to do, she proves she is made of sterner stuff. Her back straightens, her grip on her sword tightens, and she demands, in clarion tones, "What foul sorcery is this?"

McBurn's smirk gets incrementally less friendly. "Yeah, no sorcery required."

Arseid's shoulder sag in disappointment. He says sadly, "Daughter..."

Duvalie never wants to see that look on Laura's face again. She reaches for her own sword, because there is a good chance this is about to erupt into violence. If it does, she'll have to back Laura up, even against these two, Aidios help her.

But Laura looks from her father to McBurn and back once more, before she turns on her heel and leaves. Duvalie hears the front door slam behind her.

She has time to snap, "Well, I hope you two are proud of yourselves!" before she hurtles after Laura.

By the time she gets to the bottom of the steps, Laura's heading out of the far gate. Miles is standing in the open door of the Bracers' Guild, looking bewildered.

"Do you know where she's going?" Duvalie gasps.

"She asked about wanted monsters. Sir Duvalie, what in the world is going on?"

"I don't have time," Duvalie snaps and hurtles after Laura through the falling rain. 

She catches up as Laura swings up into the hills and engages the first goldcider. Duvalie throws herself into the fight, and that's the last chance she has to think for hours. They fight every monster on the Ebel Highway, take down three Gordi Schnarrs, and then Laura just keeps going, though they are both soaked to the skin by the relentless rain. All Duvalie can do is keep up, cover her back and hurl an occasional Teara at her when she stumbles. She takes turns off the highway Duvalie didn't even know existed and when she finally, finally speaks, it's just to remark, "A shame the Aqua Shrine has vanished."

"What? Why?" How is Laura not out of breath? Has she not noticed the rain?

"I would like to fight a Magic Knight today."

"What? No. No Magic Knights. I forbid it!"

But Laura's on the move again. 

It's afternoon before they reach Bareahard. Duvalie's half afraid Laura's going to blaze right through and out the other side, but she turns down the steps towards the waterways. Duvalie starts to follow, on pure instinct, but pauses. They're in Bareahard. There may well be help here.

She drags the last scraps of her mana together and throws one last Tear at Laura's back. That done, she turns and runs for the Noble District.

The sentinels at the gate of the ducal manor clearly do not appreciate a dripping-wet armed woman staggering towards them, but she manages to hold her hands up and gasp, "I need to speak to Duke Jusis—one of his classmates is in trouble."

That doesn't get her in, but it does get Jusis to the gate and his cranky boyfriend comes with him. Good. Duvalie's not up to speaking in noble today.

"The Swift?" Jusis asks in bewilderment.

Duvalie drags herself through the gate, staggers out of earshot of the guards and says desperately to Machias, "Laura found out her father is fucking McBurn and has lost her mind. I need help."

"Holy shit," Machias breathes.

Jusis looks like she's just hit him with a plank. "The Radiant Bladesmaster and—where's Laura?"

"In your waterways. She won't listen to me. I need Class VII."

Machias throws an arm around her shoulders and helps her along the slope. Normally she'd resent the liberty, but the next words out of his mouth are such a blessing she doesn't care.

"Rean!" he yells. "Rean, we need you!"

Oh, Aidios loves her after all. If anyone can talk sense into Laura, it will be Schwarzer. And if they can't, she damn well wants a Divine Blade on her side.

Albarea takes them into the waterways through his cellars, as the rest of Class VII pass her food. She devours it, feeling strength flood back into her. She says, with feeling, "Thank you. We never got as far as breakfast."

"It's almost evening. Did you come by foot?" Rean seems a little bewildered by her arrival, but he isn't letting that slow him down.

She manages a glare. "Schwarzer, there are no monsters left between here and Legram."

Machias mutters, "Of course Laura wouldn't do things by half. Speaking of, does anyone else hear what I hear?"

"Battle raging?" Rean asks drily. "Duvalie, if you're not up for this—"

"Go to hell," she tells him, and they all race to the place where Laura is facing down an abyss drome. Her sword is trembling in her hands.

"Honestly," Machias mutters and she feels his combat link click into place against hers. "You still got that freezing craft?"

"Of course."

"In that case, barrier of time, break!"

It doesn't take long after that. When the drome vanishes, they're left facing Laura across the battleground. She looks a little lost, confused and exhausted. She says, "Rean? Jusis? Machias? When did you get here?"

Rean says gently, "Laura, you're in Bareahard. Enough, now."

"I... What? How? Duvalie? I thought you were behind me."

Jusis says, "Oh, she was. For most of the day."

Duvalie says fiercely, "It's okay. You're okay."

"I really don't think she is," Machias mutters, as Laura sinks to her knees, sword clattering to the ground in front of her.

Despite Duvalie's protests, Rean insists on carrying Laura back upstairs. Millium Orion is waiting for them when they get there. It seems slightly odd to see her with her feet on solid ground.

"Where did you all go? Whoa, is Laura okay?"

Jusis says, "Exhaustion only, though Duvalie's not in much better shape. Millium, could you sit with Laura? She'll appreciate a friendly face if she wakes up."

"Really, or because you want to talk about something you think I shouldn't know?"

Duvalie is too tired pussyfoot around other people's sensitivities. "Certainly. We are about to have a detailed discussion about McBurn's sex life, which all of us would rather avoid."

 Millium screws her face up. "Yeech. I'm cool with sitting with Laura, in that case."

Jusis glares at Duvalie all the way to his study.

She informs him. "You're being over-protective. As is Laura, for that matter."

Rean says seriously, "Do we need to go and fight McBurn?"

"And you're another one," Duvalie grumbles.

Rean frowns a little. "Now things have calmed down, can you tell us what's actually going on."

Duvalie curls her feet up under her, appreciating the support of Jusis Albarea's undoubtedly expensive armchairs. "Nothing as dire as you're thinking. I know you see him as an enemy, but I've worked with McBurn. He's lazy, irritating and a little insane, but he has a code of honour and would not stoop to sordid tricks. As far as I could see, their dalliance was not only consensual but enthusiastic."

Machias makes a noise of horror. "Not an image I wanted in my head. Although..."

Jusis mutters, "Not an image I want in your head, either."

Rean says glumly, "Damn it. Crow was right. He said McBurn had the hots for the Radiant Blademaster and we all laughed at him. He's going to be unbearable."

"I don't think Armbrust is our most urgent problem," Duvalie says tartly. "We're not all obsessed with him."

Rean goes pink. Jusis hides a smirk behind his hand. Machias rolls his eyes.

Jusis says, "In the short term, you and Laura are welcome to stay a few nights. A break may be in everyone's best interests, and you're clearly both exhausted."

It's strange how things go in full circles. Duvalie had never expected to return here. She wonders if he'll give her the same room she stayed in during the Civil War.

Hopefully not. She suspects that he is a better host than his father ever was, and that room was unpleasantly bare.

He does better than that. When Laura finally wakes, he quietly arranges for the servants to set up another bed in her room while she joins them in his sitting room. She curls up next to Duvalie on the couch and says quietly, "I let you all down."

Rean assures her, "We all lose control sometimes, Laura. At least you didn't start the end of the world."

"I shamed my sword."

Machias pushes his glasses up his nose. "From where I stood, you lose control and all you did was slay a lot of monsters. Frankly, that sounds like something you'd do on a good day anyway."

 "Tact still escapes you, I see," Jusis says.

Millium jumps in. "Aw, Laura. No one's mad at you. You just had a shock."

Laura's mouth turns down. "I was so worried about him. I thought he was unhappy, and yet all along..."

Rean clears his throat. "Laura, are you upset because it's McBurn or because you wanted to be the one to comfort him?"

"Aidios help us, he's using his teacher voice."

Without looking, Rean picks up a cushion and throws it at Jusis, who doesn't bother dodging. 

Laura bows her head. "I haven't been much of a daughter, either."

"I don't know," Machias says. "Perhaps you've just been trying to be a different kind of daughter than you should have been. Look, I think I had it easier, what with that whole mess when I didn't know which side he was on in the war. My relationship with my dad has changed—these days, we try to talk to each other as fellow adults. It's weird and we both get it wrong sometimes, but it's a good as well. Maybe that's the adjustment you need to make—to see him as a messy, complicated person, just like us."

Rean snorts. "Yeah, I don't think any of us are ever going to be just like the Radiant Blademaster."

"Yeah, you're a Divine Blade who dyed all your shirts pink last time you tried to do your own laundry. We all saw Crow's pictures. Our titles aren't all we are. We're all just people, all of us."

Laura says, "Oh." Then she picks herself off the couch and bestows a tight hug on Machias.

"Excuse me," Jusis grumbles.

"Oh, hush, Jusis. I'm not stealing him." She bestows a hug on Jusis too and he takes it with more grace than Duvalie would have expected.

Schwarzer gets one too.

"What did I do?" he asks, from under the sweep of Laura's hair.

"I wouldn't want you to feel left out."

Millium bounces in her chair. "My turn! My turn! And then Duvalie!"

"Don't involve me in this Class VII nonsense."

But she's gratified when Laura returns to the couch and leans against her, warm and sleepy, but no longer quite so sad.

Perhaps this cosy Class VII nonsense has some merit.

Her ARCUS pings while Laura is getting ready for bed. She steps out into the corridor, both to look at the message and give Laura some privacy.

McFireBro: You girls dead in a ditch?

TheSwift: Like you care.

McFireBro: Fair play, but V's starting to fuss about his terrifying kiddo.

TheSwift: There is so much in that statement I don't know where to start. We're fine.

McFireBro: Not actually fine fine or somewhere with a roof over your head fine?

TheSwift: In Bareahard with Jusis Albarea, so super fine. Back in a few days.

McFireBro: Cool. 

Duvalie sighs and decides this is a conversation Laura doesn't need to know about. 

Laura's sitting on the side of the bed when she goes back in. The borrowed nightgown doesn't look as warm as her flannel pyjamas, but it gives her an illusory fragility which makes Duvalie want to wrap her up in a blanket. 

She changes her mind about the message as she turns her back and changes swiftly. "That was McBurn. Wanted to tell me your father is concerned for us."

"Really?" There's a sound of an ARCUS opening and Laura says, a little sheepishly, "I have a number of messages too."

"Ignore them. McBurn will tell him where we are, and he doesn't deserve anything more from you right now."

"I thought you were with Machias in the we're all flawed and human camp."

"I am, but that doesn't mean it was kind of him to surprise you with his new relationship over breakfast, no matter how caught up in his feelings he was."

Laura is quiet for a while. When she speaks, it has nothing to do with McBurn or her father. "May I brush your hair again?"

"Do you want to?"

"Very much."

Duvalie only has a comb with her, so she hands it to Laura and goes to sit in front of her. Laura begins to undo her hair, hands slow and careful.

Duvalie closes her eyes and forces her breathing to slow, deep and steady. Behind her, Laura's breathing in the same rhythm, but she does not speak, too intent on her task.

It's not until Duvalie's hair is streaming down her back and Laura is coaxing the bigger tangles out with her fingers, that Laura draws breath and speaks.

"I like your face, the shape of it, how intent you are on everything that matters to you." Her voice is soft but grows steadier with every word.

Duvalie flushes from head to toe.

"I like your mouth, how you show every feeling, even when you don't speak. I like the colour of your blush."

"You like making me blush," Duvalie retorts weakly.

"I do. More than any of that, though... I like your courage, your loyalty, your determination to do what is right even if it brings you harm."

Duvalie is on fire.

"I like that you were willing to fight McBurn beside me. I..."

What could possibly be making her hesitate now?

Laura whispers, "I would like to kiss you, if you wouldn't be offended."

What? Duvalie panics, gasps out, "Yes! I mean, no! I—"

And it's easier to give up on words, turn round, seize Laura's shoulders and kiss her puzzled mouth.

For a moment, Laura freezes but then she returns the kiss, eager and hungry, her hands tangled in Duvalie's hair.

And she's good at this, of course she is, because Laura's good at everything.

When the kiss breaks, they're both blushing. Laura says, a little breathlessly, "Oh, I'm so glad. I wasn't sure."

"It's not like I haven't been obvious," Duvalie grumbles, but she can't help smiling as she does so.

Laura says earnestly, "I'm not very good at noticing these things. But I do like you. I like you very much."

"Likewise. Clearly." And her cheeks must be scarlet, because Laura laughs and drop a kiss on each of them, lips soft and tender.

Duvalie says, "I knew I should have listened to Ines."

"What did she say?"

"That I should take all my clothes off and ambush you in your own bed."

Laura considers that with growing amusement. "I think even I would have noticed that hint, yes."

And she kisses Duvalie again through her laughter, and Duvalie gives up protesting and pulls her in close, refuses to let her go.

Schwarzer is looking bleary-eyed over breakfast the next morning. He remarks to the ceiling, "Does nobody in this manor house sleep in their own bed?"

"I do," Millium says through a mouthful of croissant, spraying pastry crumbs across the table.

Schwarzer points out. "You jumped on my head at three am because you had an idea for an orbal-powered snowboard."

"Well, I'm bored of sleeping. I've done enough of it in my life."

Schwarzer says grumpily, "And you weren't even one of the noisy ones."

Jusis sips his coffee and says drily, "If sexual frustration is keeping you awake, Rean, there is a very obvious solution to that."

"I keep telling you all, Crow and I aren't like that."

Millium asks, grinning, "Who said anything about Crow. I didn't mention Crow. Did you mention Crow, Jusis?"

"Not that I recall."

"Laura, Duvalie? Hey, Machias, did you mention Crow?"

Machias blinks at her from the doorway. "Me? No. Is Rean back on his favourite subject again?"

Schwarzer buries his face in the tablecloth and groans. 

Duvalie says, because Laura is clearly too flustered to speak, "Entertaining as this is, we do really should get back to Legram. Unlike Schwarzer and Armbrust, McBurn and the Radiant Blademaster are not playing coy, and some serious conversations are needed."

Laura says sadly, "Perhaps a few more monsters first?"

Millium reaches across the table for more toast. "Yeah, you extirpated all the monsters."

"I did what?"

Jusis rolls his eyes. "I corrected her incorrect use of decimate once, and now she insists on talking like a thesaurus."

"Quite right too," Schwarzer says from his prone position. Duvalie isn't even sure which of them he's using his teacher voice on.

They eventually make it to the station, and Schwarzer strolls along with them. Laura eventually asks him, "Why are you here, Rean?"

"It's a free weekend. I came to check on Millium. I was going to head your way next, but I'm not sure you need me complicating things." He brightens. "Unless you want my help with McBurn."

Laura looks tempted, but shakes her head. "I think we need to have a conversation, as fellow adults."

Duvalie squeezes her hand, because that sounded painful. Rean eyes their entwined fingers and opens his mouth.

Duvalie glowers.

Rean, very wisely for a man whose love life is the source of so much scandal and significant financial investment from across the length and breadth of Zemuria, shuts up.

They see him onto the Heimdallr train and board their own. It seems like forever since they were last on this train, but...

"Less than two months. Since we were last here."

Laura smiles. "It seems like longer."

"I'm glad I came home with you."

"Even though you haven't been to Lohengrin yet?"

Duvalie can't help smiling at her. "Laura, you do know that when we go to Lohengrin, it doesn't mean I'll be leaving. Not unless you go too."

Laura's smile turns radiant. "That's good to know. Mind you, I may be in no fit state to take you, given I am about to interrogate McBurn about his intentions towards my father."

Duvalie considers all she know about McBurn, Arseid's smile at the breakfast table, that exchange of messages last night. "Oddly enough, I think they may be honourable."

Laura's sigh is heartfelt. "That scarcely makes it any better."

"I'm sure your father will eventually persuade him into giving some duelling practice. Consider the opportunities."

"Hmm," Laura says thoughtfully, and laces her fingers through Duvalie's again. "You make a good point."

 And the train rattles on, carrying them home again, to Legram and the Arseid school and all the ever-changing, always-challenging, eternally satisfying years that lie ahead of them.