#oc: Ákos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

philliamwrites · 3 years

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the fault in our stars

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Characters: Claude & OC

Tags: #multiple dimensions, #dimension travelling, #platonic love, #mentions of major character’s death

Words: 4.5k

Summary: Claude receives a letter that states someone is out there able to help him fulfill his goal of unifying Fodlan and Almyra. Signed, “The Witch.” Of course he doesn’t trust this, but curiosity killed the cat, and so he sets out to find her and see what kind of help she can offer. It turns out, this witch carries more secrets than anyone Claude knows can carry and he, gentleman that he is, gladly lands her a hand.

Notes: A commission for @iam-miscellaneous

the fault in our stars

A twig snapped somewhere behind him and Claude whirled, an arrow nocked and ready, but it was just a little squirrel staring at him with big, round eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and it scurried off into the forest and disappeared.

Claude relaxed. The forest was quiet again since most of its residents had fallen into a deep slumber from which they shouldn’t wake up until Lone Moon. But Claude had read about dangerous creatures that didn’t fear the harsh Syopyr Taiga of the Galatea region, and stalked through the snow to hunt their prey. He’d much prefer not ending up inside the stomach of a moonbear or red wolf, thank you very much.

He should have brought Ákos with him. His wyvern was big and he would surely draw attention—literally the wyvern in a porcelain shop, but Claude would be save from any beast trying to have him as a snack. Also, Ákos was warm. Warm and with his white skin perfectly blending in between the snow covered pine trees that stood vigil like the statues of the four Saints in the monastery. But it would be hard for Ákos to move freely, so Claude relished in the comfort to know he was but a whistle away and would barrel down and crash through the woods to save him.

Were it not for the letter, Claude wouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the letter before him, its existence ever-present inside the pocket of his trousers as if it emitted heat, burning against his thigh.

I can aid you in your goal, wrote the mysterious person calling herself The Witch.

What goal specifically? Overthrowing Edgard? Unifying Fódlan and his mother land? Striking down the borders of discrimination and bigotry so people would finally stop slaughtering each other over the colour of their skin or what god they choose to worship? So many questions, and Claude hated any of them remaining unanswered. But for that, he had to find the witch’s cottage first and he’d been wandering through these woods for hours.

The Everglow stone certainly did keep his fingers from freezing in this relentless cold, but he knew he’d reach his limit soon and would have to return to base. He knew this time, Lorenz and Hilda would not allow him to leave so easily.

They’d been wary of it the moment the unknown owl had landed on Ákos’ head, carrying a letter addressed to “the Prince of a far away land.” Claude’s blood had run cold.

“Prince of a far away land?” Hilda had squinted at the paper spread out in front of them on the war table they kept outside under an open tent. “Who is that supposed to be?”

“And the things she offers, this ‘Witch,’” Lorenz had agreed sceptically, and thus luckily not noticed the quick glance Hilda stole Claude’s way. He’d always known Hilda knew more than she let people on, and Claude had given her one of his rare, tired smiles. She’d made a very serious, very un-Hilda like face, and turned back to the letter.

“I think I should check it out,” Claude had said, and their reaction was understandable, if a little too dramatic for his taste.

“If you die chasing this witch, could you die knowing you leave the Alliance in someone else’s hands?" Lorenz had said. That was very unusual for him. It had taken them five years to get there, and Claude wouldn’t just throw away that trust.

“What if she turns you into a frog?” Hilda had asked. That was very usual for her, and Claude was thankful for her effort to ease the mood after all the losses they’d suffered in the Battle at Gronder Field.

“Then you guys better start looking for a princess right about now,” he’d replied, his tone breezy when inside he’d been a storm. The only princess he knew had charged into the role of Emperor and would surely make frog leg soup out of him, and the only prince he’d known laid skewered without even a proper burial on a vast field that drank itself sick from all the blood spilt on it.

Things did not look good for the Alliance. As Claude had filed every advantage and disadvantage seeking out this mysterious person in alphabetical order, he looked at the owl that had delivered the message. Its black eyes were fixed on him expectantly, as though he should be well aware of what it sought as reward, but Claude didn’t know of course, and a second later, its sharp beak split open the skin at the back of his hand, drawing blood. It ruffled its feathers and took off to the sky, hooting in offence.

“Let’s hope you’ll start off better with this witch than her familiar,” Lorenz had commented, leaving Claude to tend to his wound. He’d hissed a curse, pressed his mouth against the wound and levelled a disbelieving look at his animal companion. Usually Àkos was no friend of man or animal. He barely tolerated Claude’s closest companions to saddle or care for him, but he’d allowed an unfamiliar owl to use his head as a seat, and peck at his friend and master.

Claude still pondered about that even after a week’s worth of travelling through the Alliance territory to reach the north of Faerghus. He didn’t like being short of options, but with the hand dealt to him by Fate, he could really use an ace up his sleeve.

The witch could have been more specific about her location though.

Come to the Okhotsk Forest and you will find me.

Well, that was a lie. He’d been out here for hours now, and still there is no sign of her, or her hut, or anyone living out here for that matter.

Claude would be mad furious if this turned out to be one of Hilda’s jokes. Though he doubted even she would go this far, especially during a time like this. War changed people. She wasn’t the giddy girl anymore, batting her eyelashes to let other people do her work. And yet he remembered this one time when his grandfather Oswald had celebrated the Leicester Alliance Founding Day and Hilda had written him a secret note to meet him, pretending to be his first crush. He’d been waiting in the cold until servants found him with a fever the next morning. But instead of getting angry, Claude was really impressed by Hilda’s lie and persuasion, and decided to have her as a friend rather than an enemy.

Claude shivered. Pegasus Moon was drawing its end. He could smell it in the crisp air—the time of new beginnings dawned. An opportunity for new plans, new schemes, and he wouldn’t be Claude von Riegan if he would pass up on them. That was, if he found his hopefully new ally. And just in that moment, he turned his head and caught sight of something dark in the corner of his eyes.

A hut.

Out of nowhere, a little hut stood in the middle of the clearing, looking as if it had been there since the beginning of dawn. It blinked into existence where seconds ago the forest ground stood empty. Claude blinked, thinking out of desperation he’d imagined it. But no matter which way he turned his head, what angle he leaned into, the hut didn’t magically disappear like the Fata Morgana he’d encountered during their trip around the Sreng Desert, where instead of finding one of the lost Saint’s weapons, they had stumbled upon an ancient, sentient beast.

Claude shook at the memory, feeling his mouth go dry just thinking about the scorching heat. Even days after their return to Derdriu, he’d found sand in places it wasn’t supposed to be.

Luckily, the forest was the complete opposite. It was eerily quiet. No birds heralded the spring, no foxes scurried through the underbrush in search for smaller prey. Among the blinding white of the freshly fallen snow that clung to everything, the black stoned hut with its small, red chimney looked like a picture out of a fairy book. Claude grimly remembered stories Dimitri had told him in front of the fireplace in one of the monastery’s big common rooms about a witch living in the deepest forests of Faerghus called baba yaga. Her house stood on chicken feet and she snatched away little children who went astray or lost their way through the forest.

But this was real. Claude had finally found her.

Approaching the hut carefully, his fingers danced across the hilt of the short sword attached to the belt around his hip. He wasn’t a fan, but since early days, Nader had taught him the way of the sword.

“You won’t always have the luck to find a bow,” he’d said after knocking little Claude to the ground for the fifth time in a single sparring session. Claude had endured without complaining, but he’d also made up his mind that day that the sharpest weapon on him would always be his mind.

Claude braced himself. Having finally reached what he’d been venturing to for the last weeks was wind in his sails, propelling him forward and lifting his hope. He knocked against the wood with his knuckles, once, twice. A third time.

Nothing.

Off to a good start.

“Hello?” he called through the door. His fingers itched to the letter as he wondered if he was supposed to say a secret code word. But he’d read the letter over a dozen times, analysed everything from the way she dotted her i's and crossed her t’s to how she constructed every sentence.

No secret password. No secret behavioural code. Nothing.

Claude decided to go for the doorknob. But when his hand hovered inches away from it, it turned by itself and the door creaked open. Claude shuddered. Inside, everything was dark. Heavy vermilion curtains didn’t allow any sunlight to stray inside. A minty scent lied in the air, not unpleasant, as if someone had recently taken a hot bath and thus steam still lingered in the air. He cautiously entered the hut, eyes straining to see any kind of movement. Everything was still.

Fabric rustled—no, not fabric. In one corner stood a perch, and on it sat the owl, regarding Claude with its black eyes. They stared each other down for a moment, in which Claude wondered if it had been the witch all along, playing with him. But the owl just regarded him sleepily, then turned around and chose to ignore his presence.

Claude allowed himself to relax a little. From outside, the hut looked small, barely the size of his bedroom at the monastery. But inside was enough space to hold multiple work stations and contain additional rooms to the east and west. One wall was completely lined with bookcases tall enough to reach the roof, neatly stacked with leather-bound books. When he looked closely, he could see gold letters shining off their spines. In front of if stood a large table that was buried under dozen maps, showing star constellations he’d never seen before. To his other side crinkled the fire place. A black kettle hung above it, and he could hear water boiling.

Claude approached the shelves standing beside the fireplace, filled with all kinds of different objects in containers and glass bottles. Glowing flowers, insects with rainbow coloured wings, sharp claws and large teeth swimming in murky liquid. He realised only then that he’d been expecting dead animals lying around with their abdomens wide open and jars filled with organs. But this place looked cosy. Like someone actually lived here instead of using it as a crazy laboratory.

“I see this place is to your liking?” sounded a voice from his right. Claude jerked back from the jar he was observing. He hadn’t even heard a door opening behind him.

She’d just appeared like a dream. Claude’s first thought was, She is very small, and for a moment he feared to meet with a child because he’d turned down the wrong path and missed his designated location completely. But then she opened the curtains with a flick of her wrist. Claude, blinded by the sudden light, flinched. He’d seen sorcerers and the like at the academy, had seen Marianne and Lysithea work their spells and yet he knew this girl in front of him was unlike any spellcaster he’d ever met.

Not girl, he realised as she stepped into the light, and he found her gaze linger on him. Those were no eyes of a young girl. For a brief second, Byleth’s face flashed in front of his eyes. Claude missed her. He did not look forward to face her once they’d reach the Imperial capital. If she didn’t come to him first.

“It is certainly … unique,” Claude said, moving back to the centre of the room with his back to the door. He didn’t like to be cornered, and though he guessed his chances weren’t bad facing an opponent a whole head smaller than him, he didn’t want to challenge Lady Luck. She didn’t appear to be very fond of him lately anyway.

“Shall we talk business then?” he quickly followed on, watching her move to the fire place. Taking the kettle, she poured steaming water in two prepared cups. He immediately recognised the smell, Almyran Pine Needles, his favourite tea. If there really was a spy among them, he’d have to find them quickly. Or she really was a witch and had insight in many things which meant he needed her on his side before Edelgard found her.

The Witch gestured to two heavy armchairs sitting in front of the fire and after a moment of hesitation, Claude crossed the room and sank in the cushions. Only then did he realise how exhausted he was from wading through knee-high snow. He took the cup from the witch’s small hands, but didn’t drink yet even though his body couldn’t wait to warm up quickly after the freezing temperatures outside. Besides, sometimes it was more about the company of a warm beverage. And he wanted to make sure she drank first to see if it was poisoned.

The witch took her first sip without hesitation, then looked at him daringly as if she knew exactly what he was waiting for. Claude didn’t trust her. But if she really would aid him, then he wouldn’t pass on that offer.

Bottoms up then. Tasting the nostalgic flavour, Claude immediately relaxed. There was the right amount of sweetness too, meaning she’d put in the right amount of sugar.

“Who are you?” Claude asked finally, the question burning on the tip of his month since he left Derdriu. The Witch took another sip. Her gaze roamed over his features, calculating yet at the same time somewhat caressing.

“A friend,” she answered, “who only wishes to see you win the war.”

Claude took that in for a second, allowing the tea to warm him from the inside. “I think I’d remember if I had someone peculiar like a witch as friend. And what exactly makes you think I need help?” he asked. “As far as I know, the Alliance is holding up pretty well.”

He had to test how much she knew. If there really was a spy, they had to find and eliminate them quickly.

The Witch placed her porcelain cup aside, and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, she looked like a mother about to scold her child.

“The Alliance is a powder keg about to explode,” she said calmly, yet with a voice that didn’t appreciate Claude trying to deceive her. “You can’t find a way to convince Lord Gloucester to join your forces and usually a nation divided does not win wars. Especially not against an opponent like the Emperor.”

Claude leaned back in his armchair, dragging his tongue over his lower lip, his mouth suddenly dry. Straight to the point, just how he liked it. “It doesn’t stop with getting old Gloucester to unite with House Riegan,” he said. “We need food, weapons. A new base of operation somewhere more central to send out our forces. Unfortunately, I doubt The Enlightened One will let us stay anywhere close to the Garreg Mach monastery.”

Something flashed in the Witch’s eyes when he mentioned Byleth. She pursed her lips, reminding him of Judith whenever she received a particularly unpleasant information.

“I see,” she said after a moment. “Your old teacher leads the Black Eagle Strike Force. That does make things more difficult.”

Claude leaned back in his armchair and stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Interesting how she knew about the Alliance’s status but not that his old professor was on the enemies’ side. “Difficult how?”

“Let me deal with that once the time comes,” the Witch said. Claude wasn’t happy. He knew trust was a little too much, too quick given they knew each other for about five minutes. But she could give him a little more to work with here.

“Pardon me, but so far you haven’t really convinced me to accept your help, little witch.” He had to test the waters, see how far he could go in before the current dragged him under. The witch didn’t even blink at this nickname.

She mirrored his movement and locked her fingers in her lap. “Let’s just say my knowledge about certain things would aid you greatly in winning this war.”

“What things, pray tell.”

“Your plan to fend off the Imperial forces stationed in Daphnel. You won’t be able to occupy it for a long time before the Imperial army takes it back. You wonder if those knights and soldiers are better off stationed in Goneril to guard your supply shipments coming from Almyra, but you can’t say if your people would prefer to see an assertive ruler adamant on fighting the Empire or a generous ruler who cares more about protecting and nourishing his people.”

Once she finished, only the crackling fire made conversation with the burning wood. Claude didn’t avert his eyes from her piercing gaze, and she didn’t shy away when he cocked his head to the side, a grin slowly spreading on his face.

“So you do know a few things about me,” he said, and now he was the one mirroring her movement, leaning in closely. “But if you know about what keeps me awake at night, what do you know about my enemies?”

“Enough to end this war,” the Witch said, her eyes blazing with resolve, “if you listen to me.”

Claude raised his hand and pressed his palm to his heart. “I promise, should there be method in this madness, I will lend you my ear and listen what you have to say, little witch.”

She exhaled softly. Relieved, and Claude wondered how much of that conviction she’d shown was act. But he couldn’t begin to doubt this early, for the doubt would eat away at him and just this time, he wanted to believe whoever was their benevolent maker, he’d finally nudged Claude on the right path. He’d been without hope for so long, he’d forgotten how it tasted.

Claude stood, antsy to get back to his city and scheme away and finally, finally turn this war around. “How long do you need before you can join me in Derdriu?” he asked, moving towards the door when he noticed a strange apparatus next to it, showing a circle painted in different colours and a little arrow pointing at the part that was coloured a dark purple. When he turned, the Witch had followed right behind him, and Claude took a step back in surprise, his back gently pressing against the door.

She was smaller than him, yes, but her presence filled the whole room.

“I will finish a few things here, and then I will meet you there,” she said. She stretched her hand and rested in on the doorknob. Claude stepped away, allowing her to open the door, and was surprised when he saw Àkos waiting for him at the door step, liking snowflakes off his snout. When Claude raised his hand to pat him, he sneezed in his face.

Claude pulled a grimace. “Good to see you too, my friend.”

The witch followed him outside, and for the first time since their meeting, a smile had strayed on her face. She offered Àkos her hand, and before Claude could tell her to be careful of Àkos’ sharp teeth, he sniffed her fingers and gave a little confused huff before leaning in and allowing the witch to caress his smooth, leathery skin.

Now that was unusual, and maybe just a tiny bit, Claude felt betrayed. He swung on Árkos’ saddle, immediately relaxing at the familiar feeling of his wyvern’s steady, warm body. Before he took off to the skies, Claude turned to the witch and said, “You have to tell me who spies for you inside the Alliance. I might hire them as my new spy-master.” But she didn't give him a name, she didn't even smile thinking it was a joke. Her gaze was fixed to the woods stretching before them, her jaw set, and Claude knew that look. It would stare back at him in a mirror whenever he tried really hard not to cry.

“Your name,” he demanded. “I still don’t know your name.”

The Witch straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “I will tell you once we win the war. Once we win, I will tell you everything.”

* * *

Claude tried to wipe the exhaustion away with his sleeve, but closing his eyes for even a second ran the risk of him dozing off. There was still so much to prepare for their defence of Derdriu. He had to block off the city, occupy the naval port and lead the reinforcements to each city gate leading to the heart of the capital. There was no moment to rest.

Fresh air. He needed cold, fresh air to clear his mind and wake him up.

Outside, knights and soldiers on night duty greeted him. They had nothing unusual to report, everything was calm. No movement from the enemy so far. Somehow, that didn’t reassure Claude at all, though he couldn’t say if he’d rather want the opposite.

His feet carried him to the outskirts of their camp, and there it was—standing out from all the other tents was The Witch's tent, its leather roof mirroring the constellations of the starry sky. Judging from the light inside, she was still awake, probably pondering about the upcoming battle just as he was. Claude crossed the clearing and opened the front flaps only enough for his voice to come through.

“It’s Claude. May I enter?” he asked. Something rustled. As if paper was quickly wiped away. A moment later, her voice called back to him, “Please come in.”

He ducked and entered her tent. Again, it was much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, yet just like her cottage, it was still simple. Instead of expensive, luxurious furniture, she decided to fill every nook and cranny with her magical apparatus’ and ingredients.

The Witch stood in front of a cherry wood table, wearing a simple, dark gown. From the way she tried to appear taller and held her hands behind her back, Claude knew immediately she was hiding something. He thought back to the sound of paper being quickly gathered and tried his shot.

“Writing to your lover?” he teased, settling in an armchair without waiting for an invitation.

The Witch blew back a black lock that stubbornly clung to her forehead. She crossed the room, and within a blink, the papers in her hands vanished. Claude gave an impressed whistle.

“He is more than that,” she said without any hesitation. “But are we lovers? No.”

“And how does one become become friends with a witch?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. She sat in the empty seat beside him, not bothering in the slightest about her posture. Claude liked seeing her relax around him. For the past few days, she’d been all over the camp, tending to the wounded or helping magic battalions with their spells.

He was surprised how easy it was to work with her. She effortlessly followed his train of thought and anticipated questions or knew exactly were to probe whenever he wasn’t certain about something and hoped no one else would notice. But she always noticed, as if she inherently knew his faults and weaknesses and therefore watched his back. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume this wasn’t their first time working together.

“I call everyone friend who offers me toffees,” the Witch said now, taking off her boots. Even though she’d been outside the whole day, there was no speck of mud on them, whereas Claude’s boots wore a mud crust he wasn’t proud of.

“Toffee.” Claude playfully stroked his chin. “I think I can supply some.”

“I would be so ever grateful.” She gave one of her rare smiles, growing slowly like the moon slipping slowly beneath the waves of a lake. Whenever Claude was capable of making her smile, pride bloomed in his chest.

He didn't know what it was about the Witch that made all the tight and careful knots inside his chest uncurl. Maybe that was what people meant when they said someone made them feel undone.

“How do you feel about our stand here?” he asked. “Do you think we’re prepared for Edelgard arrival?”

Immediately, she tensed, and Claude regretted bringing it up. They talked about tactics so much every day, they should be spared of it inside their tents, the only place of comfort and peace, but it seemed Claude had forgotten how to do small talk.

But the Witch just shifted her weight a little. “I don’t like lying to you, but the truth isn’t pretty.”

“I still want to hear it.” He needed to know their chances of winning. The truth might not be pretty, but more than that, he didn’t want to be lied to. He couldn’t say why, but especially from her, he didn’t want to hear a lie.

They held each other’s gazes, and Claude was impressed again by how black her eyes were. Darker than a starless night, he couldn’t see where the pupil ended and the iris began. Yet there was kindness in her eyes. Kindness and experience that told stories older than she appeared to be. But with no time to dwell on his theory, he tucked it away in a safe corner where he’d access it later. When this was all over and he’d have enough time to listen to her story.

After a moment, the Witch spoke, “I wish your success wasn’t depending on anybody else. I have prepared you to all my capabilities, but...”

“But we can’t say for sure what Edgard will do.” Of course they couldn’t. No one of them could read thoughts or look into the future. Claude was usually all for unpredictable variables to keep his mind reeling and working, but even facing Edelgard gave him more headaches then he asked for.

“No matter the outcome, I can promise that your city and its people will be save,” the Witch said. They’d been working together for a couple weeks now, but Claude had learnt early on that she kept her promises and it was nice to lean on someone for a change.

“That’s all that matters to me,” he confessed. “I don’t care what happens to me. But I cannot let down my people. The Alliance. Its future. It’s all that matters.” Because how else would he begin his peace-mongering without his Leicester Alliance unifying with his Kingdom of Almyra.

A dark shadow settled on the Witch’s face. Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in his features as if she wanted to commemorate them. Claude had to fight the urge to fidget, to flee from her keen gaze.

“The nation will learn how to move on when you are no more,” she said quietly. “But what about those you leave behind. Do you not care about your friends and comrades?”

“I care about what becomes of them after the Emperor captures my city and they are no more masters of their own fate.” Claude didn’t want to think about such a future. It would make him turn mad if he did.

“I know you think everyone has the might to forge their own paths. That fate is not absolute. But there are some fates you cannot change. You can only bow to them. Believe me. I’ve seen it many times. Too many times.” The Witch immediately clamped her mouth shut and turned her head away as if that would undo the words she just spoke. Claude hesitated. He wasn’t equipped to handle her surprising honesty. Honesty meant being vulnerable, and he’d never seen her like this. Sometimes it was easier to handle battalions and war generals than raw emotions, and Claude was thankful for the distraction fluttering it.

The Witch’s owl, that had been sitting on its trusty perch, flew through the tent and settled on the Witch’s shoulder, nuzzling it’s soft head against her cheek. The Witch smiled and scratched its chin. In return, the owl hooted and then proceeded to give Claude an accusatory glare as if he’d been the very reason for its mistress’ distress.

“Your little friend doesn’t like me at all,” Claude observed a second time since making acquaintance with with her feathery companion. “It’s like I offended him in some way.”

“She,” the Witch said mildly, “is fond of you. In her own way.”

Claude doubted that. “An unusual way to show her fondness of people. Pecking at them. Must your secret friend also endure this bullying or is he spared of it?”

“She treats everyone equally,” the Witch answered, and now he could see amusement crinkle in her eyes like the flying sparks of a fire. “My friend is no exception.”

“And is he a wizard like you? Or like us common folk?”

“He is,” the Witch began tentatively, “a just, young boy who heard the sound of flowing water in a world of sand and thus began to believe in hope. And this belief is a strong weapon, but the strongest weapon on him is his sharp wit and gilded mind.”

“Sounds like you hold him in high esteem.”

“I would burn cities and dethrone kings just to see his greatest wish fulfilled,” the Witch said, her gaze burning holes in Claude’s eyes. Something hot whipped through him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jealousy. Hot-white jealousy burnt inside him to have a friend this dedicated to him. Maybe that was what books spoke of when they told stories about soulmates, and right now, his soul longed for a relationship like that. To be understood and accepted without having to give anything in return.

He took a deep breath, and banished those thoughts where they didn’t hurt. “Your friend sounds like someone I could become friends with.”

“Yes,” she said, turning her eyes away from his. “You two are quite similar.”

Claude wanted to know what it would take to meet him. To sit alone with him and have a chance at hearing all the Witch’s secrets, unravel them one by one and learn more about her. But she did tell him she’d explain everything after he won the war, and Claude held onto that promise like a drowning man.

After he wished her good night and left her tent, Claude remembered Nader had told him a story once. Claude, barely seven years old, had strayed into the desert bordering a small port city in Almyra where his mother loved to take him on vacation. After hours upon hours in the scorching heat, when he’d already made peace with the thought that the wide sea of sand would be his burial, he’d stumbled upon a small oasis. To this day, he remembered the sound of rushing water from the small waterfall and diving into the cool depths until he finally was found by Almyran soldiers looking for him. He’d never told this story anyone. Now he stopped, turned around and nearly ran back to the Witch’s tent only to be stopped when horns blared through the night’s quiet, waking up the whole city.

The Emperor had arrived.

* * *

Smoke rose to the grey sky that looked as if at any moment, the clouds would open to lament and cry. When she descend the cobblestone streets, her head a melody of pain and anguish, no one stopped her. No one could stop her because no one could see her as she hurried through tight alleys and corners, her spell making her invisible to the untrained eye.

The port stood abandoned. Now that it was occupied, there was no reason to guard it, and the Imperial troops had moved on to the centre of Derdriu where the important buildings stood. The embassy with its golden roofs, the Leicester mansion with its hundreds rooms and the famous Round Table.

But she didn’t care about silent stone monuments that would live to see another thousand years. She only cared for the one person who could have held it all together.

The Witch found Claude von Riegan lying on his stomach, his face drained in his own blood. The gaping wound in his chest still bled, a horrible hole left by none other than the nasty bone shards of Aymr. His eyes were still open but unfocused, staring ahead at the darkening sky.

Her stomach churned. No matter how often she saw him like this, it never got easier. The Witch sunk to her knees, and gently cradling Claude’s body into her arms, she whispered, “Forgive me, old friend. I was unable to save you yet again.”

There was no answer. As always, silence was her only companion, and grief her only caretaker. She teleported herself and Claude’s body outside the capital city where she looked for a secluded space outside the city, and using her own hands, she dug a grave deep into the earth. He deserved to be buried in his home land, the place he loved more than anything, but there was no time. There was never enough time.

She finished when the sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of red and pink. One moment, she stood in front of the mound, and one single blink later, she walked through the front door of her cottage. Exhaustion bled her dry when the door closed behind her, and with a slow twist of her wrist, she turned the doorknob. A click sounded next to her, and for a second, everything turned black.

When light returned, everything was the same, and yet everything had changed.

On her way to the bathroom, she put water to boil in a black kettle hanging above the fireplace, and laid out a nice porcelain set of cups and Almyran Pine Needle tea for her guest.

The bath was already ready for her. She shed her dirty, ragged robes, and lowered herself in the hot water, feeling it immediately sooth her hurting limbs. As always, it took some time to clean the blood and dirt under her fingernails from digging Claude’s grave. She scrubbed herself raw until nothing was left of the previous world, and stepped outside the bath like a new born child. When she dried herself, she heard three sharp knocks at the door, and a voice calling out. Willing her new, clean robes to come and dress unto her with a flick of her wrist, the Witch took a last, long look at herself in the mirror.

Thirty tries. None of them had succeeded, and she was becoming so very tired of it all. With every try to save her friend, she’s learnt new things about the worlds and dimensions, and yet none had been enough in the end. She knew that chances to succeed were higher whenever Byeth was leading the Alliance. In some rare cases, in little pocket dimensions that would immediately dissipate when she tried to set foot in, the remaining Kingdom forces had joined the Alliance and victory would lay at the tip of her fingers. So close, and still unreachable.

But she would never cease her fight against the world that wanted to see her dear friend suffer and fail. Even if that meant bending rules, and changing to something that wasn’t human. She would make death bow to her, and once he was her servant, she would put her dear friend free of his curse of never-accomplishing happiness.

The witch squared her shoulders, and swallowed these thoughts and her still-fresh grief deep down where they didn’t hurt anymore. When the door quietly swung open, and she saw Claude von Riegan inspecting her shelf of ingredients, she said, “I see this place is to your liking?”

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