The Phoenix—March 28th, 1890—07:00
Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy
Francis was having a difficult time believing that Gilbert was gone. Already, he missed the albino's obnoxious laughter and larger-than-life ego, and it hadn't even been twenty-four hours.
"What should we do about a funeral?" Arthur said reluctantly, looking at the three other captains.
"Wait until after we finish this. We can't afford any sort of delay, not even for something so important," Francis sniffed.
"That would be highly unsanitary, Francis. We can't just leave a body lying around in the infirmary when we're about to go into battle. Don't be a fool," Iona chided.
"Well, what do you suggest we do, Captain Mackenzie?" Francis spat, much more venomously than he meant to.
"I was thinking a Viking funeral," Iona spat back, narrowing her eyes at the Frenchman.
"Excusez-moi?" Francis choked.
"Discúlpeme?" Antonio squawked.
"I think we should give Gilbert a Viking funeral. Did I mumble or something? He died a hero, and by God, we're going to give him a hero's funeral before we embark on anything big. Honour the dead. It'll give everyone closure," Iona practically snarled.
"When should we do it, Iona?" Arthur said with an air of finality.
"Tonight. We need to do it tonight."
The three male captains talked amongst themselves for a moment.
"We'll land at twenty-one hundred hours. I'll have Berwald alert the rest of the crew," Francis sighed.
The Phoenix—March 28th, 1890—11:00
Ludwig Beilschmidt
"Ve~ Ludwig, do you want to help me make pasta? Pasta always makes everything better," Feliciana chirped happily, although her face was full of concern.
"Nein, danke. I'm perfectly fine," Ludwig said monotonously.
"You've been sitting there, staring at a mug of tea for the past two hours, potato bastard. Not exactly what I call 'fine,'" Romana snorted.
"Sorella, be nice," Feliciana scolded, waving a wooden spoon at her sister.
"I'm just telling the truth. He hasn't eaten a thing since we got back on the ship, he didn't sleep last night, and I'm serious when I say that he's been staring at that mug of tea since he entered this kitchen. You may enjoy coddling people, Feli, but that's obviously not what he needs," Romana snapped. "Why are you such a damn fucking idiot sometimes?"
"Will you two just be quiet?" Ludwig sighed.
"Ve~ Of course! Me despiace," Feliciana said.
Ludwig tuned the world out after that. Everything was upside-down. His older brother, someone whom he'd always viewed as immortal and invincible, was dead, gone in a single instant. Now they were all preparing to set Gilbert alight for good, and Ludwig wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.
Many more hours passed, and Ludwig continued to sit in the galley, staring blankly into the very cold cup of tea, unable to convince his body to move more than a few centimeters. At some point, morning turned into afternoon, and afternoon gave way to evening. Someone had cleared the mug of tea, replacing it with a glass of water, but that too was left untouched.
Finally, Feliciana coaxed him to his quarters so that she could help him clean himself up before they landed. Ludwig would never admit it, but he was thankful for her constant presence at his side. She stayed with him when he finally broke down and cried for the first time since his brother had been killed, and helped him wipe away the tears. She was there when he visited the infirmary to pay his last private respects to his elder sibling, and held his hand as he said goodbye to the person who had basically raised him. She never let go of his hand after that point, and for that, he was grateful.
The atmosphere was somber as they all descended the gangway ahead of the body, borne on the shoulders of Berwald, Abel, Sadik, and Daniel.
One of the small safety crafts had been outfitted with dry wood and various dried flowers and spices, and someone had dressed Gilbert's body in his best uniform, including his hat and sword.
Arthur stood at the head of the group in a spot right next to the boat on the edge of a lake. Everyone went silent as he cleared his throat.
"I won't make this very long for everyone's sake, but I do believe that Gilbert deserves a memorial service. I knew Gilbert for many years because he was friends with my eldest brother, as well as my sister. I'll be honest, though, I never particularly liked him until the very end. Now, I'm sorry I didn't give him a chance earlier," he began. He turned to the boat. "Gilbert, rest in peace, my friend."
Arthur stepped away, and Antonio took his place.
"Gilbert was one of my closest friends. He had an ego the size of the entire universe, and at times, he was muy muy annoying, but he had the inner personality of a trained soldier, and he knew when to take things seriously. I will miss him very much," the Spaniard said. He sounded like he was trying his absolute hardest to remain calm, and the tears brimming in his large green eyes glittered in the torch light. "Adios, mi hermano. Que Dios te acompañe."
Romana grabbed Antonio's hand and held it at her heart while he sobbed into her shoulder. Daniel made his way to the speaker's spot, glancing sadly at the lifeless body next to him.
"I met Captain Beilschmidt when he tried to kidnap my girlfriend, and somehow, I ended up as part of his crew. I resented him at first because of this, but after a year as part of the crew, I found myself admiring his confidence and the way he handled us. Gilbert was perhaps my greatest friend, and by far the best leader I've ever had. I will most definitely miss him. Nyugodj békében, drága barátom."
Ludwig felt his walls breaking, and he gripped Feliciana's hand even tighter.
"Ludwig, you should go say a few words. He was your brother," the small Italian woman whispered. Ludwig nodded solemnly and walked over to Daniel, who moved aside for him.
"I'm not very good at this sort of thing, so this won't take very long. Gilbert was an idiot, and an obnoxiously egotistical one at that, but he had a strong sense of justice and loyalty, and an amazing capacity for love if you went deep enough. I will always have a hole in my heart now where he used to be. Goodbye, Bruder."
At that, Ludwig broke down into tears, joining Francis at the back of the group. The Frenchman opted not to speak about his friend, unable to form more than a few coherent words at a time.
Iona was the next to take the stand, and she did so quietly and somberly.
"'Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, /Say, could that lad be I?/Merry of soul he sailed on a day/Over the sea to Skye./Billow and breeze, islands and seas,/Mountains of rain and sun,/All that was good, all that was fair,/All that was me is gone.' I, like my fellow speakers, have no grand eulogy for Gilbert, only a few lines of a poem, but that is more than enough. Gilbert wasn't perfect, but then again, none of us are. Remember him, mourn him, miss him, but don't let his death hold you back from what lies ahead. Mòran taing. Chi mi a-rithist thu."
Much to everyone's surprise, Vash was the last to come forward, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped in the same manner as many of the others.
"Not many people know this, but Gilbert and I knew each other as children. I would hesitate to say that we were friends, but I certainly have many good memories of him chasing me around with toy guns and bows made from sticks. His life wasn't easy, not by any measure, but now we can all rest easily knowing that he's in a much better place. Auf wiedersehen."
Silence fell upon the entire area, enveloping the group like the inky darkness in which they stood. Everyone began to brace themselves for what was to come next: the lighting of the pyre.
"Ludwig, would you like to do the honours?" Arthur said softly as they pushed the boat out into the middle of the lake and Vash presented a beautiful black longbow with five sleek, silver arrows.
Ludwig shook his head, silent tears running down his face.
"I will," Mircea offered, a small ball of fire appearing in his hand. Ludwig nodded slightly, showing his agreement. The Romanian stepped towards Vash and lit the tip of the first arrow. Antonio launched the flaming weapon into the air, watching as it hit its mark on the small boat. Arthur shot next, and the flames began to eat the boat once his hit. Iona, then Francis, shot the third and fourth arrows, and finally, with Feliciana's steadying hand on his back, Ludwig shot the last.
"I once had a comrade,/You will find no better./The drum sounded for battle,/He walked at my side,/In the same pace and step./A bullet came flying towards us,/Is it meant for me or you?/It swept him away,/He now lays at my feet,/As if he was a part of me./His hand reaches out to me,/Meanwhile I am reloading./"I cannot shake your hand farewell,/You must remain in eternal life heaven,/My fine precious comrade." Daniel sang as they watched it slowly drift away, carrying their friend and captain to another land. After a very long hour of standing in the cold, they saw the fire at last blink out as the world went silent and dark again.
The group made its way back onto the ship. Ludwig immediately dashed to his quarters, shutting and locking the door behind him, despite Feliciana's cries for him to let her in. He couldn't bear for anyone to see him like this. His brother had trained him better, and now here he was, an emotional mess.
"Get it together, Lutz. Men don't cry, only girls do, and I will not have my little Bruder be some girl. Stop being so un-awesome," Gilbert scolded.
Suddenly, Ludwig was back at home in Berlin. He knew this memory. He was twelve and his beloved dog, Berlitz, had just died.
"Gilbert, Berlitz is gone!" Ludwig cried.
"He was just a dog, Lutz. Get over it, dammit," Gilbert snapped.
"He was my best friend."
"Do you want people to make fun of you for being a girl?"
"N-no."
"Then stop crying. What would you do if I died instead of the dog?"
"I-I-I'd-I'd—"
"If you say that you'd cry, I'm going to make you run around the entire town in a dress and makeup like the little girl you're acting like. So, Ludwig, what would you do if I died?"
"I'd continue on and move ahead with my life."
"Good. What will you do now?"
"Move on with my life."
"Exactly."
"I'm sorry, Gilbert," Ludwig whispered, drying the last of his tears.
The Phoenix—March 28th, 1890—23:00
Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo
"Cuando la pena nos alcanza/por el hermano perdido,/cuando el adiós dolorido/busca en la/Fe su esperanza./En Tu palabra confiamos/con la certeza que Tú/ya le has devuelto a la vida,/ya le has llevado a la luz./Ya le has devuelto a la vida,/ya le has llevado a la luz," Antonio sang under his breath.
"What is that song, Toni?" Romana said, looking at the Spaniard earnestly.
"It's the song that Spanish troops sing at military funerals, just like the song Daniel sang is what Germans sing for their downed troops," Antonio replied sadly.
"What is it called?"
"La muerte no es el final, or 'Death is not the end.'"
"It's beautiful."
"Gracias, Romana. Gracias por todo. Me siento tan perdido, y que me traiga de vuelta," Antonio said, his voice quavering. Romana walked over and sat beside Antonio on his bed, placing her hand over his.
"Italian and Spanish might be fairly close, idiot, but not close enough that I understood you. Speak English, dammit, so we're both on the same page," she grumped.
"Thank you, Romana. Thank you for everything. I feel so lost, and you help me find my way," the Spaniard repeated, this time in English as Romana had asked.
"You don't have to thank me, Antonio. I haven't done very much except for being a burden and getting in the way. I'm not a ball of sunshine like my sister, so it's not like there's any real benefit from my presence," she said. Antonio whipped his head around to look at her.
"¡Tonterías! No digas esas cosas! Preferiría te tendría conmigo que Feli! You're not a burden, Romana. Why would you ever think that way?" Antonio cried.
"Stop speaking Spanish, dammit!"
"Sorry, sorry. I don't like it when you say stuff like that, Roma. I would choose you over your sister any day."
Suddenly, Romana felt a pang of guilt for adding to the things Antonio had to worry about because she knew that now he would be concerned with making her feel important and valued on top of everything else he had to deal with.
"Forget it, Toni. It's nothing. You've got more important things to think about," Romana mumbled, looking away from the captain.
"Romana, from the moment Abel dropped you at my feet, I haven't been capable of taking my eyes or my thoughts off of you. To me, you are important. You're more important than anything else. Don't be so ridiculous."
Romana stared at him for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around what he had just confessed.
"Toni...are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Antonio brightened and turned red, a smile stretching across his face.
"Sí! Sí, Romana, lo soy. Te amo más de lo que he amado nunca a nadie en toda mi vida!" he exclaimed.
"I told you, you bastard, English."
"Yes, Roma, I'm saying what you think I'm saying! I love you more than I've ever loved anything or anyone in my entire life!"
Romana blushed violently.
"You're insane. There's no fucking way in fucking hell," she grumbled, speaking more to herself than to Antonio.
"Well, I'd say that everyone's a little loco, but I'm absolutely sure that I care about you, Romana!" Antonio said as Romana furrowed her brows and shook her head.
"But-but I'm so mean to you, Toni. I'm not ladylike, I'm not gorgeous like my sister, and I swear too much, and I'm just too mean."
"I don't care. I mean it, Roma, I really and truly love you."
Romana said nothing after this, choosing to turn away from Antonio and stare fixedly at the wall instead. They sat in silence for many minutes, neither one wanting to interrupt the other's thoughts.
"You should've told me earlier, Tomato Bastard," Romana finally muttered, crossing her arms over her chest with a heavy sigh.
"Ti amo."
Antonio tackled her, nearly knocking the Italian girl over.
"Oh Romana! It makes me so happy to hear you say that!" he cried, ignoring Romana's flailing and grumbles to 'Get off.'
"As long as it means you'll stop moping. I don't like you all sad and moody, Toni."
"Sí! I have no reason to be sad when you've brought me so much joy, Roma! Well, I mean, I am still very upset about Gilbert, but you make it a little better."
"Whatever, Tomato Bastard. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
"Buenas noches, mi querida!"
The Phoenix—March 29th, 1890—05:00
Ludwig Beilschmidt
Sleep evaded Ludwig, and by the time morning came, he felt even more hollow and worn down than he had after his first week of boot camp five years ago. He kept himself busy by inspecting every inch of the ship, ensuring that they were ready for whatever lay ahead in St Petersburg. He cooked breakfast, set the table, and poured various mugs of coffee and tea for the trickle of crew members entering the kitchen, shooing Feliciana away when she tried to help him and nearly broke all of their plates. He even cleaned all of the offices onboard until he could see his reflection in the wood of each desk. Despite all of this productivity, though, the spectre of his brother's death still followed him.
"Ludwig-san, are you sure you're okay? You don't look very good," Kiku said, glancing at the German over the top of his mug.
"Ja, I'm fine. No need to worry," Ludwig sighed, pushing a few stray hairs off of his forehead.
"Kiku's right, Luddy. You're very pale," Antonio added. Ludwig grunted, but said nothing more. He finished wiping off the counter and quietly exited the room. He hurried to the top deck and burst into the cold morning air, reveling in how the cold rain stung his face.
He knew that he needed to continue with the preparations for St Petersburg, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to spend any more time down below. The disciplined soldier in him was cringing and clawing at the walls of his conscience, screaming at him to get back to work, but something else in him was gently whispering that even he needed to have some time to himself to recover and to grieve, and it sounded suspiciously like Feliciana's voice.
He stood facing the dark grey sky for a long time, unable to make himself move even an inch.
The door behind him opened, but Ludwig didn't turn around. He didn't care who joined him in the rain.
A small pair of arms wrapped themselves around Ludwig's waist and a head rested against his back.
"It's cold and wet out here, Ludwig. Why don't you come inside?" Feliciana said quietly, hugging him a little tighter.
Ludwig placed his large, calloused hands over Feliciana's own delicate hands, gaining some small comfort from the contact.
"I—I don't know," Ludwig sighed. Feliciana straightened up and walked around so that she faced him.
"You're going to catch your death, Ludwig. You need to come in and dry off."
"I don't want to, Feliciana."
"Why?"
Ludwig found himself stumped by the question. Why was he so reluctant to return to the warmth of the ship and the company of the crew? Logic dictated that in times of trouble, it made more sense to seek support and comfort from one's friends than to deal with it all alone.
"I'm really not sure."
"Then come inside with me."
"No, Feli."
The Italian's eyes shone sadly, and she looked worried.
"Maybe you should talk to someone else who was close to him. I'm sure that Captain Antonio would be willing to listen. I know that Gilbert and Daniel were close. Go talk to him. Maybe he has something that'll give you comfort, Luddy, but please, please don't keep holding this in. I'm worried about you," she said, stepping forward and embracing him again.
"All of them have other things to worry about, Feliciana. It would be wrong of me to interrupt them."
"But surely even waiting for one of them to have some free time would be better than standing out in the rain. I'll make you some coffee or tea or even pour you a beer if that's what you want, but please come inside, Ludwig. You're beginning to scare me," Feliciana whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. A small sniffle told the German that Feliciana had begun to cry a little. Her tears finally broke Ludwig, and he knew she was right. He needed to talk to someone before his grief drove him mad.
"If it will make you feel better, then I will go and talk to Daniel. Thank you, Feliciana," Ludwig sighed, returning the hug before pulling away and making his way inside.
"Does anyone know where Daniel is?" he asked when he entered the galley. The clock on the wall read a quarter till seven in the morning. Daniel usually woke up right about now, but who could really be sure with everything that had happened.
"I think he's in his room, last I checked," Jack called out, though the toast he'd stuffed in his mouth muffled the sound.
"Danke, and, erm, chew and swallow before speaking next time, please," Ludwig said.
Ludwig walked slowly to the living quarters, shoulders hunched and feet dragging, but finally, he arrived in front of the door belonging to the Hungarian.
He straightened himself up and knocked on the door. He heard the faint rustle of sheets and blankets, but otherwise received no answer. He knocked on the door again, this time a little louder.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," a distinctly male voice said from inside.
A few seconds later, Mircea answered the door, fully bathed and dressed.
"Ludwig! Bună ziua!" the Romanian exclaimed, flashing Ludwig a wide, fanged smile.
"Mircea, what are you doing in Daniel's room?" Ludwig gasped.
"Daniel's room? Why would I be in Daniel's room? This is my room!" Mircea laughed.
"Sheisse."
"That Hungarian loser is two doors to the left, but I think he's in one of the smaller lounges on the fourth floor. You know, he's such a messed up creep that he's finding solace in being surrounded by all of the weapons and artillery."
"Right. Thank you."
Ludwig climbed the two sets of stairs to the fourth floor.
"Fourth floor lounge...fourth floor lounge...where is i—ah. There," he muttered, nearly running into the dark oak door.
He knocked three times.
"Who is it?" Daniel called from inside.
"It's Ludwig. Can you open up? I have something I need to discuss with you," Ludwig responded.
The door swung open and a very bedraggled-looking Hungarian looked at Ludwig questioningly.
"What can I help you with, Ludwig? Come in, please."
Daniel gestured to a set of plush leather armchairs in a corner of the lounge.
"Make yourself comfortable."
Ludwig sat down while Daniel did the same, still looking at the German with a quizzical face.
"I need to talk...I want to talk with you about Gilbert. You were close with him, right?"
"Well, I certainly regarded him as a good friend, yes. Why do you ask?"
"I—I'm having trouble coming to terms with his death, and Feliciana suggested I talk to someone about it, and I figured that you'd be able to help since you were close with him," Ludwig said defeatedly. His pride was out the window and he really didn't have much to lose from this conversation, so it made sense for him to simply be honest.
"In that case, what do you want to know? I have many stories about Gilbert, and many things he told me that he didn't tell anyone else," Daniel said.
"Did he ever talk about me? Did he have any plans for life after the attack on St Petersburg? What were they? Why didn't he ever write or contact me?"
"One question at a time, Ludwig. I know you're hurting and confused right now, but I can only answer one thing at any given moment. He talked about you all the time when he was on the bridge. He loved to tell us about how he basically raised you by himself and all of the trouble the two of you got up to. He was very proud of you, Ludwig, though he wasn't impressed by you not admitting your feelings to Feliciana, so you might just want to go ahead and do something about that, but that's just my opinion. Anyways, I'm not going to lie to you about his plans for after all of this. Gilbert was planning to sell everyone out. Once all of this was over, he was going to take command of this ship, turn everyone but himself, me, and you in for piracy, and reap the benefits of not only having defeated the Russians, but also bringing so many international criminals to justice," Daniel said calmly, never taking his gaze off of Ludwig.
"That imbecile. I thought he had more honour than that," Ludwig huffed, his eyes flashing momentarily.
"He was human and vainglorious. I'm not saying that the idea was right, nor was it even a good one, though I would have gladly joined him in a heartbeat. Regardless, there's no use being angry about it now," Daniel soothed. Ludwig nodded, and the two men fell into silence.
"You know, I remember he once tried to write you a letter, but decided it would be a good idea to write it up on the top deck of the Adler on a particularly windy day. He was just about to sign his name at the bottom when a gust of wind blew the quill right out of his hand, surprising him so badly that he then knocked over the full inkwell, spilling ink all over himself, the letter, and, much to Mircea's horror, the freshly cleaned deck. Gilbert then proceeded to get up, leave inky footprints all around the mast head, and then tear up the letter and throw the scraps to the wind. That was the first and last time he ever tried writing to you," Daniel continued, his story coming out of nowhere.
"What was the letter about?"
"His plan. He'd always known that eventually, all three, possibly all four, captains would have to come together, and his plan was forming a few weeks before the initial attack on Kirkland's ship. He wanted to tell you, but then decided against it, knowing that you'd talk him down."
Ludwig pondered Daniel's story for a few moments and smiled sadly.
"Tell me more about what it was like under his captainship," he said.
"Gladly."
The two talked for hours, sharing stories of the Prussian, not even noticing when someone brought tea and cakes in for them.
"Daniel, can you come look over some of these radio charts please?" Antonio's voice suddenly crackled over the intercom.
"I'll be down in a few minutes," Daniel sighed, rolling his eyes.
"You have five minutes," Vash said. Ludwig and Daniel could hear Antonio complaining in the background about Vash pushing him away from the intercom.
"Well, looks like we might have to cut this short, Lud. Just remember that your brother really and truly loved you, and was so, so very proud of the man you've become. Don't mourn his loss. Celebrate the time you had with him. Oh, and just go at least kiss Feliciana, please," Daniel said, standing up. He embraced the German man like a brother, and Ludwig found comfort in it, feeling as though his brother was still there for one fleeting moment. The two exited the lounge, and Ludwig shut the door behind him, making his way back to his room, where he found Feliciana sitting on his bed, her nose buried in a book, and her back to the door.
As silently as a cat, Ludwig crept over to her and picked the young Italian woman up, planting a kiss on her lips and earning a small squeak of surprise before Feliciana returned the kiss.
She beamed radiantly at him, her arms around his midsection.
"Are you all better, Luddy?" she asked.
"More or less, Feli," Ludwig responded.
"Oh, that's so good! I'm happy, Ludwig! We should celebrate with some spaghetti!"
The Phoenix—March 29th, 1890—09:10
Captain Arthur George Mackenzie-Kirkland
"Arthur, do you really have to go do captain-y stuff? Why don't you just stay in bed with me?" Amelia whined, looking up at Arthur with big blue puppy-dog eyes. Arthur felt his heart melt a little, especially considering what they'd talked about the night previous.
He ran a hand through his messy blond hair and sighed, looking away from his girlfriend.
"I'm afraid I can't. We have two days until we reach St Petersburg, and a lot of planning to do. My sister and Mircea have already started on a preliminary plan, meaning Antonio, Francis, and I have some catching up to do along with further planning. I've already stayed in bed long enough as it is," he said, pulling on his trousers and shirt.
"But—"
"No, Amelia. I have a job to do, and you have weapons to check along with Mister Zwingli. Come on, get up."
Amelia opened her mouth to argue, but quickly shut it and rolled out of bed.
Arthur was dressed and out the door by the time her feet landed on the floor.
He walked brusquely with long strides to the third floor, checking the time every chance he got. He'd slept in much longer than he had planned to.
The meeting of the four captains plus Lukas and Mircea had been set for 09:15 sharp, but it was 09:25 by the time Arthur burst into the meeting room, red-faced and out of breath.
"It's about time you showed up, Sourcils," Francis sniffed, taking in Arthur's disheveled appearance.
"My apologies, everyone. I'm afraid I overslept my alarm," Arthur said, sitting down between his sister and Lukas.
"Well, all that matters is that you're here now, meaning we can start discussing the plan for St Petersburg. Mircea was just briefing everyone on the preliminary ideas the two of us came up with earlier this morning, so you haven't missed much," Iona said, shutting down any more snide comments from Francis.
"By all means, please, continue then," Arthur said with a wave of his hand.
"Right. Anyways," Mircea began, squirming in his seat, "we were thinking that it might be safer to battle from the air rather than splitting up into teams on the ground. It'll be much easier for the four sorcerers to protect everyone if we're all in one central, familiar place. We also have superior firepower compared to Braginsky's main ship, the RFK Slava, if we mix firearms, artillery, and magic. I have no doubt that Braginsky knows by now that we're coming, and I get the feeling he'll want to face us himself to make sure we don't survive. Since the Russian Federation is known mainly for its airships, that's most likely what they'll use against us. We are sky pirates, aren't we? Why not do things the old pirate way, with both sides boarding each other's ships?"
The Romanian looked around at the individuals seated around the table, trying to gauge their reactions.
"It might just work," Lukas said after a few moments of thinking. "Mircea is right about using the 'home advantage' with magic. Magic is always more powerful when you're casting from a place with which you are familiar, and this ship is as close to a true home as any of us have right now."
"I agree. Obviously, it's just a preliminary plan, but with some tinkering and fine-tuning, it'll give us a much greater edge than Braginsky is expecting," Arthur added.
"Ciertamente, if the four sorcerers think it's good, then it's good," Antonio said while Francis nodded his own agreement.
"Then it's settled," Iona declared. "We'll continue to work on the intricacies of the plan and we'll start preparations early tomorrow morning."
They continued to sit and discuss other aspects of the plan for an hour, but as soon as the meeting was over, the six were blown to the four winds, or so it seemed to Arthur. He found himself wandering aimlessly until he found his way to Iona's office. Before he could even think about it, he knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" she said from within in a sing-songy voice.
"Iona, I need to talk to you," Arthur grunted impatiently, though he was entirely unsure of why he felt so annoyed. Maybe annoyed wasn't the right word. More like anxious.
"And I'm coming, dinnae fash yirsel," came the teasing reply, followed shortly by the door opening. "How may I help you, Artie-lad? Didn't we just see each other?"
"Like I said, I need to talk to you."
"You could've just approached me at the meeting, you kno—"
"It's not a captain to captain matter. It's—well, it's, argh I don't know how to put this—"
"Out with it, man."
"I need advice from my...from my...from my big sister," Arthur finally managed, his cheeks turning a brilliant red. Iona looked at him with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and amusement.
"Come in, then. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Something to eat?" she sighed.
"Tea and some food would be lovely, actually. I'm famished," Arthur answered.
Iona walked over to her desk and pressed a button on the side of her radio transmitter.
"Berwald, is there any way you could send makings for tea, along with maybe some cakes and sandwiches to my office?" she said into the microphone.
Berwald grunted in response.
"Thank you!"
After a few minutes of awkward silence and looking around the newly decorated office, Arthur felt it necessary to say something. "I really like what you've done with this place. When did you do all of this and how on earth did you manage to have all of this? Wouldn't it have been destroyed with Gilbert's ship?"
Iona chuckled lightly and strode over to the bookcase behind the desk, which was filled with books and pictures and trinkets.
"These are things I never let leave my side should I have to leave the ship. A simple extending spell works wonders on any bag," Iona said with a wink. "Mircea and I spent about four hours on it last night. The furniture and all of the big pieces were already here, but it took us a bit to figure out where to put all of my various mementoes and pictures. I couldn't sleep for more than an hour last night, so I've been tinkering with the office on and off all day. Why don't you come over and have a closer look? You may find you recognise a few pieces." She held out her hand in invitation, and Arthur joined her next to the bookcase.
Sure enough, he recognised almost all of the items on the bookshelf. In the centre of the display was a picture of all six Mackenzie-Kirkland siblings, taken the day before Alistair's deployment. It wasn't difficult to tell that they were all related, even if the six of them couldn't have been more different in personality. All five boys had strong, bushy eyebrows and mops of unruly hair, and even Iona had fairly defined eyebrows, though they were neatly groomed and still thin in comparison to her brothers'.
"Where did you get this photo? I thought Sean had taken it with him to—oh. When did you 'pay a visit' to the twins?" Arthur asked, picking up the silver-framed picture.
"Last May on my way back from Dylan's wedding. They left their apartment in Dublin unlocked, so I figured I'd take a look inside," Iona replied with a shrug.
Arthur set the picture down and turned to the photo next to it. This one showed Iona and Mircea in Norway, wrapped up in thick, woolen coats and scarves, both grinning from ear to ear. Iona's hair was a few inches shorter and tied back in a ponytail, and she still looked somewhat like the teenager who'd left her family, rather than the proud young woman she was now. Mircea, too, had a more youthful air about him, evident in the frighteningly mischievous grin he wore.
"When was this, and why isn't Gilbert in it?"
"Oh, that one? That's from the year that Mircea joined the crew, so around four and a half years ago, back when I was still 'James,' rather than Iona. Gilbert was the one who took the photo because he wanted to remember his first two crew members."
Arthur nodded and moved on, running his fingers over a folded Union Jack sitting next to a small glass case with various military decorations displayed, the centremost of which was the purple Victoria Cross—Alistair's Victoria Cross. The flag and the case sat in the dead centre of the bookshelf, right behind Iona's chair at the perfect level for being viewed as a sort of crown above the seat.
"I keep forgetting that you took that with you when you left," Arthur said in a slightly bitter tone.
"He was my twin brother and my best friend. Of course I would take it with me," Iona said sadly.
The two siblings stood in solemn silence for a few minutes until they were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Enter," Iona called.
Stefan came in with a tray of various tea cakes and sandwiches, followed closely by Berwald with the teapot and a bag of tea leaves and a pitcher of water.
"Just set them on the coffee table, thank you," Iona said with a smile.
Once Berwald and Stefan had left, the Scotswoman gestured for Arthur to take a seat in one of the armchairs.
They quickly set about arranging everything, and soon, the tea was brewing and the eldest Mackenzie-Kirkland sat facing the youngest with wise jade eyes.
"So, you said you needed to speak with me. What do you need, Arthur?"
Arthur fidgeted in his seat for a few moments while he tried to find the words. He picked up a cake, nibbled at it, set it down on his plate, picked it up again, and wolfed it down. A second and third cake quickly followed.
"Amelia and I have been talking…" he began, but paused abruptly.
"I should hope you talk with your girlfriend. Should I congratulate you?"
"Funny. Anyways, we've been talking about…stuff, and, well, "I'mgoingtoproposetoherandIwantyoutoofficiateit," he said quickly. Iona gave him a blank stare, breaking it only to eat a sandwich and a small cake.
"You're going to have to repeat that," she sighed, taking a sip of tea.
Arthur took a deep breath and a gulp of Earl Grey, and locked eyes with his sister.
"I'm going to propose to Amelia later today, and, with everything that's going on, I'm not sure when we'll get married, but no matter when it happens, I want you to officiate. Regardless of if I ask you to marry us tomorrow or ten years from now, I want you, as Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie, to be the one who does it."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"No."
"You're assuming that I'll always be on hand."
"I know, and that's not very fair of me, but Amy and I have thought long and hard about it, and we agreed that we want you to officiate, even if we have to wait a few months to see you," Arthur said calmly.
Iona gazed past him for a second or two, saying nothing.
"You think I've gone batty, don't you?" Arthur laughed nervously.
"Not at all. I think it makes perfect sense. So long as the two of you are engaged, if anything happens to you in St Petersburg, Amelia will receive half of your possessions. It's a good safety net," Iona said.
"So…you'll do it?"
"Of course I will, though I'm sure that Dylan and the twins won't be too enthused once we return to Britain after all of this mess."
Arthur grinned widely and leapt up.
"Oh, I'm so glad! Thank you so much, Iona!" he cried, picking his sister up off of her chair and spinning her around.
"Save it for your girl, Artie-lad. You'll ruin my hair if you keep doing that," Iona teased, lightly punching Arthur on the chest.
Arthur set her down, but continued smiling broadly down at her.
"Your hair looks fine, Io. Don't worry," he laughed.
"Right, well, is there anything else you needed to speak with me about?"
"Ehm, no, not that I can think of."
"Very well. Feel free to enjoy the rest of the tea and sandwiches. Hell, bring them to Amelia and the two of you can enjoy them together. Sadly, though, I must head to the bridge to relieve Francis of control. Good luck, Arthur, and go get her."
With that, Iona was out the door, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.
He quickly followed her advice and carried the tray of food and tea to one of the smaller dining rooms before going to find Amelia.
"I have some great news, Amelia, dear," he said as he shut the door to the room.
St Petersburg, Russian Federation—March 29th, 1890—21:00
Viktor Aleksandrov
"How are all the preparations, Viktor? I will not be disappointed, no? I expect big show coming from you," General Braginsky said cheerily, clapping Viktor on the shoulder. The Bulgarian did his very best to control the shudder which wanted to run down his spine at the contact.
"The preparations are going well, sir. There's no way they'll survive short of extremely powerful magic, which I'm not sure they'll be able to muster."
"But you say they are four magicians."
"Indeed, I did say that, but even the four together won't be strong enough. I know one of them personally, and he's nowhere near strong enough as long as he's got the Scottish witch keeping him on a tight leash."
"Okay, I trust you on this, Viktor. I hope you are not doing the lying thing to me because you have done it to me before," Braginsky said, reminding Viktor of a child unaware of how frightening he was.
"Would you like me to detail the plan?"
"No, I will be pleasantly surprised. You are dismissed."
"Thank you, sir."
The Phoenix—March 31st, 1890—23:40
Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie
Iona wasn't quite sure how to feel with 20 minutes to go until it was what she had come to think of as 'G-Day' in honour of Gilbert. Sitting alone in her office, every inch of her body felt alive with nervous energy, and her mind would not stop racing.
She had already ordered the entire ship, save Mathias and herself, to bed, justifying the order by saying that they all needed to be well-rested for the upcoming attack on the Russian Federation. They'd finally crossed over the Russian border, and were quickly drawing nearer to St Petersburg.
"Deep breaths, Iona. You've done everything you possibly can for this ship and those aboard it. Every shielding spell and protection spell known to man has been cast, every gun and every cannon has been cleaned, loaded, and provided with near endless supplies of ammunition. Everybody knows the plan. All that's left now is to arrive," she mused, fiddling with her silver Claddagh ring and tightening her blue and silver cloak around her shoulders.
She glanced at the picture sitting on her desk, smiling faintly at Alistair's goofy, cheeky grin.
"What I wouldn't give to have you with me right now, Ali. You would know what to do. You'd be a better captain than I am," she said sadly, picking up the photo and running her thumb over Alistair's face. "Come back…"
Once again, Iona was transported back to the last time she'd seen her twin, the memory just as painful now as it had been a few weeks previous.
"…Remember that cloak I gave you?" Alistair said.
"Aye. It's up in my room," Iona muttered, trying to wipe away her tears. Alistair chuckled and ran a thumb across Iona's cheek.
"Well, whenever you feel like you miss me too much, just wrap yourself up in it and pretend I'm sitting there with you, listening to you tell stories again, or singing with you. Before you know it, I'll be home."
Iona nodded sadly and wrapped her arms around Alistair's midsection tightly. The older twin responded by enveloping her in a warm embrace.
"I have to go now, but I'll be home for Christmas. I love you, Sister-mine, and no matter how far away I am, I'm here for you. Remember that," Alistair said, kissing the top of his sister's head.
"I love you too, Brother-mine," Iona whispered, tears falling on the glass pane of the picture frame.
The cloak had been charmed to smell like Alistair, a feat which he'd gone out of his way to do before giving the cloak to his sister, and which now provided infinite comfort to the surviving twin.
"What would you do if you were in my position, Ali? I feel so lost."
She received no reply but the flickering of the candle on the coffee table. More tears rolled down her cheeks, but Iona didn't even bother to wipe them away. There was no point, she figured, not when they'd be replaced with more.
She folded her arms on the desk and rested her head upon them, resigning herself to sleeping in her office rather than in her best friend's arms, simply because she was too exhausted to get up and leave the room.
"I feel so alone…Just give me a sign," she mumbled, just as the candle blew out of its own accord.
The Phoenix—April 1st, 1890—01:00
Alexandru Mircea Bălan
Mircea awoke to two very strange feelings. The first feeling was the physical loneliness of being the only one in the bed at one in the morning the night before a battle. The second feeling, however, was what had woken the Romanian. For some inexplicable reason, Mircea felt as though he wasn't the only presence in the room, yet there was no one else there.
"It's just nerves. Back to sleep," he mumbled. He started to climb back into bed, but someone in the open doorway caught his eye.
"Who are you?" he called, but the person in the doorway said nothing.
Mircea jumped up and quickly put on his trousers, determined to at least face the stranger fully clothed. The stranger stepped out into the hall, motioning for Mircea to follow him.
"Okay, Daniel. You can cut it out now. I'm sufficiently spooked," Mircea sighed. The stranger stopped and wheeled around, locking eyes with Mircea.
"You're not Daniel…" Mircea gasped.
He studied the stranger closely in the light of the gas lamps which lined the hallway.
The man was a good six or seven inches taller than he was, and had the same lean muscular build as Arthur. Just like the younger Kirkland, the man's eyebrows were wild and his hair could only be referred to as a mop of brilliant red. It was his eyes, however, which really made the hairs on the back of Mircea's neck stand up. The facial shape was fairly reminiscent of Iona, but the eyes were nearly identical in shape, with the same knowing and mischievous sparkle in a field of green, though the man's were a darker shade, closer to Arthur's.
"No…there's no way. You can't be," Mircea whispered, earning a nod and a smile from the stranger, who turned back down the hallway and waved Mircea along. The Romanian wordlessly followed.
Finally, they stopped in the lounge outside of Iona's office and sat opposite each other.
"She's in there alone."
"Wait…you can talk?"
"O' coorse Ah kin blether, ye gowk. Juist fur I'm...well...you ken whit A'm, doesn't mean that Ah dinnae hae a voice."
"Cerul mă ajute…"
"Noo, as Ah wis saying, Iona's in thare alone, 'n' if thare wis ever a time whin she absolutely didnae need tae be alone, tis noo."
"So you dragged me out of bed? Also, do you think you could try to speak a little bit less...well, Scottish?"
There was a flurry of movement, and the visitor hit Mircea upside the back of the head.
"Ow! Hey! I didn't even realise you could do that!" Mircea cried, earning yet another, albeit smaller, hit to the head.
"Wull ye hush? Th' rest o' this ship is asleep, 'n' ye'r juist squawking up a storm," the visitor hissed.
"Okay, okay. Stop hitting me, Ghost Boy, or else I'll exorcise you into next year," Mircea groaned, swatting the visitor away.
"Dinnae ca' me 'Ghost Boy' again 'n' we hae a deal," the visitor growled.
"Deal. Now, what exactly did you pull me out of bed for?"
"Ma sister needs ye."
"So you really are him…Anyways, why does she need me? She was the one who sent me away."
"Fur ye'r a' aboot tae gang intae battle 'n' she's suppose tae leid th' charge. Fur she's stressed oot o' her mynd 'n' scared tae death. Fur she's aye juist a lonely wanderer at hert wha wid gie anythin' tae gied the pitch fae a' o' this if she didnae think she wid lose ye. Fur she loues ye mair than she even loues her ain fowk."
"And I thought Iona's accent was strong...could-could you repeat that?" Mircea said.
The visitor glared daggers at Mircea, and ran a hand through messy red hair, much the same as Arthur often did.
"She needs you because you're all about to go into battle and she's supposed to lead the charge. She needs you because she's stressed out of her mind and scared to death. She needs you because she's still just a lonely wanderer at heart that would give anything to run far away from all of this if she wasn't so scared about losing you. She needs you because she loves you more than she loves even her own family, dammit."
"She…loves me?"
"She's tellt ye that afore!"
"I know, I know, but it's just weird to hear that since I'm still not sure what she actually meant."
"Juist gang in thare, ye bloody gowk. Ah dinnae hae muckle time 'n' Ah dinnae wantae shite whit ah dae hae convincing ye tae jimmy up."
"Huh?"
"Will you just go in to the damn bloody office, you blasted fool? I don't actually have much time and I don't want to waste what I've got left trying to convince you to just man up and grow a pair!"
Mircea nodded and rose from his couch, crossing over to the door in three large strides.
"Okay. Just gotta knock on the door, right?" he muttered to himself. He did just that, though he didn't expect any reply. After a few beats, he opened the door.
"Thank you, Alistair," he said, turning back to the lounge, but found that there was no one there.
The Phoenix—April 1st, 1890—01:30
Captain Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie
Iona wasn't quite sure how long she'd been asleep, but even without being able to look in the mirror across the room, she knew she'd been asleep long enough to get a lovely red mark on her forehead from resting it on her embroidered jacket sleeve.
"That's a great look for you, draga," Mircea's voice said through the darkness of the office.
"It's pitch black in here, Mir. How can you tell?" Iona mumbled, searching for a candle or the gas lamp.
Much to her surprise, she found Mircea sitting at one of the chairs in front of her desk when she lit the lamp. He was a good ten feet closer than she'd expected.
"You should come to bed. It's late," the Romanian said softly, looking at her with concern in his eyes.
"I have to get up early tomorrow. I didn't want to wake you," Iona lied, not wanting to admit that she simply had worn herself out so much that she hadn't had the energy to leave the office.
"You're not a great liar, Iona. You should've told me and I would've carried you if you asked." Mircea stood up and walked around to stand next to Iona, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Why are you awake? What time is it?"
"The bed was cold, and it's about 01:30."
Iona stared up at him, not noticing the cloak slipping off of her shoulders until Mircea caught it as it fell to the ground entirely.
"You repaired the hem," he said, running his fingers over the half-moon shaped section sewn back on with silver thread.
"Aye, I did. Turns out that Gilbert held onto the section he ripped off. I found it in his pocket when we were preparing for the…for the funeral," Iona said. Mircea draped the cloak around the Scotswoman and extended his hand.
"Come on. You need to actually sleep," he said in way of explanation. Iona gingerly took it, only to be literally swept off of her feet and into Mircea's arms.
"What're you doing?" Iona muttered blearily, not entirely awake.
"Taking you to bed, draga mea."
Iona started to say something, but closed her mouth and rested her head against her friend's shoulder.
"Still not a dragon," she finally mumbled.
They were both silent the entire way to their shared room, Iona being too tired to think, let alone say anything, and Mircea being too awake and hyper-alert to form a coherent sentence.
The Romanian gently set Iona down on her side of the bed when they entered the room.
"Do you want me to get your nightgown or anything for you?" he asked.
"Mmmrphno," came the slurred reply of a very sleepy Scotswoman.
"You're going to sleep in your clothing?"
"I can get my nightclothes by myself, Mircea. I'm exhausted, not paralysed."
To prove her point, Iona opened her eyes and rolled off of the bed, staggering a little as she stood, but maintaining the majority of her balance with Mircea's help. He stayed close to her as she walked over to her dresser and pulled out a simple white nightgown.
"You know, you don't have to monitor me. I can handle myself just fine, plus, I have to actually undress and put this on, meaning you're going to have to not look."
Mircea caught the hint, stepped back, and turned around so that he was facing away from Iona.
Ten minutes and a few swears later, Iona announced, "Okay, you can turn back now."
Mircea did just that and smiled broadly at Iona.
"Are you going to get in bed, or are you just going to continue standing there and smiling like that?" Iona said with a raised eyebrow.
"I'm not going to do either of those," Mircea said, taking a step and a half towards her so that their faces were mere centimetres apart.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him. Iona placed her hands on his chest, suddenly awake from the rush of adrenaline that now raced through her veins.
"Maybe once or twice, but not recently," she responded.
"You're gorgeous, Iona, and even that's an understatement," Mircea whispered.
"I do hope you care about more than just my looks, Mircea, nice as that is to hear," Iona teased, moving her hands up to his shoulders.
"I thought that was understood. Te iubesc pentru tine. Aspectul tale sunt doar un bonus," Mircea countered with a chuckle.
"I don't understand Romanian, you silly fool."
"I know you don't, draga mea, but I'm better at expressing myself in Romanian than I am in English."
"Then translate for me."
"I love you for you. Your looks are just a bonus," Mircea said, reaching down and brushing an errant curl from Iona's face.
Iona grinned happily while Mircea continued to attempt to put his feelings into English.
"I've loved you for a long time, Iona. You and Stefan are all that matter to me, and I know it's a bad time because we're going into battle in a few hours, but I had to tell you in case anything happened. I love you dearly, and I will do all that I can to prove that and to protect you and—"
Iona didn't let him finish.
"Mircea?" she interrupted.
"Yes?"
"Shut up and kiss me already."
She didn't have to tell him twice.
Iona's focus narrowed, her only thought being that she couldn't let go of Mircea. Her hands found their way up to Mircea's strawberry blond hair, just as one of Mircea's hands wove its way into her own mahogany curls. All worries about the coming battle disappeared, replaced by a confidence from knowing that as long as she and Mircea were together, everything would be fine.
When they finally broke apart, neither of them could speak, but they didn't care. No words were needed.
Mircea waited for Iona to tell him that they shouldn't be doing this, not the night before the battle, but the admonition never came.
"I love you too, Mircea," was all she said, burying her face in his chest, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck.
"What do you say we go to sleep now? It's late," Mircea suggested, stepping back to look at his best friend.
"That sounds wonderful," Iona said.
The Phoenix—April 1st, 1890—09:00
Captain Francis Louis Bonnefoy
"Captain Bonnefoy, sir, we're coming into St Petersburg airspace," Vash called from his seat on the bridge.
"I should hope so, Mister Zwingli," Francis said, wondering why his usually logical first mate would be telling him what he already knew.
"Yes, but there's a catch."
"Quoi?"
"It seems as though every European country has sent at least three of its best ships behind us. We aren't the only ones who intend to attack the Russian Federation today. The Russians also seem to know that we're coming, because their entire fleet is ahead of us."
Francis nearly choked on his espresso.
"The United European Air Force. I thought it was just something the others made up to scare us into being more cautious. Call the other three up here. They need to know about this."
Fifteen minutes later, all four captains stood assembled in front of the panoramic window, looking worried and confused.
"What do we do? Surely the UEAF will attack us if we try to attack Braginsky since they recognise the ship by now and will use the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, but if we don't act soon, the Russians will attack everybody," Antonio said.
"I wish I had an easy answer to that, Toni," Francis said.
Arthur groaned and ran a hand through his hair, while Iona paced silently off to the side, deep in thought.
"We should just go ahead with the original plan, and the European forces be damned. We can't halt everything just because of an unanticipated event," Arthur grumbled.
"That would be suicide," Antonio cried.
"This entire mission is suicide, if you haven't already realised," Arthur snapped.
"Sourcils, Toni's right. We shouldn't jump in without thinking this through. We should try to save as many of our lives as possible," Francis scolded.
"We should try to contact the European forces and work out a deal with them," Ludwig added from behind Antonio.
"That could work," Arthur hummed thoughtfully.
"What do we have to lose?" Francis said.
"Well, quite a bit, but it's worth a shot," Antonio shrugged.
"I'm in," Iona called from her perch near the glass.
"What do we tell them?" Francis asked.
"And what poor soul has to speak with them?" Arthur snorted.
"Well, Captain Kirkland, I was actually thinking that you'd be the best man for the job since technically, you're not an outlaw or doing anything illegal. You're being paid to be a pirate, so they'll respond better to you," Ludwig replied. Arthur paled considerably and opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air.
"I second that motion," Iona quipped, shooting her brother an impish grin.
"All in favour, say 'aye,'" Ludwig said.