DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers Hidekaz Himaruya

THE CALL OF THE WILD

LOST BOYS


FOURTEEN

BLACK FOREST FORT

WESTERN EMPIRE

Gilbert took Matthew's hand and together they dashed back into the keep, and down, down, down the stairs. The courtyard was flooded with Alphas in black-and-white tunics, carrying long, straight swords of the lightning-rod variety, and all wearing identical expressions of fear. Gilbert saw fearful eyes and upturned lips and tightly clenched fists. He saw his Alphas standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a defensive formation that he had taught them—so few of them left. If the Eastern Army or Southern Army broke through the gate and inner-wall, the fort was as good as lost; his comrades, his brothers as good as dead.

I did this. I should've abandoned the fort months ago, he finally admitted, pulling Matthew close. He hugged his Omega-mate with his right hand and clutched Ludwig's sword with his left. We're all going to die because of me.

He spotted Ludwig's long, black cape as he disappeared into the war-room and hurried to follow, dragging Matthew along with him. Several of the officers were shocked by the ex-captain's arrival, and a few stared in hesitant disapproval of Matthew's presence, but Gilbert ignored them. Omegas were forbidden from entering the war-room, just as Omegas were forbidden from entering the fort, but there was no way Gilbert was letting Matthew out of sight—out of his reach—again. Like a gale, he burst into the crowded chamber with purpose and pierced the occupants with his fierce red gaze.

"Gilbert!" Ludwig called. He was the only one who looked relieved to see Matthew. He pushed forward and clapped his brother's shoulder.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," said Lutz. The Black Guard's tone was reproachful, though his look was not. Reinbeck stood beside him, eyes plastered bashfully to Matthew's body. (Gilbert noticed this with a frown.) The Omega's soaked clothes clung to the swell of his curves. "Where is Second-Lieutenant Wolfe?" Lutz enquired.

Gilbert's face was stony. "Haven't seen him."

Lutz pursed his lips, but didn't pry.

Ludwig gestured to a map on the table and resumed the discussion: "If we deploy the garrison to the east—"

"We can't deploy to the east, it's crawling with Southerners!" someone argued.

"We could charge the gate, force the enemy into a narrower space to attack, have the archers cover from—"

"The archers don't have any arrows!"

"The west bank then. Deploy to the west—"

"The west bank is too close to the Rhine!"

"Well, what the fuck are we supposed to do then? We're trapped!"

Gilbert closed his eyes and pictured the map in his mind, tried to concentrate as the officers argued fervently back-and-forth.

Focus, Gil. How do you solve this? Think of how you can solve this. We can't attack from the east, because the Southerners have erected a temporary stronghold. We can't overtake their encampment. We can't attack from the south, because it's a battlefield of Southerners and Easterners. We're too few to fight in hand-to-hand battle. We can't attack from the west, because

"—the river," said Matthew.

We can't charge ahead. We may have the initial advantage, but eventually we'd be overrun. There's just too many of them, and we'd be fighting battles on two fronts.

"—the river," Matthew repeated.

We can't rely on re-enforcements, Gilbert knew, now. We have to abandon the fort. It's our only option

"THE RIVER!" Matthew yelled. His outburst cut through the loud, aggressive Alpha voices, silencing them all in shock.

Gilbert's eyes snapped open. He looked down at his Omega-mate, who pulled away from him and regarded the war-room of Alphas in very maternal, very Omega-like disdain.

"I'm sorry," he began, not sounding sorry at all, "but you're all acting like selfish pups. You're not listening to each other," he chastised to the bewilderment of everyone. "Stop competing. Stop talking over each other and work together. You're acting like rivals when you're not. You're all brothers and this is your house. Unity is your ally. Hope is your ally. You're officers of the Western Empire, your units are depending on you, looking to you for guidance. You need to stop howling at each other and start working together," he emphasized, eyeing the crowd. " You're soldiers of the Western Empire. You're the first line of defense against the enemy. Westerners are not afraid, they're strong."

"Yes!" chorused the Alphas in reflex.

"They're brave," Matthew added. He had seen Gilbert do this a dozen times.

"Yes!"

"They're proud!"

"Yes!"

"Westerners do not surrender!" Gilbert yelled, thrusting his fist passionately skyward. The officers followed with a chorus of: "Yes, sir!" in perfect union.

Gilbert felt the atmosphere change as the Alphas swelled with pride and a sense of duty. They stood taller for the benefit of the Omega, ashamed that they had showed weakness in front of him. Gilbert knew this because he felt it, too. He lifted his head and stepped into the middle of the war-room, where a circle had formed around Matthew, the Alphas rallying to him as if he was their symbol of hope. It felt good to have his Alphas' trust and attention back. It felt familiar, and he felt inspired by Matthew as he wrapped an arm around his Omega. But before he could speak, Matthew battered him impatiently away.

"Now, listen to me," he ordered.

"If you reposition the catapults at the western wall, will the range reach the river? Will it reach the dam? It's been raining for four days. The Rhine is swollen, that dam is ready to burst. I saw it from the top of the keep."

"The dam that brings water to the fort?"

"Yes, precisely," Matthew said. "Move the catapults to the western ramparts and break the dam, release the Rhine, and flood the battlefield."

Gilbert's eyes widened in bewilderment. The river?

"Matt, that's... brilliant!" he howled in excitement. In front of everyone, he took Matthew's face in his hands and kissed him. "Oh, you beautiful little genius! The fucking river!"

"But will it work?" Ludwig doubted. "The Southern and Eastern Armies are strong. Will the river be enough to defeat them?"

"Yes," Matthew replied, blushing now. "Trust me, it'll work. You can all fight each other until the end of days, but none of you can fight Mother Nature. When that dam breaks, those Alphas won't know what hit them."

Matthew looked up at Gilbert. Gilbert grinned a wicked grin.

"Do it," he ordered. "Bring the flood."


Gilbert."

As the officers dispersed, hurrying to put Matthew's plan into action, Ludwig stayed back. His posture was straight and tense, but, for once, his expression was not. The premature lines in his face softened as he regarded his brothers, looking from Gilbert to Matthew and back, and he smiled. Matthew thought that he looked rather young and handsome when he smiled. Finally, he looked his age: only eighteen-years-old.

"Brothers," he said simply, "you need to go."

Matthew thought Gilbert would argue, but he didn't.

"I know," he agreed. "I know being an Alpha-mate shouldn't be my priority, but it is." He shrugged. "I don't think I'm fit to be the Fort Commander anymore, Lud. But you'll make a great one. You'll be better than I ever was. Stay strong, little brother," he said, opening his arms up for Ludwig. Matthew stepped back to let them embrace. He watched Ludwig's brow crease and his mouth tense as he clutched Gilbert, burying his smaller older brother in his muscular bulk. They held each other for a moment, then simultaneously slapped each other's backs, Alpha-like. "We'll meet again, Lud," Gilbert said as Matthew stepped forward to give Ludwig a kiss on the cheek. "When this is all over, I expect you to come find us. I expect you to come meet your nephew, Uncle Luddy."

Ludwig snorted, and it dislodged a tear that rolled down his cheek. He swallowed and nodded. "He would've been proud of you, Gil. Our sire. I'm proud of you."

Gilbert paused, uncertain. Then he smiled and inclined his head in gratitude as he returned Ludwig's sword.

"Scott Kirkland's pack," Matthew said gently. "That's where you'll find us. In the north-east territory on the Isles. We're going somewhere the Continent's laws mean nothing." He looked up at Gilbert and smiled. "Kirkland," he repeated, "that's my surname."

Ludwig frowned. So did Gilbert. "Not Bonnefoi—?"

"No." He thought of his home, his family. He thought of his Papa's last words to him: You've got too much of that wild Kirkland fire in you. "I've always been a Kirkland.

"Can you remember that?" he teased Ludwig. "Repeat it back to me."

Ludwig regarded his brother-by-mating-law with a bemused smile. "Scott Kirkland's pack, in the north-east territory on the Isles."

Matthew nodded.

"Protect the Empire," Gilbert said, punching Ludwig's chest.

Ludwig parroted the act. "Protect your family."

Gilbert took Matthew's ringed hand in his and they left.

He took them to a storeroom and ducked inside, then reappeared a moment later carrying two satchels, one a lot larger than the other. Matthew had seen the scouting parties often enough to know that the satchels were full of traveling supplies. He accepted the smaller one—soft and lumpy, full of clothes—and slung it over his shoulder, then followed Gilbert next-door to the armoury, where he grabbed several knives and an axe. Matthew watched him pack the tools into his satchel like an expert, so focused on his task that his expression suggested distraction. Just before they left the armoury, Matthew placed a hand on Gilbert's shoulder to stop him.

"This isn't running away, Gil," he said, in case there was doubt in the ex-captain. In truth, he was concerned for his Alpha-mate's conscience. Gilbert had been single-mindedly devoted to protecting the Western Empire for his entire life. Duty and loyalty had been bred into him. Matthew worried that he would feel cowardly for leaving the fort and all of his Alphas to face the enemy alone; for forsaking his sire's legacy.

But he didn't.

To Matthew's surprise, Gilbert leant down and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. He pressed his hand to his Omega-mate's belly. And he said: "I know.

"I just hope my Alphas don't hate me."

"They won't," Matthew said confidently. And he pointed.

By then, Gilbert and Matthew had reached the wooden platform that overlooked the courtyard, the place Gilbert had first introduced the fort to Matthew. Back then, the Alphas had been cold and stony and had made the young Omega nervous. Now, he looked upon their tired faces and saw renewed hope. He saw Gilbert's brothers-in-arms stop whatever they were doing, stand straight and tall, heels together, with their heads held high as they awaited their captain's orders. Gilbert stopped in blatant shock. From left-to-right, from the courtyard to the ramparts, to the towers and back, the entirety of the Black Forest Fort moved as one and saluted ex-Captain Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Matthew heard Gilbert's deep intake of breathe and saw a small, grateful smile curl his lips. It was gone fast, but it remained in the sound of his voice:

"Brothers!" he called, loud and strong and sure. "It's a great honour to have served beside such exemplary Alphas. You are the blood and bones of the Western Empire, and I am proud to have been your Commander. This is my final order," he announced. The soldiers stiffened, standing at-attention. "Your loyalty means a great deal to me, but I ask you now to give it to Commander Ludwig Beilschmidt. Serve him as you've always served me. Serve him better. Protect the Black Forest Fort!" he yelled. "Protect your brothers and sisters! Protect the Empire!"

Matthew had never heard such a deafening:

"YES, SIR!"

He dipped a shy curtsey to the Alphas, who bowed their heads to him as Gilbert pulled him down the steps. Quickly they crossed the courtyard and descended the narrow walkway toward the kitchen's underground entrance. Before they reached it, however, they were stopped by the Black Guards, who blocked their path. Neither Lutz nor Reinbeck looked receptive, dressed from head-to-toe in coal-black and looking like Reapers. Gilbert's body tensed, readying for a fight. He stepped in front of Matthew and growled low, warning his former schoolmates and comrades that he would not hesitate to protect his pregnant mate, friends or not. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, Lutz beat him to it:

"It's such a shame about Captain Beilschmidt." He spoke to Reinbeck, but he was looking directly at Gilbert. They both were. "A shame he drowned in the flood."

"Oh, yes," Reinbeck played along, unable to hide an impish grin. "He and his Omega-mate, both. A tragedy, especially after they saved the fort. Captain Beilschmidt sacrificed himself to protect the Empire, just like his Alpha-father before him. And Matthew Bonnefoi—Omega-pup of Francis Bonnefoi—died fighting the tyranny of the South. I wonder if his story will rekindle the hope of French separatists. I've never met such a brave Omega."

"Nor have I," Lutz agreed. "The West will not forget this day. Gilbert Beilschmidt and Matthew Bonnefoi will be remembered for always as heroes of the Western Empire."

Finally, Lutz smiled. He cast back his long black cloak to reveal Gilbert's broadsword, which he wordlessly presented to the ex-captain, like a sovereign to a knight. Then, in union, the two Great House representatives stepped aside.

Gilbert looked incredulous for a moment, then he smiled. "Thank-you," he said sincerely.

As they passed between the Black Guards, Matthew heard Lutz whisper: "Good luck, Captain." Then he and his younger partner sauntered off in the opposite direction, teasing the turn-of-events:

"Oh, however will we tell the Kaiser?"


Gilbert yanked back the large potato crate in the kitchen's cellar. It was dusty. Matthew sneezed. A low, pitch-black dirt tunnel stretched out in front of them. The darkness gobbled up what little light filtered in and a coolness clung to the earthen walls. Matthew clutched the leather strap of his satchel and looked up at Gilbert—

—and was surprised to find the Alpha looking pale.

"Don't be scared, schatzi," he said to Matthew.

"I'm an Omega, Gil. I'm not afraid of small, dark spaces," he said, taking Gilbert's hand.

Gilbert nodded and squeezed Matthew's hand. Hard. "Good," he said, forcing a rueful smile. "That makes one of us."

Matthew crawled into the tunnel first. It felt no different to him than the burrows he and Alfred used to root through as young pups. Yes, it was longer—much longer—but it was a soft and yielding darkness that comforted him. Unlike the open spaces above, the secret quietness of the underground protected them. It held a promise. It was the first step on their journey home and that fact more than anything fuelled Matthew's courage. On his hands-and-knees he crawled forward, eager to reach the next step, and then the next; eager to reach his family and his home.

Gilbert, however, was not as eager to let the darkness swallow him, and it wasn't long before the Alpha had stopped.

"Matt."

Matthew turned back, twisting his body around in the narrow space. He couldn't see Gilbert, it was too dark, but he could smell him and hear every movement. He could hear the deep, shaking inhales of someone breathing in hard through his mouth; the gasping of someone who felt like he was suffocating.

"It's alright, love, I'm here," he said, closing the gap between them. He groped for Gilbert's body and placed both hands on the Alpha's shoulders. His head was bowed. "It's alright," Matthew's soft voice soothed. "Just breathe, Gil. I'm right here in front of you."

"Yeah. Good. Okay."

"Come on, love. I know that Alphas don't like to feel confined or trapped, but we're not. We're safe here. This is our escape, Gil. Do you know what lies at the end of this tunnel? Freedom. We have to keep going forward. Just one little step at a time, darling," he coaxed, taking Gilbert's hand.

Slowly, Gilbert followed.

"You know what?" Matthew kept talking to calm Gilbert's nerves. "My sire is claustrophobic, too."

"Really? Francis Bonnefoi—?"

"Yes. He doesn't like small spaces either.

"Papa is the second-in-command of our pack," he continued, urging Gilbert onward, "and he has to visit the Clan Leader every season. There's a mountain-range that lies between our pack and the high-road. The fastest way across the mountain is through it. It's a long and narrow passage below the mountain, and it's very dark. Papa hates it and won't go through it alone. He takes the long way around, adding hours to his journey because he's afraid of the tunnel. But when my dam is with him, he holds Papa's hand and they walk through it together, and Papa's not afraid because he knows he's not alone. He knows his Omega-mate is there with him, just like I'm here with you, Gil. I'm not going anywhere, love, I promise. We're going to get through this together," he said, and he didn't just mean the long, dark tunnel. "When we reach the other side"—the other side of the Channel—"we'll be free to be together with no laws standing in the way. It'll be you and I and our pup, and a whole new family. They're going to love you, Gil. I know they will. And I'll be there with you for the rest of our days," he promised. "I'll take care of you. I'll always be there to hold your hand. Don't think about what's behind us, Gil. Think about what's ahead."

In the dark, three small, quiet words reached Matthew's ears from behind:

"I love you."


Ludwig stood atop the ramparts of the Black Forest Fort—Gilbert's fort—his fort, now. His fists were clenched at his sides and his expression was reticent as he thought of his older brother and brother-by-mating-law, and admitted—reluctantly, privately—that he had been wrong about Matthew. Matthew hadn't broken Gilbert; he had saved him. He had given Gilbert a reason to live, not for the job, or for the Empire, but for himself. He had given Gilbert something to love that would—and did—love him back. Finally.Ludwig smiled (on the inside) and looked to the endless Black Forest and the long journey ahead of his brothers, hoping that they would make it; knowing that they would. Ludwig had spent years playing secret caretaker to Gilbert, always keeping one eye on his proud, impulsive, self-destructive brother. ("Gil, you need to eat." "Gil, you need to sleep." "Gil, you need to bathe." "Gil, you need stitches." "Gil, you're in the infirmary. I told you, you needed stitches." "Gil, you need to slow down." "Gil, you can't do it alone.") Ludwig had always worried about Gilbert's future—or, lack thereof—so sure he was going to sacrifice himself for something that meant more to him than he did to it; so sure Gilbert was going to be nothing but a name on a memorial roster by the time he was twenty-five, sometimes wondering if that's what Gilbert really wanted. He had always been afraid of losing Gilbert. But not anymore.

Take my brother far away from here, he thought to Matthew. Take good care of him. Protect him. Love him. He needs you more than you'll ever know. Make him happy. He deserves to be happy.

Ludwig was not a romantic, but seeing Gilbert and Matthew together quieted his skepticism and made him believe in the old proverb: Beside every successful Alpha, there's a devoted Omega.

As he turned his attention westward, he briefly wondered if he would ever have an Omega-mate who loved him as much as Matthew loved Gilbert. It was a nice thought.

"Commander!" saluted his lieutenant. "The catapults are in position. On your order, sir."

Ludwig looked from the battlefield to the swollen river and grinned as he raised his arm.

Thank-you, Gilbert, Matthew. Good luck.

In a slicing motion, he thrust his hand forward, giving the order:

"Break it down!"


Alfred heard a crash, then a rumble and a rising roar. He lifted his head and his pupils shrank in fear and disbelief as an unutterable horror seized him.

He said: "Ivan—"

And then they were running.

Even though Alfred knew it was hopeless; even though he knew that they couldn't outrun the angry, frothing torrent that crashed toward them, swallowing everything in its merciless path, he ran. He took Ivan's hand and he ran as fast as he could, pulling the lumbering Alpha deeper into the forest. Faster! Please, faster! But he knew it wasn't fast enough. Behind him, he could hear the surprised cries and frightened howls of Alphas as the Rhine swept them away. In front of him, the forest fled. Animals, soldiers—everyone ran from the fury of Mother Nature.

Not again! Oh gods, not again!

"Ivan!"

"Alfred, brace yourself!"

Alfred's feet were violently swept out from under him and he nose-dived forward, the water carrying him off. He felt Ivan's big hand slipping through his fingers and instantly remembered Matthew. Two months ago Alfred let go of Matthew's hand in the flood and lost him, maybe for good. Two months ago he had been afraid to die alone. No, no, no. I'm not going to die. I'm not going to lose Ivan. Ivan—! Alfred wouldn't—couldn't—let it happen again. He clawed at the Alpha's hand as they were dragged and thrown from side-to-side, determined not to let go, but his grasp was slipping, slipping, slipping—

Ivan's hand was yanked free of Alfred's and Alfred felt panic seize him. No, please—! Not again!

Then the Alpha's hand was on his lower-back and Alfred felt his strong arm snare around his waist, pulling the Omega against his body. Instinctively, Alfred looped his arms around Ivan's neck and clung on tightly. He could feel the Alpha's powerful body fighting the current, his limbs pumping—digging—sideways. Alfred was barely aware of which direction was up as he let Ivan pull him, then push him up onto a floating wooden platform. The Omega gasped and coughed as he crawled up onto it, feeling heavy and drenched. "I-I-I—Ivan," he stuttered, swiping for the Alpha.

"It's alright, I'm here," Ivan gasped. He started to climb up behind Alfred, but the platform—what was left of the battering-ram—teetered and nearly flipped, so he let go. Instead, he held onto the side and let himself be carried along in the current. Alfred held tight to his chained wrists to steady him. As they sailed helplessly on their makeshift raft, Alfred saw less fortunate Alphas flailing and drowning and a whimper escaped him. "It's going to be okay," Ivan said from somewhere in the frothing below. "Just hold on. Just look at me, Al. It's alright. Soon the river is going to—Oh, fuck!"

Alfred saw what Ivan saw and shrieked. Alphas were being battered, their tough bodies broken on jagged rocks and trees. One had been skewered by a shattered tree branch, his corpse rocking in the current; another hit a rock and a spray of red coated the surface before washing away. The Rhine had turned the Black Forest into a field of rapids.

Oh my God, we're going to die! We're going to die!

"AH!"

The raft jolted suddenly when someone grabbed it. Unbalanced, Alfred tumbled forward into groping hands. Strong, desperate hands that tugged him forcefully down. An Alpha was flailing madly, trying to use Alfred as leverage to pull himself to safety. Alfred fought his assailant, whining and panicking as he struggled to stay afloat.

"No, no, please!" cried the Alpha. He swallowed a mouthful of water and coughed, briefly submerging before he popped back up. It was then that Alfred recognized him:

Captain Le Roux.

"Get off! Get off of me!" Alfred cried as his body pitched forward. Ivan seized the back of his shirt to prevent him falling, but Le Roux didn't let go. He growled and grabbed and Alfred felt the fabric of his shirt begin to tear. He was going to fall into the water, beneath the battering-ram, and the rapids were getting closer, closer—

SMASH!

The raft hit a tree trunk and Le Roux screamed in pain. Alfred took advantage of it and pulled himself free.

"Omega!" snarled the Southerner. His eyes and teeth gleamed angrily, white with terror. "Please help me!"

Alfred's heart pounded, but he didn't move. He saw Le Roux slipping, falling, but he didn't move. Maybe he should have tried to save the Alpha. Maybe that was the right thing to do. Maybe that's what forgiving Matthew would have done in the same situation, but Alfred was not Matthew. Alfred would never be Matthew. Alfred didn't want to be Matthew. So instead of reaching out to help the captain who had tormented him and tortured his Alpha, who had taken pleasure in their suffering, he simply watched as Le Roux's body slammed into the rocks and shattered. Nothing but a strangled howl escaped him as he slipped helplessly off the raft and sunk beneath the frothing water.

"Alfred!"

Only then did Alfred realize the raft was no longer moving; rather, it seemed to be tethered in place as the river swept by. Ivan's teeth were clenched and his arms were strained, one holding the raft, the other wound around a thick tree branch. "Up!" the Alpha gasped, indicating the treetops.

Alfred obeyed without pause. Carefully, he angled his body toward the tree branches and leapt, grabbing for the bough hanging low over Ivan's head. He scrambled quickly, securely onto it and hooked his legs expertly around the branch's girth, and then reached down to assist the half-submerged Alpha. "Give me your hand!" he demanded, fighting a tug-o-war with the river in which Ivan was the prize. Oh Gods, he's heavy! Alfred heaved and Ivan hauled himself up and eventually they made it into higher, sturdier branches, safe from the danger. Side-by-side, they sat and surveyed the wreck of what had been forest turned battlefield turned flood.

I'm never going swimming again as long as I live! Alfred thought resentfully—fearfully. He didn't realize he was shaking until Ivan's arms drew him closer.

"It's okay, little one, you're safe."

Alfred didn't realize he was crying either, until the Alpha wiped his cheeks.

"It's okay," he repeated in his deep, soothing voice. "I'm here."

Yes, Ivan's here. Just like before. Just like the first time the river tried to kill me, he's here. He's still here.

Alfred snuggled closer to Ivan and buried his face. He didn't want to see the damage. He wished he couldn't hear the screams of Alphas who cried like pups. When the river stilled, the field would stain it red. It would drink the fluids of the fallen and pool in the low-ground like a moat of blood around the Black Forest Fort, the rotting dead left to sustain the forest while spreading disease to those lucky to be alive. Somewhere beneath the surface, Sasha's corpse would lay forgotten until there wasn't enough left to be anything but fish food.

Alfred closed his eyes, and said: "Tell me when it's over."


It was nearly sunrise when Ivan shifted. "Come," he said simply, and lumbered down into the watery wreckage of the Southerner's encampment. Alfred followed, letting himself carefully down into the Alpha's outstretched arms. The water was running slower, now. It was opaque, which made Alfred squirm nervously, disgusted by what his feet might find beneath the surface. It was unevenly distributed throughout the forest. In some places Alfred could walk, wading through at waist-height; in other places he had to swim, submerged to the neck as he paddled to higher-ground, and flinching every time his body came into contact with anything... squishy.

What happened? he wondered, treading lightly. Where did all of this water come from?

"The Westerners," Ivan said when asked. He pointed over-the-shoulder toward the fort. "I told you they were dangerous. I told you they were ruthless."

Dangerous, maybe, Alfred thought. But ingenious, definitely. He had experienced the cunning tricks of the Southern Army and the fearless power of the Eastern Army, but though the fort looked strong, he had not expected the Western Alphas to survive the seize. If any of the three armies were going to succumb to the enemy, he expected it to be the under-populated, under-equipped soldiers of the fort. He had been so sure of the South or East's victory that a part of him had given up hope of rescuing his brother. The fort would fall and Matthew would fall with it. Except, it hadn't. As Alfred hiked through the mess of the forest, he could see the towers of the Black Forest Fort in the distance, still standing strong. The only thing still standing.

"Mattie," he whispered.

Ivan's face was kind, but his voice was stern. "No, Alfred. I'm sorry, but no."

"But Ivan," said Alfred weakly, "Mattie might still be alive."

"He might be," Ivan acknowledged, "but even if he is, there's nothing we can do for him now. Not as long as he's behind those walls. I know you don't want to hear this, but you've done all you can. You've tried, little one. You've proven your worth time and again. You've won many battles on this journey, but you must accept defeat this time. I will not let you go back there. I said I would search for your brother as long as it didn't put you at risk and I haven't changed my mind. Going back to that fort," he interrupted Alfred's protest, "is not only impossible, it's suicide. I'm sorry," he repeated sincerely, "but I'm your Alpha-mate, Alfred. I love you. And I'm telling you no. If your brother is alive, he's going to have to save himself."

"But Mattie's not—"

"Like you? No. There's no one in the world quite like you, Alfred Kirkland. But Matthew is your brother, and if he has half the courage and fighting spirit you do, he'll survive. You have to trust him.

"Trust me."

Reluctantly, Alfred nodded. He took Ivan's hand and let himself be led away.


It was only by chance that they met Thierry in the aftermath of the flood. Alfred was glad to find him alive and unhurt, too far from the fort and the battlefield to have encountered all but the last dregs of excitement. He smiled brightly at Thierry, showing his relief, but the Alpha merely stared wanly in reply. He was sitting on a fallen log with his hands clasped in his lap, his tender grey eyes looking down at the ankle-deep mud, and that's when the Omega realized his mistake. Thierry was a soldier of the Southern Empire. Of course he didn't revel in the defeat and death of his many comrades. He was so very kind and non-confrontation that Alfred doubted he would have rejoiced no matter what the battlefield result had been. In apology, he softened his approach.

"Captain Le Roux—" Thierry began, then shook his head. "My sire," he corrected, "is dead. A scout found his body. He drowned."

Alfred pinched his lips and glanced guiltily at Ivan, but the Alpha silently shook his head. It wouldn't benefit anyone to tell the sweet Southerner exactly how his Alpha-father had died. Let Thierry believe Le Roux had drowned; it was kinder than the truth. In comradeship, Alfred sat down beside him and tentatively touched his shoulder.

"I'm not sorry he's dead," he said honestly, "but I am sorry you're sad."

Thierry turned to look at Alfred, his grey eyes sad and confused, but soft in understanding. "Thank-you," he said.

After an awkward moment, in which Alfred didn't know what more to say, thinking, perhaps, that he could have phrased his condolences a little better—Papa would be mortified—Thierry stood up. He shrugged off his satchel and gave it to Ivan, who accepted it with a nod. "It's not much," he admitted, "but it's a lot more than either of you has now. There's spare clothes... but I'm afraid they won't fit you, Ivan. They'll probably fit you, Alfred. You and I are the same height," he said, a hint of kinship in his voice. A small Alpha and a tall Omega. For the first time, Alfred didn't feel insulted by the comment; he felt proud to share something with Thierry. "There's soap and tinder and a couple of tools and some medical supplies," he continued. "There's a little food, but not nearly enough. You'll have to hunt for yourselves. I'm sorry. It's all I can give you."

Pause.

"You should go now," he said, avoiding eye-contact with either fugitive. "Before someone sees you."

"Come with us," Alfred blurted impulsively. He hated to leave his new friend behind, especially since Ivan's old friend was gone. If this adventure had taught the impulsive Omega anything, it was not to harbour prejudices, but instead to cherish the friends he did have, no matter who they were. "Come to the Isles with us," he invited. "What's left for you in the South anyway?"

"My dam and brothers," Thierry replied. He said it with deep, quiet affection. "I guess, with my sire gone, I'm the head of the family now. I have to take care of them."

Alfred smiled. "You're a good Alpha, Thierry. A strong Alpha. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently."

Finally, Thierry lifted his head and shyly returned Alfred's smile. "I'm glad I met you, Alfred Bonnefoi. I hope you find the happiness you're searching for."

"Thank-you for everything," Alfred said formerly. It wasn't an Omega's curtsy, nor an Alpha's bow. It was an ambiguous gesture that only Alfred Kirkland could have pulled off, but it showed his respect. Ivan, too, inclined his head a fraction in gratitude. "Maybe someday we'll meet again."

Thierry nodded and bowed. "Gods bless you both."