["Entrenched in a dream that I feared falling asleep to/A warm fire, a loving touch, and frost outside the window." — Tarr Tekrov, Passion for Sin]
Warmth clung to Kiritsugu as he opened bleary eyes, blinking against the sunlight streaming in from the window. He quickly took stock—same bed since he'd arrived in this world, head surprisingly clear despite the evening's drinking, warm body pressed against him—
Wait.
He looked to his side. Crimson looked back.
"Mornin'," greeted the warrior, followed by a yawn that showed off her fangs. "You stink, by the way."
His muscles tensed under the rough peasant shirt.
"What are you doing here," he said flatly.
"Sleeping." She propped herself up on one elbow and grinned down at him. "Or I was. Woke up a while ago, but I thought I'd laze around a bit." With a happy sigh, she dropped down on the mattress again, clearly enjoying the little bounce. "You don't get beds like this out on campaign."
Kiritsugu sighed and sat up, back pressed to the elaborately carved headboard. "You have a room of your own."
"I know," she said lightly.
He waited for a further response. When none was forthcoming, he frowned at her. "So why are you here?"
"Felt like it."
The headache that he should have had from the hangover was finally coming around. He held back a sigh. "I meant for you to be in the other room."
"And I meant to be in here."
The throbbing in his temples worsened. "Get out," he said through gritted teeth.
"But you're so warm and comfy," she protested. Kiritsugu slid his legs over the edge of the bed as she continued, "It's traditional for my people to sleep in a pile. Helps keep us all warm and snug, cuddled up with each other."
He gave her a deadpan stare. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"
It was returned with a canine grin. "Yes."
Kiritsugu was reminded of the note he made to ask the witch about finding a tobacco replacement. It was definitely rising in his list of priorities. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood up.
"You meetin' the goblins like that?" the warrior drawled from where she lounged on his bed, clearly in no hurry to rise. "Nice way to start a diplomatic incident."
She sounded almost approving.
"No," he replied, not glancing at her as he walked over to the gold-edged mirror and considered himself. Last night had definitely left him worse for wear, but not unsalvageable. Skimming a thumb along his jaw revealed that the skin was still relatively smooth from the shave they'd given him before the coronation. Probably fine—
A vision of goblins in perfectly pleated tunics flashed before him. Better shave again just in case. Wash his hair, too. Which meant the silver washing basin on the far table wasn't going to cut it.
"What will you be doing today?" he asked over his shoulder as he turned to the marble door on the far wall. Behind it lay the kingdom's answer to modern showers, a small tiled room where water rushed up in a pillar from a hole in the floor. Something to do with water elementals, one of the servants had told him.
"Putting the guards through their paces." She yawned again and stretched upward, then lazily scratched under her bra.
"You did that yesterday," he observed, pausing on blue-green tiles.
"Yup." She smirked. "Eternal optimist, that's me. Not gonna lie though, it's not looking good. No wonder they've never won a battle against us—oops, I mean the Demon Lord." The furry ears flicked as she shook her head. "They're not ready for this kind of war."
Kiritsugu wasn't familiar with the specifics of warfare in this world, but that aligned with the impression he'd formed of the kingdom's soldiers. Brave and earnest, but hopelessly green.
"How long would it take to train them?" he asked.
She shrugged. "That's a losing battle. The Demon Lord can animate golems faster than these kids can learn to die to them."
Shit.
"Hey, don't look so glum." The smirk was back, matched by a hint of mischief in her crimson eyes. "Nothing you can do about it, so have fun with the gobbos. Oh, and bring me back a pastry from your date."
Right, the Marquisa. His fingers twitched at his side. Never had internal diplomatic wranglings felt more like a waste of time, not with the situation this dire. Had R—had the queen deliberately kept this from him?
No, he decided on reflection. She had not hidden her soldiers away from appraisal, or downplayed the threat posed by the enemy's forces. She simply didn't dwell on unpleasant realities that were largely out of her control, in favor of concentrating on matters that were.
"What's the hold up, Mr. Master?" the warrior called from behind him. "Not afraid of water, are ya?"
Right. He was the one wasting time, running scenarios in his head when tasks were at hand. Slipping inside the door, he shucked off his clothes and waited for the splashing pillar to do its work.
An efficient soap and rinse later, he walked out to a mercifully empty room. Pulling open the wardrobe, he couldn't hold back a slight grimace before reaching for one of the more formal suits, all midnight-blue silk and silver embroidery. At least the staff had conceded to let him dress himself, so long as he allowed the head butler to give him a final inspection before heading out.
Then, with said inspection passed, he was—admittedly with pomp and grandeur and a personal herald—thrown to the wolves. Very polite wolves, with embossed buckles on their shoes and bright friendly eyes and winning smiles. Once the sweeping bows and inquiries about their families' health—down to second cousins—were finished to his guests' satisfaction, they negotiated import routes and tariffs with a cunning that rivaled the Clocktower's Department of Policies. Kiritsugu was glad he'd done his reading, and even gladder that they were on the same side in this war, or the terms could have been even steeper.
The ink was no sooner dry on the agreement then the goblins whipped out something like creamy white roses on porcelain saucers, a sweet delicacy to wipe away any bitterness from their dealings. They'd laughed when Kiritsugu fumbled with the silver fork, warmly thanking him for what they apparently took as a jest meant to amuse them.
"So delightfully humble! What a card!"
All in all, Kiritsugu was ready to shed the ridiculous attire and read over the military reports he'd managed to snag—preferably over a cigarette or, failing that, a stiff drink. He had a free hour to spend before he had to go meet with the Marquisa. The study seemed as good a place as any to read in.
He opened a set of wooden doors to pass to the next building over, late morning (or was it midday?) sun warm in his hair. The distant sound of clashing swords reached him over the birdsong. Right, the warrior was taking stock of the local troops. It might be worth keeping an eye on.
A short walk took him to the training fields, the din growing louder with each step. Stone and grass turned to sand and gravel, and the buildings became more spartan (though they never lost the royal character). Every time he passed by a soldier, their eyes widened and they bowed to him, which was one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world. He let them go quickly every time. He was not meant to be a commander-in-chief.
Eventually, he managed to reach the source of the noise. He had half-expected to find the warrior fighting off an entire squad of soldiers single-handedly, one hand tied behind her back. Instead—
"Fall, you flea-bitten mutt!" yelled the princess. "Fall already so we can end this farce!"
Grinding her greatsword into the handle of the warrior's hammer, the princess was alight with fury, cheered on by the ring of soldiers around them. Just like their previous match, at this range, the princess held the advantage of strength, and he could see the warrior once more being pushed back. But there was not a sign of discomfort on her face—no, she was very clearly enjoying herself.
The warrior jumped back and laughed. "Lock with me all you like, highness, but you're not gonna break me with this pathetic—hah!"
Dodging a javelin made from fire, she dug into her tail again and threw a clump of fur onto the ground. "Vothal körin!"
The shadow of the fur grew larger until it became a perfect circle, and then it bubbled upwards before releasing a snarling hound, which quickly threw itself at the princess. The princess swung her greatsword in a massive arc with surprising speed, cleaving the beast out of the air. The warrior lunged in as the blade pulled away from the shadow beast, claws out, and slashed at the princess' neck.
As the princess bent backward to avoid the blow, Kiritsugu heard a set of delicate footsteps approach.
"A-ah, Yuusha-sama," said the witch. "Are you here to assess this as well?"
"Something like that."
She beamed at him. "Isn't Solaire strong? Knight-Captain Roënwul always praised her swing…" Her voice lowered. "Don't tell her that, though. Thinking of him always brings her down."
Old mentor, then. Kiritsugu made a mental note to avoid treading that ground, focusing instead on the complicated dance of flame and shadow unfolding before him.
"What are your thoughts?" he asked, gaze still fixed on the combatants.
"M-me?" she squeaked, grip tightening on her staff.
"You're my advisor, aren't you?" Kiritsugu nodded towards the field. "Advise me."
"Y-yes, sir!" Despite her flustered tone, her face shone with the pleasure of being needed. "Let's see, um… Solaire's stronger, so each of her hits count for a lot. But she's not landing many, because Lupa's faster. Lupa gets cocky though. Like right there."
Kiritsugu looked where she was pointing, just in time to see flames lick the warrior's shoulder. The latter cursed and instantly rolled to put it out, then nodded to her opponent. The ring of metal shrieked through the courtyard again.
"If this was a real fight, Solaire would have followed up. Don't know if it would have connected though, Lupa's tricky," the witch said with a hint of admiration.
"You're on a first name basis with her," Kiritsugu observed.
"Ah, um, she joins me for my meals sometimes!" The witch tugged nervously at her sleeves. "And, well, we got to talking… actually, she talked at me for a bit but…"
"You made a friend." Kiritsugu chewed this bit of news over. Cordiality among his ostensible allies could be an advantage, but not if the resulting bond introduced unexpected factors.
"…it's early, but… I hope so." Her smile was soft but warm. "I hope we can all get along."
A hard thump drew Kiritsugu's attention back to the duel. The warrior's back hit the ground, and the greatsword was at her throat before she could do much more than prop herself up on her elbows.
"Yield," demanded the princess.
A clawed hand wiped the fanged mouth, and for the first time Kiritsugu saw a thin trail of blood. "Heh," said the warrior. "Alright. You win, Miss Highnessness."
The crowd cheered, some of the soldiers banging on their battered princess held her sword at point for a heartbeat more, then sheathed it and waved to her comrades.
Begrudgingly, she held a hand out to her opponent. The warrior stared at it for a moment, then took it.
"Ow!" the princess protested, trying to yank her hand back. "Let go, let go!"
The warrior's grip was iron, her smile all teeth. "Oops. Sorry there, princess. Don't know my own strength."
"Why you—"
Then the warrior let herself be pulled up. The unexpected cessation of resistance made the princess pull her up further than intended, until they were face to face—grin to scowl. Kiritsugu quickly reinforced his hearing and leaned forward to hear them over the soldiers' clamor.
"Just a little reminder." The warrior's crimson eyes flashed. "The sun at your back may fuel your fire, but I wonder how you'd fare in a night ambush."
"You already tried that!" hissed the princess. "That's how you ended up here, with your tail tucked between your legs, mutt."
Still grinning, the warrior let go and backed away a step. "Wonder how you'd fare without your precious hero." Looking away from the fuming girl, she caught sight of Kiritsugu. "And speak of the messenger—!"
Kiritsugu stood in place as she closed on him. Cries of "Yuusha-sama!" and "Your Majesty!" echoed from soldiers who were snapping into hasty salutes. The princess' mouth twisted but she said nothing, instead striding over to the witch and striking up a conversation.
One that Kiritsugu couldn't pay attention to, not with those crimson eyes gleaming at him. "It won't be like that next time. She caught me off guard, that's all."
"I thought it was the sun." Kiritsugu watched her dismissive air curdle into a glower. "The sun, and that you were penned in on all sides. A disadvantageous battlefield."
"Yeah, that too," she conceded. "Wasn't expecting her to butt in when all her pups began to yelp."
"I see." His hand made a stubborn move to his pocket for the cigarette he wanted to be there. Some habits were more ingrained than others. "Then even a Demon Lord's general can be defeated if the board is tilted enough."
"Hoh?" Her eyebrows rose slightly. "What'cha thinkin' about, Mr. Master?"
Kiritsugu flicked the nonexistent cigarette to the side as he watched the grinning princess pull her friend away by the arm. "I think I need to have another talk with our witch."
