"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"

-Chapter 3: Hector and Aeneas-

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Albert Silverberg rode in like a conquering hero, flanked on both sides by an honor guard of a few heavily armed soldiers. His horse was a bit stocky, perhaps, but it was hard to find one in Harmonia that wasn't, and it was proud and showy and a deep chestnut that made the pale-and-dark figure sitting atop all the more striking. He still wore that same coat, his greatest concession to his vanity, and that same vague smirk that said in no uncertain terms that he knew things to which lesser mortals were not privy.

Caesar had toyed with giving orders that he be stopped and searched, as the earlier messenger had, but ultimately decided against it. Albert, after all, put a high price on his dignity, and never allowed anyone, even his own brother, to renege on debts. Besides, allowing Albert his guard would give Caesar an excuse for his own, and he rather liked the thought of his authority bolstered by a set of Grasslanders, armed with bow and long knife, quite possibly a match for the Harmonian soldiers.

As he drew near, Albert kept his mount, and Caesar was quite glad of it; though the older was fairly significantly taller than the younger, Caesar had the taller mount, the upper ground, and the longer torso, putting his eye level above Albert's. Still, despite the height advantage, and despite the armed guard, he still dreaded the meeting.

So the two forces faced each other, neither moving but for the occasional stomp of a restive horse. Albert was the first to speak:

"General," he greeted, with an inclination of his head and only a light dusting of irony.

Caesar appreciated the opening. "Major," he returned, unable to help but stress the inferior rank, and proud of his ability to identify the insignia hanging on his brother's breast. But Albert's lips curved up a bit further, and Caesar's slight triumph was utterly destroyed.

They stared at each other for a while longer. If Albert was starting to feel anywhere near so uncomfortable as Caesar, his dark eyes showed nothing of it.

Caesar was the one who blinked first. "I suppose you got what you wanted, then, didn't you?" he asked, only half-aware of what he was saying. "A dramatic entrance."

His brother laughed. Caesar remembered his laugh, just like his voice: soft, slow, deep, and serious as the Plague. "God knows I live for nothing else," Albert responded, the irony now coming in deep draughts.

"What are you doing here?" Caesar snapped.

"I felt as though we'd fallen out of contact. I wanted to remedy that." If sarcasm were water...

"With several thousand soldiers to bolster your courage."

"There aren't any laws against it." Albert smiled. Well, the trap his brother had laid was broad, but Caesar figured he'd walk right into it, if only to see the other's reaction.

"With a moderately-sized army at your heels?" Caesar laughed. "There might be a couple, just generally speaking, you know, loose guidelines preventing the utter and shameless ignoring of principles of national sovereignty."

"And if only there were laws against your utter and shameless ignorance of basic principles of grammar."

"Shut up," he muttered. Not, perhaps, the bon mot he might have hoped for, but he needed to say something.

"International law is altered at time of war." Fantastic. All he needed now was for Albert to start in pontificating upon international law. Few things were more unbearable.

"For parties involved," he said swiftly, hoping to cut him off. "Unless those are actually Grasslanders out there in Harmonian uniform – "

"Before you make an enormous ass of yourself, Caesar, it is my pleasure to inform you that the Sovereign and Holy Kingdom of Harmonia has established an alliance with the joint Zexen-Grasslands forces."

There was a curious weightless feeling in his stomach before he managed to choke out, "Who? Who was the self-important little wanker who signed off on – "

"It was a joint decision by Lady Chris Lightfellow and Hugo of Karaya."

"It was."

"Yes."

"And do they know that it's you?"

Finally, Albert's voice held something other than condescension, though it was rather unclear what that something was. "Caesar – "

"Do they know," Caesar continued, rather enjoying the crack in Albert's smooth surface, "that they've just allowed into their tents the very man who was so willing to sacrifice a thousand thousand lives, and all for the sake of his own ambition? Who was willing to condemn to death – "

"You're going to be beating this drum quite a bit, aren't you?" Albert asked, now not bothering to even conceal his annoyance.

"Do they know?"

"Honest to God, Caesar, I don't know. I sent a messenger. I gave said messenger no particular instructions on whether or not to give my name. They might know, they might not, but really, I don't think it would matter if I were an incarnation of the Beast Rune or Tir fucking McDohl himself, because I have soldiers, and that is what you need." Albert, perhaps taking a moment to recover from the rare anger to which he had been roused, looked off over his right shoulder and the battlefield they were only beginning to clean. He spoke a moment later without looking back. "If you're so stupid as to turn that away..."

"Why are you here, Albert?"

Caesar might have hoped to catch him in a moment of overstrained nerves, of emotional brittleness, but Albert turned back with a broad, mocking smile. "Reconciliation, little brother. Here for you are my apologia, living and breathing and three thousand in number."

For some reason, Caesar wasn't convinced. "What, is Harmonia going to demand a bit of land in return? A foothold in the west? Maybe so they can springboard into the Northern Lands. Or – Tinto, once subdued, will hold considerable mineral wealth."

"Except that in order to demand those sorts of things, the bishops would have needed to send more than a few thousand soldiers. Honestly, Caesar. The 51st Squadron is Bishop Sasarai's personal guard. He gave me instructions to utilize them however I see fit in order to assist in the defense of the Grasslands."

"From what I hear, it's surprising to hear him give an actual order these days."

"From what I hear, it's unusual for you to have heard anything."

"Keeping tabs on me, Albert?" The thought was rather uncomfortable, given how religiously he had avoided news of his brother.

"And the utterly fascinating life you decided to lead since we last met, yes. That was a brilliant decision, by the way; I know no better place to learn than a miniscule village far beyond the reaches of civilization."

"They had some unique manuscripts there."

"I'm sure they did." He looked over Caesar's shoulder and to the left, and Caesar turned to see Apple, riding up from the side.

"Caesar, they need to know your plans for holding this area. Hello, Albert," she added, barely pausing to register the older brother's presence.

"Hello, Apple," Albert responded. "You're looking well."

"And yourself," she responded, then turned back to Caesar. "So?"

"How many soldiers do we have left here?"

"Six hundred or so."

"From a thousand...Damn it all." He glanced over at Albert, expecting to make a comment on how Caesar was indebted to the Harmonian forces, but his brother was looking at him with a thoughtful little smile, and he looked away uncomfortably. "Maybe...How many days' worth of food is there?"

"For all six hundred? Five, maybe."

"Okay. Well. Leave five hundred behind, the most capable hunters – "

"Take everyone home," Albert said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Take everyone home. Five hundred won't be able to stand up to any decent force of Tinto's. Twice that barely could. This place has no strategic value...You just came out here to test their strength. You got what you came for."

"How do you know that's what I came for?"

"I guessed. Was I right?"

Caesar gritted his teeth. He had wanted to issue elaborate orders, he supposed, something that sounded impressive – but holding this scrap of nothingness, this land that once was, by chance, a camp of Tinto's forces – it was ridiculous. Even he had to admit that upon reflection. "We'll pull back our forces. Everyone return to camp."

Apple eyed the Harmonians, the guard standing behind both brothers, and gave a decorous nod. "Yes, General," she replied, and pulled her horse around to trot toward his commanders.

"You're lucky I got here when I did," Albert said. Caesar glanced at him, and he elaborated. "I can help you a great deal, if only to disabuse you of an idea you seem to have formed early on. The Tinto forces are not ill-trained. They're not peasants carry pitchforks."

"I can see that," Caesar said.

"You need to understand, Caesar." Albert sounded oddly urgent. "They've probably been training for months. Six, at the least, though most likely as long as a year."

"That's ridiculous. Lilly's only been missing for – what – three months? A bit longer?"

"This war has been in the works for longer than that," Albert shot back. "And it's certainly not about Lilly. I have...informants...just about everywhere. One of them was reporting rumors in Tinto about her disappearance a month before another spotted her up north. Gustav began quietly building up the military even before that. Her disappearance – her death – is only an excuse for Gustav."

Caesar had begun shaking his head halfway through Albert's speech. "That's impossible."

"I don't see why."

"Because disloyalty of that magnitude – to family – "

"I should think," Albert said, his voice even softer than normal, "given all your declarations, that you would be the first to assume disloyalty among family members."

Had Albert sat and thought for a number of days, he probably wouldn't have been able to come up with an accusation so unremittingly awkward. Caesar pulled on his horse's reigns, and was startled to remember the guard. Oh, good God. He had no idea how to send them away. Had he a normal brother, he could have asked him and it probably would have been quite hilarious, but he didn't, so he couldn't.

"Thank you," he said to the group of them. "It appears as though we're all safe from the Harmonian forces." Not, perhaps, an eminently quotable dismissal, but he could have done worse. Albert, on the other hand, had an enviable grace in performing the same task; he merely jerked his head, and the Harmonians saluted in unison and turned back to the main body of their army.

"I assume that you'll allow my soldiers to set up camp near yours?" Albert asked, urging his horse forward until he caught up with Caesar. "Or are you afraid we'll taint you?"

"Of course you'll be given space to set up camp. Don't expect, however, to have access to Chris, or Hugo, or myself – "

"That might not be the stupidest or pettiest thing you've ever said, but it's up there. His Holiness the Bishop Sasarai entrusted me with his personal forces, and I'll be the only one to command them. Shutting me out of strategy meetings would be...well, idiotic, particularly taking into consideration that I'm the best strategist your army is likely to see."

Oh, good. He'd gotten even more unbearable over the years. "Not, of course, to overestimate your skills."

"Not to overestimate my skills," Albert agreed, turning Caesar's irony into his own praises. "You could, of course, ignore my counsel, but – well, it might not cause certain doom, but there would be considerably more deaths."

Caesar was doubly glad that they had stayed mounted, since at that moment an Albert within his reach was an Albert who would probably up and leave over injuries received. Of course, he would probably turn that against Caesar, too – "A good strategist never lets anger overwhelm his senses," or "A good strategist never resorts to violence," as though the very profession was an amalgamation of nothing else –

"Caesar," Albert said quite suddenly. "Do you want me here?"

It was a strangely vulnerable question, though there wasn't even the slightest change in his voice or face. So he swallowed his instant declaration that he wanted Albert's presence like he wanted a sucking blackened vortex instead of a face and actually considered his answer.

"There are few people," he said after a pause, "who I would less like on the side of my enemy. And I won't deny that you're talented, and will help our army." There. A delightful non-answer. "We'll be returning to the camps in a few hours. You should get prepared."

Caesar was glad, then, that Albert couldn't really ride a horse, and that he was able to get out of earshot quickly enough to avoid any more witticisms from his brother.

Good God. This was going to be awful.

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I altered the story a bit. I added a chunk to the prologue, written not so much for expository purposes, but more for the purpose of parallelism in the finished story. So, there you go.

You know, normally, I decide that a fanfic is going to be epic, and then drop it a fraction of the way through. This time, I decide that I'll drop it a fraction of the way through, then realize that I actually have enough interest and good ideas to carry it all the way through. Whaddaya know.

Anyway. So, yes. Albert. Sexy. Cough.

England was quite nice. Hot, though, and utterly sans air conditioning.