"To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time"

-Chapter 5: Astyanax-

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Sometime after Albert had left for his first lessons in Harmonia, Caesar had taken up the sword. He never was entirely sure what made him do it – he was bored, perhaps, or lonely, or wanted to prove he was more than just a poor imitation of his brother – but he took the lessons grimly, an hour a day, three days a week.

The schedule had lasted a year, and Caesar, to his disappointment, found himself to be exceedingly mediocre at it. Albert himself could probably have accomplished what Caesar accomplished in that year. So Caesar stopped the lessons in all their futility, and went back to books.

But he found that even now, fifteen plus years after his last lesson, that he still remembered how to fight dummies. The angles were a bit different from what he recalled, and his muscles were out of shape, and it was a clumsy affair at best, but it gave him something to do. And he liked the solitude. The armory tent was closed after sundown, of course, but General Silverberg wasn't subject to the laws of mere mortals. If he wanted to, he could battle stuffed opponents in moon- and torchlight, the gentle reproach of crickets underlining the metallic clang of sparring.

He attempted a disarm and failed, cursing as the rapier slipped from his fingers. As he bent down to pick it up, he heard a rustle of fabric behind him – the armsmaster, perhaps, or Apple, come to tell him that it was nice that he was exercising, but that he needed sleep, too. He didn't want anyone cajoling him to leave, so he just ignored the whoever.

Again he locked sword with stationary sword and twisted, and the blade came free of the cloth-and-wire grip. He drew in a breath and held it until his pulse slowed, then turned to his visitor.

It was Albert who was sitting there. He should have expected that, he supposed, given his brother's tendencies to grasp a subject like a leech and not let go until it was bled dry. So Caesar waited for Albert to make some snide comment about his brother's abilities in triumphing over inanimate objects.

None was forthcoming. Albert must have been tired. So Caesar, again, was compelled to speak before he wanted to.

"What, are you stalking me?"

He waited for some sarcastic comment, perhaps on his looks or something of the like; yet again, Albert said nothing. Well, fine. Albert wasn't the only one capable of silence.

And it was Albert who spoke.

"That was not...the most decorous thing you might have done, in there."

If only it were a live weapon Caesar held. "Don't act like I was the only one being childish in there."

"Don't be ludicrous. I was fine."

"You were an asshole. Condescending to anything that moved – "

"Oh, only to you, really," Albert responded with a patronizing smile.

"You were every bit as bad as I was."

"Yes, well, you started it." The combination of the flickering torchlight and the moon from the hole in the canvas above made it actually look like Albert winced, as though he were capable of wincing. Man had a face as mobile as a rock. "I didn't come here to bicker."

"And yet you're managing so well." Caesar's voice was dry enough to be mistaken for his brother's.

Albert cleared his throat. "Caesar...I didn't come here with ulterior motives."

"What a relief. I don't have to worry about you finagling me into – "

"No, Caesar. I didn't come – " his gesture encompassed the whole camp – "here – with ulterior motives." He paused a moment to let that sink in. "I honestly want to help you."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes," Albert said simply.

Caesar stared at him a moment. "Are you drunk?"

"What? No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't get drunk in the presence of others."

"Because, honestly – what you just said – it wasn't glib. It wasn't, you know, you."

"Probably just another devious technique to ensnare your mind into deception."

"Okay. That's better." Caesar took a moment to put away the practice sword. "So, then – why are you here?"

"Because I heard you were in trouble, Caesar." Albert sort of tilted his head a touch and spread his fingers, as broad a shrug as one could expect, when Caesar turned to him with his best skeptical expression. "I know you're not any more likely to believe it this time around, except for then I was facetious and now I'm not, but I heard that you were out here, hopelessly outnumbered. So I asked the Bishop, and he capitulated, as usual. So here I am."

Caesar licked his lips nervously. "So, about that being drunk thing – "

"God fucking damn it, Caesar."

Albert had a delightfully persuasive way of cursing. It had something to do with the way he said the consonants – crisp, but not overly so. It was interesting. "I've just never heard you this candid before."

"I've never had reason to be this candid before."

"Not even when we were kids," Caesar added.

"No," Albert agreed. Was he actually sad? Well, sorrow wasn't beyond Albert – but was he actually expressing it?

Caesar cleared his throat again. Damn, but this was an uncomfortable topic. "So, then – " he said, frantically changing it. "Did you decide our plan of attack?"

"No."

"Oh. Really?"

"No, Caesar, I just lied to you there merely to see how you'd react. Of course we didn't. You'd left."

"A direct charge would be suicide."

"They wouldn't even know our forces were within their country," Albert said. He leaped to his feet and began to pace. "Archer – a mage I have – he's marvelous with the Blinking Rune. He can work in tandem with some mages – probably from Zexen, they seem like they'd be more orthodox mages – and spread a cloaking spell over the entire army..."

"And so they make it to Tinto. So they take the capital. Then what? We're confronted with the same dilemma as if we had hired an assassin."

"No. We don't kill anyone. We occupy the Presidential Palace..."

"Ah. So we'll look like crazed terrorists, holding a leader ransom. Fantastic."

Albert actually frowned and bit his lip. "We have no other alternatives."

"It all hinges on whether or not Lilly is dead."

Albert nodded. "If she is – and I think she is – we need to take action. If she's not...Chris and Hugo told me you sent someone to search for her?"

"A ninja, apparently. I wasn't part of the proceedings."

"It was a good thought, but if he can be bought...If Lilly isn't already dead, it would be the work of but a moment for a higher bidder to..."

"No." Caesar shook his head. "I knew the man during the war. He wouldn't betray a contract."

Albert looked skeptical, but nodded. "If you knew him. You know what I think?" He didn't care if Caesar did know, evidently. "I think we should fortify the mountain passes. We can hold the passes for a while. From there, we can continue to hold them, or springboard into Tinto."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Were you?" A smile, tempered by something unsteady in the flickering light, crept across Albert's face. "Well. Will you tell the esteemed captains of this army, or shall I?"

"I will," Caesar said.

Albert shook his head. "No. I will. You need sleep."

"Well, so do you, but whatever. Your grave." Caesar wiped his face with a towel – more for the show of it than any actual need; it was cold out – and locked up the cabinet with a key he had demanded of the armsmaster. He debated waking the middle-aged man up to return the thing, and decided against it. The man probably had limited sleep and unlimited duplicates.

"You're an uncle," Albert said suddenly, then paused a moment and coughed a bit, "by the way, Caesar. "

Well. How does one react to this sort of news? "I'm glad that that segue wasn't awkward at all." Ah, sarcasm. Solving all of life's problems.

"Well, I didn't really know how to tell you."

"Are you married, too? Because, you know, if this baby was born out of wedlock, the rest of the debutantes won't associate with you anymore, and it'll be hard to find a husband with that smirch on your honor – "

"Ha, ha. I am married, thank you. I have been for about three years now."

"I was near Harmonia three years ago."

"I know you were."

"I wasn't invited to my own brother's wedding! Oh, the exclusion!"

"I thought – " Albert sort of shrugged. "I thought it would be more embarrassing to invite you and not have you show up than to not invite you and not have you show up. Besides, it wasn't a big deal."

"Who is she?"

"My wife?"

"No, someone we haven't been discussing for a while now. I figure, what with your grand ambitions..."

"Yeah. It was a bit of a...political marriage, I suppose." Albert cleared his throat again, and adjusted his coat sleeves. "Well. Her name is Victoria, and she's the daughter of a bishop. She's probably smarter than I am." The way he said it, it didn't sound patronizing. "I respect her."

"No love lost between you, though."

"I don't trust her much," Albert admitted.

"And without trust...Oh, alas, alas!" Caesar dropped his asinine manner. "What about your kid? How old is he?"

"She," Albert corrected with a bit of force, "is just over one. She's...an amazing kid, she really is. She practically learned to talk before she learned to walk. One time I caught her teething on one of my chess pieces."

"Um, okay. I'd think you'd be pissed over that."

"It was one of the stone ones. She didn't do any damage."

Caesar eyed Albert, who was actually smiling. "You probably wouldn't have been pissed if she had. You're spoiling this kid horribly, aren't you?"

"That's the thing, though. Dessa is just such a good kid that I couldn't spoil her if I tried."

"Dessa?"

"Short for Odessa."

"Really?"

"Yes." The "wanna make somethin' of it" was merely implied.

"I'm seeing entirely new sides of Albert Silverberg this evening," Caesar commented loftily. "Humble Albert. Filial piety Albert. Which – if you were going to name her after any of our ancestors, I thought for sure you would have gone for Eleanor."

"Odessa did some admirable things."

"Yeah, I'm not debating that. I just thought that you'd be the last to recognize that. And I thought you wouldn't be such a disgustingly doting parent."

"A double insult," Albert said mildly. "Have you no mercy, sir?"

"None," Caesar replied, "when I'm low on sleep. Are you sure you want to talk to them? Don't want to get to bed?"

"I'm the very definition of fine with it. I could probably rouse some hapless messenger to carry the message for me," he added thoughtfully.

"You're a cruel man," Caesar commented. To his surprise, Albert actually obliged with a brief, self-conscious evil chuckle, which became an actual, self-conscious laugh.

"You know, I'm glad we had this talk," Albert said, hovering in the indistinct range between sarcasm and genuine sentiment. "I feel as though I got a lot off my chest."

"What a relief," Caesar said. "Your mental health really matters to me."

"I am wounded – wounded – by your apathy."

"I'm sure." Caesar threw a wave over his shoulder as he walked out. "G'night, Albert."

He got lost – twice – on the way back to his tent, but he didn't mind too horribly. For all his talk of going to bed, he rather doubted that he'd be able to sleep after all that.

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So, Albert's wife's name is Victoria, and as the daughter of a bishop in theocratic Harmonia, is all but royalty. Oh ho ho ho, I am teh clebar.

Anyway – this chapter is contrived, but it's warm and squicky and stuff like that, so I'm not too dissatisfied with it.

And you just know that Spawn of Albert would have to be cute.