Dream: To See It to the End

4 N.I.C., Phezzan

When Annerose woke up in the middle of the night in a new bed in a strange room, confused and in pain, in her momentary blind panic her immediate instinct was to reach beneath her pillow. Her fist closed around the cold handle of the knife, and with it in her hand she could relax, enough to look around, at least.

The room was dark and cold, though a warm yellow light slipped in through a small window on the door, through which she could see the dim movement of figures passing by in the hallway. There was a murmuring of indistinct voices, though all of them were so distant and quiet that they wouldn't have woken her from her sleep.

She realized with a start that she wasn't alone in the darkness. Across the room from her, slumped half-sideways in an armchair, his arm draped over the side of and into a small wheeled crib, was Kircheis. He was fast asleep, his uniform rumpled beyond repair, and his hair frizzing out as though he had combed through it with his fingers a hundred thousand times. She felt strange, looking at him, and she put the knife back down.

Annerose was putting the pieces together in her mind, scattered fragments of images coming back to her. The clock on the bedside table reported that it was five in the morning.

She remembered the afternoon before, the signs of labor beginning, the calls she had made to various concerned parties, including her obstetrician, who had told her to proceed to the hospital. She had called Kircheis on the way, sitting with her head against the cool window of the car, roostertails careening out from beneath the tires as the driver moved quickly through the streets of Phezzan. It had been hard to think about much other than the sharp pain of the contractions. They seemed to come on too hard and too fast- faster than she had been told to expect them, or at least that was what it had felt like.

Kircheis had not arrived at the hospital until Annerose was already in the private delivery room that had been prepared for her. She remembered him asking if she wanted him to stay, and she had reached for his hand and squeezed it so hard she thought she might break his fingers.

There was very little else she remembered. It had hurt, and so she had gone to that place in her head that was somewhere outside herself. She may have passed out. She couldn't have said.

Annerose tried to disentangle herself from the thin blanket and get up, but she was so sore that she let out an involuntary gasp of pain, clutching at her midsection like it was a deflated balloon.

Kircheis stirred in the armchair, twitching out of sleep suddenly and blinking in the dim light. His eyes settled on Annerose, and he smiled before he said anything. "I'm glad you're awake," he said.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About five hours," Kircheis said.

"Ah." Annerose rubbed her head, and discovered that she was unbearably thirsty and that her head was throbbing. Trying to form words had alerted her. Kircheis must have heard the dryness of her throat in her voice, because he extracted himself from his curled up position on the armchair and stood, back popping audibly, to retrieve a cold bottle of water from a mini-fridge on the floor. He passed it to her, and Annerose put it over her eyes for a second, trying to cool them. "What happened?" she asked. "I don't- I don't remember."

Kircheis kept his voice quiet and even. "You asked for a sedative," he said. "Everything is fine."

Her eyes flicked to the crib as she cracked the water bottle open and drank. She knew she should ask about the baby, but she didn't want to. Kircheis saw her hesitation but said nothing. "Reinhard?" Annerose asked after having drained the bottle. Kircheis retrieved a second one from the fridge, as well as a covered bowl of cut fruit and yogurt. He offered them both to her, and she took them.

"Would like to see you as soon as you're ready," Kircheis said. "He understands that he might need to be patient."

She was silent as she spooned the sickly-sweet yogurt into her mouth.

"Are you alright?" Kircheis asked as she finished the bowl. She felt nauseous, but nodded.

"Are you?" She suddenly had to wonder if the reason Kircheis was not bringing up the baby was that something was wrong. But he smiled at her, and she didn't think he was that good at lying- he seemed genuinely happy, if still tired.

"Yes," he said. "I am." He laughed a little, trying to stay quiet. "But I think I've had a much easier time of it, so don't worry about me."

She leaned back in the bed and closed her eyes. "Does she have a name?" she finally asked.

Kircheis waited a moment before responding. "Lord Reinhard wanted to give it in person."

Annerose nodded without opening her eyes. She became dimly aware that the rain, which had been a constant thrum behind the windows' blackout curtains, had abated. "Has it stopped raining?"

Kircheis got up; she heard the creaking of the blinds. When she opened her eyes, the first pale hues of sunlight were signing the grey edges of the sky.

"For now, anyway," Kircheis said. He went to stand over the crib, looking down into it. The expression on his face was one of utter gentleness, and she couldn't quite reconcile it with her own feelings, which were muted and confused. He looked over at her. "Would you like to see her?" he asked.

She almost refused, but she tried to relax. Her whole body hurt. "Yes," she said. "Is she awake?"

"I think I woke her up," he said. He reached down into the crib and slowly lifted out the tiny thing. Though the infant was small enough that he could hold her in one broad hand, he carried her so gently with two, like she was the most precious and delicate thing in the universe. Perhaps she was.

He sat down carefully on the bed next to her, the baby resting in his arms, and Annerose got her first real look at her nameless daughter.

She was wearing a white onesie, feet covered but hands bare. Her fingers were impossibly little, and she kept them curled into fists. Her face was scrunched up and wrinkled, her nose a little snub. Annerose had expected her to be bald, but her head was covered by a soft shock of copper colored curls, laying flat to her scalp. She opened her mouth, moving her head in a soundless nuzzle, eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh," Annerose said. She had wondered if Eva was right, that the moment she looked at the baby she would be filled with unshakeable motherly love for her. She wasn't, or at least she didn't feel like she was. The emotion in her chest was familiar, more like the firm conviction that had carried her through most of her life, the feeling she had gotten as a girl, looking at her brother. She had done everything she could to protect Reinhard; she could do the same for this little creature. She could make sure she came to no harm. That was a promise she was capable of making, even if she couldn't make any others.

Annerose reached out a finger towards the baby and touched her face. The baby's eyes cracked open, grey and calm.

"She is beautiful," Kircheis said. "Perfect."

It was several days before Annerose was allowed to leave the hospital, and she allowed herself one day of getting situated at home before she could bring herself to face her brother. Living with the baby was an adjustment, and every time she cried and needed something, Annerose had to calm her breathing and settle her own mind before going to deal with it.

She was grateful to Kircheis, who was infinitely patient with both her and the child. He never seemed to want to put the baby down, holding her against his chest, murmuring little things to her while walking through the hallways of their house, smiling down at her all the while. They had a hired nurse who joined Kircheis's house staff, but since Kircheis held the baby all the time, there was hardly anything for the woman to do.

The weather was clear when they did go to see Reinhard, and they were carefully shielded from onlooking cameras as they made their way up the steps of the temporary capitol building. There would be some kind of formal ceremony later, for Reinhard to announce that this baby was his heir, but this first meeting would just be the three- no, Annerose had to keep reminding herself that the baby was a person- four of them.

Annerose had said that she didn't mind meeting Reinhard in his private rooms, so that was where they found him, sitting up on his bed, wedged between foam blocks to keep him from falling over.

"Annerose!" he called when they entered, and he was smiling, though there was a new tiredness in his voice that she hoped she was imagining. "I'm so glad you're here."

She walked over to sit on the edge of his bed, Kircheis and the baby remaining standing. "How are you, Reinhard?" she asked.

"I think I should be asking you that question," he said with a laugh. "You look well."

"I'm alright." She tried to sound convincing, though she may not have succeeded. Reinhard's eyes focused past her, looking at Kircheis holding the baby. He didn't say anything, but Kircheis walked over, sitting down on the other side of the bed. "That's her?" Reinhard asked, looking at the swaddled infant in Kircheis's arms, her face not visible, nestled up against his chest. Annerose wished she knew what he was thinking.

"Yes," Kircheis said.

"Thank you for bringing her here."

"We're glad to have you meet her," Annerose said. "She's your niece."

"Oh." Reinhard laughed a little. "True."

"My parents won't come visit from Odin for a while, so you're the first other family she gets to see."

"What's she like?" Reinhard asked.

"Do you want to hold her?" Kircheis asked, his voice very quiet.

Reinhard's face twisted. "I don't want to drop her," he admitted.

Kircheis glanced at Annerose, asking permission with his eyes, and she said nothing, but held out her hands to take the baby. The baby made a tiny noise and snuggled her wet face against Annerose's chest, leaving a damp spot of drool.

"May I?" Kircheis asked, and pointed behind Reinhard. Reinhard nodded.

Kircheis took away one of the foam blocks away from Reinhard's side, supporting him with his hands, and moved to sit in the bed behind him, legs surrounding Reinhard, Reinhard's back against Kircheis's chest. He supported Reinhard's arms with his own. "Is that better?" Kircheis asked.

"Yes," Reinhard said.

Carefully, Annerose placed the baby into Reinhard's arms, Kircheis's holding them to keep them steady.

"She's so small," Reinhard breathed. "I didn't realize."

"What's her name?" Kircheis asked, placing his chin on Reinhard's shoulder.

Reinhard didn't say anything for a long time, just looking down at her with an expression that approached transcendence. "She looks just like both of you." His voice was strained. "She's really beautiful."

"I don't know if she'll keep that hair," Annerose said. "The nurses told me it would probably fall out and grow back in differently."

Reinhard touched the curls with one delicate finger. "I did think of a name," he said. "Thank you for letting me choose."

"She's your heir," Annerose said. Unspoken, she wanted to add, 'We did this for you.'

"What name did you pick?" Kircheis asked.

"Alexandria," he said. "Alexandria Rose." He turned to smile at Annerose. "She should be named after you, I think."

Annerose nodded silently.

"Do you not like it?" Reinhard asked.

"I do," Annerose said. "It's beautiful."

"She can take the von Lohengramm name if she wishes, when she's older, or when she takes the throne," Reinhard said. "But it doesn't really matter."

"She should take it now, if you intend to give it to her," Annerose said, trying to keep her tone even. "That way no one can claim that we're…"

"Right," Reinhard said. "I know." He looked over at Kircheis. "Though 'Kircheis' is a nice name. Sounds like the wind coming down over the mountains." He was smiling.

"Alexandria Rose von Lohengramm," Kircheis said. "Very distinguished." He laughed.

"If she grows up anything like either of her parents, I couldn't imagine a better child."

"Only time will tell," Annerose said.

"Time," Reinhard said. "That's true." He was very quiet.

Annerose looked at him holding the child. He was still her brother, still young, and he would never get to grow up. Not really. He had always existed in a different world from the rest of them, and perhaps that was only growing truer by the day.

The expression on his face when he looked at Alexandria was softer than Annerose had ever remembered seeing. He never looked at her like that, not really. Perhaps it was the way he looked at Kircheis when they were alone, or perhaps it was something softer still.

"I'm glad I got to meet her," Reinhard said.

In the four months after Alexandria's birth, nothing and everything seemed to happen at once. She was confirmed as Reinhard's heir in a public ceremony, granted a title, and was proudly shown to the universe as a bright symbol for the future. All of Reinhard's admiralty and staff came to pay their respects at some point or another, including Hilde (who was absolutely charmed by the baby), the Mittermeyers (Eva wept real tears when she saw Alexandria laying on the baby blanket she had made), and Reuenthal (whose stiff bow to the infant in her arms seemed to cost him something undefinable).

The funniest thing that happened was the arrival of a completely unexpected message, addressed to Kircheis and forwarded a long distance across the galaxy. It came from Yang Wen-li on Iserlohn, and was a seemingly sincere congratulations for the birth of their daughter.

Reinhard considered it a bit of a snub. "That man sends you a message, but he wouldn't even respond to me?" he huffed when Kircheis read him the note. He was laying in bed on his side, Alexandria laying next to him. She had grabbed his finger and Reinhard was tugging her hand all around, like he was conducting an orchestra.

"Lord Reinhard, I think the situation is a little different than it was at Astarte," Kircheis said, amused.

Reinhard yawned. "Don't let him fool you into treating him gently."

Kircheis glanced over at Annerose. "I believe I promised to only treat you and Lady Annerose kindly."

"Right, you did." Reinhard smiled. "That's good."

They spent as much of their time with Reinhard as they could, even during the day when Reinhard conducted official duties to the best of his remaining ability. He didn't let himself slow down, having himself dressed and sat up in his office or wherever he needed to be, performing the duties of his office until he was so exhausted that he couldn't keep his head up. At night, they would stay with him until he fell asleep, and then they would slip out of his room. Reinhard liked their company, and Annerose had the feeling that they were operating on borrowed time.

Despite his dedication and his desire to appear unaffected, it was clear to everyone who knew him that some of Reinhard's fire had flickered out. Perhaps it was that he was no longer intending to attack Iserlohn, so he no longer had anything to drive him forward. All had been settled: he had an heir, and the universe would be safe in Kircheis's hands until Alexandria was old enough to rule.

Annerose voiced these thoughts aloud to Kircheis one night, after they returned home from the capitol.

"Do you regret telling him not to go to Iserlohn?" she asked.

"No," Kircheis said. He was turned away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his socks. She wasn't sure if he was telling the truth, his tone was so political and even. "How could I?"

"He doesn't have anything left to fight for. I don't know if he's going to hold on-"

Kircheis made a choked sound, and Annerose immediately regretted bringing up the subject. It had been unnecessarily cruel, to both Kircheis and her brother.

"There are other things to live for, Annerose," Kircheis finally said.

"I hope so." She looked away.

The joy that everyone felt about the baby was tempered by Reinhard's poor health, but the reverse was true as well for some people. At least the atmosphere that pervaded the capital those few months was one of a resigned watchfulness, rather than outright anxiety. With the end of monsoon season, the birth of the baby, and the abandonment of the plan to attack Iserlohn, the tension had broken, and the world lay under a hot and still haze.

Alexandria was an alert but calm baby. She rarely fussed and was unafraid of strangers, which delighted all those who were granted a chance to hold the future Kaiserin. She never wanted for someone's arms to hold her, and when Kircheis carried her around (as he usually did), there were plenty of people who jumped at the chance to sit with her under Kircheis's watchful eye.

Just as it was difficult to see the day-to-day changes in Alexandria's growth, it was hard to pay attention to Reinhard's steady decline. It looked like nothing was happening, until Alexandria's onesies no longer fit and had to be exchanged for new ones, and the day that Reinhard's kidneys failed him.

Annerose had not been aware of how much pain Reinhard must have been in. He hid it very well, and it was clear that his doctors were under strict orders to discuss the details of his health with no one, especially not Annerose. He had told her that she shouldn't worry, and she had been consumed enough with other things that she had let Reinhard's surface appearances fool her.

If anyone had asked her, Annerose would have given a kidney to her brother, but when she asked the doctor if there was anything that could be done at all, she was told that Reinhard was more likely to be harmed by surgery than helped by it. She wondered again if she was being lied to, but found that she couldn't bring herself to press.

When she pushed on that feeling in her own mind, she was discomfited to find no explanation as to why she was going to let her brother slip away, without fighting in the least. Was it altruistic to let him control his own health? Was it selfish to abdicate responsibility for him? Did she wish she could trade places with him, for his sake, or for her own? There were no easy answers, or any answers at all. Just questions that she pushed away over and over, but that she couldn't stop from asking.

She couldn't bear the yawning guilt that she had failed to protect her brother, one last time, but even worse was the guilt at her relief that she was glad she would no longer have to try.

Maybe it didn't matter what Annerose felt or thought. The facts were incontrovertible: Reinhard was dying, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

The kidneys were the first things to fail, but more and more, Reinhard's body slowly fell apart. His heart developed an abnormal rhythm. He became unable to digest food properly. His fever was now constant, and he expended more energy on shivering than he did on anything else; when he lay in bed his whole body trembled like a coin on a railroad track with the approach of a fast-moving train.

On October 22, Reinhard woke with a fever of 102 degrees. This in itself was not unusual, but medication failed to bring it down, and by noon it had climbed to 104, with no sign of reducing. Reinhard was lucid, but had to be given fluids by IV. Sweat stood out on his face, and his eyes were so shiny that Annerose could see her own reflection in stark contrast in their whites.

Reinhard demanded to video call first Mecklinger on Odin, then Oberstein in Neue Land over the ansible. Kircheis took that as a signal to call the rest of Reinhard's close staff, and they came, setting up a solemn watch in a room down the hall from Reinhard's private suite. The mood was desolate, and when the baby in Kircheis's arms cried, her plaintive wails were a more honest expression of everyone's thoughts than any of the stilted talk was.

He summoned them in one by one, each going alone to his bedside. Some of them went in and out quickly- Bittenfeld couldn't keep his composure and was sent back out after about five minutes- but others took much longer. Reuenthal knelt at Reinhard's bedside for nearly forty minutes. Annerose caught a glimpse of his stormy eyes when he finally emerged, head held high, face cold. She wondered what Reinhard had said to him, but knew that both of them would take whatever their parting words were to the grave.

It was Mittermeyer that Annerose spoke to after he emerged from Reinhard's room, trading places with Hilde. He walked swiftly down the hallway, not going back to the room where everyone else was waiting, and Annerose followed him at a distance. She lost sight of him briefly, but found him in one of the hallways that wrapped around the outside of the building, high windows letting in the late sun. Mittermeyer leaned on the glass with one arm, looking down and out over the city streets of Phezzan. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, and, though he was silent, it was clear that he was weeping. He didn't seem to have noticed her approach.

"Fleet Admiral," she said, her voice as soft as possible.

Mittermeyer looked up at her, and didn't move when she stepped forward and laid her hand on his arm.

"Princess, I didn't mean to disturb you." He was trying to keep his voice under control, but his throat was choked with tears.

"You didn't disturb me," Annerose said. "I wanted to make sure you were well."

"Kind of you," Mittermeyer said. He looked back out the window. "I've been telling myself that I would be ready for this for the past year. I must be better at lying than I thought I was."

"I don't think it's possible to be ready." She was calm, somehow. Speaking to Mittermeyer was easier than speaking to Kircheis. Kircheis was too close, by far. Understood her too well.

"I shouldn't have opposed him going to Iserlohn," Mittermeyer said. "It would be easier if-"

"I think you did the right thing," Annerose said. "It wouldn't have been easier if he had died in space. It would have been…" She shook her head. "I don't think he regrets staying."

Mittermeyer let out a breath and stayed silent.

"What did you speak with him about?" Annerose asked. "If I may ask."

"The past," Mittermeyer said. "Mostly."

She stayed silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

"He asked me what I had thought about, when I was in prison," Mittermeyer said. "I don't know why he wanted to know."

Annerose had her guesses, but instead of voicing them, she said, "The past is all he has left," which made Mittermeyer take a shuddering breath.

"And he asked me why I had stayed with him, after he had helped me escape. He wouldn't have expected loyalty from me, since it was Reuenthal who had made the pledge."

She didn't want to know the answer to that question. "On his behalf, I do thank you for it."

He laughed, but it was a choked sound. "He thanked me himself, so you don't have to." He leaned heavily on the window. "To think that the reward for loyalty is watching him die," Mittermeyer said.

"The reward is in knowing he trusts you completely," Annerose said. "He believes the future is safe in your hands."

"I don't know why you're here comforting me, Princess," he said.

Because she needed to talk to anyone to keep her mind off herself, and Mittermeyer was an honest and good man, and she needed to get out of the room with the crying baby and painfully silent Kircheis, and Mittermeyer had provided an excuse. "Because I don't have anything else to reward your loyalty with," she said. She squeezed his arm.

"Thank you." They stood in silence for a minute, just looking out at the hazy evening light over Phezzan.

"I should go back," Annerose said.

"Yes," Mittermeyer agreed. "I shouldn't keep you here." He ran his hand over his face, vainly attempting to regain some composure, and they turned and headed back to the waiting area outside Reinhard's rooms.

Alexandria had fallen asleep in Kircheis's arms, so there was a deadly silence that now lay over the room where everyone was waiting. Hilde took a few minutes more to come out, and when she did, her eyes were dry of tears but her lips were quivering. It was difficult for her to speak, when she looked at Annerose and Kircheis sitting shoulder to shoulder, barely able to force the words out through stopped tears, "Princess, Fleet Admiral, His Majesty wants you now."

So, that was it.

Annerose gathered her wits about her and gave a courteous nod to the rest of the assembled group, walking slowly towards Reinhard's room.

"Annerose- Kircheis," he called as he heard the door open. His voice was rough with dehydration, and he was obviously exhausted. There was no way that Annerose could stand in the other room and just listen and pretend that he was well. Even that pretense had been stripped away.

Reinhard lay on his bed, flat on his back, arms draped loosely down by his sides. The vitals monitor on his bedside table was turned away from him, but Annerose saw as she walked by that his temperature was 105 degrees. His eyes still followed her and Kircheis as she sat on the chair at his bedside. Annerose took his hand, and his fingers closed around hers weakly. He was no longer wearing his braces, though he had been in the morning; they were now discarded on the table.

Kircheis didn't seem to know what to do with himself, and Alexandria in his arms woke, making a mewling cry as she did. Annerose held out her free hand, and Kircheis gave her the baby, which allowed him to kneel by Reinhard's side. Reinhard weakly reached out and twined his fingers in Kircheis's hair.

"I'm glad you're here," Reinhard said.

"Of course we're here," Kircheis said. "We're here. We won't leave."

Reinhard nodded and closed his eyes. Perhaps there wasn't much that needed to be said between the three of them- anything that Annerose might have thought to say had vanished into some dark corner of her mind, and there was nothing left but the feeling of Reinhard's hand in hers. His hair stuck to his face. If she had had a free hand she would have stroked it off his forehead.

She couldn't bear to look at Kircheis.

Painfully, Reinhard said, "I had a dream last night, Annerose."

"Haven't you had your fill of dreams, Reinhard?" she asked.

"I dreamed that I had just woken up," he said. "I had fallen asleep out in the back garden of our house, and Kircheis woke me up because you had just come home. And I had to tell you all about the dream I had. We had travelled across all of space, in that dream. Taken the whole universe." His breathing was raspy, but he still managed a laugh. "But I didn't want to worry you, so I only told you the good parts."

She squeezed his hand. "You don't have to worry about me," she said.

"I know." He turned his face towards Kircheis. "I wish- I would have been happy if it had been a dream. I could do it all again, with you." He tugged Kircheis's hair. "Would you do it again with me, if you could?"

"Lord Reinhard," Kircheis said, and his voice broke.

"Siegfried," Reinhard said. "Maybe if we tried it again, I would call you that instead." His laugh was painful. "But I do like calling you Kircheis."

"I'd do anything with you," Kircheis said. "I'd follow you anywhere."

"I know." His hand traced Kircheis's cheek, and Kircheis caught it, pressing it to his face. "I love you."

"I love you," Kircheis repeated. Annerose looked down at the baby in the crook of her arm instead of at Reinhard or Kircheis.

"You promise to take care of Annerose?" Reinhard asked. "For me?"

"I will. I promise."

Reinhard relaxed a little. "You always do keep your promises." Blindly, his thumb moved across Kircheis's cheek. "Are you crying, Kircheis?"

Kircheis nodded, and Reinhard tried in vain to catch the tears at the corners of his eyes.

"You shouldn't cry," Reinhard said. How could he be like this, even now, Annerose wondered. "I always said I would die before you- it's alright, isn't it?"

"I don't want you to," Kircheis said, and he pressed his face into Reinhard's hand, trying to steady his breathing.

Annerose had been listening to them, feeling wholly outside herself, but Alexandria began to cry in her arms. Was she old enough to hear and understand the distress in her father's voice? Or was it that Annerose had been holding her wrong?

"Oh, Alexandria," Reinhard said. He tugged his hand out of Annerose's, and she missed the absence immediately. Without Reinhard's heat to keep her warm, she felt she had turned to ice. He reached for the baby's cheek. "I wish you were old enough to understand me," he said. "So I can't tell you how to do things." It seemed to be taking a great effort for him to string the words together. His heartbeat was visible in his throat, a twitching, irregular pulse. "But you'll do well, right?"

"Yes," Annerose tried to say, but it came out strangled. "She will."

"I wrote a letter," Reinhard said, and pointed in the direction of his desk. "Give it to her when she's older."

"I will."

Reinhard dropped his hand, and smiled when Annerose picked it back up. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."

"Don't-" She didn't want to be thanked.

There was some conviction in Reinhard's voice, despite how weak and thin it was. "You always said you did everything for me." Annerose nodded, hesitantly. "I had no right to ask you for any of it."

"It was a gift, Reinhard. All of it. Because I love you." And now there were tears in her eyes, ones that she couldn't stop sliding down her face, her neck, like cold fingers under the collar of her dress. She had no free hands with which to wipe them away, and she didn't want to stop looking at Reinhard. She was afraid that he would say something childish, something that would break her heart. If he said that he didn't want it-

"I know," he said. "Thank you." His eyes slid closed, and his face twisted like he was in pain, but his voice remained as even as it could. "I wish I could have done more for you. To make it..." He trailed off.

She shook her head. "Were you happy?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "I am."

"Then it was worth it to me," she said. She didn't know if that was true, but she couldn't have ever made a different set of choices in her life. "I would do it all again, too."

He squeezed her fingers. His grip was weak, and he was silent for a long time, his face twitching, eyes squeezing shut. It was agony to watch.

"Kircheis," Reinhard said.

"Yes, Lord Reinhard."

"Will you hold me? Please?" He didn't open his eyes.

Kircheis looked up at Annerose, as if asking permission. She didn't move a muscle, staring down through her tears at Reinhard. "Yes, Lord Reinhard," Kircheis said.

He pulled back the blankets from the bed and slid in next to Reinhard's thin frame, pulling him back against his chest, wrapping his arms around him, burying his face in his long, sun-bright hair.

Reinhard's breathing steadied. Annerose stroked his hand with her thumb.

"Kircheis-"

"Yes, Lord Reinhard."

"It was a good dream."

Author's Note

i had a choice of my siblings to name the annerose & kircheis baby after: i could have said that they would name her after reinhard & annerose's mother (caribelle)- one of my siblings' middle names is Belle and the other is Rose. but annerose seemed like the more reasonable choice since in canon we got alexander siegfried- annerose should get a turn :) anyway i thought that was just funny.

anyway. we have finally come to the end of this little story. i'm not sure if i'm in love with this last chapter but i hope it is satisfying for you, on some level, even if it is at this point really just sad things happening.

i'm never writing 'reinhard dies of The Sickness' plot again btw i just don't think it's interesting enough to merit doing it twice lol. i think there are other interesting 'kircheis lives' plots that could be written, but i shouldn't write them now. i have to get back to work on LOftT!

i hope you have enjoyed this story, for whatever level of enjoyment there is lol

thank you very much to em for the beta read!