I wanted to thank you all for your patience. Finals week has been a bear, but it's over now. This chapter came out a caffeine-fueled study session. For the next few chapters, I'll be focusing on present-day plot threads, such as Henry's operation to undermine the fledgling American economy, Astrid's role as a spy in swan manor, and what rebel high command is doing.

(Present Day, Winter 1778)

-Hawkfrost

Henry didn't think it was possible to be this exhausted. He'd been tired before of course, marches in the badlands, sentry duties as a private, and the like had given him endurance. But this was at a level he'd never wish to reach. It was as if his life force had been drained out of him and all that was left was a broken and battered shell of a man. Just climbing the stairs to his private residence seemed to be an effort beyond his ability. He closed his eyes and leaned against the railing. Breathe in, and out. As he did so, he recanted the mantra he taught himself when the nightmares became too much. Listen only to the sound of my voice. His breathing deepened. Let your mind relax. Let your thoughts drift. Let the bad memories fade. The cacophony of the night's events seemed to fade away. Let peace be upon you. Surrender yourself to your dreams. Let them wash over you like the gentle waves of the bluest ocean. One of his earliest and fondest memories were being a child on his family's boat, feeling the waves gently rock him to sleep in his mother's arms. Let them envelop you. Comfort you. Imagine somewhere calm. Imagine somewhere safe. Imagine yourself in a frozen forest. The beating of his heart was the only sound in the world. You're standing in a clearing. Trees around you so tall, they touch the sky. Pure white snowflakes fall all around. You can feel them melt on your skin. You are not cold. It cannot overcome the warmth of your beating heart. You are in control. Calm. At peace.

As Henry reopened his eyes, he could feel the stress at bay, no longer pounding at the forefront of his mind, but receding to the edges. The exhaustion hadn't abated, but at least he no longer felt like expiring on the steps. The sounds of his boots thudding against the steps was a memory. Thud, sounds of a musket going off. Thud, screams of the savages as they attacked. Thud, his own terror and shame at seeing his platoon being cut to pieces. Thud, Astrid. Thud, her smile. Thud, her laughter. Thud, the way her nose crinkled. Thud, death. His heart skipped a few beats. Thud, blood rushing down her throat. He started gripping the railing so hard he could feel his bones creak. Thud, her looking at him as the life left her. His mind snapped from this macabre reverie as he reached the last step, his heart pounding, his breathing coming hard and fast. He took a moment to compose himself, not wanting her to see him in such a state.

He slowly opened the door, eyes scanning the room for any possible threats. The early morning glow of the sun was casting shadows over everything, causing his battle exacted brain to panic slightly. He was seeing movement where there was none just because of the poor lighting. With a rueful shake of his head, he closed the door and entered his house. Jumping at shadows like an old woman. He chuckled lightly and hung his bloodied and shot coat on the rack. He couldn't be bothered to deal with it at the moment, anything other than collapsing in his bed seemed to be beyond him. He was so exhausted he didn't even hear the soft tread of footsteps behind him, didn't notice the air change signifying a person was moving, didn't notice the subtle pleasing aroma of perfume. He did, however, feel when soft hands wrapped around his shoulders from behind. He did notice when a head of sun-kissed blonde hair gently rested against his back. He turned around to look down at her. She seemed as tired as he was, her head drooping and her smile lazy. He brought her close to him; squeezing her firmly but gently, as if she might disappear if he didn't hold on to her tightly. They said nothing for a while, content to simply hold each other in their arms. The past several hours had been a completely exhausting affair leaving both of them drained of their humanity. She gently pulled back to gaze up at him, her eyes taking in his blood soaked clothes, tousled hair, and battered face. She gave him a slow shake of her head and a rueful smile. She gingerly traced a finger along the line of a bruise and he winced. He pulled her back into his chest and rested his head on the top of her golden crown of hair.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was soft and tentative as if the words didn't want to come out but did anyway.

He ran his fingers over her shoulder, feeling her shudder slightly in response. He breathed in everything about her, her touch, her weight, the way her hair fell down her neck and over her shoulder. The morning sunlight was casting her in heavenly light and for a moment he wasn't entirely sure she was real, or if he were getting a glimpse into a realm denied mortals. When he didn't respond she leaned back and looked at him, the worry in her eyes a tangible thing. He ran his thumb across her jawline and she leaned into his touch, eyes flittering shut.

"A gentleman never breaks his promise." She gave him a small shake of her head and a rueful laugh.

She disengaged from their embrace and headed towards the kitchen. "Go undress, I'll draw a bath."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"For you, and you alone you lecher." She called out while laughing.

He watched her leave, his eyes piercing the space she had just been occupying. He told himself, at that moment, that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. He had failed to keep this city safe, but he would not fail to keep her alive. He made his way upstairs to his office, he needed a few moments alone to compose himself. He removed the key from its hidden location and inserted it into the locking mechanism, gave it a firm twist, and felt the lock give. Pushing open the door, he placed the key back in his pocket. He went to his chair and crumpled in it. He was away from everyone, and he took the chance to take a deep breath ragged breath. Scratch that, he made several attempts at taking a deep breath. After a few tries, he succeeded. He could still taste musket powder in the back of his throat, his ears still rang from the force of the grenade explosions, his body ached from the trauma of hitting the ground.

Maybe it was his exhaustion, maybe it was stress, whatever the reason was, he failed to notice a few of his desk items were out of place. He failed to notice that insertion points and defensive locations had been looked at. So overwhelmed by the horrors he was seeing when he closed his eyes he ignored his training, he ignored the small voice in his head whispering that there was danger. Sniffing and recomposing himself, he locked the door behind him and made his way back downstairs. He passed by the kitchen and went into the bedroom, from there he entered the washroom. He looked at himself in the mirror and had to pause. The face was bruised and battered, the reflection's eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, and he was bleeding from several locations. Christ man, you look awful.

He started removing his clothing, taking off his blood soaked shirt and throwing it in the corner. With trembling fingers, he undid the strings of his boots and took those off. His trousers came next, with a groan, he peeled them off, wincing as they pinched his sore and bloodied flesh. He looked at the boiling water in the tub and was about to climb in when a cold shiver ran through his body and the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect. He turned slowly, knowing what he would see, hoping with all his might it wouldn't be there.

He was back, standing there as if he never left. Dressed in a blood red coat, white trousers, musket slung over his shoulder, pride and arrogance etched in his face. It was so peculiar, for the man standing before him looked liked him. When he moved his hand, so did the reflection. When he blinked, it blinked too. The similarities stopped there. This creature's eyes were cold, unfeeling. It seemed liked Beelzebub himself was staring back at him. And when he stared into his eyes, he saw nothing but death and destruction, fear and chaos and the dissolution of everything holy. The reflection reached out, extending its arm, so he did as well; and as their fingers touched, the reflection moved. He hadn't.

The mirror shimmered and the reflection seemed to become corporeal. Its eyes lost their hollowed out look, taking a long shuddering breath, it looked around the room for a moment; focusing on him, it moved closer and grinned.

He ripped his hand from the mirror so quickly, it was as if he was struck by lightning. The reflection smiled cruelly at him and made a sound that a demon might consider to be laughter. Breathing heavily he took a step back. "You're. Not. Really. Here."

The creature stared back at cruelly, as if bored. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

The reflection appeared almost confused by the question, "I'm a part of you, always have been always will be."

"What?" He didn't understand.

The reflection let out a chuckle and smiled. "Shit Hiccup, I've missed you. You had me worried for a second there. Got you a new woman and a new post, almost forgot about me didn't you? You stopped taking the opium, smart."

Henry's heart was trying with increasing levels of success to climb out of his chest, his vision swam, and his hearing was faltering. Not with regards to the reflection in the mirror, he could hear him just fine. Vaguely he could her Astrid's voice calling to him, asking him if he was alright. But she seemed to be a thousand miles away, out of reach.

At hearing her voice, the reflection looked out the doorway, hunger in his eyes. "Ahh, the Irish are a horrid bunch, but damned if their women aren't fine." Henry's rage returned with a rush.

"You lay one hand on her an-" the reflection laughed with contempt and made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"If anything happens to the broad it'll be your fault, not mine. You haven't told her have you? That you know her secret?" Henry's blood froze in his veins, threatening to suffocate him. "Tell me, major, he spat the word as if it were an insult, will they hang just her or will you follow her into the gallows?"

The reflection's smile grew wider. "How exactly do you think this will end? You see, I think this will end in tragedy, and once the blood dries, and the bodies stop twitching, I'll come out to play. And this time, it'll be you who's been abandoned and forgotten!"

The reflection smiled once more, then, with a salute, dissolved into nothing.

"Henry?" Her voice was soft and gentle. He looked at her for a moment, not recognizing her. She came forward and kissed him softly, and it took all of his discipline not to break down in tears then and there.

She led him to the tub and eased him in; the boiling hot water attacking his cramping muscles and exhausted frame. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, the voices still warring in his head.

*** Note*** So the next chapter might be "M" who knows what might happen with Henry and Astrid in a steaming bathtub…Also, we'll get more insight into the reflection Henry sees in the mirror and the battle that still gives him nightmares.