Based fully in the anime (though yes, I know about certain mentionings in the novels, but I'm going to pretty much ignore them :p). Nothing here belongs to me except the story, of course :)

Arsenio sat at the head of the table, opposite from the real head of the table, and was actually mostly silent for once. Sure, he liked lands on which the Kleist family resided, since they were wonderfully windy and had broad moors on which he liked to ride and breathe the fresh air. Game was also nicely available in these lands, and Arsenio enjoyed hunting and falconing whenever he could, with or without his entourage. However, visiting the Kleist castle was a whole other story. The castle was dank, dark, moldy, and generally unkept. The people inside the castle (though the surrounding countrymen were friendly enough) were reclusive and had an air of unwelcome about them, though they were coldly polite enough to the young Lord. The food was decent, though plain and lacking the extravagance he was used to when he visited noble houses. The conversation was, though scarce, more intelligent and less about court gossip, which was one aspect about the dinner that he greatly welcomed, even though Lord Baldassare Kleist still gave him the creeps. And that wife of his…

But, his discomfort had to wait, for it was high time to end these silly formalities and get to the point of his arrival. He had the beginning of a war to get back to, after all, and Rufus and the others staying just outside the castle were waiting for him.

"This has been a lovely meal, but I really must speak with you about my true reasons for coming here, not that this visit hasn't been pleasant all by itself," he said easily, charming and polite with no hint at his true feelings, a perfectly bred noble.

"Yes, Lord Spitzberg, speak of whatever you wish," replied Lord Kleist, taking a sip of wine.

Hmm, how to go about this delicately… "Well, as you know, I have built up an army with which I plan to do battle against the Originators."

"We've heard."

"…And I have all the very best fighters I could find, as well as the best commanders, lieutenants, and advisors I could find."

Nod.

"However, I find myself in wont of a head tactician. Many have applied for the position, but none have sparked my interest in the way I hope one shall."

"That is unfortunate. I would gladly accept the position." Lord Kleist took another sip of wine, changing neither his cold demeanor nor his set expression.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. I do know of your great intelligence, but I have another special person in mind."

He raised an eyebrow and set down his glass. "Oh?"

"Yes. I have heard rumors of a genius tactician who lives in this very castle. Don't you have a son, Lord Kleist?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea about whom you speak. My wife and I have no son." There was no indication of his lying, or even his reacting in any way, but Arsenio could tell that he was hiding something, the snake.

He decided to cut to the chase. "My sources do not lie. I wish to meet your son. Navon, isn't it?"

Lord Kleist finally showed some sort of reaction by pressing his lips together in a thin line. Ha, Arsenio had caught him! "I'm afraid that it is highly dangerous for you to meet him. He is inflicted with a terrible curse."

"So I've heard. I am not afraid of any curse. I insist most strongly on meeting him." Arsenio somehow managed to keep his tone pleasant, though with underlying power and warning. He stared the much-older nobleman down.

"And I insist much more strongly that he remain merely a phantom myth in your Lordship's mind." Baldassare folded his hands on the table in a concluding way, looking down his nose.

"If you insist." I shall just have to find him for myself, Arsenio decided, though of course kept his plan a secret.

Dinner ended and Lord Baldassare showed Lord Arsenio to his room and then slyly locked him in once it was time for bed. It didn't work, for close to the middle of the night, Arsenio easily picked the old lock and headed for the most secluded part of the castle, having had been studying a map of the castle between after dinner and then. In soft, silent slippers, Arsenio drew his woolen cloak tighter around himself.

"Gods, it's horribly drafty in this cave of a castle…" he muttered to himself, knowing none would hear him because of the small amount of staff, and because this area of the castle was obviously abandoned. The thick drapes were coated with dust thick enough to change their entire coloring, and the floor was littered with dead bugs and the occasional larger vermin along the sides of the dingy, unpolished tile floor. He could feel the cold radiating through his slippers, causing him to wish he'd worn his thick, wool boot socks instead of just bare feet in fleece slippers. The draft was so strong that it naughtily pushed Arsenio's cloak around to get at his lightly-clothed body beneath, making him also wish that he'd brought along his winter clothing (It was summer, so his winter wardrobe was back at home, ready to be sent to him in the fall). But, as always, he was too determined to give up, and so trekked forward in search of somewhere that seemed to be at least somewhat inhabited.

After a few hours, at about one o'clock in the morning, Arsenio practically sleepwalked into a closed door. He snorted to full-alertness and rubbed his poor nose, which luckily had not become broken from the impact. It was the first closed door he'd come across in this wing of the castle, and so he happily opened it.

Well, the room was certainly lived-in, but missing its occupant. So, Arsenio glanced around from the doorway. The room was simply furnished with a small bed, a small dresser, a small bookcase that overflowed so that books were neatly stacked all over the place, such as on the edges of the floor, the windowsill, precariously at the bottom of the bed, and even down next to the bed. There was no desk, and Arsenio was unsurprised; to whom would someone such as this write? Luckily, he seemed able to write, since there were some scattered papers on the floor beside the bed with neat, small handwriting. Arsenio was too far away to see what content the papers contained. This room, more a nest than a room, was definitely where his new tactician lived. Everything inside it was the result of unwanted-ness; the bed was more suited for a small child than a grown man, the books were all shabby and in desperate need of either replacement or repair (though someone had done his best with string and wax), the bookcase was sloppily made from different scraps of wood one might find around a stable or somewhere similar, and it hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in who knows how long (though, again, the occupant had done his best). Arsenio felt more heroic for all of his long searching, for not only was he finding the best tactician he could find (if the rumors were anything to believe), he was saving someone from this rancid castle. But where was he?

"I suppose it's not surprising that he's nocturnal. Who would want to spend each day with such people, even if they are one's parents?" Arsenio said to himself, not usually one to talk to himself very much, but the screaming loneliness that resonated throughout this wing begged for a human voice to break it. "Let's see, if the middle of the night is comparative to the middle of the day, perhaps he's getting lunch." Arsenio headed to where the kitchen was, taking the most scenic route. One who lived in such recluse would surely wish to have every window out of which he could see, not to mention it got him away from where people actually lived. Indeed, every window Arsenio passed had its windows drawn, and the view was of an expansive moor that had no trail on which people would ride, so one could see without being seen. The moon was bright and it illuminated the hallway enough to ease much of the dreadful interior, though it was still terribly cold, and had been that way back in the nest-room.

And then, not too far from the kitchen, Arsenio found him. Well, he found Arsenio by smashing right into him, but nonetheless. Both had been going around a corner when, having not seen him, the reclusive scholar, who had apparently been running, collided with Arsenio and fell back on the ground while Arsenio managed to recover thanks to his training. They stared at each other. Arsenio offered him a hand up. The scholar, Navon, did not take it and stood by his own power, brushing himself off. He wore dark blue, thick, robe-like clothes that appeared to have been taken from a monastery's donation box, judging by the plain, worn, robe-y quality. The outfit appeared to be much better suited for the cold castle wing, though it didn't appear that he could be at all warm right then. The recluse was too stunned to show any indication, though, since he just kept staring at the blond like a doe before a hunter. And then, like a doe, he ran off as fast as he could, but not before giving him a rushed yet perfect bow in archaic Spitzberg fash-

Wait a second…

"Hey, if you know who I am, then there's no reason to run away!" Arsenio called, not hoping too much that he would listen. Instead, he gave him a moment's start before going after him, figuring that the scholar would not realize that he knew where his room was. When he got there, the door was indeed shut once more, and further inspection found it to be locked with an even older lock than the one which graced the guest room door in which Arsenio was supposed to be. He could get through it in a matter of seconds, but felt that would be even ruder than sprinting away from a higher noble without a word. Instead, he tried to get him to open it himself. "Say, there's no reason to feel threatened by me, you know. I merely wish to converse with you and perhaps recruit you to enter a highly formidable position in my army. You needn't worry about much combat, since it would be strictly tactical work. Hello? Are you listening? Please open the door? I can pick through this lock easily, but I want to give you the freedom to do so. At least speak?" Arsenio pressed his ear to the door. He could hear nothing except…was that wind through an open window? In a matter of seconds, as promised, Arsenio opened the door and looked in. A rock held down the loose papers by his bed and the window was suddenly open, which were the only indications of his having been in there moments ago.

Well, that was a bust. So, Arsenio decided to see what those papers were about. He shut the window, leaving it unlocked, and sat on the small, creaking bed to glance over them. He remembered how tall Navon was, even taller than himself (which, unfortunately, was fairly common), and his mind shifted momentarily to how dreadfully uncomfortable it must be to sleep on a bed a third the size of oneself. Plus, the blankets were thin and ragged and were wholly unsuited for the weather inside. Anyways, the papers were notes pertaining to a war of…wait, it was his own war, at least the first few battles that were all that had happened so far. There were comments, especially criticism, which left Arsenio raising his eyebrows in awe. He himself had noticed some of his own mistakes in plans, but the ideas that this man had come up with to improve strategies, as well as future plans for movements…were all so very brilliant. The rumors about this man's intelligence had not been lies. Arsenio's fascination got the better of him and he scoured the room for anything else he could learn about him. He found more notes on more battles, as well as ones on works of literature, other cultures, and even famous people. He couldn't find anything about himself, but there were notes on his elder brothers and sisters. Psychology was not much of a part of any study, and yet this man was considering them when it came to motives of actions and other such behaviors, even though he didn't appear to know much about people other than what was purely objective. It was all amazing. But why couldn't he find himself? What especially caught Arsenio's eye about everything was the objective, calm tone of each paragraph before him.

"I'll kidnap this man if I have to," Arsenio decided, "but that would be such a waste of such an interesting personality. I'll just have to entrap him and convince him gently." He put everything away and decided to try to gain a few hours' sleep.