A/N: This is a shorter chapter, but it got done noticeably faster than the others. This may be because of inspiration I received by walking around Anime Midwest this past weekend :) Thanks to all of you who are reading this, and I would like to especially thank Draggona, Odji, Dualsky, Dweeby13, urufushinigami, kitkat, and .starlight who have written at least one review for this little story. It really does means a lot.

Chapter Three

The group of men slithered through the wall of mist the morning after the hunt. Their movements were slow; each step was a new challenge to be overcome. They were broken. All felt the heaviness of exhaustion; sleep had eluded each as the night in enemy territory progressed. Some were limping. Some had open gashes that still trickled and oozed red. Others were burned and favored their luck that they were still somewhat presentable to their families. At least, they were able to return to their families. At least, they weren't Alfred.

At the head of herd stood Ludwig. His blond hair was disheveled, mats of blood clung to the yellow strands. His cheek had a thin cut, but despite the shallow nature of the wound, it continued to gush. His clothing was torn and shred to nearly nothing. The dark colored cloths hung off his shoulders and exposed the flesh underneath. He stopped dead in his tracks, holding his hand up to signal the others to do the same.

He turned to them. His face was grim and gaunt. It was true, Ludwig didn't particularly care for Alfred. In his eyes, the boy was too loud and too unaware; the boy didn't know the true reality of the world. He couldn't understand the horrors, even with what happened to his brother. He was too willing to toss his life away for the smallest reward. The only reason Ludwig allowed him on the hunt was because he believed it would be a quiet day, and he wanted so desperately to get the teen off his back. All he wanted was for the teen to shut up and behave. In a way, Alfred was too much like Gilbert... only a bit worse.

However, personal opinions aside, no one deserved to suffer alone out in the mist. No one. If only Ludwig hadn't allowed the boy to leave the group. If only he hadn't seen the boy leaving as a moment of peace and nothing more. He sighed, but his voice came out strong. "Go home, everyone. I'll tell his family." He watched with hollow eyes as the herd shuffled by him, and he continued to observe them until every last soul was out of his sight. Again, he sighed. "I'll tell his family," he repeated, "somehow."

Much to his surprise, it was Arthur who answered when he knocked at the family's door. The short blond was dressed as usual; his face was neutral. Nothing about the man was strange except the fact that he seemed to be waiting for that foreboding knock. "I knew it would be you, Ludwig," Arthur said, keeping his head tilted down.

A cold shiver ran down Ludwig's spine. He looked past Arthur to see Amelia and Matthew sitting at the table. The table had been cleared recklessly; garbage littered the floor and made walking a sat there with their meager breakfast sitting untouched at their hands. For a moment, the words escaped his mind. It took a second for them to reform, and it took another before they materialized. "He was separated from the group. We weren't able to find him."

Amelia's sob came without warning. It was dry; no tears accompanied the loud heaves. Her body rocked. Her appendages trembled. "Alfie," she whispered. "Alfie, my little boy. My sweet baby," Now, Matthew stood behind her; one of his hands was moving in rhythmic circles over her back, while the other rested on her shoulder. His overflowing tears dripped down onto her, staining her dress with their salt."Oh, my boy. My little, little boy," she continued, unable to contain the stream of words.

Ludwig averted his eyes. He would let himself slip back into the street, and he would march down to the house he shared with Gilbert. There, he would drink and drink and drink. Perhaps, Feli would visit; perhaps he wouldn't. The younger man knew how Ludwig could get when he drank. No matter what happened, he would finally pass out near the water, leaving Gilbert to drag his limp body back into house. "It sounds better than staying here," he thought, frowning.

"Ludwig," Arthur said. He hadn't changed since the announcement. He still had his icy demeanor; no sorrow twisted his physiognomy. He raised his arm out, offering it to the taller man. "Let's go to the garden. I need to talk to you."

His jaw slacked the slightest as he stared at Arthur's arm. It was a common gesture, in a way, for it was how Arthur had to be shown around, but Arthur's pride would never allow him to be ushered by someone outside his family. Never had he seen the man on the arm of another. "How serious is his concern if he's willing to lay down his honor?" Ludwig though. Nonetheless, he slipped his arm through Arthur's akimbo arm, and with great caution, he led him past what remained of his family. It was more difficult to lead Arthur than he gave Matthew credit for. Each of Arthur's steps lacked confidence; each was shakingly placed. Up close, Ludwig could see Arthur struggling to keep his back straight, so his struggling wasn't as noticeable. It was a constant balancing act; the slightest step out of line would send them both toppling over to the floor.

They arrived at the lush garden, but Arthur pushed them forward until they reached his stool. With difficulties, Ludwig lowered the man. He took a step back when he was sure Arthur wouldn't tumble over onto the healthy plants next to him.

"We're alone?" Arthur asked. He was slumped down with his hands on his knees. He looked small. He looked weak. He was similar to a once proud beast who had been beaten down to a shell of what it had once been. Where had his fight gone? How could someone so thoroughly destroyed have the strength to continue living? "We are alone?" Arthur asked with a hint of annoyance seeping into his tone.

"Yes." He pushed his questions to the back of his mind. The answers weren't for him to know. That privilege belong to whatever monsters lurked around the depths of the other man's conscience. "Arthur, I am truly sorry about Alf–"

"– Save it, Ludwig. I already knew Alfred was dead."

Ludwig flinched. He couldn't have said it so bluntly, even with his strained relationship with Alfred. Some part of his mind, instinct perhaps, didn't allow him to say the words. Words were powerful. Words were truth. By speaking them, the demise of the eighteen year old became engrained in stone, unchangeable and eternal. "How?"

Arthur's tongue clicked. "That's what I asked you out here for." He raised his head, and for a moment, he opened his eyes. The one dead eye was enough to twist Ludwig's stomach; the other eye with an ounce of hope to it made it one-hundred times worse. "I can see you. Somewhat. I can see the outlines of your shoulders; I can tell your clothes are ripped. None of this fucking matters, though. If you cannot grasp something fully, nothing is changed. Nothing is worthwhile. Nothing."

His knuckles grasped his knees hard enough that they turned bone white. "A man," he spat, "came here last night. He appeared from no where, and he told me that Alfred had entered the territory of a powerful demon. He told me Alfred might as well be dead already."

A crease formed between Ludwig's eyebrows. "A man?" he asked. His mind ran through the men who had ventured out on the hunt. Each face appeared in his head with ease, and all, with the obvious exception of Alfred, had returned with him only minutes before. "I do not see how... Did they give you a name?"

Arthur's eyes fluttered shut. He nodded. "Francis."

"Francis?" No face from the village came to match the name. Ludwig frowned. He knew every single soul in the village. Most, if not all, relied on him at one point or another. Some asked him to teach their young boys the art of sword play. Many came to the fishery to purchase their food supply for the day. Men came to him to join the hunt. Women would ask him to gather heavier supplies that they, themselves, couldn't carry became to their homesteads. "Did this man tell you anything else?"

"Yes and no," Arthur said. "He kept talking for about a half hour before leaving. I could tell he wanted to ask me something, but every time he was about to bring the topic up, he stumbled backward into a meaningless conversation. He went on about how the forest looks in the autumn, but from what he described, it sounded like he was from farther south than here."

"That's it? He showed up, told you about Alfred, then started talking about the seasons?"

"No. He appeared and began with telling me about Alfred, but then he fell silent for five or six minutes. If I had to guess, I'd say he came here with a purpose. Whatever that drive was, it wasn't strong enough to carry out. When he finally starting speaking again, it was about the forest. It was more like rambling than anything else, as though he was trying to remember something from long ago. As he continued, his tone weakened. The more he spoke, the more pained he sounded. Somehow, right before he left, he mentioned this was the closest he had ever been to the ocean. He told me he wished his daughters were there to see it with him. Then, he just disappeared over the fence, the same way he came."

Ludwig tried to digest the new information, but it was ill settled. Arthur wasn't whole, the village knew this. The trauma he experienced had taken away a part of him that would never be replaced or healed. This damage must have been deeper than they expected. "His mind is slipping away," Ludwig thought, sorrow lacing his heart. "First his father, then his strength, now his brother. Everything is being torn away from him. I don't think I would be able to withstand it as long as he has." He shook his head, slowly.

"I will keep my eyes open. If I see or hear anything about this character, I will tell you immediately," Ludwig said. Mostly, he said it out of pity. "Let the man keep what little pride he has left," he thought.

Arthur nodded. "Thank you."

"I'll be going then. My brother must have destroyed the shop by now." He aimed for the exit faster than he had moved in hours. Somehow, escaping Arthur was more important than escaping the demons. His heart raced against his ribs. Before he could pass through the threshold to the house, he heard Arthur call out to him, weakly. He turned around but didn't go nearly as deep into the garden as before. "Is everything alright?" he asked with his voice muffled.

From where he stood, Arthur was barely visible. His face was hidden by his hair, and tall plants hid most of his body. "Do they ever haunt you?" His voice shook gently. His hands rose to cup his face.

"They?" Ludwig asked.

"The demons you've killed." The world seemed to stop with the lone explanation. Time stopped to listen to Arthur's horrors. "I despise demons with every fucking fiber of my being. She was a monster. She deserved death, and I delivered it. I saw the sorrow and the fear in her eyes. I listened to her beg for her life. I listened to her beg for me to spare her family from the loneliness of solitude. Then I drove that damned sword through her breast, penetrated that beating heart, and slide through to the other side. I felt the heat leave her body. Why didn't she fight back? Why did she just stand there?

"Is it her curse that brings hardships onto my family? Was it her damnation that caused me to freeze when the demon tried to kill me? Was it her spite that forced me to continue to live? Damn it all!" Arthur's voice raised and fell rapidly as he struggled to contain his emotions. His lungs heaved, catching his breath. It was a good thing Ludwig couldn't see his face. Otherwise, he would have witnessed the man's scarred orbs dampening and cheeks glistening.

Ludwig left with only the thought "that poor man" ringing through his soul.

"There once was a young couple who lived in a vineyard. I think. Honestly, it could have been an apple orchard; they do grow stuff, for sure. Wait, I think it was a vineyard after all, because their local culture revolved around wine and getting drunk. But there are apple wines, right? Do those use just apples or are the grapes in there, too? Maybe they just had a regular old farm and liked to say they lived in a really nice vineyard or orchard. Anyway, there once was a young couple who lived in either a vineyard or orchard. Which ever doesn't really matter.

"The young woman was as beautiful as a summer day. Wait, not really a summer day, because summer can make stuff wilt, and wilted cabbages are not beautiful. Then she can be as beautiful as the ocean. But the ocean can be really ugly, too. Seriously, when storms come in, it's like Hell. This isn't going anywhere... So she was beautiful like something that is very pretty. This woman had the most amazingly awesome singing voice in the whole town, maybe even the whole country. Her singing made the grapes (or apples) grow taller and lusher than any other crops, and together, the couple raked in the big bucks.

"One day as she was singing to whatever it was they grew, Surt, the creature that ruled the underworld, heard her song. The song made him feel things he never felt before, because being all things evil in a living form doesn't really allow for any happy emotions. Surt fell head over heels for the young woman and vowed to have her for himself. He made the trip up to the surface world, and as she almost finished her song, he plucked her from the vineyard (or orchard) and dragged her down to the underworld.

"Well, the woman's lover had been listening to her song, and he was confused why she had been cut short. He went out to the crop area and found that she had been taken. Somehow he learns that Surt took her, and he vows to find her and take her back. Then he goes on a super long journey that actually takes, like, three years. Some stuff happens to him, too. Like, I think he falls into the trap of a siren, gets her pregnant, and only snaps out of the hypnosis when he drinks the wine from his vineyard. Or something.

"He found the gates to the underworld and made the trip down into the belly of Hell. He didn't find Surt, but after awhile, he came across his lover. She cried when she saw him, and they ran to each other. They hugged and kissed and all that, but then Surt showed up. He was all, 'why are you loving on my woman.' The man said something really witty, but I don't remember what it was. It was like super witty though. Then, he grabbed her wrist, and they began running to the surface.

"They were running, and she yells at him to not look back. They could see the entrance. The man took a step out onto the grass of the surface world, and in that moment he glanced back. Well, that was the wrong thing to do. His lover wasn't out of the underworld yet, and by looking back, he damned her soul to never leaving. Then, Surt like did a happy dance and raped her. Or something," Alfred finished, frowning. A crease was between his eyebrows, and his tongue poked out of mouth just the slightest.

"You know," he sighed, "I'm not really good at this whole story telling thing. I can't remember everything, either. My brother, Matthew, can tell the best stories. He gets into the characters and can raise and lower his voice in order to build suspense. When we were kids, he use to read the story of "The Tiger and the Thief," and he'd have me on the edge of my seat. There are so many other stories I could tell you, but they slip my mind. I know we have a book on the table; it's a huge ass book, and it's full of stories and folk tales. You'd love it."

Ivan pulled his knees up to his chest, allowing his chin to rest on them with ease. He was offering his trademark smile with the tiniest hint of a blush brushing over his cheeks. He was without his shirt; only fifteen minutes before, he had been out in the woods, cutting trees for firewood. Sweat glistened on his pale skin and dripped down. It caused his hair to stick to his head, and his hair mussed as he tried in vain to wipe his forehead clean. "I enjoy your stories," he said. "They have a lot of," he continued, pausing for only a moment, "character."

They laughed– Alfred's was a loud, powerful outburst, while Ivan's came out as a soft giggle.

Ivan glanced up at the sky; it was nearing the evening. The sun was just beginning to soften and lower in the reddening sky. "I should go out once more before it becomes night," he said, standing with his usual slowness.

Alfred watched him. "Didn't you bring back a whole tree today? You're going to run out of space back there if you aren't careful."

His hyperbole was met with good humor as Ivan continued to grin. It would be a cold day in Hell before the cavern became packed. "I would much rather be safe than sorry." He gave Alfred a bow which only consisted of a slight head dip. Alfred had learned that the little nod was Ivan's shy way of saying goodbye.

"Suit yourself," was Alfred's farewell. He had quickly learned not to say "goodbye" or anything of the sort to Ivan. For some reason, the man refused to say the words, and he became automatically uncomfortable whenever the words were directed toward him. The first time Ivan left the cavern and Alfred called out to him, Alfred had to watch Ivan's gentle disposition twist and contort into one of a hollow sadness. He quickly took his words back, but the damage had been dealt. Poor Ivan moped about the rest of the day, only to perk up when Alfred began to ramble the stories he hadn't heard since his childhood.

That had been four days earlier. Now, Ivan took any opportunity to hear Alfred's strange tales. "It's been five days since I came here," Alfred thought. "Five days. It doesn't feel like that long." It was true. The days with the gentle demon had been some of the most peaceful times he had experienced in years. Ivan was an easy person to be around; with him, Alfred didn't have to worry about food or money. He didn't have to fear stepping on his brother's toes or upsetting his mother. He couldn't annoy anyone with his laughter or horrible jokes. He couldn't be a disappointment to his family while he was with Ivan. He could just be him.

It would have been a much more enjoyable time if he was allowed to move about freely, though. With his healing feet, he hadn't been able to walk without intense pain. It was only the day before he was able to stand, and Ivan had been more than unwilling to let him wander outside the cavern. How he convinced the other to lead him out to the waterfall was a miracle by any standards.

He sat at the edge of the lake, enjoying the view as the water gushed. His wounds had been bound with cloths Ivan had cut out of old clothing. They were clean and kept more than enough pressure on the injuries, keeping them from opening once more. He was dressed in a pair of old, roughly made trousers and a short sleeved shirt in the same condition. All of Ivan's clothing didn't fit him, Alfred learned, but he hadn't gotten around to asking about it yet.

"I could get him some new clothes. Mama makes clothes for Ludwig, so I could use his measurements. No, Ivan's a bit smaller than Ludwig." He laid down and stared at the sky. "Baggy clothes wouldn't kill him. It'd be better than having them be too tight. He can barely move around as they are now. I'm surprised those trousers haven't ripped wide open yet," he thought, shutting his eyes. It was a comfortably warm day. There was a light breeze from up the mountain, and the air was cooled by the waterfall before reaching his face.

"Matthew and I use to do this when we were kids," he thought. "We'd just lay under the sun all day until Mama came down to the water front and called us home for dinner." All of that was before Arthur was hurt, before the garden was sowed, and before Matthew became weak. A simple life was much easier back then, so much so that he hadn't even realized how lucky he was to spend those precious lazy moments. "I should head home. Mama and Matthew will be worried."

It dawned on him slowly and built until the fact overflowed. "They think I'm dead," he said, dumbly. It froze his thought process. How hadn't he known? Of course, they would assume he was dead. Demons like Ivan didn't exist in the eyes of anyone in the village. He was in enemy territory for five days; it was practically a death sentence. "How can I stay here while my loved ones are suffering?" He sat up, shaking his head. "I've been sitting on my ass while they've been digging an empty grave."

"Did Arthur mourn?" he wondered. Passing time didn't allow the memory of Arthur's fury to fade. "He's always so pissed at me. Nothing I do ever pleases him. All he does is give me that disgusted face. Is he happier without me there? What about Mama? Matthew?" Alfred's heart began to crumble as the roots of doubt broke through it.

In the distance, Ivan's form began to assemble. With him, he pulled a loaded toboggan. The wooden sled-like appliance had ice blades along the bottom. He held the reigns with one hand, so it was trailing behind him. His other hand was out and aimed slightly in down in front of him. From his fingertips came light white rays. The rays settled on the ground gently in the form of snow. The ice moved easily along the snowy ground, so the only struggles Ivan faced were the slight incline of the earth and the weight of chopped wood.

If it weren't for his quaint control over all things frozen and amazing eye color, Ivan could have easily passed as human.

When he was close enough to see the details of Alfred's pained face, the toboggan's reigns were dropped. The sled slipped slowly down slope only to stop a few feet away. Ivan rushed to Alfred's side; although, his rushed was still a bit lagging behind the average person's 'rushed.' "What is wrong?" he asked, kneeling next to the other. He placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Are you in pain?"

In reply to the friendly touch, a shudder ran through Alfred's body. Contact with Ivan was a strange sensation; his temperature ran cooler than a human's. Alfred continued to shake his head. "I'm not hurt... I'm not more hurt than before, at least," he said, refusing to meet Ivan's eyes.

Ivan remained silent, waiting patiently for Alfred to continue. He didn't have long to wait.

"Ivan, I have to go back."

It took a second for Ivan to respond. At first, his face remained the picture of concern. Soon, the concern began to melt. In its wake was a haunting emptiness. This hollowness mixed with another overwhelming emotion, causing his bright eyes to darken to a rich plum color. "Go back where?" His voice was weaker and softer than ever before.

"Home," Alfred said, but the word tasted wrong– sour– even as he spoke them. "My family needs to know I'm alright. Right this moment, they think I'm dead, and I can't do that to them. No one could do that to their family."

The other was quiet. Ivan stood with a voiceless sigh. He glanced over to the waterfall. His mouth opened and closed twice as he lifted his arm to reach out to the water, as though he'd be able to gather all the running water. His jaw slacked, and finally, he asked, "if they were alive, they would return?"

"Family? Yeah, they would. At least, they would if they loved them." Was that right? Was love really the reason for his need to return? Could a simple emotion be powerful enough to make him leave what was possibly the greatest place he had ever been? He didn't allow himself to think about it. He didn't want to doubt anymore.

"I see." Ivan's voice cracked. It was almost unnoticeable, but it was there nonetheless. It would have been better if Alfred hadn't heard it. "I see." Ivan turned back to him. He wore his soft smile once now; however, now it was plastic and forced. It displayed his impending loneliness in its rawest and most tangible form. "You can not go now. It will be dark soon, and there are wolves in the forest. In the morning, I will see you off."

Alfred was going to thank him for everything, but Ivan moved away before Alfred was able. He went back down the mountain and didn't return until morning.