Thirty four days had come, and thirty four days had gone.
It scarcely felt real, even now. The last month was a blur, a dream that lingered just outside her memory. A fleeting moment, gone in an instant.
Thirty four days ago, the Legion had descended upon them like a swarm of locusts, without mercy, without remorse. Thirty four days ago, she and her bravest of compatriots had met them, blades drawn. Thirty four days ago, they broke the aberrants' back, kicked over the remnants, and sent the rest of them running with their tails between their legs. Thirty four days ago, evil had been defeated, once and for all.
Some nights, Claudia lay awake, wondering if it had even happened at all. Perhaps she had merely dreamed it all, and tomorrow she would wake up, arm herself, and make ready for war again. But the dream did not die with the dawn. It lingered. The Legion was broken. There was no war to fight.
Somewhere, beneath the balcony on which she stood, two servants, lost in their task, cared for the blooms that graced the area. The midday sun warmed the air, and a gentle breeze swayed the branches and leaves of the trees planted throughout the garden, their shadows dancing across the stone and grass.
In past times, the courtyard had always bustling with activity; Household guard and her men-at-arms drilling in the open grounds, servants and messengers hurrying across the pathways, and, always, the thrum of noise, the sound of human activity.
Today, though, the grounds were quiet. Tranquil, in a way. Only the hushed voices of her officers occasionally broke that stillness.
"Lord-Captain Geissler returned with his patrol just this morning," the lieutenant, Dieters, said, standing before Claudia with her hands clasped behind her back. She was a thin, tall woman, her frame wrapped in the dark blue livery of the dress uniform. "He and his men traveled the length of the river Königslauf, up to Kammendun. And, much like squads Zurzmann, Henker, and Grolman, they report no sign of further aggression. What few aberrants they encountered were solitary, disorganized, and quickly ran down, Excellency."
Claudia nodded, slowly, and hummed. "Then, with Geissler's report this would account for all five patrols? The entire territory?"
"As far as the borders reach, yes, Excellency."
Claudia nodded, leaning back against the balcony railing. She crossed her arms, the fabric of her sleeve sliding across her skin, and gave another soft hum. "Then, you're dismissed for the day Marien."
Dieters paused, brows rising. "Pardon, Excellency? I'm- It's barely past noon. Are you sure?"
"I am. Feel free to enjoy the rest of your day. Unless you'd like to stand at attention by the corner for the next few hours?"
"O-of course, your Excellency. Thank you, your Excellency."
The lieutenant gave a salute, fist thumping her chest, then turned on her heel. Claudia watched her leave, the door to her office closing with a dull thud. Then, she turned to the next officer closest to her. "Your report, Reuban?"
"This month's provisions for the household and garrison have been secured. Supplies have been steady and abundant. All the fields are yielding plentifully, and we haven't seen any shortages since the end of the campaign."
"Repairs to the west gate are proceeding ahead of schedule."
"We've finished replacing the roofs of the southern buildings. We've also started rebuilding the southwestern barracks."
And so it went. On and on. Provisions, personnel, finances, resources, maintenance, logistics, repairs. But not orders to march. No hours-long strategy sessions. No battle plans or contingencies. No setting up for an expeditionary force. Nothing of the sort that she had been prepared for and been raised for.
Nothing.
Because, after all, there was no war to fight. No enemy to face. Instead, it was all about managing the estate and the city beyond it, ensuring the safety of her people, and making sure they prospered. It was...quiet. It was peace. And it was what would become normality.
Claudia leaned back against the balcony, absently nodding along as a freshly-shaven lieutenant spoke about some request or other by some guild or another about a permit for something or another.
She'd grown used to the rhythm of marching feet, she realized. For years—decades, in fact—that was an universal constant, a constant presence throughout the world. It was the heartbeat of an army, a drum beat that was ever present, unceasing. And now she faced a world where her warriors would slowly depart, not because of war's cruel hand but simply... because they weren't needed.
Those men and women would trickle away, one by one, ranks slowly dwindling as they moved on to different lives, different places. Cobblers. Stonemasons. Tailors. Blacksmiths. Farmers. Merchants. Carpenters. All sorts. Some would return to their former professions, some would find new ones.
She, though, would stay.
Claudia would remain. As commander, leader, and now as ruler and administrator. The Levantine family, renowned for their military prowess, were now nobles overseeing their lands, and the thousands of souls who inhabited them. And her first, most important duty was to see her people thrive. The keeper of traditions she had learned but never expected to employ. And yet, it was still a duty. A battle of sorts, fought on a different, almost unknown front.
It was important, it provided for others, and it was still part of something greater.
She chuckled, half-amused by her own thought. Reuban paused, looking up towards her.
Claudia's smile only grew. She tapped the hilt of arming sword at her waist and said, "Perhaps I should trade this in for a scythe?"
Silence and bewildered stares answered her. Her subordinates shared glances with one another, uncertain. Reuban's brow furrowed. "Beg pardon, Excellency. A... Scythe?"
"A scythe. After all, if I won't be cutting down aberrants, perhaps I should begin cutting wheat, instead?"
The bewilderment gave way to outright mortification. Their jaws fell slack, and a few even paled, as though none had ever heard something quite so preposterous. Claudia smiled at them all, feeling her amusement grow.
One of the others, Trommler, finally managed a hesitant grin. "That... would be unfair to other farmers, wouldn't it? You'd probably clear an entire field of rye overnight."
She couldn't help it. She threw her head back and laughed. The others followed suit after a moment, the tension finally broken.
"You know what, Trommler, you're right," Claudia said. "You're absolutely right. I suppose I'll have to settle for something that won't run honest folk out of their livelihood. Any other suggestions, then?"
And they laughed all the harder at that.
It was good, Claudia thought, to hear such levity. It was a reminder of why they had fought. Now, they were finally here. There was still a long road ahead, and much work to do. But there was time enough, at last.
Her subordinates remained with her for another hour, discussing smaller, more trivial subjects. When the final topic was addressed, Claudia dismissed them, and each made their salutes before departing. She leaned back against the balcony's rail, looking up towards the sky.
Peacetime. She would need time to get used to that.
She didn't know how long she stood there. The sun was well past its zenith, the afternoon wearing on. But the world was quiet, save for the sound of her heart and her breathing, and the wind through the trees.
She noticed him at the very edge of her peripheral vision, by pure chance more than anything else.
He trudged along the path, half dragging a large sack across the ground. His clothing, simple and unadorned, gave no indication of his status. Even from her perch, Claudia noticed the his unique gait, a consequence of one arm being absent, its sleeve pinned neatly to his shoulder. As he meandered past the estate's main manor house, he noticed her as well, and stopped in his tracks.
The scowl that seemed ever-present on his face faltered. Edgardo—Or, just Edd, as he insisted to be called—simply looked back up at her, hesitant.
Claudia offered him a nod and a smile. "Good afternoon, Edd," she called down to him.
"...Knight-Commander." He hesitated, shifting awkwardly on his feet. Then, he inclined his head.
He continued to watch her for a moment, perhaps waiting for some sort of dismissal, before finally continuing along his path, vanishing beyond the walls of the courtyard.
Claudia watched him go.
The waning light of the evening, filtered through the windows, dimly illuminated the room, casting the furniture in long shadows. Ansel's little abode was anything but humble. A whole family could live comfortably in the space. The place had everything. A bedroom, a kitchen. A small sitting area with a modest fireplace and a table. And a washing room with running water, and all sorts of shit. Some people really had it all.
Edd took some small comfort in propping his feet up on the table, letting his boots smear dirt on its surface, a gesture of defiance to the house's absent owner. He was alone there, his presence an odd note of dissonance in the symphony of peace that the night was trying to compose. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the earth and the flowers outside into the home, but it did little to quell his thoughts.
He should have been at peace, maybe, but couldn't quite manage to make himself comfortable. He toyed with a handful of loose buttons he'd ripped of an old jacket, a mundane distraction from the restlessness that gripped him. His fingers twitched, and his legs felt restless, itching for the chance to move, to act. An empty cup rested across from him, at the other end of the table. His aim was off, his left hand fumbling with every toss. Each failed attempt to land a button in the cup was rewarded with a scowl and a curse. It didn't feel right. It just wasn't the same.
He was tired. Not physically, really. He was, after all, used to spending most of his time working. No, he was tired in a different sense. Something had worn him out. Something had made him want to curl up and just... stop being for a little while. The endless tide of sympathy and pity hardly made things better.
Even being here was a small act of insolence. The manor's lord and lady had granted him access to Ansel's quarters, a privilege not lost on him. But with it came a silent expectation to be the wounded soldier, all grateful and subdued and quiet. The invitation didn't quite extend putting his feet on Ansel's nice little table and leaving bootprints all over it. Nor did it extend to him drinking himself silly, or to sleep and drool and snore on Ansel's nice bed. Nor did it mean staying there for hours, just staring into space in the half-light.
But hell, no one was there to stop him. It was a small, petty victory, but a victory nonetheless. And besides, it wasn't like he had anywhere else to be.
The buttons made a small, dull clinking noise as they missed their target. They hit the table, the floor, the fireplace, everything but the damn cup.
He scowled, flinging another button with more force than necessary. It missed the cup, joining its brethren scattered aimlessly around the room. The sound it made upon impact was infuriatingly insignificant. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be him.
He was supposed to be the quick one. Sharp-eyed like a hawk, a wizard of a marksman, a killer of killers. But now, one hand was a ghost, and the other might as well have belonged to someone else.
Another button.
"Fuck."
Another miss.
This was supposed to be a job. An unwanted favor from Ansel. But every son of a bitch in the estate only saw a poor, crippled kid, who'd been maimed defending the kingdoms. That he'd been a merc—A Black Hound, for fuck's sake!— didn't seem to register in their heads.
That might have made them feel better, but it was all bullshit. Fuck them all.
So, Edd worked.
He worked odd jobs and took on chores, and did whatever needed doing. But everyone, from servants, cooks, and gardeners to the lord and lady themselves kept finding excuses. Easier work, simpler tasks, a couple more pennies making their way into his hand. And when they weren't, they were hovering around, just in case. As if he didn't know.
As if he was fucking helpless.
Edd hurled another button, the projectile hitting the cup's lip and bouncing harmlessly to the ground.
With each button that clinked uselessly onto the floor, the walls of the small house seemed to close in on him. They whispered of days gone by, of laughter and camaraderie, of a time when his whole life was ahead of him, unmarred by the ravages of war.
He reached a hand down, rifling through the pocket one more time. His hand closed around a familiar shape, and he brought it up, holding it in his open palm.
The gray badge gleamed dully in the firelight. The snarling dog's head, the image tarnished and scuffed by time, was still unmistakable. Edd ran his thumb over the engraving, the grooves rough against his skin.
He clenched his fist around the badge, clutching it tight, until the metal dug painfully into his palm.
"You assholes..." Edd said to air before him. "Just had to go and win the whole war without me, huh?"
The job was done. The Legion was finished. The war was over. Eostia had been saved. They were probably on their way back by now. Vault, Hicks, Ansel, and the rest, all marching home from Garan. There would likely be some ceremony too in the Holy City, a big event to herald their victory and welcome their heroes.
And... Edd wasn't with them. He wasn't celebrating the ultimate triumph, sharing stories and laughing over drinks with the others. Idly, he wondered if they were thinking about him right then. Or maybe he was the last thing on their minds.
Edd let out a small laugh. "Gods... What the hell would you say if you saw me here?" He could see it in his mind, plain as day.
Hicks, ever the smart-mouth, would probably greet him with a smirk. "What's with the long face, Slick?" he would ask. He'd be sitting forward, elbows propped up on the table. "So damn glum... You oughtta cheer up. I mean, you're still alive, aint'cha?"
"Alive?" Edd said, as if the word tasted foul. He glared down at the badge, his lips curling back. "Get real, chief. How the hell is this shit even close to living?"
"Oh! Woe is me!" Reese would be there too, of course, sat next to Hicks. Leaning back, his chair balanced precariously on two legs, his feet just barely touching the table. His face would twist into a mockery of an anguished expression, eyes shut and brows furrowed. "Me arm's been torn off! Me leg's been eaten! Me balls've been eaten! Poor ol' me! The world should pity me!" Reese would say. hen, he would burst into laughter. Hicks would join him. So would the rest of the squad. And eventually, begrudgingly, so would Edd.
He'd have to give Reese the finger.
He envisioned someone else there, too. Tall, muscular, red hair short and messy. Edd wasn't really sure if he even remembered her features well anymore—Shit, she hadn't even been part of the band for years. But... maybe Maiya would find her way to them, somehow or another. Leaning over both Hicks and Reese, her arms resting on their shoulders, her eyes would crinkle, and her mouth would spread into a grin. And she'd say something like, "You're the biggest whiner I've ever met, Slick. Always bitching about shit. About yourself, mostly."
Edd chuckled softly, imagining the scene. Yeah, that sounded like her. "The hell d'you expect from me? I've got plenty to complain about."
"And plenty to live for, too."
Edd paused. His hand went slack, and his fingers unfurled, releasing the badge. He looked down. She would say that, wouldn't she?
"Ain't like that'll make a difference, though. I'm not... I..." He wasn't sure how to finish the thought.
"You've got a pulse," Maiya would say. "A roof over your head, too. Hell, you're already doing better than half the boys, Slick. War's over, yeah, but that just means you gotta find a new fight for yourself. Something that's worth it, y'know?"
And Hicks would laugh, "The hell kind of wisdom's that supposed to be, Maiya? You tellin' Slick to start sticking up folks on the road? Robbing rich merchants or some shit?"
"I meant something more like findin' himself a cute farmgirl and settling down. Gettin' a new job, or a hobby."
"Well, I can't really picture that, y'know?" Reese would shake his head, sighing. "Can't imagine our boy here just takin' it easy. Too much energy, not enough outlets."
And the conversation would just keep degrading from there. As it had so many times before. Edd could practically hear the banter and curses flying back and forth.
It was hard to keep himself from looking up, to see if they were actually there. Those chairs were empty. Of course they were empty. And still, Edd couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth.
"You seriously expect me to get used to this?" he asked the empty air, his voice a low rasp.
Someone else would occupy the chair beside him. All bright eyes and honesty, Ansel would smile. "Not really. Things won't be the same." He wouldn't judge. He wouldn't look down on him. He would just say something stupid and inspirational and so very Ansel. "But you'll find a new way. No matter how long it takes... You'll stand—"
Edd hurled the badge at the spot where Ansel would sit. It metal flew, striking the wall with a loud thunk, and ricocheted right off it. It landed with a clatter in the middle of the cup, knocking the whole thing over and off the table.
"...Yeah." Edd leaned back, closing his eyes. He let out a breath. "Yeah. You can tell me all that face-to-face. Whenever the hell you get back."