Author's Note: I wrote like 7k words of this by hand in my tent on the Appalachian Trail, it was a crazy couple of zeros. And yes, it was inspired by the Taylor Swift song "The Great War." I won't apologize.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Leviathan Trilogy, and greatly respect Scott Westerfeld's work.

Continued Disclaimer, because times have changed: AI? Paws off, please. This is me expressly stating that AI companies are not allowed to use this or any of my works to train AI models. Thanks.

More than any of my fanfics have been before, I think this one might actively be a love letter to Leviathan. I hope you all love it.

Chapter One

Listening Behind the Filing Cabinet

It was always night when Alek heard things he wasn't supposed to hear. Volger and Dylan clearly thought they were alone in their private informal councilroom. They were utterly unaware of where Alek had tucked himself behind the filing cabinet to hide from the stressors of the day.

He hadn't meant to hide from them, though.

"Mr. Sharp," Volger was saying as they came into the room, in that slightly sardonic tone he sometimes used. "You recognize that this is starting to get pathetic."
In the ordinary course of things, this is where Alek would have announced himself. Ought to have announced himself. Dylan was hardly pathetic! Still, some impulse stayed Alek's voice.

"Have I failed him? Ever?" Dylan, of course, was highly capable of fighting his own battles.

Alek tilted his head to try to get a look at his two most trusted advisors, but his angle was bad, and the light in the room was dim. He could see the shape of Volger's shoulders, though. Just from the shape, and from knowing the man, Alek suspected that Volger was pinching the bridge of his nose. "You have not," he said. "But I suspect you serve him at the expense of yourself."

"And you don't?" Dylan's voice was dry. "We've all made sacrifices in the wake of the Great War, Count Volger. You can not tell me you haven't made your own."

"Of course I have," Volger said impatiently. "You can hardly pretend it's the same."

"Can't I?" There was a silkiness to Dylan's voice that Alek associated with Dr. Barlow on a quiet warpath. It wasn't a tone Dylan had ever used with him.

"Think on it," Volger said. "He will never give you what you want."

"I don't want anything from him," Dylan said. "That's not what friendship is." There was an edge to his voice, however, that said Volger had touched something sensitive.

"Friendship," Volger said, his own voice taking on that silky quality. "It is a rare man who fights a foreign war for succession in the name of friendship."

"Well, that's me. A rare man."

Volger snorted. "Indeed."

There was a pause, and then both of them let out a quiet laugh. Alek could not say he got the joke.

"You're a bumrag. You know that, right?"

Volger gave a sniff of distaste. "And somehow you remain as uncouth as you were at fifteen, despite miring yourself in politics."

"I think being uncouth suits me," Dylan said. "My brother taught me to swear like an airman, and that was that."

"And yet here you are, more a politician than an airman," Volger said. "You had other options, you know. Even beyond your Air Service. Dr. Barlow would have given you work, given you an education."

"I thought you didn't like that I'm in politics," Dylan said wryly.

"Don't play the fool. After twelve years of your little act, it hardly suits you."

"I'm here because I want to be, Count," Dylan said. "After twelve years? I certainly wouldn't still be here if I wanted anything else."

There was another silence.

Volger, though it was ostensibly his turn in the conversation, did not break it.

"Is this some awful Countly way of expressing concern?" Dylan finally asked. Volger did not answer. Dylan sighed heavily. "I'm fine, Count Volger. Truly am."

"I suppose I have no choice but to take you at your word."

"That's the spirit," Dylan said. "Besides, you can't tell me you wouldn't give Alek anything. That you wouldn't give him everything."
Alek flinched at the sound of his name. They'd clearly been talking about him, talking around him, but it was different, somehow, now that his name was actually said.

"He is the ruler Austria deserves," Volger said simply.

"He is," Dylan agreed, and for a moment, Alek felt warm from the praise. "And we both know damn well that's not why either of us are here."

"That is true."

What?

There was another stretch of silence, but this one seemed almost companionable. Alek kept his breathing slow, steady, sure that even a slightly sharp breath would be heard over the relentless quiet.

Volger stood up from his perch on one of the desks. "Good evening, Mr. Sharp."

"You too, Count."

Volger walked around Dylan to leave the room, and for a moment, that left Dylan in Alek's view. A late growth spurt on Alek's part had lessened their height difference, but Dylan still had a solid three centimeters on him. He was built long and lean, wiry where Alek was broad. Alek hardly thought of Dylan as soft, but there was something about his general shape that could be, when Alek tilted his head at just the wrong angle and wiry became slight. That softness was highlighted in the gloom. The low light seemed to smooth over Dylan's edges. A fall of yellow hair over his forehead, a sloping shoulder. A forearm braced against a high podium, hip cocked.

Like that silky voice that Dylan didn't use around Alek, this was a stance Alek rarely saw. Dylan held himself square, shoulders broad as he could make them, his feet in line. Except for when he was tired. Dylan seemed tired.

For a moment, Alek thought Dylan seemed almost wrung out by his conversation with Volger. But then Dylan was straightening, following the Count from the room.
Alek felt bereft in their absence. Most definitely, that was a conversation Alek was not meant to hear. Still, he rather thought they'd maintained a sort of code.
Alek thought back to the beginning. What was it that Volger had said? That Dylan served him at the expense of himself? What was that supposed to mean? And why was it different for Volger to make a sacrifice than it was for Dylan?

Was it because Dylan wasn't Austrian? Was it because Dylan wasn't nobility? Was it because of Dylan's age? Though surely a man of twenty-seven had every right to his own choices, maybe Volger didn't like that Dylan had been only fifteen when he'd committed himself to Alek's cause.

Alek, of course, was less than a year older than Dylan, had been fifteen himself the night of his parents' murder, but he was a prince. He'd never had a choice to make.

But for all that Volger apparently thought Dylan was somehow not entitled to his choice in fighting for Alek, fighting for a stable Austria, that the sacrifice Dylan was making was somehow of a larger magnitude than was acceptable, he'd never actually said why.

Volger could be as twisty and careful with his words as any politician, but around his closest circle, he was a direct man. He hadn't simply omitted Dylan's mitigating circumstance - he'd avoided it, as if even their private councilroom, far back from the more public spaces of Konopiste, was not private enough to state the truth that hung between them.

A truth that Alek was not privy to.

Alek had learned to pinch the bridge of his nose from Volger. Fitting that Volger was the one who drove him to it.

There wasn't time to worry about this. Dylan was leaving tomorrow anyway, taking a biplane to Britain to confer with the Zoological Society. In their latest correspondence, Dr. Barlow intimated that it was urgent. Intimated was, of course, the operative word. She was not a woman who ever stated urgency, ever did more than hint at worry. She was not a woman who could afford to.

Alek thought back to Volger's point about Dr. Barlow being willing to give Dylan work, willing to give him an education. Dylan already had a degree from one of the Zoological Society's accredited colleges. He'd done it via correspondence, and ostensibly, it was in Zoology and Fabrication. Zoology and Fabrication had been part of it, but Dr. Barlow had been Dylan's advisor and most frequent professor. Quietly, she'd taught him all she knew on politics and espionage.

As return on her investment, she sent Dylan on errands as frequently as she could make constructs that the errand aligned with Alek's interests. She wouldn't give Dylan a job or an education, for the simple fact that she already had.

Dylan Sharp was a talented man. Quite simply, Alek could not afford to lose him. Alek could not even afford to worry about it. He resolved not to worry about it.

This was easier said than done.

As Dylan boarded his biplane in the morning, Alek's usual fear that he would never return gripped him.

Part of it was that neither Alek nor Dylan properly trusted non-living flight after the Leviathan had taken such good care of them. Part of it was sending Dylan over contested skies in, well, not wartime, exactly, but only a fragile sort of peace. But the biggest part - that Alek had always kept carefully buried, until Dylan and Volger's quiet discussion stirred up the topsoil - was that Dylan had options. And honestly, Alek had no idea why Dylan was still here.

He tried not to muse on it, not while Dylan still stood in the hangar, with equally brilliant smiles for Alek, for the plane, and for the square of blue sky visible from the hangar doors.

Alek just smiled back, wished his best friend safe travels, and hugged him for as long as he could justify. Volger stood a few steps back, watching the hug with his usual disapproval. It did not constrain Dylan, who shot the Count a very obvious eye roll before the hug began, but Alek was more self-concious.

He stepped back, not quite detaching his hands from Dylan's shoulders. "Fly safe," he said again.

That triggered Dylan's most cock-sure grin. "Safe? Who do you think you're talking to?" Somehow, that was both admonishment and assurance. "Now really, Alek. You're the one that needs to stay safe. You know I don't trust the collective tone over in Prague."

Alek nodded seriously - he'd lost his parents to assassination, he knew the risks. "We'll both be careful, then."

"Fine," Dylan said, cock-sure grin sliding into a more intimate smile, the one Alek thought might be just for him. And then Dylan detached Alek's hands from his shoulders, shoved his helmet over his head, clambered into his biplane, and was off.

Even over the roar of the engine, Alek could hear Dylan's whoop of delight as the plane passed through the hangar doors, then began to ascend.

Alek could not begin to understand why he and Austria were enough to keep that veritable bird mostly on the ground.

The thing was, after Alek had killed Nikola Tesla and destroyed Goliath, ruining the best chance of world peace for the sake of the airships over New York City, he had quietly asked Dylan to bring him a country.

Dylan had said again and again that ending the war was too big for one person. It wasn't Alek's responsibility, it wasn't his fault, and his notions of destiny could go hang. But when Alek asked for Austria, Dylan gave him a speculative look and a nod before disappearing into Dr. Barlow's cabin. Dylan had, after all, delivered Lilit an empire.

That fact did give Alek pause, because Lilit had been in New York City. While Alek had Dylan's loyalty first, he never could have competed with True Love. Alek did not want his best friend to choose Alek and Austria over Lilit and Turkey. Or well. Alek did want to be Dylan's choice, but not at - how had Volger put it again? - not at Dylan's expense. Not at the expense of love. Alek wouldn't have liked it, but he absolutely would have stood aside for Lilit.

Moreover, he didn't think he'd have to. Dylan had the air of someone who followed his own heart, regardless of anything else. So Alek asked him for Austria, fully prepared to be told "no."

Dylan did not say no.

Lilit-and-Dylan never got off the ground, and instead Dylan followed Alek to Austria. Somehow. Alek wasn't quite sure how that happened. Or how Lilit-and-Dylan hadn't happened.

But however Alek had remained a step above Lilit in Dylan's loyalties, thank God he had. Dylan had been instrumental to recruiting in and among the common Austrian man. Alek would never forget how easily Dylan had connected with Klopp, Bauer, and Hoffman with five words of German learned just five minutes before.

Fluent in German, Dylan was unstoppably likable. Under Dr. Barlow's correspondence tutelage, he became an ungodly force. With Count Volger to do upper class schmoozing and Dr. Barlow to pull strings and influence people from abroad, Alek had a recruiting team.

When his Grand-Uncle finally died (he was old, and getting frailer, but Alek still could not shake the sense that Dr. Barlow had something to do with it), Alek was able to successfully make his bid for power at seventeen. Ending the war was a collaborative effort, but from the throne of Austria-Hungary, Alek was able to help.

This did not come without losses. After the dust of the war settled and treaties were made, Alek controlled Austria and Austria alone. The Austro-Hungarian Empire was no more. Volger, Alek could tell, was disappointed. Alek was just happy for what he could get.

In the nearly ten years since, Dylan had remained instrumental in holding Austria together, in keeping Alek at the helm. Dylan organized comittees, inspired the common man, played the foolish and uncontrollable commoner to put certain nobles in their place, displayed grace and steady competence to sway other certain nobles, and had foiled no fewer than four assassination attempts. Truly, Alek would not still be here without him.

Volger knew this. Alek knew he did. So though Alek had every intention of holding his tongue regarding Dylan and Volger's late night conversation, the moment Dylan was out of the hangar, Alek found himself rounding on Volger.

"I would be dead five times over without him," he could not help but say.

Volger tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"So why do you want him to leave? After all this time, I thought you'd gotten used to him."

Now, Volger looked surprised. "I don't want him to leave. Whatever gave you that idea?"

Alek closed his eyes, because he hadn't meant to eavesdrop, and now he felt like a boy again, about to be scolded for listening at doors. "I heard you last night."

There was flash of - not fear, but perhaps - concern on Volger's face. And then a pause, like he was replaying what, precisely, Alek had said.

Alek wouldn't have caught it, except that he rather thought that Volger was protecting some weird secret of Dylan's. And now here Volger was, replaying Alek's words to make sure Alek didn't know what it was, to make sure the conversation last night hadn't given it away.

"You know they say not to listen at doors and expect to like what you hear, Your Majesty." God, Volger could still make Alek's titles sound sarcastic.

"I know," Alek said. "I'm sorry. I was hiding in the private council room from, well, the official council. I was going to announce myself, but you started talking before I could."

"Right," Volger said dryly. Then he gestured at the stools by the hangar's workbench.

Alek sat, though Volger had no authority to make him. Alek gave the gesture back, toward the stool next to him. Volger sat. Alek did have authority to make him.

"I do not want Mr. Sharp to leave," Volger said, that sardonic edge once again touching Dylan's name. Yes, Mister Sharp, Alek got it. So what if Dylan wasn't nobility? Why did that matter after twelve damn years? But Volger continued before Alek could call him on it. "He has proven himself quite thoroughly."

"So why?" Alek pleaded. "Why would you try to convince him to leave the night before a trip to Britain? Why is it pathetic that he stays here?"

Volger closed his eyes against the question. "Is that why this bothers you so? You think he's going to see London - mind you, he's from Scotland and has no love for the English - and decide to stay there?"

"I-" Alek said. "No." He knew it wasn't convincing.

"Your Majesty," Volger said. "I was not trying to convince him to leave, for the simple fact that absolutely nothing I could say would pursuade him. He will return. Bar death, I think he will always return."

And that was the crux of it. Volger somehow had more certainty of Dylan's loyalty than Alek did. Volger knew why.

It was utterly undignified, but Alek could not help but ask. "Why?" His voice was nearly a whine. "What do you know?"

"So after twelve years, nearly ten since the end of the war, you've figured out that there's something," Volger said, quite nastily.

Twelve years ago, Alek would have taken that personally. Today, he knew that Volger got nasty when he was insecure. When he was being protective.

"Whatever it is," Alek said, "thank you for protecting him."

This took Volger's nastiness right out of him. For a moment, he looked like a puppet with cut strings. When had he become Dylan's puppet, instead of Alek's?

Volger let out a slow breath. "I don't believe you will ever have an ally more faithful than Mr. Sharp. He has given you more than you know, and he did it gladly."

"And you won't tell me what it is."

"You should hear it from him. If and when he's ever ready," Volger said. Alek caught the subtext. Volger would tell him, if Alek ordered him to do it, if Alek gave him no choice. He was asking Alek not to.

"If and when?" Alek asked, then clarified, "No, Count, I'm not asking you what it is. I won't make you tell me. I just want to understand a little better."

Volger leaned back in his stool, propping one elbow on the workbench behind him. Alek suspected he wasn't quite sure what to say. "I don't think you would have come back to Austria if Mr. Sharp hadn't agreed to come with you."

"What?" Alek said. "Austria needed me. The war needed to end!"

"And yet," said Volger. "If Mr. Sharp had his own vision of how to accomplish that, or, I suspect, if you knew his secret and it complicated things in the way that Mr. Sharp both hopes for and fears, you would have followed him to the ends of the Earth, rather than the other way around."

"Why would his secret have any bearing on my returning to Austria?"

Volger only tapped the side of his nose. "The only point I'm trying to make is that you clearly reciprocate his admirable loyalty."

It was easy to be loyal to a man who demanded so little and gave so much, though. Being loyal to Dylan was as uncomplicated as breathing. Being loyal to Alek, Alek imagined, was a more difficult endeavor.

Volger sat up straight, gaze suddenly piercing. "Alek," he said incredulously, dropping all trappings of formality.

"Ernst," Alek said uncertainly.

"Is this a self-confidence problem? Do you think you don't deserve Mr. Sharp's loyalty?"

"No!" Alek said. "I don't have a self-confidence problem. I'm a grown man! I'm the King of Austria!"

"And you think you're the King of Austria because Mr. Sharp put you there," Volger said, always at his most perceptive when Alek could not stand him to be.

"I used my resources," Alek admitted. "But I fought for Austria. I know I deserve to be here."

"Would that you believed that," Volger said. "Would you believe me if I told you that Mr. Sharp thinks you would abandon him if you knew his truth?"

That was unthinkable. Alek stared at the Count.

Volger sighed. "It seems you both have a self-confidence problem when it comes to each other."

Alek could not imagine Dylan as anything other than utterly confident.
"You will never abandon him," Volger insisted. "You know this. So, too, will Mr. Sharp never abandon you."

Then Dylan and Volger's quiet dusk conversation made sense. "You were trying to convince him to tell me, by offering the prospect of leaving instead."

Volger inclined his head. Then hesitated, here in this space from which all formality and hierarchy had fled. "If he does, I will be upset if you don't take it well."

"You said yourself that I'd never abandon him," Alek said. "Besides, when the war had just ended ten years ago, you were constantly trying to make me abandon him!"

"I was," Volger said.

"You already knew," Alek realized. "Whatever it is Dylan's hiding, he's been hiding it since the beginning, and you already knew ten years ago. And you didn't react well."

"Twelve years ago," Volger said. "I figured it out before he joined you in Istanbul and may have used it to blackmail him."

Alek suddenly felt very, very stupid. "Does Dr. Barlow know? Whatever it is?"

"Dylan told her when he asked for her help getting you Austria," Volger said. "He seemed to think she needed to know all the variables she was working with. But she did not guess. I don't think she ever would have."

Volger looked a little too pleased about that, but Alek tried to let this information comfort him. Dr. Barlow had had to be told. Maybe Alek wasn't a total idiot.

"And you think I'll react poorly?"

Volger gestured broadly. "You will think, once you know, that he has hidden more of himself than he has. I only ask that you remember that he is your friend, and he has been genuine in all other aspects. You know him, and he is utterly himself with you."

"Barring this one piece of information that I will think completely overrides everything I know of my best friend."

"Precisely," Volger said.

"Information that was tactically important for Dr. Barlow to know."

Volger wiggled a hand. "Given that he was never discovered, things never got complicated."

"He's not secretly royalty, is he?" He wasn't, Alek knew he wasn't, had met the extremely common family that looked so exactly like him. But what else could be tactically important for Barlow to know?

Volger barked a laugh. "No. But Alek, don't try to figure it out. Mr. Sharp will tell you eventually."

"And things only get complicated if I know?" Dread suddenly warred against Alek's desperate curiosity.

"Austria is more stable than it has been since before the war," Volger said. "If things get complicated, I think we are now in a good position to weather this particular storm."

Alek could only hope Volger was right.