December 25th, 1799

Once Francis and Laupin reached the border, they took their men to rest at the nearest base in Marsan. There, they hired the services of a local coachman, and travelled alone straight to the capital of their nation, Lievre.

Because of the crude winter, their carriage had to make a few stops at a handful post houses, to swap their stallions for new ones and to grab something warm to eat. But they tried their hardest not to waste their precious time, and kept their schedule tight. Because of this, the duo managed to reach the capital on Christmas day.

Lievre during this time of the year was of a cheerful and colorful character. Despite the natural broodiness of the season, the citizens of the city remained happy, feisty and vivacious, keeping their happy-go-lucky joyfulness through elegant balls, pompous parties and an unhealthy amount of drinking.

Even the poorest of the poor, the most miserable of the miserable, found themselves a way to enjoy the holidays there.

In the name of the Christmas spirit, some butchers and bakers gave away free food. Charity institutions held their annual public banquets. Innkeepers allowed the most unfortunate citizens around to sleep on their free rooms, charge free. People were good and kind to each other, for a change.

Of course, this only happened at this exact time of the year, under the self-righteous pretense of "religious goodness". But at least this fake effusiveness had a bright side. It actually helped those in need.

As Francis watched the swirling lights of the streets pass him by through the window of his shared carriage, he sighed. Everyone seemed so happy and content. Everyone seemed so light and blessed. And yet, he felt... devoid of any positive feelings. He was physically drained, mentally numb, and sad. Just... profoundly sad.

And by the looks of it, Laupin seemed to be in the same state of mind as him. Maybe worse. The usually strong willed major general was quiet, lost in thought, and had a melancholic air around him that genuinely concerned Francis. To say he'd become taciturn since their retreat from Harmania wouldn't suffice. To say that the older man had withdrawn completely wouldn't either. Because his stillness went further than the fact that he simply wouldn't speak.

Laupin couldn't look anyone in the eyes since then. He wouldn't share a single emotion with anyone. His face and body seemed to have turned to stone. He'd become more of a frightening statue than a man. And Francis understood why. Despite the fact that he'd only been the republican army for a few years, he'd probably seen more tragic deaths in that short span of time than Laupin had seen through all of his military career.

Since the revolution, neither of them were able to catch a break. And this constant struggle for freedom had brought them down.

—We're approaching your home —the former gardener said, and looked back at his friend.

—Hm —was the only sound the man himself made, more to indicate that he was aware of what was happening around him, than to give a proper reply.

—Are you okay?

—Yes —Camille answered after a few seconds of silence—. I just...

Pause. Francis sighed.

—What? —then asked, worriedly.

—I can't believe we actually made it back here —he whispered, then looked up.

For the first time in days, their eyes met. And the general finally understood the officer's previous reluctance to do so.

An ocean of painful tears pooled on his lower lashes. And beyond Laupin's clear irises, a monster of grief and anger stared right back at Francis, sending shivers right down his spine.

He'd never seen such a heartbreaking sight before. He'd never expected to see the man he idolized, for his unmatched strength and resilience, become so paralyzed by his pain and his resentment.

—Me neither —the general admitted, and leaned forward to lay his hands above Camille's knees—. But the important this is: we made it. We're back.

—But at what cost?...

—It doesn't matter.

—How can you...

—All of us knew the how high the stakes were when we signed up to be a part of the republican army. Nobody forced us to write our names down on any document. Nobody promised us a life of happiness. And we agreed to be a part of it anyway. Even knowing that we could be killed at any time. Even knowing that the republic could be squashed by our foreign enemies and that the King could survive.

—Yes, but there's a difference between dying an honorable death on the battlefield, fighting for freedom, and freezing to death on the side of a road —Laupin insisted, with bitterness.

—These men also died for freedom. It's thanks to them that the Ruhmnians are gone from Harmania...

—They died because the directory didn't allow Lugo to withdraw our troops from the capital earlier, in November —the major general cut him short—. If we had left only a few days before, these men...

—If we'd left before we did, the Ruhmnians would have taken their chance to recapture the city and chase us out of the country —Francis insisted—. It all happened the way it was supposed to happen, Camille.

—No!... —he snapped—. No. This campaign might have reached its goal, but it's execution was disastrous. There were other ways to free Harmania... And I blame all of this on one man alone.

—Me?

—Louis Rousse —Louis was the veteran that signed the execution of the Duke of Alvern, months prior—. He convinced the director of the army to keep all of you down there.

—And how do you know that? —Francis asked, and raised an eyebrow.

—Because Neckel himself asked me for my opinion on the matter.

—And what did you say?

—Well, what I thought; that Rousse was an idiot, and that he should pull all of you out of there, as soon as possible, but... it was useless. Neckel didn't listen to me. Rousse has fought in many more battles than I have, after all. Surely, he was trustworthy... But Neckel forgot that experience doesn't equal knowledge. And once the bloody battle of the 25th of November happened, he finally realized I was right all along. Thankfully, I was already considering leaving my seat on the convention by then. And when he told me what had happened, I did it. I quit the convention for good. And then I travelled down south, with my makeshift international division, put together by Laura, just to find our troops in terrible shape, lacking provisions, morale and numbers —Laupin shook his head, swallowing down his anger—. So yes... I blame Rousse for this mess. And I want him to pay for everything. For every single life that was lost. During the final battle, and during our retreat.

—And what are you going to do against him? Let me rephrase that; how are you going to do anything against him? He's part of the directory. He's a venerated veteran. He's basically untouchable.

—I can't do anything. And I won't. But I bet that once Neckel realizes how many men he has actually lost listening to that dumb old rag, he won't remain silent, with his arms crossed and his mind at ease. No, he'll find a way to remove Rousse from the Directory, no matter what it takes for that to happen.

—I don't know if he will though. From what Laura has told me through her letters, it's the first time since the end of the revolution that both the Directory and the national convention are at peace with each other.

—It's all superficial —Laupin replied, and looked away—. Both branches of the government are pretending to get along, to avoid another uprising from the people, and to avoid worsening our already unstable political scene. It was an agreement between the members of the far left and the center, to stop the members from the right from gaining more power. Because if they did, you know that they'd install the monarchy right back. Those bastards...

—Well, although I understand your frustration, it doesn't really matter if the peace is fake or not. What matters is that, if Rousse is deposed or killed, the nation's wellbeing will be at risk again. You know this, and I know this. After all, there are a lot of people who are faithful to him, because of his involvement in the execution of the King and of the Duke. Neckel is well aware of that too, and he knows better than to attack the government's biggest pillar of strength.

Camille sighed and massaged his face, annoyed beyond words. After a while in silence, he replied:

—I hate it when you're right.

Francis gave him a corner smile as an answer, but it didn't last long. Soon, their carriage stopped moving outside of the major general's home.

While the former gardener was away, fighting in the Harmania campaign, Laura had bought a small white house right next to the Laupin's. Which meant that both men ended up descending from the vehicle at the same time, and in the same street. They paid the coachman what they owed him, and saw the man drive away as the white snow fell. In one hand, they held their army backpacks. In the other, the blankets they'd been using to warm themselves up inside the carriage.

—I guess this is where we part ways.

—Oh, don't be dramatic...

—Me? Dramatic? You were the one who was thinking of killing a man just now.

—I never said I would kill Rousse.

—Sure, Camille.

—I didn't! —the major general protested, although a little less angry than before, and Francis chuckled—. Also, we won't part ways now. Come on, let's check if madame Forestier is even home. From what Noelle has told me, she prefers to spend the mornings and afternoons in our house, instead of yours —"Noelle" was his wife, madame Laupin—. Which is understandable. Who wants to be left alone for hours on end?

—I wouldn't actually mind that, being by myself is one of my greatest forms of pleasure...

—That's because you're insane, Francis.

The general chuckled again, and shook his head. Both then walked up to the Forestier's newly bought home and knocked on the front door, but no one answered.

—Hm. House's empty. I guess you're right, and she is with your wife and daughter at the moment —Francis said, then removed a squared cloth from his coat's pockets and used it to blow his runny nose—. Ugh. I hate the cold.

—At least your sick-dog cough is gone —Laupin pointed out, as they spun around and began walking back to his own propriety.

—My throat is still sore though.

—Don't worry. Soon you'll get better. I'll ask Noelle to give you a spoonful of the cough syrup she makes with honey and oranges, and you'll feel brand new.

—I hope so. Every time I talk it feels as if I am swallowing broken glass.

—Then don't. You'll only hurt yourself further.

—You know I can't stay quiet for too long. That's like asking you to take a break from the army.

Camille snorted and looked down, as they approached his home. He knocked on the door again, and took a nervous step back. One of his three maids opened it. Then, she screamed:

—MADAME LAUPIN! MADAME LAUPIN! COME HERE!

—Calm down, Julienne —he laughed and tried to calm the frantic woman down—. I'm fine...

As he coaxed her to breath, his wife showed up on the doorstep. Upon seeing him, Noelle's eyes became as big as saucers.

—Y-You're back...

—I am.

Madame Laupin lurched forward and captured him in the tightest, most desperate embrace of his life. Then, as tears ran down her face, she took notice of Francis, standing beside her husband.

—Welcome back... both of you.

—It's good to see you, ma'am.

—It's good to see you too, Fritzie —she called him by the nickname she'd given him, during the time he'd spent living at her house with his wife.

After separating from Camille, she hugged the younger man next. The gesture had a shorter duration, but the fondness and relief she expressed through it made every second special anyway.

—Laura will be thrilled to see you —the woman said then parted from him, and fixed his messy hair like a mother would with her child.

—Leave the poor man alone, love —Laupin chuckled at the corniness of the scene and shook his head.

Noelle however, didn't pull away from Francis before smoothing over his messy locks.

—There we go! Now you look like a gentleman and not a wild beast!

The general laughed and gasped at the same time.

—Should I even say thank you?

Madame Laupin grinned anyway, and grabbed their luggage from their hands.

—Come inside now, you two. You must be extremely tired and hungry. There's warm food on the table, and after you're done with lunch you can come and sit by the fire. Or sleep upstairs. Your choice.

This, they did. And when they stepped inside the dining room —after removing their dirty boots from their feet in the living room, and heating their nearly frozen toes near the fireplace— they finally, at last, found Laura.

She stood up immediately, once she saw Francis smiling at her from the doorway. And after grinning back, she ran up to him and threw herself in his arms, showcasing the same type of profound relief and happiness displayed by madame Laupin, moments earlier.

But the younger woman had been away from him longer. And so, she clung to her lover with a higher level of despair and need. The general himself, being as tired and emotional as he was, held her as if he was holding the entire world in his arms. As if by loving her, he could prove to the universe how much he still loved his life, despite all of the suffering and pain he'd just gone through.

Moments like these, where he could just be by her side, just breath by her side, and just love her without conditions, without judgments, made it all worthwhile.

—I-I'm so happy you're back...

—I'm happy I'm back too —he whispered over her shoulder, then kissed it as a proof of his affection, before pulling back from her embrace to wipe away her tears.

Although the opposite happened first. She wiped his. Then, gave him one of those understanding, gentle smiles he absolutely loved, and silently told him it was okay to be vulnerable in her presence. It was okay if he couldn't keep it together anymore. She'd fallen to pieces so many times before his eyes, and he'd pulled her together with love and compassion each and every one of these, without ever complaining. She was willing to do the same, if he needed it.

—I received the letter you wrote from Islovak this morning.

—You did?

—Yes... And I want to talk with you about it later.

—Alright —he gulped and nodded, before she gave him a short nod back, and looked away towards Laupin.

—Thank you for keeping your promise, and bringing him back to me alive! —Laura exclaimed, before hugging the other man as well.

—I told you I'd do it, and I never fail to deliver —Camille feigned cockiness.

—The only thing you always fail to do is write me letters that are longer than just one page! —Noelle complained, from their left.

—I've told you a thousand times, it's not because I don't love you, it's just because I'm not a good writer! —Laupin defended himself, as the group walked inside the dining room—. Now, before we keep this discussion going, where is my daughter?

—She's upstairs, being cared for by Colette —his wife mentioned one of their maids. Then, noticing her husband was about to leave the room again, to see their little baby girl, she decided to join him and give the other couple a few minutes alone—. Let's go, I'll take you there.

The major general allowed Noelle to grab him by his arm and lead him to the stairs. And, as the Laupins left, Francis took his chance. He pulled Laura closer to himself and kissed her, like they'd both been yearning to be kissed, for months.

He kissed her with the passion and the fervor of a lover who had been parted from his partner for many months, years, and decades. He touched her with the gentleness of a young man discovering love for the first time. And he cherished her like every woman on earth one day yearns to be cherished.

And she did the same to him, right back. Pulled him from the torn and dirty fabric of his coat and pressed their lips together with decisiveness, before searching for the smoothness of his tongue like she wished to be devoured by it.

—I've missed you so much —Laura whispered between pecks, and struggled to breath for a bit.

—Me too... so much it hurt —he replied, circling her waist with his hands—. But I'm back now... —another sweet interruption cut him short—. That's what mattes...

The former Duchess didn't want to let him go. And he didn't felt compelled to pull their lips apart either. Even if his face was growing red from the lack of oxygen in his lungs, and even if he feared upsetting her with his disgusting lack of hygiene. He couldn't move away.

The only thing that made them jump back into their seats, and pretend that they weren't ready to melt into each other right then and there, in that warm and quiet living room, were the voices of their hosts approaching the door.

—Francis! Your goddaughter has come down to say hi! —Camille exclaimed, and stepped inside the place holding his nearly two years old daughter in his arms.

—She's grown so much! —the general's truthful awe melted both the parents of the child, and his wife's heart—. Come here, baby...

He played with the little girl with a goodness and innocence he rarely could display anymore. And for a few minutes, his mind stopped being a dark and gruesome place. For an instant, he felt at peace.

At some point, he handled the child back to its mother and began devouring his lunch, like a starving man would. Usually, they would pray over their food and thank God for allowing them to eat it, but their lack of energy and of stamina was such, that both him and Camille couldn't help themselves. Their hunger took over their reason.

Only after their bodies were satisfied, both were able to show their gratitude as they should. They were lucky that both of their wives understood their famished hurry.

The letters they had written them weren't the only proof of their recent struggles, after all. Their worrying weight loss too. Both soldiers had become so thin, they almost looked ill. Because –although they hadn't gone a day without eating- the meals they consumed didn't have enough substance to keep them healthy, only to keep them going.

Which is why, despite the fact that they were both starving, the two became quite nauseous and sick after their lunch. Their stomachs had grown unaccustomed to eating so much, in such a short period of time.

Noelle made them two cups of warm green tea to treat their indigestion, and Laura left an emergency bucket next to the table, just in case. Which came in handy, because the first of the two men to throw up all of his lunch was, unfortunately, her own husband.

—I a-am so sorry... —he said with a shaky voice, as he unsteadily moved his face way from the container.

—Don't apologize, my boy. You both are sicker than we'd thought —Madame Laupin said, with a motherly voice that calmed his anxiety enough for him to think.

—I t-think I should head home...

—And I agree —Laura said next—. I'll clean the bucket first. Are you done? Or do you still feel sick?

—No, I'm... - he shook his head lightly. – I'm okay t-to go.

—Alright then.

The former Duchess left and returned to his side in a blink. Francis tried to focus on his breathing in the meanwhile.

Once she was back, Noelle gave her child back to the maid's care, and Camille said goodbye to Francis and Laura, before walked upstairs to rest on his bed. The two, watching him go, thanked madame Laupin for the food, bid their goodbyes to her as well, and moved to the living room so Francis could put on his dirty boots on again, and they could go.

At home, Laura sat her husband down and told him she'd make him a bath. About fifteen minutes passed and she finally took him to the washroom. He'd grown too weak to stand on his own.

—Do you want me to leave? —she asked once they were inside.

—No —he answered immediately—. Please... stay.

—If that's what you want, I will.

She helped him get undressed. And only after his stained, shredded, dirty clothes were off, she saw the real damage left behind on his body by the Ruhmnian campaign.

Not only was that poor man skinny and frail, to the point that some of his ribs were visible, he was also bruised, cut, and wounded in many more places than she'd like to believe.

His left leg specifically, displayed the worst of his injuries. The deep cut left by an enemy bayonet was stitched together badly, and it seemed to have gotten infected recently. This also explained why, despite the freezing cold outside, Francis's skin had been warm and sweaty since the first time she'd touched him again. He was running a fever.

—Oh my Lord... —Laura whimpered on his behalf, and helped him sit down on the tub, so she could wash him thoroughly—. I'll need to take a look on your leg later, that seems...

—I'm fine —he grumbled, and closed his eyes as his stiff body relaxed under the water.

If he felt any pain, he didn't let her know. Francis was quite skilled at hiding his own suffering from other people – an ability which drove his lover insane-.

—I'll still take a look at it. You won't stop me —she made it clear, as she grabbed the soap and the sponge she'd need to clean him up.

Francis did not complain again. He let her move his limbs and torso around as she pleased, wiping off the mud, dirt, grime, dry blood and other equally nasty substances that had covered him for weeks now with patience and gentleness.

When she was done with his body and moved to his head, the water in the tub was already murky. But the man did not utter a single sound of disgust or annoyance at that fact. He just enjoyed being pampered and cared for, and melted under her touch like a puppy would.

Laura used a couple of lotions and creams to loosen the knots that had formed on the thick, dark grey locks of the general. Then, grabbed a comb and started to remove them. Despite the fact that some of her pulls had to be uncomfortable, and slightly painful, he still remained quiet throughout the process.

After rinsing his hair, she grabbed a towel and put a hand over his shoulder.

—We're done.

Francis opened his drowsy eyes and stood up, with some difficulty. She helped him dry himself up, got him inside new clothes, and took him to bed.

—Thank you... for this. —he said, once he was comfortably laying underneath the covers.

—I'm glad I can be of help —Laura kissed his forehead.

—Can you lay down with me? Please?

—I have to clean up the washroom first, but once I'm done, I'll come back here.

—Promise?

—I promise.

---

Laura cared for Francis' leg while he slept. The man was so tired and out of it that he didn't even stir while she cleaned and bandaged it up. In fact, his exhaustion was such that he only woke up during the night, around two in the morning.

He'd been sleeping so soundly, that the former Duchess didn't find it fair to wake him up for supper. So she let him rest, undisturbed.

Her surprise came with his wake.

Francis got out of the bed with a sudden jump, as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. He looked around in a frenzy, checking for threats that did not exist. His hands were holding an invisible musket. His eyes, wide open and desperate.

It seemed like someone had dragged him straight from the battlefield and into the house.

—Love... —Laura stood up as well and walked towards him.

But he moved away, still scanning the place with a paranoid expression. Then, stopped suddenly in the hallway, pointed his phantom gun forward, shot at an inexistent enemy, laid the butt of the gun on the ground, reloaded and repeated the process.

Right then, Laura understood what was happening. He was dreaming, and sleepwalking.

She'd learned about the condition in some book she had read, years ago, in the library of the Duke's palace in Alvern. But she didn't know enough about it as to pinpoint what caused it, or why it happened. She just knew that it wasn't wise to wake up a somnambulist, while the person itself was having an episode.

So, she followed Francis around, as he talked to the walls and gave orders to ghost cadets.

The only moment in which she considered, although briefly, waking him up, was when she heard her own name be uttered by his lips.

—L-Laura... —he kneeled down on the ground—. She's... —Francis didn't managed to utter the word "dead", but the woman knew that it was coming next—. The Suzannets... Gone... G-Gone... T-They...

His first sob seemed to do the trick. He woke up on his own and promptly collapsed forward, barely managing to catch himself with his hands and avoid kissing the ground with his face.

Laura crouched down beside him after he shifted into a seating position, and finally was able to touch him.

—I'm here...

—W-What happened? —he asked, as the tears fell down his face.

—You don't remember?

—O-Only the nightmare... how d-did I get here?

—You sleepwalked.

—Did I?

—Yes —she dried his face with her fingers—. I didn't want to wake you up, because I've read somewhere that doing so is harmful, but... I wanted to. You didn't seem okay.

—S-Sorry...

—No, don't apologize —Laura pulled him into a hug—. I'm alright. And you are too. We're home, darling... We're home.

Francis nodded, and hugged her back. They stayed like that, embracing on the cold floor of the hallway, for a few minutes. Then, the former Duchess took him downstairs, to the kitchen, and served him a cup of milk.

—I saw glimpses of the battle of Anjou and of Petrovak... If you're wondering —he said, without looking up from his drink—. And of the ruins of Alvern... once I got there after the Ruhmnian attack, last year...

—You mumbled something about the Suzannets.

—I saw their bodies... again —Francis nodded, then gulped—. These poor people... They were l-like family to me and they... shit.

—I'm terribly sorry you had to see that.

—It wasn't your fault. It was the Duke's... Alphonse's fault. He allowed the burning of the city to happen.

Laura sighed, and grabbed his free hand.

—He's gone now.

—I know... But it still doesn't feel like it's enough. He died, but... he didn't pay for anything he ever did. Hurting you, humiliating his employees and servants, killing his own people mercilessly, supporting the royalists and causing the death of thousands of men, women, children...

The lady's chin dropped to her chest. She took a deep breath in, then out, and said:

—Look... I wasn't going to tell you this until you felt better, but... I c-can't... I can't keep lying to you. Sorry, but I...

Francis looked up.

—What?

—He isn't dead.

—Who?

—Alphonse. He isn't dead.

The general's frown got deeper and deeper.

—What do you mean? We saw him...

—Monsieur Rousse and I faked his death —Laura spit the truth out, and before Francis could even react, kept going:— There was a harness underneath his clothes, that once hooked to the rope redistributed his weight evenly, and saved his neck from being broken. His execution was only a spectacle. Nothing more.

—You saved him? —he tried to pull his hand away from hers, but Laura didn't allow him to leave.

—No. No!... I didn't. I sold him.

—S-Sold him?

—I made a diplomatic agreement with the Staelians. I knew our army needed to cut the supply and information routes between their kingdom and the Ruhm Empire. And I also knew that one of Alphonse's brother, Anton, is an important marshal in the Staelian army. So, I reached out to him, and with Rousse's help, formulated a treaty between us. The Staelians were to cut off all communication and business with the Ruhmnians, give us back the ships and guns they'd stolen last year when attacking our naval bases, plus financial compensation for their destruction, and in exchange, we'd handle them Alphonse and general Bautzen.

— Bautzen was with you all along?!

—Yes, the attack on our convoy was also a lie. He never escaped anything.

—Then? Why did you?... Why?!

—Rousse knew that once Bautzen arrived at the capital, the rest of the Directory would order his execution. It wasn't a question of if, it was a question of when. And he also knew that the general, for better or for worse, was an asset. Because of his value and his fame, he could be used for some type of trade or agreement in the future... And only because of that, Rousse prepared a plan to fake his death. The truth is, Bautzen never left our hands. The royalists never came for him. Instead, he was locked up in the dungeons of Fort Flintmore, in Saint-George's island. But Francis... all of this happened before you came up with the idea of invading Harmania. That's the only reason why I decided to intervene in Alphonse's favor and keep him alive. I knew I could help the army through him because, just like Bautzen... he was an asset. And I did help... As of right now he's exiled in the Staeltorn Kingdom and has lost his citizenship, which means he'll never be able to return to our republic. And the Staelians have stopped communicating with the Ruhmnians through Harmania.

—But why did... —the general shook his head, disoriented by all of those sudden revelations—.  Why did you have to lie? Why did you keep this from me?

—You nearly killed Alphonse with your own fists during the storming of Montpierre. You wanted him dead more than I did. If I told you we were planning to keep him alive, to exchange him for money, vessels and ordnance, plus a treaty... What do you think you would have done then? Because I think, given how well I know you and your hot head, that you would have found a way to get into his cell and kill him yourself —Laura was truthful to the point of sounding harsh, but didn't regret uttering a single word. Her reasoning wasn't faulty, and she hadn't acted out of malice. She needed Francis to understand that—. I love you. Therefore, I can read you better than anyone else on the face of this earth. Back then you'd just left a battle in which you lost plenty of your men, some of whom, were your friends. You saw soldiers be brutally murdered in front of your very eyes, while trying to defeat Alphonse. You wanted revenge against him... and although I comprehend very well why you did, and I don't think you were wrong for wanting it... I also know that you would have acted without thinking. And then our treaty wouldn't exist. And Harmania wouldn't be free from the grasp of the Staeltorn kingdom.

Francis swallowed his anger down, because he knew, for a fact, that she was right. If he had found out about her and Rousse's plan to keep that bastard alive, he for sure would have found a way to brutalize Alphonse before he even left the country.

He was mad at her for lying, but...

—I understand —the general replied, then took a deep breath in, and out—. But what does that mean for us? What else are you hiding from me?

—Nothing —Laura was quick to assure him—. I don't like to keep things hidden from you. I hate it, in fact. I had to bite down my tongue many times while speaking to you, and throw away many unfinished letters because I just didn't want to keep going with this... deception.

—Who else knows about this?

—Only me, Rousse, some of the members of the Directory and the of the port guard. No one else.

Francis nodded, then sniffled.

—And are you sure that he can't come back here?

—Alphonse has been legally declared an enemy of the state. If he steps into our country and he's seen walking around, he'll be immediately captured and executed. Rousse took care of that.

—But what if no one recognizes him? What if he comes back here, without consequences, and he kills you?

—He won't kill me.

—You don't know that. You can't know that.

—While you were away, I began taking shooting lessons with a veteran friend of monsieur Laupin, monsieur Fredericks. Now that my training with his pistols and rifles is done, I'll learn how to use a sword. I want to be able to defend myself, if he ever comes around and you're gone.

—You told me in your letters that you were learning self-defense because you feared for your safety in this city, since you were part of the nobility before the revolution.

—And I didn't lie about that. That's one of the reasons. I just kept the other one hidden from you. Again, I didn't want to, but... I had to —she grimaced— I understand this is quite a stupid question to ask, but... are you mad?

—Yes —he nodded—. It is quite easy for me to grasp why you did all of this... and I know it must have been hard for you, not only keeping everything hidden, but also have to pardon the life of that bastard... But alas... I am hurt. I was lied to.

—I'm sorry.

Francis sighed, then drank a sip of his milk.

—You traded the life of that jolterhead for the lives of thousands of common men. You don't have to be sorry. You were logical, and wise... as you always are.

—No, I'm sorry for lying to you —she said—. That wasn't fair, even if it was right. I hope you understand why I did it...

—I do.

—But I wish I could have told you.

—If you had, I for sure would have blown Alphonse's brains out myself —the general admitted—. You are right about that. So... please, hear my request and honor it; don't regret a thing. You took the right choice. You did the right thing. And to clarify, I'm not mad at you... I'm mad at myself. Because if you couldn't trust me with the truth about this, the fault wasn't yours... —he looked down— . It was mine.

—No. Francis. Don't beat yourself over your past actions and thoughts. You were under a lot of stress... —Laura ran one of her hands through his hair—. You still are. I don't blame you for your anger, and as I said, I completely comprehend it. And even share it, to some degree.

Both remained quiet after this last comment. The situation was too delicate for them to discuss it right now, without blowing it out of proportion, and having a fight. So they decided to keep their thoughts and the reasons for acting the way they did, to themselves.

It was only when the general finished drinking his milk when the silence was broken:

—Can we go upstairs? —he asked, in a seemingly unbothered voice.

Laura knew what he was doing by playing it cool. He was pushing down his rage with all of his might, and then locking it inside of the darkest, deepest, part of his soul, despite knowing perfectly well that, someday, it would find its way out.

In other simpler and less elaborate words, he was postponing his meltdown for later.

—Of course —she grabbed the empty cup he was holding, put it in the sink, and then moved back to his side, to help him walk to the stairs and up—. Let's go.