Work Text:
Sonnenkind.
Seat VI, rune Eihwaz, meaning resurrection.
When the Obsidian Table was being crafted by Himmler’s order, unknowing of Reinhard’s ambition to take over it, this seat was reserved for the youngest, freshest member of their clandestine group of high-ranking SS officers, the so-called ‘Knights of Black Sun’. They were to be the ‘resurrection’, the one who would bring new and fresh light into the gathering.
When Reinhard and Karl took over the group and installed their own loyal people, that didn’t change - the seat was still to belong to the youngest person, the one that would facilitate resurrection and complete the vision of Dies Irae Reinhard dreamt of ever since that snowy, dark Christmas Eve night of 1939.
Unfortunately, that was not something a normal human could take. Sure, in a pinch any member of the Obsidian Table could step in, but both Reinhard and Karl agreed this had to be done by someone pure, with no experience in the foreknowledge-infested world to taint their perception.
This led to their current discussion about Isaac and Johann, and the reality of the seat Sechs inside the nascent Gladsheim, located physically on the outskirts of Berlin for the time being.
“I do not think either of them could take it,” Reinhard leaned back in his high-backed golden throne, feeling the souls of the angry fallen shift to accommodate him. “Babylon did her best, I admit, but...”
“You find them imperfect,” Karl finished the sentence for him, and Reinhard smiled appreciatively at his best friend. “Inadequate.”
“Perfectly adequate,” Reinhard corrected, the yowl of deja-vu in his ears not waning for a single bit. They had talked about this, haven't they? So tiresome, so bothersome. Not even in his own Creation Figment could he escape the ennui. “Adequate for short-term goals.”
“What is there to rush, my friend? Isaac might yet grow more powerful,” Karl shrugged, his mercury-like voice cajoling Reinhard into letting go of the topic. “Besides, the quality of souls right now might be excellent, but without a true foil for you, it would be far wiser to plan short-term instead of long-term.”
In many universes, Reinhard Heydrich would’ve caved in to his friend’s honey tone. In as many others, he’d only put up a token fight before laying down his arguments and proceeded with the initial plan.
In this one, though, he decided to push - and push hard.
“I’d say that’s an argument in my favor - would it not be better for me to go for the highest rank immediately?” Reinhard twirled the glass, the red wine he was sharing with Karl sloshing merrily about and glittering in the golden light. “If we wait for too long, the world will sink into a peace-filled state; the souls then would be of less exquisite taste, and my Claws and Fangs will grow restless.”
His Mane, comprising thousands of fallen, right now was glistening with wrath, despair, hope, passion, and Reinhard enjoyed embracing them almost as much as his dearest tragic stars, his Claws and Fangs. They were not there tonight - all busy on various missions to feed themselves - but they were never far from Reinhard’s mind.
He was their commander; he had to treat them well.
“I’m sure they will be able to deal, dear beastly friend of mine,” Karl smirked slightly. “After all, what is their restlessness to your ennui? None of them, after all, has shown any awareness of the curse of foreknowledge.”
“I’d disagree on the last part,” Reinhard chuckled. “Samiel and Kristoff both seem to sense something off, and Valkyria has been rather twitchy recently.”
Of course, there was also Schreiber, but that mad dog was only around for his impeccable hunting instincts - he had no way of processing even if he was somewhat aware of the foreknowledge.
Everyone else… not even a hint of it. Even Bey, who Reinhard had high hopes for, didn’t show any signs of noticing anything off.
“Fair enough,” Karl capitulated on that point. “But, if we decide, for the sake of this discussion, to replace Babylon’s children with someone else’s. How will you get a more potent combination?”
Babylon’s rune had been Berkanan, a sign of fertility - she could’ve gotten something good out of the deadest corpse in existence if she felt it necessary.
“Two of the Knights,” Reinhard shrugged. He had not said that to Karl, but he’d been making quiet calculations regarding the other three female members in case Babylon failed in her duty. “Even when we exclude Tubal Cain and Schreiber, the potential combinations are infinite.”
“I believe one should add Samiel to the exclusion list, considering her interests,” Karl snarked, and Reinhard laughed without restraint.
“Are you accusing Samiel of desiring her own gender? Careful, Karl, I can’t protect you from her wrath if she hears about this.”
“Not at all,” Karl’s lips were still forming a snarky smile. “I’m accusing her of not desiring anyone in a sexual manner whatsoever.”
“Interesting accusation,” Reinhard tilted his head. He could barely imagine it - but if one could desire their own gender, animals and those above and below their age, what was so strange in not desiring anyone? “That would still not do much to complicate the situation.”
“Would it not?” It was Karl’s turn to cock his head. “Malleus will sleep with anyone, but she’s hardly what I’d call a responsible mother, Valkyria is a serial flirt but has impossibly high standards for her partners, and Babylon had enough trouble conceiving Isaak and Johann and carrying them to term - and those are just the women.”
“Bey has a bit of a crush on Valkyria, if I remember correctly,” Reinhard countered. “Malleus and Spinne like working together, and Babylon and Kristoff are already close.”
“Valkyria would rather slit her own throat than sleep with Bey,” Karl shook his head, and now that Reinhard was thinking about it, he wasn’t wrong. “Others are plausible, but I doubt the result would be able to overshadow the current Sonnenkind candidates.”
That was also true. That only left…
Well. He had to admit he never thought much about having children, but with Karl automatically tossed out of the game due to his oath to his woman, he was the only other male candidate at the Table who could do it.
And of course, he knew which of the four women under his command he would prefer.
“Huh?”
A card, nested in a small, but tastefully arranged bouquet of flowers was waiting in the vase on Beatrice’s table in the Gestapo office she shared with her Major when she walked in that morning.
“Major, what’s this?”
“I don’t know,” Eleonore von Wittenburg’s lips were set in a scowl, her now customary cigarette gone from her mouth as she glared daggers at the arrangement, eyebrow over her scarred side twitching in irritation. “Why don’t you tell me, Kircheisen? That’s quite some declaration of intent there.”
Beatrice blinked, and leaned closer to see the flowers in the bouquet. A single branch of pure white apple blossoms was nested in the centre, surrounded by a ring of purple asters and yellow pansies, all resting on a soothing green base of coriander leafy stalks, oh-so recognisable by their intense smell.
You’re my preference, oh dainty one. I see your hidden worth, and I keep thinking of you.
A set of fireworks exploded beneath the skin of her cheeks. Whoever had sent her that bouquet was not messing around - they went full ham on the charm and sweet message.
To distract herself, Beatrice took the card from its place, and opened it to check for the name of her admirer. The card was made of heavy, expensive white paper, the kind that was almost impossible to find with the economy being in the state it was in right now if you weren’t either extremely wealthy, or highly connected in the Party.
It also bore no name of the sender, only -
Beatrice dropped the card like it had burned her, her insides cooling to subzero temperature. Impossible. This had to be a joke, or a prank. There was no way this was for real, right?
“What?” Eleonore stalked to Beatrice and picked up the card from the floor. “Can’t be Fuhrer, right? He’s too busy with his bimbo -”
She then went silent, and the weight of it threatened to crush Beatrice’s heart and soul.
The card only contained one thing written in it - a flourishing signature in the shape of old Norse rune Hagall. There was only one person Beatrice knew who would dare to use Hagall as a signature, and expect her to recognize it.
“Explain. This. Kircheisen.”
The ice in her Major’s tone could’ve frozen Sahara on the hottest day of the year.
“I’ve no idea! I don’t know, I don’t know anything, I swear to you Major -”
“Are you suggesting our Lord would engage in something inappropriate like this?” Eleonore’s voice was still deathly cold, but Beatrice was suddenly gasping for air, strangled by the oppressive heat her Major commanded.
“No, no! This - has to be - a prank - by Karl Krafft -”
“A prank,” Eleonore repeated coldly, but the heat died down a little. “So you won’t mind if I incinerate it?”
“I mean...” Beatrice kind of liked the flower choice, but this was just impossible. Someone was messing with both her and her Major, and Beatrice was not going to let it continue. “Sure, go ahead. Card too.”
“No, I’m keeping the card,” Eleonore clutched the card in her unburned fist and snapped with the fingers of the burned one, instantly reducing the beautiful flowers to ash. “I need to find out who dared forge our Lord’s signature, and what do they know about his current state.”
That made too much sense. If it wasn’t Karl Krafft, then someone outside of their small circle must’ve been aware Reinhard Heydrich was alive, which was not something Obsidian Round Table wanted.
After the flowers were dealt with and the windows opened to get the smell of ash and burning grass out of the office, Beatrice sat down to work on the intelligence reports from the Eastern front. The drudge of the military minutiae she had to rewrite for the SS to include in the operation planning was enough to help her forget the incident in the morning - well, until the lunch break.
At the lunch break, she volunteered to go out of the Gestapo office and grab something to eat, while her Major went to hand in the solved paperwork and grabbed them both a fresh pot of black toxin known as coffee. While she was exiting the bakery with a paper bag of pastries, a small blonde girl approached her, her face hidden by the bouquet.
“Miss Kircheisen?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Beatrice blinked and knelt next to the girl, carefully balancing the bag on her arms. “What do you need, kiddo?”
“This is for you,” the girl extended the bouquet, and Beatrice took it after a moment of hesitation.
The bouquet was again centered around a single flower, this time a white orchid. Yellow peonies and blue salvias created a small ring around it, framed with aloe leaves in a pretty image, complete with the same heavy, white card stuck in it.
I’m truly sorry. I’m a bit bashful about it, but I think of you with affection.
Once was a chance; twice was a coincidence.
Beatrice didn’t even have to open the card to know what was written in it, but she still did, for posterity. The handwritten, sharp-edged Hagall stared at her innocently, thick black ink on the smooth white paper stabbing Beatrice’s eyes.
Either Karl Krafft was playing her for a fool, or Lord Heydrich was truly sending her bouquets with romantic messages, and Beatrice had no idea what to think about it.
“Hey, kiddo,” Beatrice called after the girl, who was swiftly moving away. “Who told you to give me these?”
“Some weirdo with long, dark hair,” the girl shrugged. “Looked creepy as hell, if you ask me - I don’t know if you should accept flowers from him, Miss.”
Weirdo with long dark hair, creepy as hell. Well, that definitely sounded like Karl Krafft. This had to be some kind of a long prank he was playing on her - the only question now was why.
“Thank you,” Beatrice nodded at the kid, and after a moment, gave her one of the pretzels as a reward. Beatrice could take less food more easily than a five year old.
The girl snatched the pretzel and ran away, leaving Beatrice to walk back to the Gestapo to share her finding with her Major.
“So, Krafft is playing something here,” Eleonore paced in their office, the slightly singed bouquet on the desk between her and Beatrice. “Are you sure?”
“The girl’s description seemed pretty on the nose,” Beatrice shrugged. “Weirdo, long, dark hair, creepy - how many people connected with Lord Heydrich do we know that look like that?”
“True,” Eleonore was still eyeing the bouquet with suspicious eyes. “That still leaves the question of why he decided to mess with you in this way.”
Both Eleonore and Beatrice had the language of flowers drummed in their heads, as did every girl and boy in the well-respected household. The choice of flowers and their arrangement was far too deliberate to confuse it for anything else but the language of flowers, as puzzling as the messages were considering their origin.
“Who knows,” Beatrice shrugged, though she actually had some ideas.
Beatrice was a fool, but she wasn’t unobservant: she knew her Major adored Lord Heydrich and strived to be as close to him as possible in every way in a fashion Beatrice could only name as infatuation. To her, it was quite sad and sickening to watch, but there wasn’t much she could do about it, not this late in the game. Beatrice, on the other hand, had come to her senses pretty quickly and distanced herself from Lord Heydrich as much as she could.
By sending her those bouquets, Karl Krafft might be trying to drive a wedge between her and her Major - after all, the first bouquet basically spelled out that the sender’s preference was Beatrice, which would be a huge hit on Eleonore’s pride and self-esteem.
She had no idea why, but the idea was sound. Unfortunately, Beatrice could never bring it up to Eleonore: her Major, as wonderfully smart as she was, was an utter dumbass when it came to feelings, and she would thoroughly deny her jealousy or any sort of foul feelings.
In the end, the bouquet ended in the same way the first one had - Eleonore burned it to the ash with a simple snap of her fingers.
While the two were still looking and debating what to do now - they had already done everything that the offices gave them for the day, and there was no need to seek out the person behind the forged signature - someone kicked open the door of their office.
“Fucking hell,” Bey stormed in, a huge scowl on his face and a flower bouquet in his hands. “The fuck pissed you off now, Samiel? It stinks like burning grass here.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Bey?” Eleonore retorted back, saving Beatrice the air and the time of doing so herself.
“Being the fucking errand boy for Karl Krafft and Lord Heydrich,” Bey all but threw the bouquet at Beatrice. “Seriously, I did not sign up for this, holy shit.”
Beatrice fumbled as she caught it. This time, there was no central flower, only a mix of magenta morning glories and violet sweet Williams flowers wrapped in non-poisonous ivy.
Gallant one, you have my affection.
There was no mistaking the message’s intention, nor the origin of it. Out of the two men Bey mentioned, only one ever called her ‘gallant’, and… well…
Beatrice didn’t dare look up. She did not want to see the expression on her Major’s face.
“Okay, my job’s done,” Bey retreated, probably sensing the charge in the room, but Beatrice was not about to let him slip out without some more answers.
“Bey, wait!”
She deftly slipped under her Major’s arm-grab, and rushed out of the office to catch up with the resident vampire wannabe.
“The fuck you want, Beatrice?” Bey grumbled, but obligingly stopped.
“Who gave you the flowers, and what did they tell you?” Beatrice wasted no time getting straight to the point.
“Lord Heydrich, who else?” Bey snorted. “Though damn it all if I know why. It ain’t like you’re anything much to look at.”
That was an objective truth - Beatrice, as far as girls went, was a relatively plain one, particularly in comparison to her Major, Lisa or Malleus. It did sting a little, hearing it from Bey, but his opinion wasn’t the one Beatrice valued anyway.
“He just gave it to you to give it to me? Nothing else?” Beatrice wheedled on, plans rapidly spinning from ideas into concrete steps.
She would reject him - of course she would, there was no other option. The only question was, how scathing would she make her rejection.
“Mentioned something about his message not being clear enough, or some shit, I don’t know,” Bey threw up his hands. “You’re the one who got flowers, why the fuck are you asking me about it?”
Not clear enough, huh?
Beatrice liked to think she wasn’t a spiteful brat on a normal day; on a bad day, though? She absolutely was one.
“Thanks. Where are they now?”
With the address in her mind, she left Bey in the hallway. There was no way she could return to the office, not right now: her Major needed time to process this. Meanwhile, Beatrice had a bouquet of her own to make.
Yellow carnation in the middle, some white candytufts and lavenders around, maybe some violets to seal the deal? Heck, she’d have put in orange lilies inside if she wasn’t sure that she’d get herself killed for the blatancy of that one.
I reject your affection; I’m indifferent to you, and I don’t trust you - so I’ll keep my eye on you.
When she relayed her wish to the florist in the shop, the girl giggled so hard, she barely managed to put the bouquet together.
“Wow, girl, you’re really going in for this! What did the guy do to you?”
“If he weren’t my direct superior, I’d have sent him twelve orange lilies,” Beatrice grumbled, forking over the money. “Just to make the point.”
“I like your style,” the girl nodded. “Now go and get that guy embarrassed!”
Beatrice chuckled, but then stopped. Lord Heydrich couldn’t have come up with this idea alone, could he?
“Wait. Give me a single orange lily too, separate.”
I hate you .
That delightful one would go to Karl Krafft, for making this mess. Beatrice just knew he had to be the one behind it.
A doorbell rang out just as Reinhard and Karl settled down to play their post-dinner chess game. Karl, as the one closer to the door, stood up to answer it.
“Ah, hello Valkyria,” Reinhard heard from the hallway, and he stood up as well, a smirk creeping up his lips.
Had Valkyria already come up with an answer? That had been faster than what he’d expected.
He could not hear what exactly the girl had said, but the laugh Karl let out was tinted with hysteria.
“My, my, you did not have to go so hard on it! And one for me, too? Ah, what a joyous occasion, to be gifted a flower from the fair Valkyria’s hand!”
“It’s a single orange lily, Vice Commander,” Valkyria’s voice was cold as eastern winds from Siberia, and Reinhard had to stifle a cackle. Truly, that woman was not ashamed of speaking out her true emotions! “Only you would find it a joyous thing.”
“What is in the name of the rose,” Karl quoted Shakespeare. “Now please come in.”
“I can’t, I have more work to do,” Valkyria rebuffed the invitation - which was a bit of a surprise.
Why would she come, deliver her answer, and then leave without even coming face to face with him? Reinhard was intrigued. He’d always seen her as a fascinating, gallant woman, but she was now puzzling him a bit. So, he decided to throw himself into the mix, to see what kind of reaction it would get.
“It’s quite a long way from here to the barracks, Valkyria,” Reinhard walked into the hallway and into a wonderfully, gorgeously perplexing scene.
Karl was standing at the first step of the stairs to the doors, effectively preventing Valkyria from going down unless she jumped off or tried to jump above him - both of which she would and could do, in Reinhard’s experience - holding a single orange lily in one hand and a flower bouquet in his other. Valkyria was perched on the doorway, glaring daggers at Karl, back to Reinhard, and her fist was twitching around empty air - around invisible Thrud Walkure, her blade - before she quickly twisted around to give him a deep bow in lieu of kneeling.
That wasn’t the unusual thing, though - the flower bouquet was. Reinhard couldn’t see all of the flowers well, but the bright yellow carnation in the center was hard to mistake for anything else.
I reject you.
A laugh bubbled up in his lungs until it spilled forth from his lips - a rejection ? Oh, Valkyria didn’t even know what he wanted from her, and she was already rejecting him on principle!
Truly, he couldn’t have picked a better woman if he wanted to!
“Please, it’s far too late for you to go back on foot, Valkyria - stay!” The joy in Reinhard’s heart was akin to the wings of a fluttering hummingbird, or a shot of the most potent opium powder while it could still affect him.
“I - I really can’t, Major Wittenburg will yell at me for breaking the curfew...” Valkyria did not look up from the floor even as she righted herself from the bow.
“I’m sure a phone call will be enough to soothe Samiel’s worries,” Reinhard patted his subordinate on the back. “Come, sit with me.”
Valkyria quietly came in and sat on the sofa to Reinhard’s left and Karl’s right when they were playing chess, placing her at the perfect spot to observe the game as a judge and neutral bystander. She was still dressed in her uniform, and refused the drink when Karl offered her one: she must’ve come directly from Gestapo, and was probably expecting to return back with a little help from Ewigkeit to avoid the blackout curfew time.
Reinhard wasn’t going to let her slip though; she was the first woman who rejected him so out of hand, and even better, she rejected him after already swearing her loyalty to him. He wanted to know why.
Karl also came in after closing the door, placing the flowers in the vase on the cabinet across Valkyria’s seat, and they started playing as they’ve prepared to do before Valkyria appeared at the door. A pawn moved on one side, a pawn shifted in response; another pawn as a reply, a knight escaping to threaten.
“Tell me, Valkyria, why the rejection?” Reinhard asked idly, a falsely even tone to mask his delight. He’d finally gotten a better look at all of the flowers, and each and every one of them served to punch in her rejection.
I’m indifferent. I don’t trust you. I’m watching you.
“It’s inappropriate,” Valkyria said quietly after a pause, eyes fixed on the chess board as she rapidly tracked each and every move. “You’re my superior in the chain of command.”
A response worthy of her title as the gallant war-maiden.
“Is that truly the only reason?” Karl’s lips curled into a smirk as he sent a rook after Reinhard’s bishop. Foolish - he was opening himself to an attack from Reinhard’s queen, which he promptly executed. “I didn’t think you’d be bothered by some light rule breaking.”
“This is not just a rule,” steel entered Valkyria’s voice just as Karl used a pawn to take out Reinhard’s rook. “This is… it creates dangerous precedents. Besides… no offense, Lord Heydrich, but I have reasons to doubt your sincerity.”
“So you’ve indicated,” Reinhard leaned back, gesturing broadly at lavenders in the bouquet. “I will admit to a light offense, Valkyria. Why do you doubt me?”
“You love everything and everyone, as you’ve said yourself,” Valkyria said simply, with no accusation. “There’s no one and nothing that you love above everything else, following that logic. Why would I be an exception?”
Smart girl - dangerously so, in fact. She somehow managed to extrapolate the true nature of his craving out of a few times he spoke with the whole Obsidian Round Table, and decided it was incompatible with the message he was sending her. Reinhard actually had to commend her: she had him thoroughly fooled with her airhead impression and hiding in Samiel’s shadow.
Served him right, for underestimating a woman whose moniker translated to ‘chooser of the slain’.
“Most would ignore such a contradiction,” Reinhard looked away from the chess board to gauge Valkyria. She was still looking at the chess board, devoid of the majority of the figurines, the result of his and Karl’s little war, frowning a little. “Flattery to one’s pride is a difficult thing to ignore.”
“I don’t rest my pride solely in my charm as a woman,” Valkyria looked up, and emerald-blues met golden ones for a moment before she averted her eyes. “Besides, I’ve once let my pride blind me; never again.”
The words were spoken with the weight of a knight’s oath, and Reinhard knew at once - Valkyria was not going to give in easily.
That just made it all the more fun for him.
Beatrice’s heart was working at triple the speed of normal; she only planned on a quick delivery, not this interrogation session. She had to hold herself back several times from blurting out the full truth, and as the time ticked away, the chances of her arriving before her Major at their rooms to apologize and explain everything were rapidly shrinking to non-existent.
She could not look her supposed commander in the eye, just like everyone else in the Obsidian Round Table, so she picked the chessboard to focus on. The bout had been swift thus far, and the current situation was very much not in Lord Heydrich’s favor.
Good thing he wasn’t in charge of the actual army , a nasty part of her whispered. He would’ve killed them all for nothing.
Then again, that could’ve been the entire point, Beatrice mused bitterly. She never liked needless killing, wanton killing even less, and working for Gestapo would’ve seen her drive her own blade through her heart sooner or later had it not been for her Major to anchor her.
“I see,” Lord Heydrich, a note of amusement that never quite seemed to leave his voice grating at her restraint. “Would you retract your rejection if I explained myself to you?”
Oh. Oh fuck . He was not letting up. What would Beatrice have to say to make him understand this wasn’t just some reluctant refusal made in the name of logic, but utter disdain borne of irrational emotions?
“Doubtful,” Beatrice finally said, carefully choosing the words to not appear too defiant.
“Pity,” the golden monster chuckled, and the game resumed, moves made at lightning speed. “Then again, you wouldn’t have been my favorite for this if you weren’t so principled.”
Had those words been spoken to her Major, or any other Obsidian Round Table member, Beatrice was sure they would’ve melted into a putty, ready to do whatever. Beatrice, though? She only felt nauseous and dirty, sullied by the praise she neither wanted nor asked for.
You disgust me .
“You could always make it an order, my dear friend,” Krafft, the absolute asshole, butted into their conversation, and Beatrice clenched her fists. Punching the man would not solve the problem, as attractive as the thought was.
“And defeat the point of the whole thing? Karl, Karl,” Heydrich laughed brightly. “I despair for that woman of yours. How will you ever appeal to her softer side if you talk like that?”
Karl Krafft actually liked someone? Poor girl, whoever they were.
“Ah, but I do not require her to like me that much,” Krafft squinted at the board, looking hard for a few seconds before making a decisive move with the bishop. “Only for her to know I exist. Check.”
“How selfless,” Heydrich quickly moved his king out of the hungry bishop’s way. “So unlike you.”
“Such a low opinion of me you have,” Krafft laughed. “Am I that much of a lowlife in your eyes?”
Yes, Beatrice burned to say, but kept her mouth shut.
Heydrich only laughed, and shifted his queen to stop the bishop and rook behind it from threatening his king any more.
“In any case, Valkyria,” Beatrice’s spine went rigid as she felt those inhuman golden eyes again on her, “I’d still like to explain myself to you.”
Beatrice didn’t want to hear any of it - she didn’t want to know what devil possessed the man to send her those flower bouquets - but she had no choice in the matter.
“You are aware of the Sonnenkind seat and its unique situation, I presume,” Heydrich said laconically, observing Beatrice.
Beatrice nodded mutely, not trusting her own tongue, eyes fixed on her lap to avoid any eye contact.
“I’ve come to a realization that Isaak will likely not be strong enough to survive the full weight of the seat’s power,” the golden monster continued in a clinical, dispassionate tone, like he was talking about weather and not about a living, breathing human being. “His soul is strong, no doubt, but he simply lacks the raw firepower on his own to support the Dies Irae I seek.”
Beatrice gulped and closed her eyes. She could see where this was going, and where she fit in. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t come in person to hand in the rejection bouquets.
Once one saw something, there was no way for it to be unseen; however, there was no turning back the clock, unmaking the decision that led Beatrice to this point. She knew, even before Heydrich spoke out the offer, the plan, what would be asked of her…
… and she could not describe the dread and revulsion she was feeling.
“Because of that, I decided to create a little contingency plan.”
“You want me to be the mother of the new Sonnenkind,” Beatrice whispered.
If only this truly had been a nasty prank by Krafft, it would’ve been far easier to stomach the whole thing.
How was she going to explain this to her Major, and to Lisa?
In the end, Reinhard managed to talk Valkyria into at least giving a courtship a try; he was not as cruel of a man to force a woman into a permanent relationship she wasn’t sure about, and Valkyria’s hesitation was embedded in her every word and motion. Of course, if it didn’t work out, Reinhard was more than happy to start matchmaking other Knights, but Valkyria was both his best option and the biggest challenge he’d had since he became aware of the eternal recurrence governing his life.
Babylon and Samiel would’ve been easier sells, naturally, but Valkyria’s resistance was part of her charm, and Reinhard could barely get enough of the fact he was being actively resisted.
After escorting her to barracks, he threw himself into brainstorming for their first outing with gusto, bouncing ideas off slightly reluctant Karl. While traditional, most of the things that would require them to go out into the public spaces were out of the question, since everyone believed Reinhard was assassinated almost a year ago. However, inviting Valkyria over to Gladsheim would be far too much at this point and counterproductive.
In the end, the solution came in a sudden bolt of inspiration, after he saw one of the police officers patrol nearby on a horse. Valkyria had been born into a noble family, and riding was one of the staples of the education for both boys and girls in those households. He would take her out on a ride in the fields just outside Berlin - it wouldn’t force them to be too close too quickly, and would still grant them privacy to speak frankly to each other.
Win-win, in his books.
The day of the outing dawned bright but cold; perfect weather for riding. Reinhard had sent Bey to grab the horses and the riding gear, and was in the middle of adjusting the stirrups on the saddles when Valkyria showed up, completely alone and dressed in practical riding gear.
Black from head to toe, the vest and boots were made of high-quality leather, while the breeches and the shirt were some type of tightly woven fabric that clung to Valkyria’s slim, petite frame, revealing curves that Schutzstaffel uniform normally hid. She also had leather gloves on, probably more out of habit than of any true need - no Einherjar felt cold or human levels of pain - and had her hair twisted up in a bun, a departure from her signature ponytail.
In short, she still looked like Valkyria, but with enough of a twist to not be the same as always.
“Good morning, Lord Heydrich,” Valkyria’s voice was clipped as she approached Reinhard and the horses, eyeing the pure black Arabian and the elegant white Shagya Arabian.
“Please, no need for such formality, Valkyria,” Reinhard waved away her greeting. “Reinhard’s fine.”
Valkyria’s eye twitched a bit.
“... Beatrice,” she said stiffly. “In that case, call me Beatrice.”
“Beatrice,” Reinhard capitulated easily. It was a perfectly fair request on her part. “Which one do you want?”
“Black,” Valkyria - no, Beatrice - quickly picked, with no dilly-dallying, brushing past Reinhard to check on the bridle, reins and stirrups of the said horse. “What’s his name?”
“Sparrow,” Reinhard told her, curiously watching as she expertly readjusted the reins and the stirrups for her shorter arms and legs before she vaulted up into the saddle with no help. “A speedy yet temperamental boy, according to Bey.”
Valk- Beatrice nodded before patting Sparrow on the head, to which the horse shook his mane a bit as if to show off.
“Let’s work together, hm?” she whispered to the horse with a soft smile, and Reinhard took it as a sign he should hop onto Daisy’s snow white back and start their riding.
“Let’s go, Daisy,” he commanded, and the while girl listened to him with no objection, jogging away from the barn the two were placed in and towards the endless fields and the rising sun in the east.
Beatrice and Sparrow followed, catching up in a light trot before also slowing down to a jog.
“The weather couldn’t be better for the riding,” Reinhard commented offhandedly after a few minutes of silence between him and Beatrice.
“Mm,” Beatrice hummed noncommittally, playing a bit with Sparrow’s reins. “Too bad it rained yesterday.”
“How so?” Reinhard turned to the blonde girl, who kept looking into the rising sun with a nostalgic half-smile.
“I’d have loved to race a bit. I haven’t raced in so long,” Beatrice admitted with a sigh. “Since I got my commission, actually. I rode a few times in the downtime, but that wasn’t the same - the magic wasn’t there.”
Reinhard glanced at the ground - there was no ice, and the ground wasn’t too hard. Without a warning, he dug the spurs into Daisy’s flank, and she bolted into a fast trot, almost canter.
“What the -! Wait, you ass -!” Beatrice’s screech managed to reach Reinhard’s ears before she aborted her curse, but that only made him laugh joyously.
The never-ending drone of recurrence had quietened down, the only sound in his ears horse’s panting, heavy padding of hoofs and the wind rushing by. Beatrice had been right - there was something magical that happened at that speed, something that left his mind blissfully clear. No matter how known it was, it was not as boring as he thought it’d be.
As he’d thought, he made the right choice, even if it wasn’t the easiest one he had.
Another set of thuds joined Daisy’s, and Reinhard only had the time to turn his head slightly to the side before Beatrice and Sparrow took over, a determined grin on the girl’s face as she let her horse into a full gallop. Oh, Reinhard was not letting her win that easily. It would’ve been a gentlemanly thing to do, but Beatrice was not just a woman, but a soldier - his Valkyria, and he would not do her a disservice of a gifted win.
So, he gave chase after her - and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity of misery and boredom, he felt his lips lift up in a genuine smile.
Thank you for this moment, my Valkyria - my Beatrice. I shall cherish it till the end of days.
Their impromptu little race ended underneath a large, lonely oak tree demarcating the field edge, with Beatrice winning by the skin of Sparrow’s nose - quite literally. Riding the high of the win, she found herself smiling and laughing, forgetting everything that happened before she arrived at this outing - including a nasty row she had with her Major, and the evidence of it, a mistake she would quickly come to regret bitterly.
Overheated from the riding, Beatrice took off her gloves and vest, folding them and placing them under the oak before joining Lord Heydrich - Reinhard, dammit, she had to watch herself to not slip up - on a stroll, Daisy and Sparrow grazing nearby after eating the apples she gave them as a reward for a great race. The two ended up talking about violins and music: Beatrice had been taught violin as part of her upbringing in addition to the piano, and Reinhard’s father had been a violin master and a head of music academy, teaching his son as well to near-professional level.
As they discussed their favorite pieces and composers (of course Reinhard would love Paganini’s God Save the King, the literal hell of a piece - Beatrice’s favorite, Winter by Vivaldi, was hard, but not on that level), Beatrice lifted her hands in the playing position to emphasize the point. Suddenly, she found her hands cradled in Reinhard’s - and when she realized why, she cursed liberally in her head.
The back of her hands were covered in rapidly healing blisters that were once third degree burns, courtesy of her Major’s ire over the outing this morning. Beatrice had left a few cuts as well, but that was beside the point.
“What’s this, Beatrice?” Beatrice made a mistake of looking up, and freezing under the burning stare of the inhuman golden eyes.
She couldn’t rat out Major, no matter their disagreements! Besides, that was none of Reinhard’s business how the discipline was handled between the two of them -
“Don’t lie,” Reinhard continued softly, almost caringly - but all Beatrice could hear were air raid sirens. “What happened to you?”
“M-minor disagreement,” Beatrice mumbled, frantically tearing her gaze away - in vain, as the gloved fingers caught her chin and made her look up again. “N-nothing unusual.”
“You’re lying to me,” Reinhard didn’t sound angry, only inquisitive. “Why? It’s obvious who did it, after all. No normal flame would leave blisters on your fair skin, not now.”
There was still a world of difference between implication and confession, Beatrice knew that far too well. So, she kept her head down, looking morosely as the last of the blisters disappeared in front of their eyes. If she managed to keep this a secret for a few more seconds - if she hadn’t lifted her hands to show off -
“I could speak with Samiel - ”
“No!” Beatrice blurted out - that would literally be the worst possible solution. “It was really nothing - we just had a little spat!”
“Be it as it may, I can’t allow such behavior at this point in time,” Reinhard finally released her hands, and Beatrice hid them behind her back. “I trust you all to know when to pull back, and if Samiel is incapable of controlling herself...”
“It was my fault, all my fault, nothing to scold Major over,” Beatrice desperately grasped for the straws. She could not allow Reinhard to confront her Major about her injuries - that would mark an end to their friendship, cracked and shaky as it was right now, and Beatrice couldn’t let go now, not after everything.
She swore to pull her Major out of this nightmare, and she wouldn’t be able to pull her out if they stopped being friends.
“... if you say so,” Reinhard didn’t sound quite convinced. “I will have to ask you then to refrain from provoking Samiel.”
“That’ll be hard, my existence annoys her sometimes,” Beatrice muttered thoughtlessly, and instantly regretted it.
“Move to the Gladsheim temporarily, then - out of sight, out of mind, as the saying goes.” Move in with me, was the implied subtext. “Unless you want me to have a talk with Samiel…?”
Beatrice could only scream powerlessly in her mind as she accepted her second deal with the devil, adding her body to the soul she’d already sold ages ago. She never wanted this, she never asked for this, but she could see no out - killing herself would solve nothing, and there was no place on this Earth where she could run to without being found out one day by her wrathful Major.
Mother of the Sonnenkind, eh, her cynical mind tormented her, paraphrasing Isaiah’s words about Samael - Lucifer, the once-Lightbringer just like she was. How have you fallen from heaven, war maiden, child of lightning!
All hail the Queen of the Dead, mother of the Sun Child, Beatrice Waltrud von Kircheisen - favorite of Reinhard Tristan Eugen Heydrich.