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Two sets of footsteps walk up the path to the Imperial Residence together: father and son, hand in hand under the bright summer sun. It’s only the temporary home of the royal family – the official palace is still under construction, and will be for some time – but it is a fine enough manor as it is, lavish yet humble at the same time, and secure as any royal dwelling should be.
The guards stationed at the gate salute as Mittermeyer passes them, and he gives them a curt nod in response, unable to return the gesture because he is unwilling to let go of his son’s hand. Felix salutes them in his stead, his movements clumsy and loose, but the gesture brings a smile to his father’s face all the same. The guards will have to make do with that. Propriety and manners can take a backseat this once, Mittermeyer figures; and even if he causes some offense, it’s not like there’s anyone above him they can complain to, save the Kaiserin herself.
Not for the first time, Mittermeyer smiles wryly to himself, thinking of all the power that has landed in his lap. All the power that others yearned for, and he had never wanted to gain. He squeezes Felix’s hand without thinking, and the boy looks up at him with wide blue eyes. He smiles, excited, and flexes his fingers to almost-sort-of squeeze back. Though he’s grown, he can’t really get his hand all the way around his father’s yet; his hands are still too small. Small enough that they can fit almost entirely in Mittermeyer’s palm, but not so small that they can only curl around a single one of his fingers. Not so small that Felix can only hold hands with a child even smaller than himself, and cry when their hands are pulled apart and separated.
It’s been nearly five years since that day, and yet Mittermeyer remembers it as though it were yesterday. Better than yesterday, even. Felix is two months past six, now, and tall for his age, or so Mittermeyer thinks – he’d never been tall himself, after all, at any age – but even so, the boy still feels so small next to him, so fragile. Like at any moment he could disappear, off into some great unknown that Mittermeyer can only ever dream of. But when he blinks, he’s no longer in that room; he’s outside, walking with his son, Felix trying to pull him along at a pace even faster than his own. It fills him with equal parts unease and pride.
The door opens before they even arrive at the doorstep, and it’s not the face of the Kaiserin who greets them, nor one of her guards or ladies-in-waiting: it is the beautiful, serene features of Archduchess Annerose von Grünewald. She smiles at Mittermeyer and Felix as they approach, gentle and soft like a spring breeze rustling the treetops, and her hair glimmers more brightly than the sun beaming down on it.
“Hello, Felix,” Lady Annerose greets, smiling down at the small boy and lifting her skirts in a curtsey. Felix smiles up at her and tries to curtsey back before he remembers he’s supposed to bow instead.
“Hello, Auntie Annerose,” he greets. The bow is a little bit awkward with one hand still in his father’s, but he doesn’t move to let go, and it makes Mittermeyer smile.
“That’s Lady Annerose,” he corrects gently. Felix looks up at him, and then at Annerose, and he opens his mouth to apologize—
“Auntie Annerose is fine,” Annerose replies, hiding her smile behind her hand. She titters, the sound almost birdlike, and it occurs to Mittermeyer that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her laugh before.
She kneels down, bringing herself closer to Felix and meeting his bright blue eyes with her own. “Are you here to see Prince Alec?” she asks. Felix nods emphatically.
“Yes,” he says, and his own smile grows, a space missing between his teeth where one has fallen out. “Is he in the garden again?”
“He is,” Annerose answers. “Would you like me to take you there?”
“That’s okay, I know the way.” Felix turns his smile up to his father, and his fingers flex and curl excitedly in Mittermeyer’s palm. “Can I go see him, Papa?”
“You may,” Mittermeyer answers, and before he’s even finished opening his hand, Felix yanks himself away and runs off into the house, nearly ruffling Lady Annerose’s skirts for how quickly he takes off.
“Goodness, he’s excited,” Annerose says, standing up and smoothing herself out. She laughs, though, apparently pleased, and turns her gentle gaze on Mittermeyer. “But that’s a good thing. Alec has been asking after him all day.”
Her eyes grow distant, then, unfocused, as if she’s looking somewhere far beyond Mittermeyer – somewhere far behind him. Another place that he can’t follow. Somewhere only Annerose can see. She is back in a moment, though, closing her sapphire eyes – so different from the pale, diamond-like blue of her brother’s – and reopening them to focus more intently on her guest.
“Please, come in,” she says, stepping aside to let Mittermeyer through. He bows his head to her as he passes, and she closes the door behind him before stepping forward to lead him to the garden. He’s been here before, of course, a handful of times, most often to report to Kaiserin Hildegard if something important comes up (rare as that has become, these days), but he appreciates the guide anyway. It’s not often that one gets to spend time with the reclusive Archduchess and Princess of the Galactic Empire, after all.
At the same time, though, Mittermeyer had not been surprised to see her. A part of him had even hoped he would. It’s the time of year, he thinks: June has just ticked over into July, and with it brought a thick, stifling heat. Alec’s birthday was nearly two months ago; Annerose had probably come for that, and stayed for…
He shakes his head. It’s the third of July today. In twenty-three days, it will have been five years.
“Is everything all right, Herr Mittermeyer?”
Annerose’s voice rouses him from his thoughts not like the splash of cold water, but like the gentle lapping of warm waves at his feet. He blinks and turns a sheepish smile toward her, embarrassed at losing himself when he should have been more alert. “Yes, of course. My apologies, Your Highness.”
She studies him for a moment, even as they walk together, and it occurs to Mittermeyer suddenly that perhaps his thoughts were not what had concerned her. He asks, “Are you troubled?”
“No, not really,” Annerose responds. “But it is unusual to see you dropping Felix off rather than your wife. I was wondering if Evangelin was okay.”
A tension in Mittermeyer’s shoulders that he hadn’t been aware of lifted, and he laughed as it evaporated into nothing. "Oh, yes, she’s fine,” he says. “She's caught a little bit of a cold, is all. I took the day off to look after her."
Annerose smiles. "I see. Poor thing – is it okay that you’re here, though?”
“It’s probably for the best,” Mittermeyer admits. “She can rest for a while, knowing that her son and her husband are looking after each other away from her sickbed.”
Annerose’s hand finds her mouth again, and she laughs softly. “I’m sure she’ll miss you both terribly,” she says. And then, after a pause, she lowers her hand. “Will everything else be okay without you?"
"If you mean the military, I've left it in Marshal Müller's capable hands." He smiles. "We have nothing to worry about.
"I'm certainly glad to hear it."
They come to a glass door towards the east side of the manor. Beyond it is a small patio, on which a glass table and some chairs have been set. Past that, two little boys run around on a wide swath of grass, careful – but not too careful – to stay away from the flowerbeds at its edge. One of them, with dark hair and blue eyes, is Mittermeyer’s own son; the other is the young Kaiser, with hair a more vibrant gold than any crown could ever hope to be. They’re playing with a kite, four-pointed and red, Alec holding its crimson edges while Felix lets out the string.
“He’s been trying to get it to fly all day,” Annerose says as she takes a seat at the table. She holds out her hand in invitation, and Mittermeyer joins her on the other side. “But I don’t think the wind is quite strong enough for it.”
Mittermeyer turns his head toward one of the trees at the far end of the garden, watching to see if its leaves sway. They do, but only a little; and when he lifts his head, he feels the warm air of a summer breeze push lazily at his jaw. It’s not enough to stir his hair, not really, but he can hardly fault the boys for trying anyway: they are not the first children who have tried to defy the world around them and make it submit to their will.
In the corner of his vision, Mittermeyer sees someone approach. He turns his head, on guard only from years of training and routine, but relaxes when he notices it’s one of the Kaiserin’s handmaids carrying a tray of refreshments. And one he recognizes, at that.
“Oh, Marshal Mittermeyer!” Fraulein Feuerbach – Frau Kesler now, Mittermeyer supposes, though it's still hard to think of Kesler as married to anyone or anything other than his job – beams at him from the doorway. She practically skips over to the table, somehow not spilling a drop of coffee, and sets the tray in her hands down. “What a surprise to see you! And when things are so busy, too.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Frau Kesler,” he greets, noting the unintentional jab. Next to him, Annerose suppresses a smile; in the yard, Alec tosses the kite into the air, only for it to come spiraling back to the ground.
“And you too, Marshal,” Frau Kesler replies. “Though I do wish it was my husband who had come to visit me instead…”
“Marika,” Annerose cuts in, still barely suppressing her laughter, “I’m afraid Herr Mittermeyer hasn’t come to visit either of us today.” She turns her head toward the yard, where Felix and Alec have picked the kite back up and tried to run with it again. “He’s only come to drop off Felix.”
Frau Kesler follows Annerose’s gaze. “Oh!” she cries, and quickly, suddenly, claps a hand over her mouth. It does nothing to hide the bright pink flush on her cheeks, nor the way her eyes go wide as the saucers on the tray she’d set down. “Oh, of course! Please excuse me, then, Marshal; I’ll leave the both of you to it!”
“It’s okay—” Mittermeyer begins to say, reaching out to hold up a placating hand, but it’s too late; she’s already begun to scurry off. She stops, though, just before she disappears to tend to something else inside the house, and calls out: “I’m sorry to ask this of you, Marshal, but please, if you get the chance, tell my husband to come home early tonight! I know he’s busy, but I haven’t seen him in what feels like years, and I miss him terribly!”
And with that, she’s gone. Mittermeyer puts the hand he’d begun to raise on top of his head, scratching it in confusion, and looks back out toward the boys still trying to fly their kite on the lawn. He’s surprised they haven’t managed to get it in the air, what with the whirlwind of Frau Kesler flitting in and out the garden.
Next to him, Annerose finally lets out the laugh she had been holding in. It’s louder than it had been at the door, vibrant and real and alive, and the contrast of it to the Annerose he’s come to know nearly makes him shiver.
"She's a sweet girl, isn't she?" Annerose asks, turning to Mittermeyer with a soft, delicate smile.
"She is," he agrees, though he isn't sure that's the first word he would use to describe Marika Kesler. He had been at the wedding, and had watched as she hooked her elbows around her husband's neck, jumped up into his arms, and spun the two of them around as they kissed. "A little strange, though, but I suppose that's not a bad thing."
"It isn't." Annerose shakes her head. Her smile grows ever-so-slightly, but as she turns her head back toward the boys playing in the garden, Mittermeyer swears he catches something melancholy swimming in her eyes. "I think it's admirable that she chose to keep working after marrying, too."
A tiny breeze kicks up on the wind, brushing a few wisps of hair in front of Annerose’s eyes. It’s still not enough to get the kite in the air, though, and the boys groan in disappointment when it passes. Mittermeyer says nothing. Annerose doesn't press. He doesn’t expect her to. He already knows, too well, why she would find something like that admirable. Why she would find the choice at all to be something to be praised.
They sit in silence for a time, watching the two boys play. Felix and Alec switch places, eventually, with Felix holding the kite and Alec running the string. Eventually, it tangles into a knot, and the moment Alec notices, he plops himself down in the grass to try and untangle it. Felix runs over to help, and then both boys’ hands are in the string. From where Mittermeyer is sitting, he's pretty sure they're just making the knot worse.
He starts to rise from his seat, intent on going over to help his son, but Annerose's voice next to him stops him before he makes it to his feet. "He won't like it if you try to help," she says. And then, after a moment, whispers beneath her breath: "He's a lot like him in that way."
Mittermeyer sits back down. He doesn't have to ask who she means. He can see it too, more and more every time he sees the boy: little Alec, with his sunlight-gold hair and his sharp, inquisitive eyes, standing taller and more regal every day.
"It's been nearly five years since he's gone," Annerose continues, her whispered voice trailing along almost vacantly, almost dreamlike. "And still I can hardly believe it." Her smile wobbles, suddenly, and her eyes well up with tears that she carefully blinks back. "I keep thinking I'll wake up to news that I'll be allowed to see him. That he'll tell me of his latest rise in the ranks, and that he and Sieg…"
She stops herself, lips snapping shut. Mittermeyer's eyes go wide. Something pinches in his chest, makes his breath catch in his lungs. He isn't sure what it is, exactly, that makes him freeze in place. What Annerose had been about to say. He has the distinct feeling, though, that she had been about to tell him something he was never meant to hear.
In front of them, the boys untangle the kite. Mittermeyer hears his son cheer – "Good job, Alec!" – and listens as they climb up from the grass and start to run the kite again. The wind has picked up a little bit, now, caressing Annerose's hair again.
"It's good he has a friend," Annerose whispers. Her smile has returned, if only barely. Her skin is white under the rippling sun. "Someone to take care of him."
Something in that stings, though Mittermeyer couldn’t begin to articulate why. He finds his gaze turning back toward his son. Toward his eyes, both of them a stark, sparkling blue.
"You were his friend, too, weren't you?"
He turns back to Annerose, startled. She's looking at him directly now, her expression carefully blank, but there is no hiding the intensity in her ocean-blue eyes. A different shade than those of her late brother's, but in that moment, Mittermeyer feels as though he's looking at his Kaiser instead.
"I… yes," he says, quiet. He looks down at his hands and curls them into fists over the glass table. "But I wasn't a very good one."
Annerose says nothing. She waits, patiently, and there's something familiar in that, too.
"I didn't know him very well," Mittermeyer continues, the words forming almost of their own accord. "I thought I did, at the time. I thought I knew what he wanted."
"And did you?"
He shakes his head. "No," he says. And then quietly, bitterly he laughs. "I don't think I really knew him at all."
"But you were his friend," Annerose says. She reaches for his hand, hesitating halfway, but makes up her mind in a moment. She lays her fingers over his forearm, and in doing so, guides his storm-grey eyes back up to hers. "And you... you're the only one that's left."
She slides her hand down his arm. Annerose touches the tips of her fingers to Mittermeyer's knuckles, and when he lifts his hand without thinking, she takes it in both of her own.
"He had his Kaiserin," Mittermeyer whispers, but for some reason, it feels like a protest rather than reassurance. "She knew him better than anyone."
Annerose doesn’t answer. Not right away. She looks down at their joined hands, and then off to the side, her gaze once again growing distant. "Hilda…" she starts, but then she shakes her head. "Herr Mittermeyer."
She looks up, suddenly, right back at him, and that same intensity as before burns in the backs of her eyes. "Herr Mittermeyer," she repeats, firmer despite the lowered volume of her voice. "As his friend… as Reinhard's only remaining friend, there's something that you should know."
She lets go of his hand and sits back, keeping her eyes fixed on him. Mittermeyer is powerless to look away, so commanding is her presence in that moment. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, the storm inside him raging alongside the wind rushing in his ears. He sits there, frozen, immobilized by her gaze, even as Annerose stands and she calls for Frau Kesler to look after the boys.
"Come with me, Herr Mittermeyer," she says, offering him her hand. "There's something you need to see."
He takes her hand. It’s small, too, but far from delicate or fragile, and he lets her guide him to his feet and lead him into the house.
Behind them, the boys have managed to catch wind, and the kite soars high in the air.
Annerose brings him to her room. It's a lavish little guest room (though not quite as much as he suspects she might be used to), cozy and comfortable and laden all around with soft throws and beautifully embroidered cushions. Mittermeyer wonders, idly, if they're all her handiwork – and if so, just how long these little comforts have been accumulating here.
But it is none of her work that Annerose wants to show him. She leaves Mittermeyer at the door, her skirts trailing over the carpet as she makes her way to the closet. He sees her reach up for something inside it, though from behind he can't quite tell what it is; it's only when she turns around that he realizes it's a tiny golden box, etched and embossed with a swirling, lace-like pattern.
"Here," she says. "Open it."
He does. Mittermeyer clicks the latch open and lifts the lid, the box still settled in Annerose's hands. The inside of it is covered in soft, shining red velvet; and set in the middle…
"Oh," Mittermeyer whispers, and he feels his knees go weak. "This was…"
"His, yes." Annerose’s voice is low, breathless. Mittermeyer looks up at her, unbelieving, and she nods toward the necklace, silently asking him to take it.
He does, his fingers trembling and his breath freezing in his lungs as he brings his hand toward it. The metal is cold to the touch, almost impossibly so, and he shivers uncontrollably. It feels like he's plunged his hand into ice water, and the rest of his body has followed.
It feels like he's touching a ghost.
He removes it from its velvet bed, lifting the pendant up and letting the chain dangle down towards the floor. He runs his thumb along the side of the pendant and finds that there's a seam. A locket, then, he realizes, and again he is left breathless.
"I've never worn it," Annerose whispers. She sounds faraway, distorted, like she's speaking to him underwater. "It doesn't feel right. But I keep it close to me always."
She doesn't say anything else. She doesn't need to. Mittermeyer stays completely still, statue-like except for the moment of his thumb, tracing the details on the locket's face and sliding it along the seam. He feels a latch at the side, and notices it's loose.
And that, at last, is what helps him breathe again. "Lady Annerose," he starts, his voice wavering uncharacteristically. "May I…?"
"Yes," she says, with a gentle nod.
It feels wrong to ask such a thing of her, but in the center of his chest, Mittermeyer knows this is what Annerose wants of him. What she had wanted him to see. And so, with a deep breath, as if readying himself to dive into the sea, Mittermeyer presses the latch.
The locket opens up immediately, as though it has a spirit of its own and knows exactly what to do. It reveals itself to Mittermeyer, one side at a time: first, a tiny picture, a little faded photograph of three figures sitting under a bright blue sky. In the center, Annerose smiles up at him; and flanking her on either side, her hands on each of their shoulders…
He turns his gaze to the locket's other half, then, and his breath catches in his lungs again. There, inset behind a thin protective insert, is a lock of bright, slightly curling hair, as red as a ruby and a hundred times more precious. And next to it, interwoven and crossing it over…
A matching lock of gold.
His fingers tighten around the pendant.
"It wasn't always like that," Annerose whispers, as though she were speaking a confession. One he wasn't meant to hear. "But I thought..."
Mittermeyer closes his eyes. He closes the locket, too. He sets it back in its resting place, and closes the jewelry box lid over it carefully. "Thank you," he says, and his voice is little more than a broken, trembling whisper, too. "Thank you, Lady Annerose."
"Everything my brother did," Annerose breathes, "he did out of love. I just…" She bows her head. "I just wanted you to know that."
She takes the box away, leaving Mittermeyer alone. And for the first time, he thinks he understands. He understands who Reinhard von Lohengramm really was. Who Siegfried Kircheis was to him.
When Annerose returns, Mittermeyer looks up, and for a moment he does see her as she is: she sees that girl in the holos, the girl standing behind the throne of the last of the Goldenbaums, and he sees behind her the figures of two boys, young and ambitious, one with fiery red hair and the other with hair of starlight gold. And when he blinks, he sees those boys more clearly: men, now, standing amidst the stars, smiles on their faces and arms around each other, so much more than they had seemed even when they were alive.
But then Annerose speaks, and the illusion shatters, and the two of them are back on Phezzan, the only ghosts among them the ones that dwell in their hearts.
"Thank you, Herr Mittermeyer," Annerose says. "Thank you for being their friend."