(no subject)
Author: antigone_rex
Title: Undeniable Warmth
Recipient: Bay115
Rating: PG-13 / T
Characters: Catherine and Olivier Armstrong
Summary: Catherine makes a suprise visit to Briggs.
Notes: Bay requested some Armstrong sister interaction. Hope this delivers!
At first, Olivier couldn’t quite decide why Catherine bothered her so much. Perhaps it was her abrupt visit. The youngest Armstrong arrived at Briggs only three days earlier, unannounced and completely unexpected. Based on the heap of luggage the manservant lugged to the barracks, Catherine planned on an extended stay.
Typically, Olivier was an unflappable, adaptable woman. Things changed quickly on the Drachman Front. She was accustomed to the stress and strain of life perpetually on the verge of war. Catherine’s presence should not have irked her as much as it did. It took the General two days to realize why her sister disturbed the routine and quiet solitude at the Fort.
Catherine was too warm.
Olivier was proud - a Briggs woman, through and through. She loved the cold clarity of things at the Northern Wall: black on pure, snowy white. She loved the way the crisp air struck her lungs as she made her morning rounds; it reminded her of the brevity of life. She loved the howling wind and inclement weather. The harsh clime only made her harder, stronger. She loved the order, efficiency, and routine. Briggs was her honor. Her duty. Her purpose.
But Catherine was none of these things. She was a child of opulence - blissfully unaware. She did not know of pain or hardship. Catherine was soft and sweet and warm. Far too warm for Briggs.
She did not belong here.
From the instant Catherine arrived at the base, Olivier decided her sister’s presence would in no way impede her work. She had duties... important duties that a girl from Central could never understand. It was selfish of her sister to think Olivier could drop everything to entertain her. She did not have time to give a tour of the base. She was not interested in chatting about the latest gossip from Central. And she most definitely did not want to sit down and have tea and biscuits. A solitary lunch of hardtack and coffee were just fine, thank you.
For her part, Catherine did not seem to notice. She settled into the base with the naivete that marked all things she did.
Or so Olivier thought.
On the first day of Catherine’s visit, Olivier learned her sister’s warmth affected even the most surly soldiers.
Early that morning, the youngest Armstrong meandered to the shed where Briggs housed military vehicles. Her garish pink dress and cape clashed against the gunmetal grey, and her impractical slippers made hardly a sound as she stole between a pair of trucks. She was drawn by the clicking noise of metal on metal. Soon, she found its source: Captain Buccaneer lay on a roller cart below a massive tank, working at the gears and cogs that powered it.
“Hello,” Catherine said, shyly shifting from foot to foot with hands clasped behind her back.
“Huh?” Buccaneer grunted. “Who’s that?” He pushed out from below the vehicle, face twisted into his typical, disagreeable scowl. His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of General Armstrong’s very soft, very innocent sister.
“Excuse me.” Catherine said politely. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to watch you work.” A demure blush crept over her lightly freckled cheeks.
Buccaneer blinked, mouth working silently. Finally, he managed to something relatively coherent. “You want to watch me work?”
Catherine smiled, bright and pure. “Of course! I’ve read all about military vehicles.” She reached forward to lightly tap the side of the tank with one delicate knuckle. “This one’s a Mark I model - first in its series - is it not?”
The Captain’s eyes widened further. “Yeah... yeah, it is...” He considered the girl silently before he pulled the rest of his body out from under the tank. “You... you know about the Mark series?” His automail clinked against the floor as he pushed himself up to stand.
Catherine stared at the Captain’s metal arm and let out a tiny gasp. “Oooh! The M1913A! ” she squealed. She stepped forward to timidly run her hand along the serrated metal.
Buccaneer was too charmed for words.
Olivier was conducting a routine inspection of the lower level facilities when she spotted her sister and the Captain an hour later. The pair was crouched next to the tank, speaking in soft, conspiratorial voices. Catherine’s hand rested on Buccaneer’s arm as though they were old friends. Olivier was shocked to see an uncharacteristic blush warming Buccaneer’s cheeks.
The General huffed and turned away. What a nuisance.
On the second day of Catherine’s visit, Olivier learned that her sister warmed even the hardest of hearts.
After another lonely lunch, Catherine decided to continue her exploration of the base. She eventually made her way to Brigg’s upper wall. The gusty wind pulled at her fine clothes, and she nearly fell as her slippers - still too impractical for the harsh North - skidded over the icy path.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” a deep voice sounded from just behind her.
Catherine gasped and turned. Major Miles stood straight and tall with feet spread, seemingly unaffected by the fierce wind. His coat hardly flapped as another draft pulled at Catherine’s cape. The Major’s eyes were hidden behind dark lenses, giving him an imposing, mysterious aura.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” Miles said again. “It’s dangerous.”
“It is?” Catherine’s eyes widened innocently. “I only... I just wanted to catch a glimpse of Drachma.” She shivered as another gust whistled over the wall.
Miles sighed and shrugged off his heavy fur-lined overcoat. He draped it over Catherine’s shoulders. “You won’t see much today - a storm’s coming in.” He nodded at the grey clouds that loomed on the horizon.
“Oh,” Catherine said. She nibbled at her lower lip thoughtfully. “I see.”
Miles’ voice softened. “Why do you want to see Drachma?”
Catherine ducked her head. “I was just curious. I read all about it, you see.” Her toe moved in a shy circle over the ice-coated path. “It’s so important to her. My sister, that is.” She peeked up at the Major before her eyes dropped back to her feet. “I just thought that... if I knew about her work, I could... Maybe we could... have something to talk about...” she trailed off, blinking away the tears that suddenly pricked at her eyes.
Miles regarded the soft, shy girl. She seemed so out of place in this militant wasteland. “I’m sure the General appreciates your interest.”
The youngest Armstrong let out a little sob. “I’m... I’m not so sure. She’s barely said a word to me since I arrived.” A single tear welled at the corner of one eye, but before it could fall, it caught in the wind. It froze almost instantly, glimmering like a diamond before it shattered on the pavement below.
Miles frowned. “You shouldn’t do that up here. You’ll freeze.” He reached forward to tuck his coat more firmly around her shoulders.
Catherine nodded, doing her best to keep back her tears. “I just... I came here to spend time with her.”
“The General is a busy woman,” he said, his voice more gentle than it had been in years.
“I know that,” Catherine said. “I do. I just want to know her. She left when I was still very young.” She glanced up at the Major. “Do you have a sister?”
Miles started. The dark glasses hid his expression, but he suddenly sounded fathomlessly sad. “I did. She... she died a long time ago.”
Catherine stepped close to lay her hand on his arm. Miles could feel her warmth leak through the wool of his sleeve. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “What was she like?”
Miles bowed his head, taken in by this girl’s innocent and heartfelt compassion. Sad truths and an unforgettable past spilled forth, and suddenly he was revealing his secrets to this kind, gentle, impossible girl.
Olivier found Miles absentmindedly pacing the halls two hours later. A warm smile played at the corners of his lips.
Olivier cursed. Not him, too.
On the third day of Catherine’s visit, Olivier learned her sister’s warmth was as unavoidable as the dawn.
“But I want to go with you,” Catherine said, her sweet face twisted in a petulant frown.
“No,” Olivier said flatly. “You have no place on a scouting mission. You’d be in the way.”
“I won’t get in the way - I promise!” Catherine wheedled. She had spent another solidary morning exploring Briggs, but meandered to the Command Center with the hope of luring sister to lunch. Unfortunately her plans were dashed when she found the General preparing for a mounted survey of the Drachman plain. A small cadre of soldiers stood by their horses several paces away, surreptitiously watching the not-quite-silent spat between the General and her younger sister.
“General,” Buccaneer murmured. “I’d be happy to keep an eye on her, if you wish.”
Olivier spun to glare at the Captain. “Excuse me, soldier?”
“I- I just...” the gargantuan man swallowed visibly. “If you’re concerned for her safety...”
“I’m concerned, Captain, about protocol.” Olivier’s icy eyes bore into his. “Is it protocol to bring non-military personnel along on a scouting mission?”
Buccaneer quailed under his superior’s piercing gaze. “N- no, Sir. I just...”
“General,” Miles interjected. “If I may... it might be helpful it your sister joined.”
Olivier turned to face him. “And how’s that, Major?”
Miles shrugged. “Miss Catherine could act as our liaison in Central. She could circulate information for us - tell others about the peace we maintain here at the wall.” His expression remained stoic, but his voice dropped so as not to be heard by the other Briggs men. “Couldn’t hurt your reputation, truth be told.”
Olivier harrumphed and crossed her arms. Her stallion echoed her, pawing at the snow-covered ground and tossing his head.
Catherine crossed her own arms, a near-mirror of her elder sister only far less fierce. “I’m coming, Olivier,” she said stubbornly. “Whether you like it or not. I don’t care what you say.” She pointed at a nearby soldier, suddenly full of Armstrong authority. “Get me a horse.”
For an instant, the private looked as though he were about to hop to Catherine’s command. He took a half-step, only remembering at the last moment which Armstrong was truly in charge. He looked to the General, silently awaiting an order.
Olivier’s eyebrows rose at her sister’s uncharacteristic display of clout. It was something she could understand and respect: a true family trait. After a long silence, she nodded. “Very well.”
Catherine squealed and hopped up and down in her excitement. The soldier disappeared for a moment only to reappear with a bay mare, already saddled and just the right size for the tiny girl.
Olivier frowned and re-evaluated the thought she had earlier - the one about Catherine having Armstrong traits. She certainly did not squeal. “You must keep up. We cannot stop for you.”
“Yes! I understand,” beamed Catherine.
“And I will not hear a word of complaint.”
“Of course! You won’t!”
“I expect not to.” Olivier turned her horse with a brisk snap of the reins. “Here in the North, we leave stragglers to the wolves.”
They traveled for over three hours through the wilderness. No matter where they rode, everything was the same: a barren, desolate wasteland coated in snow. Their horses sent up puffs of misty vapor with each crunching step, punctuating the silence with the occasional snort. There was little conversation along the way - nothing more than what was completely necessary. Catherine followed at the very end of the line. Her bright green eyes studied her sister, who led the group on her white stallion.
True to her promise, Catherine never uttered a word of complaint. She did not once mention how the cold leaked through her thin, impractical cape. Nor did she whine about the growing hunger that gnawed at her stomach. She refused to admit just how miserable she felt. Yet somewhere along the journey, she managed to acquire Miles’ overcoat and a handful of Buccaneer’s rations.
For her part, Olivier pretended not to notice.
After the fourth hour of travel, Catherine began to shift uncomfortably in her saddle. She was growing tired of the silence and endless nothingness. And she was sick of being ignored. Her mouth firmed into a determined line. He heeled her horse into a canter, stirring up sprays of snow as she passed the other soldiers in line. She pulled up next to her sister. “Olivier.”
The General sent Catherine a sidelong glance. “I told you to stay out of the way.” Her stallion pinned his ears at Catherine’s bay mare, and the two horses kicked out at each other before the Armstrong sisters could rein them in.
“I just wanted to talk,” Catherine said softly. Her mittened hands curled on the reins. “We haven’t had a chance -”
“Now is not the time,” Olivier clipped.
Catherine looked away to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. “It’s never the time,” she whispered.
Olivier frowned. “I have duties, Catherine. This job is dangerous. It’s my responsibility to protect Amestris from the threat in the North. I can’t idle in meaningless banter. You must understand that much.”
“I do understand,” Catherine said, her voice thick. “But... what about your duty to your family? I’m your sister. Couldn’t you just spare a moment -” She reached over to lay a hand on her sister’s arm. “- to talk?”
Olivier jerked as though burned, but stopped from pulling away at the last moment. The girl was simply too warm. Catherine’s openfaced kindness was so foreign - so different - from Olivier’s military sensibilities. She did not know how to respond, though she felt a twinge of guilt as she took in her sister’s tear-filled eyes. “Catherine...” she began.
A sudden commotion to their right interrupted the General before she could say more. Black forms sprang from the tundra in an explosive spray of snow and ice. They held guns and crudgels in their gloved hands.
“Drachman rebels!” Buccaneer barked.
Olivier drew her sword. “Form up!” she commanded. Her men scrambled to obey. She barely had time to wheel her horse around before the rebels were upon them.
It was no coincidence that Olivier was known by many names. “Ice Queen” was the most infamous, but in the North, the Drachmen called her “Snow Lion.” The title was not undeserved. She was a true warrior - awesome to behold. She rode with graceful ease at the very heart of the battle, steering her war-trained stallion with only her knees. Her sword rose and fell with cold, cutting accuracy, and Drachmen rebels fell wherever she went.
Olivier was sure and deadly; she never hesitated as she mete out blow after killing blow. But her arm faltered when she heard a high-pitched scream cut through the din. “Catherine,” she breathed. She turned to catch a flash of blonde hair amidst the chaos.
She could not see her. That fragile, innocent girl. Her sister. And for the first time in her life, Olivier Armstrong knew the paralyzing clutches of fear.
“Catherine!” she said again, louder, her voice cracking as a tight feeling caught in her throat. She heeled her horse forward - directly into the fray. She barely saw the looks of terror that stole over rebel faces as the Snow Lion carved a path through the crowd, striking with a ferocity that gave true meaning to her title.
Finally - finally - Olivier cut her way through. The remaining rebels scattered, terrified of the heirloom blade that knew no mercy. The General wheeled her horse about, desperately searching for her sister. After what seemed an eternity, her eyes fell on a pink cape crumpled on the ground. It was covered in blood.
Olivier was certain her heart stopped beating.
“Catherine!” she screamed. She dismounted, barely registering the feeling of the earth beneath her feet. “Catherine, answer me!” She heard nothing but the groans of injured and dying men. She saw nothing but Drachmen bodies and fallen horses. She felt sick.
This was all her fault. She should never have allowed her younger sister along on such a dangerous mission. And now.. Now she could be... With a throaty scream, Olivier drove her blade into the blood-soaked snow. She had to find Catherine - even if it meant digging through the permafrost with her bare hands.
Olivier had just begun her search when she saw a slight movement to her left. She turned. One of the fallen horses shifted as though something stirred beneath it. Whatever it was, it was alive... and strong enough to move hundreds of pounds of horseflesh on its own. Olivier stumbled toward it, allowing herself a tiny glimmer of hope...
And suddenly, a blonde head came into view. It was Catherine - pinned under the horse’s dead weight. She squirmed, and in a display of Armstrong strength, pushed the animal off her legs. Olivier was at her side in a moment.
“Are you injured?” She ran her hands over her sister’s arms and legs to ensure nothing was broken.
“I’m fine,” Catherine said. “Just a little winded. I didn’t see it until it fell on me.”
Olivier let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “You should know better than to leave your flanks unguarded,” she said gruffly.
Catherine’s lips pursed. For a moment, she looked amused. “What about you? Are you okay?” She glanced at Olivier’s tattered uniform and gasped as she caught sight of a gash on her sister’s arm. “You’re hurt!”
“It’s.. nothing.” In truth, Olivier did not realize she had been injured; she hardly felt the pain. Catherine reached forward to help, but Olivier brushed off her hands. “I told you not to come, Catherine. You could have been killed.”
The youngest Armstrong sent her a reproachful look. “Olivier...”
“It’s dangerous here. I can’t always protect you.”
“Sister...”
Olivier looked away. Her voice became strangely soft. “I was... worried. What if you had -”
She was cut short as a pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders. At first, Olivier stiffened. It had been many years since anyone had hugged her in such a natural, loving way. It was foreign... but not unpleasant. After a time, Olivier relaxed into the embrace. Her sister’s hold tightened, and the General let out an unbidden sigh. Catherine was so undeniably warm - there was no escaping it. As welcoming as a hearthfire. As radiant as the sun. And there, kneeling with her sister on the Drachman plain, the Ice Queen began to melt.
Olivier lifted her arms and returned the embrace.
It took nearly an hour for them to gather their weapons and what remained of the horses. They were fortunate - only a few Briggs soldiers had been injured in the fight. On the journey back to the Fort, the sisters rode knee-to-knee, Catherine chatting happily all the while. Olivier wore her stoic mask as though it had never left. The General did not say much, but for the first time in years, she did listen.
And for Catherine, that was enough.
Title: Undeniable Warmth
Recipient: Bay115
Rating: PG-13 / T
Characters: Catherine and Olivier Armstrong
Summary: Catherine makes a suprise visit to Briggs.
Notes: Bay requested some Armstrong sister interaction. Hope this delivers!
At first, Olivier couldn’t quite decide why Catherine bothered her so much. Perhaps it was her abrupt visit. The youngest Armstrong arrived at Briggs only three days earlier, unannounced and completely unexpected. Based on the heap of luggage the manservant lugged to the barracks, Catherine planned on an extended stay.
Typically, Olivier was an unflappable, adaptable woman. Things changed quickly on the Drachman Front. She was accustomed to the stress and strain of life perpetually on the verge of war. Catherine’s presence should not have irked her as much as it did. It took the General two days to realize why her sister disturbed the routine and quiet solitude at the Fort.
Catherine was too warm.
Olivier was proud - a Briggs woman, through and through. She loved the cold clarity of things at the Northern Wall: black on pure, snowy white. She loved the way the crisp air struck her lungs as she made her morning rounds; it reminded her of the brevity of life. She loved the howling wind and inclement weather. The harsh clime only made her harder, stronger. She loved the order, efficiency, and routine. Briggs was her honor. Her duty. Her purpose.
But Catherine was none of these things. She was a child of opulence - blissfully unaware. She did not know of pain or hardship. Catherine was soft and sweet and warm. Far too warm for Briggs.
She did not belong here.
From the instant Catherine arrived at the base, Olivier decided her sister’s presence would in no way impede her work. She had duties... important duties that a girl from Central could never understand. It was selfish of her sister to think Olivier could drop everything to entertain her. She did not have time to give a tour of the base. She was not interested in chatting about the latest gossip from Central. And she most definitely did not want to sit down and have tea and biscuits. A solitary lunch of hardtack and coffee were just fine, thank you.
For her part, Catherine did not seem to notice. She settled into the base with the naivete that marked all things she did.
Or so Olivier thought.
On the first day of Catherine’s visit, Olivier learned her sister’s warmth affected even the most surly soldiers.
Early that morning, the youngest Armstrong meandered to the shed where Briggs housed military vehicles. Her garish pink dress and cape clashed against the gunmetal grey, and her impractical slippers made hardly a sound as she stole between a pair of trucks. She was drawn by the clicking noise of metal on metal. Soon, she found its source: Captain Buccaneer lay on a roller cart below a massive tank, working at the gears and cogs that powered it.
“Hello,” Catherine said, shyly shifting from foot to foot with hands clasped behind her back.
“Huh?” Buccaneer grunted. “Who’s that?” He pushed out from below the vehicle, face twisted into his typical, disagreeable scowl. His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of General Armstrong’s very soft, very innocent sister.
“Excuse me.” Catherine said politely. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to watch you work.” A demure blush crept over her lightly freckled cheeks.
Buccaneer blinked, mouth working silently. Finally, he managed to something relatively coherent. “You want to watch me work?”
Catherine smiled, bright and pure. “Of course! I’ve read all about military vehicles.” She reached forward to lightly tap the side of the tank with one delicate knuckle. “This one’s a Mark I model - first in its series - is it not?”
The Captain’s eyes widened further. “Yeah... yeah, it is...” He considered the girl silently before he pulled the rest of his body out from under the tank. “You... you know about the Mark series?” His automail clinked against the floor as he pushed himself up to stand.
Catherine stared at the Captain’s metal arm and let out a tiny gasp. “Oooh! The M1913A! ” she squealed. She stepped forward to timidly run her hand along the serrated metal.
Buccaneer was too charmed for words.
Olivier was conducting a routine inspection of the lower level facilities when she spotted her sister and the Captain an hour later. The pair was crouched next to the tank, speaking in soft, conspiratorial voices. Catherine’s hand rested on Buccaneer’s arm as though they were old friends. Olivier was shocked to see an uncharacteristic blush warming Buccaneer’s cheeks.
The General huffed and turned away. What a nuisance.
On the second day of Catherine’s visit, Olivier learned that her sister warmed even the hardest of hearts.
After another lonely lunch, Catherine decided to continue her exploration of the base. She eventually made her way to Brigg’s upper wall. The gusty wind pulled at her fine clothes, and she nearly fell as her slippers - still too impractical for the harsh North - skidded over the icy path.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” a deep voice sounded from just behind her.
Catherine gasped and turned. Major Miles stood straight and tall with feet spread, seemingly unaffected by the fierce wind. His coat hardly flapped as another draft pulled at Catherine’s cape. The Major’s eyes were hidden behind dark lenses, giving him an imposing, mysterious aura.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” Miles said again. “It’s dangerous.”
“It is?” Catherine’s eyes widened innocently. “I only... I just wanted to catch a glimpse of Drachma.” She shivered as another gust whistled over the wall.
Miles sighed and shrugged off his heavy fur-lined overcoat. He draped it over Catherine’s shoulders. “You won’t see much today - a storm’s coming in.” He nodded at the grey clouds that loomed on the horizon.
“Oh,” Catherine said. She nibbled at her lower lip thoughtfully. “I see.”
Miles’ voice softened. “Why do you want to see Drachma?”
Catherine ducked her head. “I was just curious. I read all about it, you see.” Her toe moved in a shy circle over the ice-coated path. “It’s so important to her. My sister, that is.” She peeked up at the Major before her eyes dropped back to her feet. “I just thought that... if I knew about her work, I could... Maybe we could... have something to talk about...” she trailed off, blinking away the tears that suddenly pricked at her eyes.
Miles regarded the soft, shy girl. She seemed so out of place in this militant wasteland. “I’m sure the General appreciates your interest.”
The youngest Armstrong let out a little sob. “I’m... I’m not so sure. She’s barely said a word to me since I arrived.” A single tear welled at the corner of one eye, but before it could fall, it caught in the wind. It froze almost instantly, glimmering like a diamond before it shattered on the pavement below.
Miles frowned. “You shouldn’t do that up here. You’ll freeze.” He reached forward to tuck his coat more firmly around her shoulders.
Catherine nodded, doing her best to keep back her tears. “I just... I came here to spend time with her.”
“The General is a busy woman,” he said, his voice more gentle than it had been in years.
“I know that,” Catherine said. “I do. I just want to know her. She left when I was still very young.” She glanced up at the Major. “Do you have a sister?”
Miles started. The dark glasses hid his expression, but he suddenly sounded fathomlessly sad. “I did. She... she died a long time ago.”
Catherine stepped close to lay her hand on his arm. Miles could feel her warmth leak through the wool of his sleeve. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “What was she like?”
Miles bowed his head, taken in by this girl’s innocent and heartfelt compassion. Sad truths and an unforgettable past spilled forth, and suddenly he was revealing his secrets to this kind, gentle, impossible girl.
Olivier found Miles absentmindedly pacing the halls two hours later. A warm smile played at the corners of his lips.
Olivier cursed. Not him, too.
On the third day of Catherine’s visit, Olivier learned her sister’s warmth was as unavoidable as the dawn.
“But I want to go with you,” Catherine said, her sweet face twisted in a petulant frown.
“No,” Olivier said flatly. “You have no place on a scouting mission. You’d be in the way.”
“I won’t get in the way - I promise!” Catherine wheedled. She had spent another solidary morning exploring Briggs, but meandered to the Command Center with the hope of luring sister to lunch. Unfortunately her plans were dashed when she found the General preparing for a mounted survey of the Drachman plain. A small cadre of soldiers stood by their horses several paces away, surreptitiously watching the not-quite-silent spat between the General and her younger sister.
“General,” Buccaneer murmured. “I’d be happy to keep an eye on her, if you wish.”
Olivier spun to glare at the Captain. “Excuse me, soldier?”
“I- I just...” the gargantuan man swallowed visibly. “If you’re concerned for her safety...”
“I’m concerned, Captain, about protocol.” Olivier’s icy eyes bore into his. “Is it protocol to bring non-military personnel along on a scouting mission?”
Buccaneer quailed under his superior’s piercing gaze. “N- no, Sir. I just...”
“General,” Miles interjected. “If I may... it might be helpful it your sister joined.”
Olivier turned to face him. “And how’s that, Major?”
Miles shrugged. “Miss Catherine could act as our liaison in Central. She could circulate information for us - tell others about the peace we maintain here at the wall.” His expression remained stoic, but his voice dropped so as not to be heard by the other Briggs men. “Couldn’t hurt your reputation, truth be told.”
Olivier harrumphed and crossed her arms. Her stallion echoed her, pawing at the snow-covered ground and tossing his head.
Catherine crossed her own arms, a near-mirror of her elder sister only far less fierce. “I’m coming, Olivier,” she said stubbornly. “Whether you like it or not. I don’t care what you say.” She pointed at a nearby soldier, suddenly full of Armstrong authority. “Get me a horse.”
For an instant, the private looked as though he were about to hop to Catherine’s command. He took a half-step, only remembering at the last moment which Armstrong was truly in charge. He looked to the General, silently awaiting an order.
Olivier’s eyebrows rose at her sister’s uncharacteristic display of clout. It was something she could understand and respect: a true family trait. After a long silence, she nodded. “Very well.”
Catherine squealed and hopped up and down in her excitement. The soldier disappeared for a moment only to reappear with a bay mare, already saddled and just the right size for the tiny girl.
Olivier frowned and re-evaluated the thought she had earlier - the one about Catherine having Armstrong traits. She certainly did not squeal. “You must keep up. We cannot stop for you.”
“Yes! I understand,” beamed Catherine.
“And I will not hear a word of complaint.”
“Of course! You won’t!”
“I expect not to.” Olivier turned her horse with a brisk snap of the reins. “Here in the North, we leave stragglers to the wolves.”
They traveled for over three hours through the wilderness. No matter where they rode, everything was the same: a barren, desolate wasteland coated in snow. Their horses sent up puffs of misty vapor with each crunching step, punctuating the silence with the occasional snort. There was little conversation along the way - nothing more than what was completely necessary. Catherine followed at the very end of the line. Her bright green eyes studied her sister, who led the group on her white stallion.
True to her promise, Catherine never uttered a word of complaint. She did not once mention how the cold leaked through her thin, impractical cape. Nor did she whine about the growing hunger that gnawed at her stomach. She refused to admit just how miserable she felt. Yet somewhere along the journey, she managed to acquire Miles’ overcoat and a handful of Buccaneer’s rations.
For her part, Olivier pretended not to notice.
After the fourth hour of travel, Catherine began to shift uncomfortably in her saddle. She was growing tired of the silence and endless nothingness. And she was sick of being ignored. Her mouth firmed into a determined line. He heeled her horse into a canter, stirring up sprays of snow as she passed the other soldiers in line. She pulled up next to her sister. “Olivier.”
The General sent Catherine a sidelong glance. “I told you to stay out of the way.” Her stallion pinned his ears at Catherine’s bay mare, and the two horses kicked out at each other before the Armstrong sisters could rein them in.
“I just wanted to talk,” Catherine said softly. Her mittened hands curled on the reins. “We haven’t had a chance -”
“Now is not the time,” Olivier clipped.
Catherine looked away to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. “It’s never the time,” she whispered.
Olivier frowned. “I have duties, Catherine. This job is dangerous. It’s my responsibility to protect Amestris from the threat in the North. I can’t idle in meaningless banter. You must understand that much.”
“I do understand,” Catherine said, her voice thick. “But... what about your duty to your family? I’m your sister. Couldn’t you just spare a moment -” She reached over to lay a hand on her sister’s arm. “- to talk?”
Olivier jerked as though burned, but stopped from pulling away at the last moment. The girl was simply too warm. Catherine’s openfaced kindness was so foreign - so different - from Olivier’s military sensibilities. She did not know how to respond, though she felt a twinge of guilt as she took in her sister’s tear-filled eyes. “Catherine...” she began.
A sudden commotion to their right interrupted the General before she could say more. Black forms sprang from the tundra in an explosive spray of snow and ice. They held guns and crudgels in their gloved hands.
“Drachman rebels!” Buccaneer barked.
Olivier drew her sword. “Form up!” she commanded. Her men scrambled to obey. She barely had time to wheel her horse around before the rebels were upon them.
It was no coincidence that Olivier was known by many names. “Ice Queen” was the most infamous, but in the North, the Drachmen called her “Snow Lion.” The title was not undeserved. She was a true warrior - awesome to behold. She rode with graceful ease at the very heart of the battle, steering her war-trained stallion with only her knees. Her sword rose and fell with cold, cutting accuracy, and Drachmen rebels fell wherever she went.
Olivier was sure and deadly; she never hesitated as she mete out blow after killing blow. But her arm faltered when she heard a high-pitched scream cut through the din. “Catherine,” she breathed. She turned to catch a flash of blonde hair amidst the chaos.
She could not see her. That fragile, innocent girl. Her sister. And for the first time in her life, Olivier Armstrong knew the paralyzing clutches of fear.
“Catherine!” she said again, louder, her voice cracking as a tight feeling caught in her throat. She heeled her horse forward - directly into the fray. She barely saw the looks of terror that stole over rebel faces as the Snow Lion carved a path through the crowd, striking with a ferocity that gave true meaning to her title.
Finally - finally - Olivier cut her way through. The remaining rebels scattered, terrified of the heirloom blade that knew no mercy. The General wheeled her horse about, desperately searching for her sister. After what seemed an eternity, her eyes fell on a pink cape crumpled on the ground. It was covered in blood.
Olivier was certain her heart stopped beating.
“Catherine!” she screamed. She dismounted, barely registering the feeling of the earth beneath her feet. “Catherine, answer me!” She heard nothing but the groans of injured and dying men. She saw nothing but Drachmen bodies and fallen horses. She felt sick.
This was all her fault. She should never have allowed her younger sister along on such a dangerous mission. And now.. Now she could be... With a throaty scream, Olivier drove her blade into the blood-soaked snow. She had to find Catherine - even if it meant digging through the permafrost with her bare hands.
Olivier had just begun her search when she saw a slight movement to her left. She turned. One of the fallen horses shifted as though something stirred beneath it. Whatever it was, it was alive... and strong enough to move hundreds of pounds of horseflesh on its own. Olivier stumbled toward it, allowing herself a tiny glimmer of hope...
And suddenly, a blonde head came into view. It was Catherine - pinned under the horse’s dead weight. She squirmed, and in a display of Armstrong strength, pushed the animal off her legs. Olivier was at her side in a moment.
“Are you injured?” She ran her hands over her sister’s arms and legs to ensure nothing was broken.
“I’m fine,” Catherine said. “Just a little winded. I didn’t see it until it fell on me.”
Olivier let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “You should know better than to leave your flanks unguarded,” she said gruffly.
Catherine’s lips pursed. For a moment, she looked amused. “What about you? Are you okay?” She glanced at Olivier’s tattered uniform and gasped as she caught sight of a gash on her sister’s arm. “You’re hurt!”
“It’s.. nothing.” In truth, Olivier did not realize she had been injured; she hardly felt the pain. Catherine reached forward to help, but Olivier brushed off her hands. “I told you not to come, Catherine. You could have been killed.”
The youngest Armstrong sent her a reproachful look. “Olivier...”
“It’s dangerous here. I can’t always protect you.”
“Sister...”
Olivier looked away. Her voice became strangely soft. “I was... worried. What if you had -”
She was cut short as a pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders. At first, Olivier stiffened. It had been many years since anyone had hugged her in such a natural, loving way. It was foreign... but not unpleasant. After a time, Olivier relaxed into the embrace. Her sister’s hold tightened, and the General let out an unbidden sigh. Catherine was so undeniably warm - there was no escaping it. As welcoming as a hearthfire. As radiant as the sun. And there, kneeling with her sister on the Drachman plain, the Ice Queen began to melt.
Olivier lifted her arms and returned the embrace.
It took nearly an hour for them to gather their weapons and what remained of the horses. They were fortunate - only a few Briggs soldiers had been injured in the fight. On the journey back to the Fort, the sisters rode knee-to-knee, Catherine chatting happily all the while. Olivier wore her stoic mask as though it had never left. The General did not say much, but for the first time in years, she did listen.
And for Catherine, that was enough.