do as I see fit with your life. It is mine to spend. Remember that."
Fidelias frowned and inclined his head slightly. "As you wish, my lord."
"That's right," Octavian said, some measure of bitter humor touching the tone.
Fidelias studied the young man for a moment and realized that... the Princeps was torn over some decision. Normally he was so confident, so driven; Fidelias had never seen him like this. There was uncertainty hovering behind his words, hesitance: Octavian himself wasn't sure what his next steps would be.
"Are you planning on leaving the force, sir?" Fidelias asked carefully.
"At some point, it's inevitable," Octavian replied calmly. "If nothing else, I will be obliged to make personal contact with the Legions in Calderon - and hope to the great furies whoever is in charge over there has had sense enough to listen to my uncle."
Fidelias grunted. "But... that isn't what you think will happen."
Octavian grimaced, and said, "Someone has to command the men, regardless of what happens to me. We have to take down the vord Queen - and her cadre of captured or treacherous Citizens. I will, by necessity, be in the center of that conflict. And... the odds seem to be long against me."
Fidelias debated on how to respond to the moment of vulnerability the Princeps was showing. He finally just began chuckling.
Octavian frowned at him and lifted an imperious eyebrow.
"Long odds," he said. "Bloody crows, sir. Long odds. That's bloody funny."
"I don't see what's so amusing about it."
"Naturally, you don't," Fidelias said, still chuckling. "The furyless boy from the country who stopped an invasion."
"I didn't really stop it," Tavi said. "Doroga stopped it. I just..."
"Completely demolished an operation backed by the most dangerous High Lord and Lady in the Realm," Fidelias said. "I was there. Remember?" The last words were not bereft of irony.
Octavian gave a small inclination of his head in acknowledgment of the touch.
"The boy who personally saved the First Lord's life in his second term at the Academy. Who took command of a Legion and fought the Canim to a standoff - and who then stole Varg from the most tightly guarded prison of the Realm and brokered the first truce in history with the Canim to get them out of the Realm. The young upstart Princeps who pitted himself against a continent full of vord and hostile Canim and won."
"I got my people and Varg's out alive," Octavian corrected sharply. "I haven't won anything. Not yet."
Fidelias grunted. "Sir... honestly. Suppose you defeat the vord here. Suppose you unite our people again, take Alera back. Will that be a victory?"
Octavian raked his fingers through his hair. "Of course not. It'll be a good start. But there will be severe repercussions for the balance of power in our society that must be addressed. The Canim will, probably, be settling here, and we'll have to reach some kind of mutual understanding with them, and the Free Alerans are never going to back the same set of laws that allowed them to be enslaved. Not to mention the fact that - "
Fidelias cleared his throat gently. "Young man, I submit to you that your standards of victory are... set rather high. If you continue that way, no matter what you do, it will never be enough."
"That is exactly correct," Octavian replied. "Are the men and women the vord have already killed only partially dead? Are they only technically dead? Only legally dead? Can a compromise be made wherein they are given back some portion of their lives?" He shook his head. "No. No compromise. My duty to them, and to those still alive, demands nothing less than everything I can give them. Yes, old soldier, my standards are high. So are the stakes. They're a matched set."
Fidelias stared at him, then shook his head slowly. Gaius Sextus had held an air of absolute authority, of personal power that arrested one's sense of reason, at times, to extract support and obedience. Gaius Septimus had been a vibrant figure, driven and intelligent, always looking to the future. He could have inspired men to follow him down any path of reason, no matter how winding.
But Octavian... men would follow Octavian into a leviathan's gullet if he asked it of them. And crows take him if Fidelias himself wouldn't be one of them. The headstrong lunatic would probably discover some way to lead them all out the other side draped in the rings and crowns of a devoured treasure ship and somehow emerge clean.