The Great Groves of Steel are packed with people, which the gendarmerie are barely able to keep away from the ring of sacrifice. I'm starting to see why Xena was so anxious, it was a lot easier to be confident when I wasn't looking at the people. The ones who stormed the Palace, who might have hurt Her Majesty... The scared ones that Auguste and Celeste want to save. With their signs and their chants, with them all moving as one... I can't help but see it. A monster, a godless monster, with a frail leash of steel. And I know what that monster is capable of if it is given the right head.
I reach for Pasche's hand and squeeze. It takes a moment for her to register, given she's wearing her mailed gloves, but she’s more than happy to squeeze back gently. She looks almost oblivious to the danger the crowd represents. She must be a lot better at hiding her anxieties.
"Sooo... Uhhhh..." Pasche coughs awkwardly, trying to work up the effort to say something both very difficult and entirely superfluous to the sacrifice of The High King. "... You ummm, said I was looking pretty this morning. You think the treatment's working?"
I cast my eyes Paschewards, catching her bashful little stare at the ground, and find myself tempted to rub her cheeks and tell her she's adorable. "I always thought you were pretty, but I can't deny you're definitely a new Pasche already."
She makes an honest to gods squeak, and I reach up to pat her head. She really does look nice with her hair grown out like this, and looks nicer still when she's smiling. Which she is absolutely doing a lot of right now, and it's utterly radiant. It’s almost enough to make me forget where we are entirely.
"Ah, General Pollineux." Malmo... Once again, he ruins the moment. "Thank you for accepting The Convention's invitation."
I can tell he's trying his absolute hardest to put on that 'charm' that I hate so much, and I genuinely cannot tell if he thinks it's going to work on me, or if he knows it's insufferable and this is an attempt at revenge. Well, I'll attempt my own revenge, I run my fingers through Pasche's hair, eliciting another lovely little noise out of her, much to Malmo's chagrin and my own sinful delight.
Only then do I turn my head to address Malmo, giving him my best 'If you call Pasche a man I will kill you' eyes. "Well, I was in part responsible for all this. It's only right that I see how it ends."
"Right..." Malmo is clearly trying, and failing, to pretend Pasche isn't here at all. "Well, you're certainly owed a position right by the ring. I'll get you through the crowd."
"I appreciate it. Very chivalrous of you." I squeeze Pasche's chainmail till it hurts, I do not want to lose her in a mass of people like this.
True to his word, General Malmo is able to have some gendarmes part the crowd... And I am subjected to the triumphant approval of the mob as I pass them by, as if I hadn't saved Her Majesty and Princess Theophania from them. As if I hadn't cut one down to protect my loved ones.
"General Pollineux, General Pollineux, General Pollineux!"
None of them know my name. Half of them think I’m my brother and the other half think my brother is me. It’s utterly unsatisfying, it’s honestly more than a little painful to be held in this kind of esteem, to have this celebrity form of ‘love’. It’s probably better than having their ire, but... I can't say fame among the people is in any way gratifying.
"At least they'll forget about me soon..." I mutter a little more sharply than I expected.
Which prompts a concerned squeeze from Pasche, along with a thumb run over the back of my hand. "We'll always remember our Serena though."
Stupid cuirassier, it's like she wants me to kiss her all over again, in a crowd of civilians no less... Stupid sweet cuirassier, making me want an entirely more personal kind of love.
Malmo meanwhile is halfway to bursting a blood vessel, hearing my name chanted by the crowd. It seems that all the media spin in the world can't beat genuine heroics, at least not in the moment at any rate. I'm sure he'll be their darling again as soon as the hype behind me fades. But today, he's getting no more love than he has earned.
Eventually we make it through the crowd, with a slightly shaken Malmo stumbling away from us, suddenly introspective. "I... I think I'm going to take my place observing around the ring. You... You ladies have fun."
He makes his leave. I'm not especially inclined to wish him goodbye... Pasche gives a relieved sigh at his disappearance, clearly just as happy as me to have him gone.
Which... They were working together before Pasche and I met, weren't they? "... Pasche, may I ask why General Malmo is so... Antagonistic towards you? I'm going to be honest; it feels like he actively tries to be unpleasant to you."
This draws a completely different sigh out of Pasche, apparently this is something of a serious point of contention for the poor girl. "Haaaaah. Well, as I understand it, he had quite the crush on me... Until he learned about the condition of my body. He was honestly a little sweet when he was trying to woo me. You wouldn’t recognize it in him now…."
"It's Malmo, I should have expected something that petty from him." Even if I should have expected it, I'm still struck for a minute by the revelation... I slip off Pasche's glove and hold her bare hand for a moment. "His loss."
Which gets a mighty blush out of Pasche, her eyes suddenly trying to look at anything but me. "Y... Yeah. His loss... I guess one man's Pasche is another girl's treasure."
That might be the single lamest joke I have ever heard in my life. I burst out laughing.
She smiles, squeezing my hand in hers. She seems happy, genuinely quite happy. It's beautiful… It’s tempting… Mercifully my blasphemous train of thought is interrupted when I feel a tug on my sleeve, and find a gendarme trying to get my attention. He's giving me a frankly ecstatic smile.
"You... You're General Pollineux, aren't you? You're the one who made all this possible!" Clearly this gendarme isn't one who accompanied me during the arrest, seeing as he's happy to see me. "You're a bonafide hero!"
Pasche looks displeased at the interruption but holds her tongue. At least the gendarme’s sentiments are nice. If this man had said something different, he may have discovered how dangerous Pasche can be even when she only has one glove.
I try my best to not be bothered but somehow declarations of my heroism always sting. "I only did as was necessary. The High King had to go; he was a traitor."
"Ooooh, principled! I like that!- Ah!" The rather animated guard gives a rather hasty salute, briefly making me wonder if I'll be sending this man to die soon. "I'm Jean-Paul, I've been put in charge of the King's 'security detail' for the event. It's an honor, both to meet you and to meet you under these circumstances!"
"It's a pleasure. I'm Serena Pollineux. And this is Pasche... Dear gods, I don't know your last name!"
My eyes go wide, my very best friend and I don't know her last name!
"... You're right, you actually don't!" Pasche is just as confused, but oddly enough doesn't seem offended. "I must have neglected to tell you!"
"I neglected to ask, it's all my fault. My other best friend doesn't have a last name, I just didn't think about it!"
"Your last best friend didn't have a name?" Pasche ponders that mystery for a moment, before settling on something clearly more depressing. "... Best friend..."
"Serena Pollineux and Mademoiselle Pasche then. A pleasure to meet you both, in person and for the first time!" The animated guard is somehow immune to the mood, and is regrettably devoted to being personable.
"Oh, you're still here." Pasche's eyes manage to unglue themselves from the floor to glare at the intruder in our midst. "Why are you still here?"
"Because I wished to invite General Pollineux, and by extension her associates, to speak to the King! If they wished to anyway. I hear the last words of a High King would be worth a mint to a tabloid or a newspaper!"
"Is that right?" Pasche eyes the man with suspicion, whether she simply dislikes the intrusion or genuinely believes that he’s up to no good is impossible for me to tell. "This of course relies on the High King actually dying today, Monsieur John-Paul."
"I've been pushing that guy around at the end of a bayonet all day, Mademoiselle Pasche. Trust me, he's not precisely the kind of man who wins duels. Steel will get his fill of him today."
A chance to have an audience with His Grace before his execution. What would I even have to talk to him about? He is, by far, the least important part of Her Majesty's family to me, what worth could be gotten out of speaking to him? ... She never liked him, she always looked uncomfortable or upset around him... Maybe she's owed a little justice before the end. And he's owed a little comeuppance.
"Monsieur, I believe I will take you up on that offer." I give the animated guard a smile, much to Pasche's surprise. "I think Phillip has a few things he needs to hear."
"Are you sure, Serena?" Pasche gives me a look, a 'this could possibly be a trap' kind of look.
I run my thumb over the back of her hand, and give her my best, most self-indulgent, 'I trust you' eyes. Because I do. I trust her to get me out of whatever mess my righteous indignation gets me into!
... And clearly she's willing to accept that as an answer because she turns her attention back to the guard, rolling her eyes. "Fine, we'll go gawk at your disgraced monarch. But if anything happens, he'll be dead before he reaches the ring, and so will you."
"... Crystal!" A threat to his life is apparently the only thing that can dampen this gendarme’s enthusiasm, and even that can only do so briefly.
He’s back to having a spring in his step by the time we make it to the High King's iron cage, kept out of the public eye to keep the crowd calm. He looks somehow even more pathetic than normal, sitting on the ground in that cage. But there's something other than pathetic-ness in his eyes now... Bitterness.
"Ah. Serena Pollineux... And the son of Baron Leopold Ursul of Etrun, what an odd pairing to see. Your father did tell me you were eccentric, Pasche, but I think he undersold it."
He sits close enough to the bars that I can probably kick him through them. So I do it, and find my foot does indeed fit through the cage and convey enough force to put His Grace on his back. His bitterness doesn't survive the shock of a boot to the face, for a moment he is purely pathetic again.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Pasche smiles distantly at my impulsive violence, before turning her attention to the guard who brought us here. "I'm surprised you didn't try to stop her. I mean, you're trying to keep him safe, aren't you?"
The guard gives me a conspiratorial wink. "My job is keeping him alive enough to put on a good show in the ring. Not to keep him safe. Besides, I've given him a kicking or two myself."
This amuses Pasche enough to change her impression of the man from 'open threats' to merely 'ready to kill at a moment's notice', which is an appreciable change, eliciting a smile from the gendarme.
The High King's eyes are on me again as he scrambles back to a sitting position, albeit one further away from me. "This... This disrespect-"
"Anyone who treats Pasche like that is worthy of nothing but my disrespect... And that's before you even consider how you treated Her Majesty."
"Who?" The High King isn't being contemptful this time, he genuinely doesn't seem to know who I’m talking about... It takes a moment for it to dawn on him. "Wait, the Queen?"
"The very same Queen who always looks so upset in your presence, so listless. I don't know what you did to her, but-"
"What I did? I haven't even spoken with her in months, how could I do something to make her upset?"
"W... What?" It’s my turn to be confused, how do you manage to not speak to your wife for that amount of time?
"The last time we really interacted was conceiving Charles in honesty... I'm not sure what possessed her to 'try to make it work' but it was never going to... Anyway, I can't imagine you want to waste my time arguing about the Magyar in the Palace. And I must confess, I was looking to speak with you."
"The Magyar in the Palace?" I can't kick him anymore, he is wisely beyond my reach... But I can still kick the bars and spook him. "You will not refer to Her Divine Majesty in such a fashion! That you could be this dismissive of the most beautiful woman in the world is a crime that I will find a way to punish you for, if the Gods fail to do so first-"
"Look, I will give you the damn woman if you just shut up and listen to me for a second, okay?"
Somewhere in the back of my mind I know Pasche is staring at us both in stunned silence, but it's almost a thousand miles away from me. This man, this odious freak, this king of no importance, would dare treat Her Majesty as a commodity!? ... And Her Majesty could be mine? I wish I could kick him again, and again and again and again.
"Speak then. And try not to make me want to hit you more."
"I'm hardly doing it on purpose..." And there was the pathetic-ness again, the High King truly is something of an idiot. "In any case, I believe you can help me. And I believe I can help you. When I get out of this, a lot of things are going to happen at once. The mob knows your name, they like you well enough. If you declare yourself on my side, we might be able to claw some ground back from The Convention."
"And what makes you so confident that you will survive this? I don't imagine you're actually a master swordsman or anything."
"I made a deal with Aeduian Restorationists. If I cooperate with my trial, if I make it as quick and smooth as possible, they'll give me a weak opponent in the ring. One I can easily overcome and earn my freedom. Part of this promise was getting on a ship to one of the plantations off the coast of the Leather Continent and never returning to La'an again... A foolish thing to believe that I'd do. I know things, things that could be very inconvenient for The Convention if the right people knew them. Things that would tear their new Avernia to pieces, things that might give me a chance to retake my throne. With the right help, of course."
And he thinks the 'right help' is me... As if the people can tell me apart from my brother, as if the nobility has a kind word to say about me... And as if I would ever, in a million years, want to help him at all.
"... I literally arrested you, Monsieur Phillip. Why do you think for a moment I would be on your side?"
"Because the strength of the Royal Family is the only thing keeping that- ... Keeping 'Her Majesty' alive. Let's face it, if I can't retake control after this, she is going to be in that ring sooner rather than later. The people despise her, The Convention's newspapers rail against her constantly, even the nobility finds her odious. She's alive because she's married to me. If you're really that devoted to her, surely you have to be on my side, right?"
I feel a stone in my throat. Threatening Her Majesty might be the closest thing to a savvy political move that I've ever seen him make. And... He has a point. The mob would have torn her apart if I hadn’t stopped them. The nobility gossip and belittle her as easily as they breathe. And while I've never once read a newspaper for the articles, I can intuit what those overstuffed men in overstuffed chairs with overstuffed inkpots are writing about Her Majesty... He's right, in a way. Right now, the only thing keeping her safe from all of these things, is him.
"... You're guilty though. Of high treason, of starting this war. Thousands are dead because of you-"
"Without the war there wouldn't have been a muster of the witches. You never would have met this precious Majesty of yours without me."
Now that was a painful thought. It has been two years since Her Majesty graced my life, it’s hard to even consider a life where she does not dominate my thoughts... And yet, it took the deaths of many thousands of people to bring about even the possibility of it happening. And thousands more for me to earn her eye…
"And besides. It wasn't just my idea, you know." The High King manages to regain his bitter edge, if only for a moment, practically spitting the admission. "Do you really think I could start a continent-spanning war without the help of your precious, nascent Republic?"
"I... What-"
The gendarme opens the lock to the cell and gives the High King a glare that looks utterly alien on so kind and energetic a face. "It's time, Monsieur Phillip. You're going to face justice today."
The High King rises to his feet and calmly walks over to the gendarme, giving me one final little whisper as he passes me by. "When I am finished here, meet me at the Palace. We have much to discuss, General Pollineux."
Soon the pair disappears into the crowd, along with the rest of the High King's 'security detail'. I can hear the taunts of the people from here. Pasche is finally back in my world again, and takes my hand and squeezes it, though she looks rather shaken.
"Please tell me you are not considering siding with the same High King you almost got killed arresting."
"... No. No no no, absolutely not, I am... Absolutely not considering it." I don't know if I'm trying to lie to myself or to Pasche, but I think I've failed either way.
“Serena..." Pasche tries to work up the courage to say something, to chide me again... But she simply sighs and gives me a big hug. "Let's just... Have today. We can think about ruining our lives more than we already have tomorrow... Alright?"
"I appreciate that, Pasche." She really is a wonderful friend... I want to kiss her again, even if I can’t possibly justify it. "When we're done here, let's go somewhere nice."
"Y... Yeah!" For a moment I think Pasche is going to lift me again, but she manages to restrain herself. "Your whole time in Alesia has been doom and gloom, let's find literally anything good about it together!"
"Hehe." I slip away from her embrace and take her hand again, as much as I'd love to keep hugging her we're liable to miss the sacrifice at this rate.
We manage to slip through the crowd again to find a better spot to watch from. Being a minor celebrity has its advantages, even if half the members of the crowd call me 'Antoine' as I pass them. I wonder if the displeasure from this is anything like what Pasche has to go through when Malmo calls her 'monsieur'. Poor Pasche…
We find a place to watch from just as the main event begins, just as the bodies from a prior sacrifice are dragged away... Was that the Marshal? ... He must've been in on the treason plot, that or The Convention is simply cleaning house... It's perhaps appropriate that he be fed to Steel, even if I never thought he'd fail to survive a sacrifice. Maybe he simply wasn't up to the task of living up to the lectures he screamed at teenagers.
"He looks so terrified..."
My private mumblings are quickly drowned out by the absurdly loud shouting of an announcer. Another priest of Steel, one who presumably had a bone to pick with the Marshal, or was otherwise fine with his own religious authority being skewered in front of a cheering audience. He looks animated enough, excited enough, genuine enough.
"What a show, folks! I am certain Steel will be pleased by the loss of a traitor, of a frail old Marshal!" The crowd cheers, clearly respect for the dead is not on the menu here... Would there have been cheers during my sacrifices, had there been an audience? "And now, for the main event! The thing you have all been waiting for. Guilty of the crime of High Treason and collusion with foreign powers, it's His Majesty, Phillip Crixis!"
The High King stumbles into the ring; the guard clearly having given him one last little kick before throwing his ritual sword at him. He tries to compose himself with as much dignity as he can, not that it’s enough to stop the crowd from booing him. Still, he looks confident. He truly believes whatever deal he’s made with The Convention will be honored…
"And, his opponent today, guilty of aiding and abetting treason, and being material to a conspiracy to subvert the will of the people of Avernia. it's His Highness, Prince Charles!"
The confused young boy is much more gently forced into the ring, being handed his sword as opposed to having it thrown at him. Even so, I am stunned into silence. Pasche is stunned into silence.
For a moment, the whole world is stunned into silence.
And then the crowd cheers.
Cheers for the blood of the royal family, howling in delighted anticipation for watching this family of traitors die. To see 'justice' done... Charles stumbles out, not even trying to look dignified, clearly confused by what is happening.
He’s holding his sword backward; he's clearly never touched one in his life. "... Father... What's going on? They took me from my room and... What's happening?"
Whatever little dignity Monsieur Phillip managed to muster disappeared in an instant, as he runs to his son’s side in the middle of the ring. His Grace grabs his own sword by the blade, ritual swords have no scabbards, so it’s a little difficult to signal not being a threat in the middle of a fight to the death.
"Son! ... Why have they brought you here?"
"I don't know! I was taking a nap with my cat and my dog and my turtle, and suddenly some men with guns told me I was a traitor and needed to be punished! I didn't know what they were talking about, and they didn't explain it no matter how many times I asked! ... Father, I'm scared. What am I supposed to do?"
Phillip simply freezes in place, which leads to more boos from the impatient crowd, its people eager for blood. They want to watch a fight, not a family drama... And the former High King is not giving that to them.
"... Close your eyes. Close them tight, and don't open them until I tell you to. Okay?"
"Okay, father..."
Prince Charles closes his eyes, and Phillip looks at the blade in his hand, biting his skin. For a moment, it looks as if he might take advantage of the situation, that he’ll run Charles through while he’s completely vulnerable.
Phillip turns to the crowd and speaks, quietly at first, but quickly putting some volume behind it. "You know something? I never once wanted to be your High King. Never in my life have I ever, ever wanted to rule over you all. It simply held no appeal to me, not even once. Not even now.”
The crowd's boos lessen, they’re starting to listen... Something in me tells me that this is not a good sign.
“But I did it. I did it because it was my role, it was what I was born to do. I suffered, I stumbled, I was left bored and alone, surrounded by sycophants and political machinations. And still I was your High King. Because that is what I was put upon Lutice to do!”
The mob is a sea of nervous murmurs, of little whispers and guilty utterances. Somewhere in there, several guards are lining up shots.
"If there is one thing I have loved in all this world, if there is anything that this service to you has given me, it is my son. My beautiful son Charles, who was so kind and delicate, who could never harm a soul… And now, you have put him in a ring of Steel. Your Convention has given him a sword and is ready to watch him die. All because of you!” Phillip’s soft-spoken voice was long gone, replaced by irrational, almost primal screams. “Because you won’t do what you were put on Lutice to do! Because you want to break the system! Because you refuse to suffer as I have! You all blame me for this? I only did my role! Despite the pain, despite the struggles, I have only ever been your High King! And this is what I get from you?!”
The crowd is dead silent now… Pasche has a hand on the hilt of her sword..
“And now, once again, in the face of suffering, in the face of trials and tribulations, it once again falls on me to be your High King! To be as an Avernian High King should be! And to die as a High King dies!”
The former High King turns his blade upon himself, stabbing himself in the gut. He quickly falls to his knees, bleeding profusely, clearly in a lot more pain than he anticipated. It’s taking all his willpower, and a great deal of spite, to not weep openly at his own death.
And as the silent crowd watches on, utterly enraptured, the former High King gives his final words. "Long. Live. The King."
And he too falls silent.
It takes a little while longer for him to die, bleeding and convulsing on the uncomfortable grass of the Grove of Steel, but eventually he is still. Eventually it is over. There are no cheers, no boos, nothing. Just absence.
Broken only by the confused sobs of His Highness... No, High King Charles the Twelfth of Avernia. "... Can I... Can I open my eyes yet, Father?"