All in a Day's Work
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Summary: To be a general of the Empire is to be above shame, forever stalwart and true. Celes after a violent uprising from Leo's point of view.
I watch the city burn. I was not born in Vector, but still it is my home. Still it is the land I chose to defend and the people I chose to protect. And yet I can do nothing as I watch it go up in flames. I cannot protect those who do not wish for my protection.
There are those who have grown discontent with the Empire, disillusioned by one folly or another. The disgruntled middle and lower classes found support in several members of the Vector Royal Court. Led by Marquis Keith von Wilhelm, they raised up arms against the Empire. On Emperor Gestahl's orders, Celes began the counterstrike earlier this afternoon in what was already being hailed as the Purging of Vector.
I should be out there with her, but instead I remain with the emperor. She and she alone was chosen for this task of subduing the rebellion. Though not as uninhibited as Kefka, Celes is absolutely brutal when need be. She does not dawdle with diplomacy as I do, nor does she slow her pace before her mission is done.
The wind carries to me whispers of chaos: echoes of M-Tek rifle discharges; crashes of collapsing buildings; clangs of swords and lances; calls of reinforcements and retreat; screams of fear and agony. I watch and listen for hours, ever alert and ever stoic. It would be unbecoming an officer of my stature to be anything else. The sounds of strife eventually die down, and I know that she has succeeded. She always does.
The doors to the throne room are opened by the Elite Sentries, and Celes strides through, sword in hand and helmet under her arm. Blood covers her from head to toe, the crimson stains unmistakable against her white uniform. It is smeared across her armor and face, spattered on her cloak and boots. I try to mask my sharp intake of breath at the sight by stepping forward to salute her return.
She kneels before the dais of the emperor and holds her sword outward across her palms. "My liege, I present to you the blood of Marquis Keith von Wilhelm II."
Gestahl stands and reaches inquisitive fingers towards the dried stains upon the steel as if to confirm her statement. Those aged fingers, however, never quite make contact, for an emperor can not ever have blood on his hands. That is for his generals and his lesser subjects.
Satisfied, he returns to his throne. "The rebellion is quelled, then?"
"Yes, my liege," Celes answers as she stands. She hands her sword off to one of the attendants to be cleaned. "The rebels have been captured or killed. Their leaders are dead, their families…inquisitioned," she words carefully, "and the remaining members of the Royal Court thus warned."
"Excellent," Gestahl praised, clapping his hands together. "I knew you would not fail me. Your prisoners will be tried, of course, but do not trouble yourself with that now. Go get something to eat. Both of you," he adds to me. "You are dismissed."
We both salute and turn on our heels to exit the throne room. Celes is silent as we walk, and I make no effort to speak. She enters her suite, and I let myself in. Her helmet is tossed onto a nearby chair, and her cloak soon follows. Her personal attendant is already in the room, and Celes allows the woman to remove her shoulder armor, breastplate, and leg armor.
Celes unbuckles her leather jerkin, slides it from her shoulders, and strips off the tunic underneath. Both articles are thrown on top of her cloak to be cleaned. I stare at the floorboards more out of habit than anything; Celes is not exactly modest in my company. The attendant lays out fresh clothes and leaves with the soiled ones.
Celes dunks her hands into her wash basin, and I hear the rigorous scrubbing to clean the dried blood from them. When the water becomes a clouded red, she empties the basin and refills it. Cupping her hands in the cool water, she splashes it onto her face time and time again to cleanse herself of the blood.
Finished, she leans over the basin and stares vacantly into the mirror, water still dripping down her face. Solemnly, I walk over and hand her a towel. With a nod of thanks, she dries her face, neck, and arms. I again stand back as she pulls on the clean tunic. Just as she fastens the last buckle of her jerkin, the attendant knocks and enters just long enough to place Celes' sword on the table.
I continue to watch silently as she inspects the hilt, unsheathes it, and further inspects the shaft. Satisfied that the blade is clean, she slides it back into its scabbard.
"Good as new," she announces, finally speaking.
"Are you?" I ask.
She shrugs the question off. She straps the sword belt around her waist and clasps her black cloak about her shoulders. "Am I presentable?"
"By Imperial standards," I answer dryly.
I follow her to the mess hall for a late meal. As we enter, a few soldiers flock to congratulate Celes on her success.
The lady does not even break her stride. "All in a day's work."
"What about Wilhelm? Bet he begged for mercy, huh General?"
She puts on a smile as she feeds their enthusiasm. "Oh, he did more than that. The man cried."
The men share a hearty laugh at that. As I watch her joke around with them, I marvel at how very false it all is. To them, her grin is one of confidence, pride, and good spirits. Only I see it for what it truly is: forced; an act to shield the men from the horrors she witnessed and committed; a charade to hide from them her guilt and remorse.
I see it because I do it, as well. We put on airs, play the part expected of us. To be a general of the Empire is to be above shame, forever stalwart and true. As Celes said, it is all in a day's work.
End.