Author Disclaimer: The Civilization series is the property of Firaxis. I merely play their wonderful games.


"Continue shelling!"

The order preceded the angry mutterings of tired, soaked soldiers. The men's weary limbs could almost be heard creaking as they loaded the cannonballs, priming the guns to fire. They had been shelling Berlin for days to attempt to break down the formidable defenses its troops and citizenry had constructed. And, from the subtle inflections and tones that resonated off of the order, it seemed as if the bombardments would continue until either the Germans came out to meet them or the city was reduced to rubble.


Napoleon paced incessantly within his magnificent palace. Crates surrounded the usually-empty hall, as his home had been relocated to Amiens to reduce the maintenance costs that had been crippling his dreams of world conquest. Apparently, the bureaucracy spent less when he was within earshot, no doubt because they feared witnessing one of his infamous rants. Still, he missed the smell the ocean had imbued upon his palace when he'd been in Paris. The lack of recognizable architecture - Amiens was missing his cherished Stonehenge and Oracle - did little to improve his mood. As he approached one end of the hallway, his pacing was interrupted by the loud squeaking of the door hinges at the opposite end, where his advisers kept their offices. A small head poked through the thin opening.

"King Napoleon," his voice wavered, "Queen Catherine is demanding you meet with her at once. She claims the matter is of utmost importance."

"Tell her I am occupied," Napoleon gritted his teeth in response. Would the insolent Russian not learn to leave him be during his military campaigns?

"She says she will break off our alliance if you do not meet with her immediately," the adviser's face went white as he mumbled the end of the sentence.

The hallway went silent for a moment. The king stretched his arms, and his adviser feared he might turn around and hit him in the face. Such personal violence had become a staple of the French king in recent years, though strangely it only extended to those he attended to in person. The French subjects were spared his rage for some strange reason.

Napoleon's face twisted into a vicious grin as he turned to his adviser, "Send her in."

"Shall she meet you in the tea room or-" his adviser began.

"She'll meet me right here!" Napoleon snapped, "Now get out of my sight!"

The stouter man yelped and ran off, at once feeling both angry at Catherine for putting him through that and sorry that she would need to deal with Napoleon at such a moment. The king simply continued pacing, his shined military boots making clacking noises at constant intervals. Years of military life alongside his men during conquests in India and Babylon had set a deep marching rhythm in his blood, and his extravagant life in the palace had done little to undo old habits.

Queen Catherine was perhaps the only other world leader Napoleon had not set eyes on for conquest. Roosevelt was a different matter - the ocean that separated America and France served to ease tensions between the two and their alliance existed mainly out of convenience. Little military assistance had come to fruition for either side, though trade in technologies, resources, and gold had flowed steadily between the two and kept relations at an all-time high. That, and Napoleon was fascinated with Roosevelt's Buddhist practices. The meditations that the prime minister did to keep himself youthful were something the king himself considered doing in his spare time, if only because Roosevelt claimed they also improved his focus and relaxed him.

Catherine, on the other hand, was allied with Napoleon not out of convenience but a grudging respect. After the king had waged a bloody war to take Novgorod and Rostov with little success, he conceded Catherine's mastery of the axe and spear far outweighed his own formidable sword and horseman army. Somehow, this turned from merely being impressed to somehow respecting and almost liking the Russian queen. Anyone who had the gall and wit to stand up to France and live to tell the tale was a worthy ally in his book.

Of course, Catherine didn't see the situation quite the same way Napoleon did. Wary after his repeated attempts to bring Russia under the French flag, she rejected repeated entreaties for open borders and trade until eventually Napoleon's bull-headed attitude paid off. Initial cautious contact and safe trades gave way to genuine friendship and military support. Soon, they stood side-by-side on the battlefield. He assisted her first conquest - England, thus eliminating her despised rival Elizabeth - and she in turn assisted him with Germany's allies, the Aztecs and the Romans. Neither Augustus nor Montezuma could dissuade her from working with Napoleon, despite their cautionary claims that his insatiable thirst for power would one day prove his undoing. Such claims were made as they were approaching the chopping block, so Catherine took them with a grain of salt. Still, a tiny voice from the very edge of her consciousness couldn't help but ask, "Could they be right?"

The beloved Queen of Russia made a majestic entrance into the hall. Well, it would've been majestic except that she was blocked by a crate unwisely set in front of the door, so she shimmied through the narrow opening rather than marching as she'd intended. Smoothing her military uniform, she smiled as the numerous medals gleamed beneath her hand. Realizing Napoleon was ignoring her, she strode to the other end of the room at marching pace and tapped him on the shoulder.

"What!? I told you to tell her to meet me in here!" the king of France turned, and Catherine stepped back in shock. His hair, smooth and arranged in the back, was mussed-up in the front. His face, though it always had a few creases, seemed to be lined with wrinkles and his eyes harbored deep bags beneath them. Clearly the man hadn't bothered to sleep or, upon further reflection on the horrible odor emanating from his person, take a bath. Catherine's eyes widened and her mouth hinged open, though she realized how she must look and composed herself, not wishing to offend the king.

An awkward silence festered.

"Oh, it's you," Napoleon said. Though his words broke the silence, much to Catherine's relief, she couldn't help but cringe as the usually-proud and boisterous king deflated. Remembering why she'd made the dreary journey from Moscow to Amiens - stopping by Paris because, much to her annoyance, Napoleon had neglected to inform her of his intent to move - Catherine quickly began speaking. She hoped talking about business would perk the king up and get him out of the worrying slump he was experiencing.

"I'm sorry I threatened to break off our alliance," she began, "But we do need to talk. I've been reconsidering your supply of horses for my excess food resources, and I-"

"If you wish to cancel the deal, you may do so," he turned away, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against a huge, arched window, "My cities are more than healthy with the new aqueducts and the seafood I've begun harvesting off of Calcutta."

"Oh, thank you," Catherine raised an eyebrow. This must be worse than she thought - usually he would argue over even the simplest of deals. She continued, "I'm also here to inform you that that Tokugawa is being a pest - he's stationed hordes of swordsmen on my borders and is demanding tribute with the threat of war."

"Catherine, you know full well I cannot commit anything to fighting Japan," Napoleon's voice almost seemed strained, as if simply telling her his opinion of things was too much for him, "Bismarck is still in the way of our total control of the western continent. Once he is eliminated I assure you all my forces will march eastward to assist you."

"I cannot wait that long," she replied, "Call off this senseless war. You know Bismarck is willing to give you everything for peace - let him become your vassal! All he has is Berlin and Stuttgart! He's not a threat!"

"He's a threat so long as he exists!" the words came out viciously, and suddenly he felt remorseful, adding, "Sorry. I've been on edge all week."

"Napoleon," Catherine's voice was soothing, "Please. My military is still recovering from the Aztecs and the Romans. We cannot hope stem the Japanese tide, especially not if their legendary swordsmen and samurai are brought to full force. You know my men are weary - they'll break ranks and flee if I force them to stand their ground against fresh troops. Russia needs you."

Napoleon's eyes shined violently as he whipped himself around, and for a brief moment Catherine feared that Augustus and Montezuma had been right to condemn him as a madman with delusions of impossible grandeur. He took two heaving, deep breaths, as if simply considering the idea of sparing the Germans would strangle the very life out of him. But Catherine knew she'd won. His eyes seemed to lose some of the fire that characterized his personality. Then, his shoulder slumped even lower and he accepted defeat. Nodding wordlessly at Catherine, he turned away once more and looked out at Amiens. Catherine put a hand on his shoulder gently, but he shrugged it off.

"My father was right," Napoleon muttered, "My dreams are flights of fancy... Go tell Goddard to send diplomatic missives to Bismarck. I'll send the cease-fire telegraph to the troops myself."

"Thank you for seeing sense," she turned toward the door and walked slowly, feeling as though she'd permanently ruined their alliance, not to mention their personal friendship. She hadn't meant to harm the man, but his ridiculous dreams of conquering the continent were quickly crashing into the reality that his campaigns had exhausted her military as well as his own, not to mention making enemies out of the fearful Japanese and Byzantines. As she shimmied through the door once more, she took one last look at the French king. He seemed almost lonely, as if all his friends had gone and he was left to pick up the pieces. She turned to the stout man who'd been fearfully standing behind the door the entire time, and relayed Napoleon's orders. Then, she left without further incident, her carriage waiting to whisk her off to Moscow - another grueling five day journey with only two stops. Perhaps, she mused, this was her punishment for forcing Napoleon's hand. Her back and shoulders would certainly not forgive her.


Roosevelt sat within his office, penning the final orders to his troops. Upon hearing of the plight of Catherine, he quickly assembled his riflemen and cavalry to prepare for the long ocean voyage westward to assist the beleaguered Russians. His men would assault Tokugawa from the east, threatening his capital, in the hope that the Japanese king would call off his samurai and swordsman armies amassing on Catherine's border. If he couldn't stop Tokugawa's western march, he could at least cripple his infrastructure and make the man reconsider a Russian invasion.

"Send this to General Jeanne D'Arc immediately. Tell her she and her men ship out tomorrow," he handed a carefully-folded piece of paper to one of his aides. The boy saluted the prime minister before running off, leaving Roosevelt's office empty. He called out for another aide, and a tall, muscled man came running to his side. Getting up from his chair, he threw his arm over the aide and told him to take him to the dining hall, and then a quiet shuffling of feet ensued as the prime minister was dragged out of the office.

Shifting his weight off of his arm, he took a seat in the dining hall and awaited the meal to be presented before him. His new chef was recommended by Napoleon himself - the man, for all his faults, had impeccable taste - and he was rather excited to sample what sort of recipes the man would be bringing over from what was formerly Rome.

"Focus on the small pleasures," he told himself, "Relax."

The servants came out bearing dishes and utensils alike, delicious odors wafting from the covered plates. As Roosevelt's mouth watered, he quickly became confused as a telegraph transcript was set out before him. Ignoring the enticing food for a moment, he picked up the paper and unfolded it.

"Roosevelt," it stated, "Calling off Berlin siege. Sending troops to assault Tokugawa. Advise doing the same. Do not trust Justinian - allied with him. Napoleon."

Roosevelt couldn't help but give a small smile. Catherine had finally broken through to Napoleon and made him see reason. And, of course, he himself had made sure to think one step ahead concerning sending troops. With all this out of the way, he could enjoy dinner in peace. The chef had come out to see why he had not started eating, and upon seeing Roosevelt put the paper down he introduced his first dish.

"Saltimbocca Alla Romana," the chef beamed, lifting the silver plate lid himself, "Veal and ham - forgive me, but I could not procure any prosciutto - and sage in a roll, cooked in a butter and marsala reduction. Buon appetito!"

The prime minister grinned at him, "A wonderful choice."

He ate voraciously, and the chef seemed more than a little amused at the lack of table manners the supposedly-cultured prime minister of America displayed.


Author Note: Review, please! I'm honestly not sure where to take it from here - figured it would be a one-shot before I added Roosevelt's POV into the mix.