AN: Hello again, masses! Another chapter, courtesy of the vastly underpaid journalist known as Marquis Black. Anyone got any spare change?

Anyway, (lame) jokes aside, here's the next chapter! As you might have guessed, this is pretty Hughes/Mentor centric. And I don't mean in a shipping fashion (enjoy that mental image!).

Cheers,

Marquis Black

The Hague, Kingdom of the Netherlands, October 22, 2018...

The writing had been on the wall, in hindsight.

Price stared out one of the windows overlooking the Embassy of the Northern Sun's courtyard with apprehension. Outside the embassy walls, a rather significant crowd had basically camped out and continued hurling abuse and random objects into the compound, decrying the Northern Sun's continued presence as provoking the Mentor's fury.

Blind sheep, all of them.

Still, Price had seen this sort of situation unfold before, and he rather disliked the ending. While he hadn't personally been there, he knew that a similar uprising in Iran had ended up with the American embassy being stormed, and a rather unfortunate hostage situation arising.

As the Northern Commander for this particular operation, however, he was determined not to allow such a thing to happen under his watch. There was a plan to be followed, and he was going to make damn sure it all went swimmingly.

"How's it coming, Commander?"

Price turned to see the ambassador walking towards him, looking as haggard as ever. The man, in his fifties, had spent years in the Netherlands working as the Northern Sun's chief negotiator, and had been instrumental in securing the Netherlands' approval in signing the European Treaty.

Now, years of his work had evaporated practically overnight, and he was finally being evicted from a country he had learned to love and respect.

Price resumed his steady vigilance over the Embassy courtyard. "Still sitting there, calling us every swear under heaven," the old soldier informed his charge. He spared the diplomat a glance then. "Are your staff ready yet, Ambassador?"

The man's shoulders rose and fell in a deep, almost defeated shrug. "They are working as fast as they can, Commander," the man stated calmly as he came to a stop by Price and joined him in watching the angry mob. "Most of our records may be digital, but the wards and other FCE tech has to be secured or destroyed. That takes time."

Price grunted in acquiescence. In the old days, he would've just ordered a bomb to be set off and be done with it. However, orders from the Foreign Office had been explicit: no unnecessary casualties, no unnecessary collateral damage. As far as they were concerned, the Northern Sun would one day return, and there was no need to damage the building any more than was absolutely necessary.

"Years of work..." the diplomat sighed despondently. "Finished."

And all because of a terrorist they couldn't yet catch.

Price grunted. "It's not over yet," he stated obstinately. "The Northern Sun isn't so easily cowed."

The Ambassador sighed again as he clasped his hands behind his back and looked out the window. To Price, he looked as though he really wanted to believe him, but years of living had blunted him against the harshness of reality.

"Perhaps not," the diplomat agreed with a tired glance at him. "But the ETO is finished. Even if our allies do not desert us, Her Majesty's vision of a federalized Empire is done."

"You give up quickly for an Ambassador," Price noted wryly as he leaned against the window, turning to face the man. "Are you sure you're on the right side of that wall?" he nudged his head towards the perimeter wall.

The Ambassador chuckled at his question, though Price didn't mind. People reacted differently to crisis from individual to individual. Some, like himself, refused to give up. Others, like the Ambassador, fell into a despondent depression.

"No, Commander, I just know a trick or two in politics," the man stated somewhat humbly. He brought up a hand to stroke his whitened beard. "We do not fight when we should, and we retreat when we are still strong. Her Majesty's enemies have outmanoeuvered her...simple as that."

Price shrugged. He had no idea what the man was babbling about. To be honest, he rather reviled politics in general, preferring the straightforward business of soldiering a thousand times over. It simplified things, took the complexity of life and removed it. Decisions were about living or dying, simple as that. You fought, you might live. You don't, and you most likely died. Simple as that.

"A defeat today is a victory tomorrow," Price told the diplomat simply. What else was there to say?

The diplomat stayed quiet at that, much to Price's satisfaction. Talking to politicians usually ended up giving him a headache, and considering the tenuous situation at hand, he really didn't want to be that distracted. To be frank, he'd much rather the man had stayed in his office and just wallowed in self-pity there, and in so doing spare him the litany of despondence.

Well...at least he wasn't talking to the other soldiers in his team. The last thing he needed was for morale to drop before the evacuation was complete.

He turned his head back towards the window, looking at all the Dutch protesters camped outside the wall, still chanting their throats raw as their tirade against the Northern Sun continued.

"It's a wonder they still have the energy to keep going," the Ambassador noted curiously. "One would think they would get tired of shouting after the first ten minutes."

Price was about to crack a joke about that when his radio crackled to life. Sighing, he tapped his earbud and crossed his arms again as he continued leaning against the window. "This is Price."

"Sir, the embassy staff are nearly done packing things up. We've already begun setting up Portkey areas for fast extraction."

That was Eagle. Professional as always while on mission. Nothing like Ghost...thank god.

"Copy that, Eagle," Price answered. "What's our ETA on bringing down the wards, so we can get out of this shithole?" he ignored the Ambassador's sour look.

"...Ghost says fifteen minutes, sir."

Price nodded to himself. "Copy that. Keep me updated," he ordered before tapping off his radio transmitter. Looking back at the diplomat, he finally acknowledged the man's half-hearted glare.

"Was that really necessary?" the man asked, sounding a little annoyed.

Price smirked. "Everywhere but home is a shithole to me, sir," he stated wryly. "You fight in enough cities, and you start seeing every building, no matter how supposedly protected, as just another battlefield waiting to happen."

"How depressing."

Price chuckled, scratching at his stubbly chin. "Yeah, but it keeps my men and I on our toes. Just in case, yeah?"

His charge sighed despondently. "Under Her Majesty's vision, such caution would no longer have been needed," he lamented as he eyed the riot outside. "In a few years, we would have been able to disband a great amount of our troops, to let them enjoy a modicum of a normal life, after all these years of service."

Price could appreciate that, he supposed. After all, he'd been too old to fall under the HAVOC regimen, as with the rest of his team. They were old school soldiers, and they didn't have to worry about their warrior genes passing on to their children. They could ostensibly retire, life the good life, and die happy and content in their beds.

A nice thought, he supposed. A choice he'd turned his back on long ago.

"In my experience, Ambassador, there's always knife work to be done," Price told the man candidly. "Always some asshat or idiot with delusions of grandeur who's out to ruin everyone's day."

The Ambassador stayed silent. A wise move, really. Both men were old and set in their ways. The Ambassador clearly believed in the Queen's vision of a prosperous, peaceful future, while Price had been in too many wars not to be cynical about such things.

Price wondered, though. How might the world have been different if their King had never joined with regular people like him? Would they have still been stuck in this wartorn world, or would they be living in peace?

He frowned. He blamed the Ambassador for putting him in this frame of mind. Entertaining thoughts of "what if" served nobody, and only worked towards eroding one's convictions. He knew what he had to do, and regardless of the diplomat's feelings, he would get it done

He tapped his earbud. Surely his team was ready by now? "This is Price. Status report." he ordered curtly.

"All set, sir. Was just about to call it in," Eagle answered. "We're ready to proceed once you get the Ambassador in the lobby."

Price nodded to himself. "Solid copy. On our way there."

The diplomat looked at him tiredly as the soldier tapped off his comm bead. "I suppose preparations are ready, then?" he asked. If anything the man seemed older than before, the full weight of the Northern Sun's retreat finally hitting him.

Price nodded and motioned for him to go first. "After you, Ambassador. They're waiting in the lobby."

The man nodded and started his trek down the hall. Meanwhile, Price glanced through the window at the rioting crowd outside and nodded to himself. Yes, this was for the best. As he moved to follow the Ambassador, he spotted the crowd getting a little more antsy outside the gates.

"I will miss this place," the Ambassador noted sadly as he eyed the portraits, paintings, and vases that remained behind, after all the really valuable stuff had been evacuated. "This was...home."

"All good things come to an end, sir," Price stated evenly as he escorted the man down the hallway. "In my experience, it's best not to get attached to material things."

The man chuckled as they reached the doors to the second floor access to the lobby. In grandiose style, the Northern Embassy's lobby had a large staircase that dominated the middle and back of the room, leading up to the narrow second-floor pathways to the various offices. It had been designed to act as both an aesthetic reminder of the Northern Sun's power, and an appropriate defensive location if they ever got stormed...like they were in danger of being now.

The two soldiers at the doors saluted him and Price before opening the doors and letting them through. Price returned the salute with a slow nod. "Keep an eye on the windows. If anything happens, let us know," he ordered.

"Yes, sir!" both men chorused as Price and the diplomat walked by and into the narrow, overhead corridor that gave them a spectacular view of the lobby's tiled, marble floor, organized in such a way as to depict the Northern Sun's star motif just before one reached the staircase.

"Forty years of service..." the Ambassador reminisced sadly as he and Price otherwise walked in companionable silence. "Under the United Kingdom, the Northern Territories, and now the Northern Sun. I wonder...how will history judge a man as I?" he asked aloud.

"Such considerations are beyond my concerns, Ambassador," Price replied honestly. "Though I would imagine they would say you were a survivor and an effective diplomat."

The man chuckled again as they reached the top of the marble staircase, finally looking down at the empty lobby. "You are kind to say so, Commander," the man stated. "And here we are at last."

Price nodded. "Yes."

The Ambassador again rose his shoulders and dropped them with a heavy sigh. "Did I waste my years playing the diplomatic game, Commander?" he asked.

Price was silent. The man chuckled again as he walked down the stairs, silently accompanied by his babysitter. "Are you nervous, Commander?"

"No, sir."

"Good," the diplomat stated firmly. "Stay true to your convictions. Be firm in your beliefs. Even though my work is undone here, I remain true to the ideals held by Her Majesty, and the ideal of our King's Northern Sun."

They reached the bottom of the staircase. The Ambassador looked up at the ceiling then, smiling. "And I still don't have your answer, Commander. Have I wasted my time?"

Price finally shook his head, though the man felt it, rather than saw it. "No time given up for the cause is wasted, sir," he stated firmly.

The Ambassador chuckled. "That sounds like a quote. Who said that?" he asked curiously.

Price shook his head again. "Those were my thoughts, sir," he answered calmly as he tapped his earbud. "Do it."

"Copy that." came the prompt answer.

Outside the closed doors that led to the courtyard, he heard the mob grow even more frenzied, despite their distance. Almost immediately, the comm channel was flooded with cries of alarm. Apparently, three men had climbed over the perimeter wall and were charging the front of the building. Unfortunately, standing orders were to not shoot civilians, so the troops that were on guard were unsure how to proceed.

Price did. "Everyone fall back to the evacuation point! We're getting out of here before it gets any worse!" he stated firmly, even as he noticed Eagle and Ghost locking the doors leading deeper into the building. Now, no one would inadvertently interfere. Then, to continue the charade, he heard his insiders in the Diplomatic Guard start their act.

"Wait, where's the Ambassador?!"

"Holy crap, I think he went back to talk to the rioters!" another one answered. "We have to go help him!"

That was his cue. Price tapped his earpiece calmly. "This is Commander Price. The Ambassador has locked all the doors to the lobby. We are unable to get to him in time. Stay on mission; we have to get the rest of the staff out!" he barked.

"Did Hughes send a message, Commander?" the diplomat asked calmly as he listened to the grudging agreement of the Diplomatic Guard, standing atop the marble star motif.

As the front doors shuddered, Price stared at the man's back silently for a moment before looking away. In a way, he felt some shame for what was going to happen. "He said, 'your family will be taken care of, as promised.'" he relayed.

"What else?" the diplomat asked calmly as the doors burst open, revealing three men in dark clothing, knives in hand, looking about ready to charge them.

"The martyr will light the fire that will bring about the Empire," Price said stoically, even as the three men gave a cry and charged. He merely turned away and made his way to the stairs.

As he heard the Ambassador grunt in pain as the first knife plunged into him, Price also heard him say one last thing before his grunts increased in frequency, as his attackers knifed him again, and again.

"Good."

On that day, the rioting mob outside the Northern Embassy broke through the gate, spurred on by three anonymous men who'd braved the first charge, and stormed the embassy. By the time the dust had settled, the Ambassador of the Northern Sun was found murdered, slogans of Mentor worship defacing the star motif on the bloodied, marble floor.

The next day, Northern polls recorded a landslide of support for the hunt for the Mentor.

London, Kingdom of the Northern Sun, October 28, 2018...

"A single death, and we have recovered our footing."

Hughes watched his staff patiently as he stood atop the raised dais at the front of the room, overlooking his center of operations. Though, truthfully, saying it was "his" was something of a misnomer.

As the Advisor to the King, he had no official responsibilities or power. Legally speaking, any power or authority he had was directly derived from the King's orders. Hierarchically speaking, he answered to no one but the King, and Parliament had little to no oversight over his operations. As far as the law was concerned, Hughes was merely the devil on the King's shoulder, nothing more, nothing less.

In practice, however, his power was as unfettered as the King wished it so. And right now? The King wanted him off his leash.

A fortunate thing, too, as he had quickly set out to fix the headache-inducing problem that had become the Mentor. While his real name still eluded him, Hughes had vowed to see the man dead for his actions against the Northern Sun, and the King had known that a vow from Hughes was as reliable as one could get.

It also helped that Hughes had felt personally affronted by the Mentor.

His move to attack the Northern allies had been a stroke of genius. Not just because it caused a breach of trust between the Northern Sun and the ETO, but also because it had very nearly neutralized him. Not physically, of course, but politically.

The Mentor, he had to admit, had somehow managed to get a decent grasp on court politics. By attacking the ETO, but not, simultaneously, the Northern Sun, he had brought the question outside of Hughes' usual sphere of influence and right into the Queen's faction's stomping grounds. Anything that had to do with foreign relations and nation building were practically monopolized by the Foreign Office, and as such, the Queen's faction. Had the attacks remained localized to the Northern Sun, Hughes could've run rampant without significant political reprisals.

Unfortunately, the Mentor had planned for this, apparently; thus, his move against the ETO.

There was nothing worse for someone of his position than to be sidelined. If the Queen and her faction had pushed hard enough, he had little doubts that the fragile truce between their factions would've broken and he, as the interloper, would've suffered dearly. The power and authority he wielded, after all, were directly correlated to the King's trust in him. If he was seen as out of control, said trust would evaporate, and he would've suddenly found himself out in the cold.

Had it been anyone else, Hughes' might've wanted to shake his hand for a ploy well executed. As it was, all it did was make him want to hang the Mentor from the nearest lamppost and use him as a personal piñata.

But while the Mentor had already struck several major victories in this shadow war of theirs, Hughes was determined to avoid playing catch-up and simply overtake his opponent.

"A single death, and we have regained our footing," he repeated himself as he stood upright, his hands lightly grasped behind his back as he stood sideways to his audience, sweeping his gaze over his subordinates. "The Mentor sought to destabilize our great nation from within, and without. With the terror attacks, he would sow discord against our government amongst our people."

He gestured towards the nearest screen where the map of Europe was displayed. "With mere threats, backed with a little violence, he subjugates our allies and turns them against us. He is, in many ways, like the Afghans, when they fought the Soviets for their independence."

He then brought back his extended hand and kept only his index finger uncurled as he pointed up. "But there is one thing he has vastly underestimated," he lectured. "Our resilience. Our devotion to the imperial cause. He thinks us bureaucrats and salarymen, driven by base necessities and daily life concerns. He thinks his opponent will break with the slightest pressure."

He swept his hand out. "He is wrong!" he stated firmly. "Ambassador Gupta showed the full measure of his devotion to the cause! He is a shining example of what we must all be ready to do in order to support His Majesty's vision of a peaceful, united European Empire!" he continued, his voice rising in volume as he grew more passionate. "With the gift of his life, Ambassador Gupta has galvanized our people, and reminded them, and our Dutch allies, that we will not be cowed by terrorist cowards!"

As he spoke, the fifteen screens hanging from the ceiling behind him switched pictures to show either statistical reports on popular support or news broadcasts depicting large pro-Northern rallies.

"This war is only starting, ladies and gentlemen," he said as he brought forth his gesturing hand and pointed at his subordinates. "Every one of you may be called upon to follow Ambassador Gupta's example. Or, perhaps not. Whatever your eventual fate, I have chosen all of you for this great war of shadows to help me bring about the defeat of this most villainous foe of ours!"

His pointing hand slowly rearranged itself into a gesture of offering his hand to the audience. "Can I count on you to serve?" he asked.

A deafening roar of approval answered him, prompting a small, genuine smile as he watched his subordinates — each picked for their fanatic loyalty to the Northern Sun — cried out their support.

Most of what he'd said was utter rubbish, of course. He understood enough of the Mentor to know that the man was hardly overconfident or as naïve to think that the Northern Sun would take his ballsy challenge lying down. If anything, Hughes was rather expecting the man — and it was just pure conjecture to assume he was a man, to begin with — to begin the next phase of his plan sometime soon.

But morale was something he could not disregard. As loyal as they were to the kingdom, Hughes had to be sure that the people who worked under him were also optimistic about their chances, as that would inspire them to put genuine enthusiasm into their work. If he got lucky, it would even get a few to agree to play the part if he ever decided to do a repeat of his staged murder ploy.

He regretted having had to kill the Director of Communications' father, to be honest. Amy Gupta was a kind individual with a strong patriotic streak, and her father had been a loyal servant of the Crown. Unfortunately, he needed a body of some renown with a reputation for honest work to put at the Mentor's feet, and Gupta's father had fit the bill.

At least he'd died a hero and a martyr. As far as government officials went, that was one of the best ways to go — right after a peaceful retirement and dying in one's sleep.

He would have to recommend the man for a posthumous honor...maybe a peerage of some kind. His daughter would certainly appreciate the thought, and it would earn him some point with the Queen's faction, to try and amend their strained relations.

He had no illusions regarding the Queen's opinion of him. As far as he knew, she utterly despised him for his ruthlessness, callous disregard for human rights, and for having convinced the King to enact many policies of questionable — if not outright utter disregard for — morality.

At the same time, however, he knew the Queen understood his necessity, just as he understood hers. He wasn't some utterly deranged psychopath, and she wasn't some naïve hippy. She'd greenlit SUCKERPUNCH, after all, and had developed, or helped develop, some of the Northern Sun's most powerful weapons. She, along with her team, had also worked out the HAVOC program, which certainly crossed right into questionable morality as well. She was no saint at all.

But just as he was necessary to the survival of the realm, so was she. With his methods, the Northern Sun grew more powerful, true, but it also lost much of its righteous appeal. That was where she came in. The Queen's faction, being more at ease with nation building and alliance making, served well to rebuild the very areas he'd devastated and turn their once-enemies into allies.

Aside from killing a few irascible opponents to the ETO, in fact, it had been the Queen and her followers — including the the Duke of Warwick — who'd negotiated and built the European Treaty Organization, giving him the time to plant his spies and assassins and lay the foundations for the coming Empire.

A lesser man would've simply grown fed up with her and had her killed. Maybe blamed it on the Germans, or Russians to start a war. Maybe even used her untimely demise to marry the King to another royal of great importance.

Ridiculous, and political suicide.

The Queen, and their daughter, was the only thing keeping the King from going full-out absolute monarch on his nation. Harry had never much liked the political process, and found it too easily corruptible. To his mind, an enlightened monarch vastly outweighed the benefits of the parliamentary process. Both the Queen and he disagreed, and that kept their King from crossing one line he never should.

He eyed his subordinates as they dispersed and returned to work. He had inspired them enough for one day, and he had his own plans to put into motion. The Mentor was still out there, and with his latest move, the Northern Sun's stability had been assured. The brutal murder of the Ambassador would ensure that no serious discussion of compromise or surrender would ever take root, and Hughes would never have to worry about the Court turning against him.

Even the Queen would never forgive the brutal slaying of one of her friends.

Smiling up at the screens of data behind him, his thoughts turned to his unseen adversary. The Mentor had to know the impact this move would have, and Hughes doubted the Mentor would take it lying down.

Not that Hughes was just going to wait about and let the Mentor wreck years of work, however. Before the insurgent had time to react, Hughes would secure another pawn from the game.

It was time for his next step.

Liverpool, Kingdom of the Northern Sun, October 30, 2018...

Of all the things Harry had expected Hughes to broach, a wedding had never truthfully crossed his mind.

Ever.

In fact, the very notion that it was, in fact, Hughes who'd brought it up certainly made him feel wary...if not a little creeped out. After all, this was the very same Hughes who'd convinced him to order the quasi-genocide of an entire people; and here he was, trying to push for a marriage that, arguably, he couldn't see his sister disapproving of.

"The idea certainly has merit, Albert, but what on earth brought this on?" he asked cautiously as he leaned back into his chair, eyeing the Advisor as though he were a loose, feral tiger. Not an unkind or inaccurate comparison, truthfully.

Hughes smiled, somehow managing to make this meeting even more creepy than it had been previously. And that was saying something. "I am merely following your instructions, Your Majesty," the man said calmly. "You, and Her Majesty, asked me to attempt a balance between the hunt for the Mentor and the protection of our allies. I can see no better way of ensuring the latter for one of our most critical allies than the plan I just suggested."

Harry instinctively eyed the document outlining Hughes' proposal that sat on his desk. Honestly, he had no idea why Hughes had decided to print out such a thing, when he could've just told him directly. Or sent it via e-mail. Or any other, numerous ways of communicating the scheme.

What the hell was the Advisor playing at?

Still, on the flip side, the proposal was, as stated before, a good one. He saw no reason Isabella would protest, and he was fairly sure that thanks to that, he would not likely spend any night sleeping on the couch. Or in his office.

Or hiding from his mother.

"You've always been a staunch opponent to the idea of including our allies as partners, Albert," Harry pointed out as he handled the document warily. "And you understand that, by carrying this through, Spain will essentially have to be treated as an equal partner."

Hughes did seem a little uncomfortable with that, Harry noted amusedly, but championed on and shrugged as if without a care. "As far as allies go, I can...stomach the idea, sire."

Bull.

Shit.

Still, Harry had to admit that, considering Hughes' legendary dislike for alliances, it was quite big of him that he was willing to take one for the team, so to speak. And yes, the turn of phrase did apply here, because considering that the proposal called for Isabella to marry the very man she was seeing at the moment, he didn't really think anyone was sacrificing anything...except Hughes.

"You're also aware that this means that dethroning the King of Spain will be nigh impossible, right?" Harry pressed, still wondering what on earth had gotten into his Advisor. Had he turned over a new leaf? Was he high on something? Maybe a trip to the Royal Psychiatrist was in order...heavens knew he avoided the woman like the plague! Might as well have someone make use of her abilities.

Hughes' thin smile returned in full force. Instinctively, Harry knew he was going to regret asking him that question. "On the contrary, Your Majesty," he said calmly, shifting a bit to remain comfortable. "With your sister at the future King's side, it should be quite simple to have her convince him to reject his throne...in the name of the Empire to come."

And there it was. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Of course Hughes's "inconsiderate jackass tendencies," as Isabella had put it during one particularly lively family dinner, hadn't gone away. They were still there...but he was getting smarter about letting people know his intentions.

For a brief moment, the thought actually worried Harry. It just as quickly left his mind, however, upon remembering that Hughes had worked too hard to secure Harry and Katerina's position in power to likely revolt.

He sighed. He was way overthinking this. Hughes was still Hughes, and this proposal, for some reason, played well into his plans for the Empire. Thankfully, his plans seemed to fall well within his own goals.

"Fine," he stated finally, bringing out a pen and signing his name at the bottom in a sign of endorsement. He then brought out a bit of hot wax, poured it next to his signature, and pressed a nearby stamp into it, marking it with the sun motif of his Kingdom. Now it was legitimized. With a snap, the wax cooled and Harry passed the document back to Hughes. "You have my backing, but you're going to be the one to inform Isabella about this. If she says no, the marriage is off. Understood?" he asked sternly. He rather doubted his sister would refuse, but it had to be said regardless. He had a feeling that if he didn't, Hughes would find a way to force it through.

Hughes nodded solemnly as he respectfully took the document back into his possession, glad to have come out of this particular session rather successful. The King valued his sister's happiness quite highly, so there'd always been an element of risk in proposing a political marriage...regardless of whether or not said sister loved, or even just liked the man she was seeing.

"I understand, sire."

Harry eyed his dangerous subordinate for a moment before nodding. He hoped so. The last thing he needed was for his family to start coming apart at the seams because of this.

Unknown Location, Germany, November 5, 2018...

Riddle had to admit, this Muggle Hughes was a pain his ass.

Not that he wasn't enjoying the tête a tête they were both locked in, but his patience did have a rather low limit...and the news article he was reading in his rather manorly home wasn't helping in keeping it down.

A political marriage between the Northern Sun and Spain.

He snorted, torn between being angry and impressed. It was a beautiful move, really. Taking advantage of the already present relationship between Potter's sister and the future King of Spain and basically fast-forwarding it to marriage would ensure that the two largest countries of the ETO would never part ways now, unless something cataclysmic happened.

And he was no fool; he knew the Muggle Hughes had seen its additional benefit of ensuring Spain's support for the coming Empire he knew the Northern Sun was trying hard to create. His followers might not see it, but to him, who shared the Northern King's ambition, the writing on the wall was plain as day.

He pondered his options. Should he try to stop this marriage? Maybe assassinate the bride and groom? After a few seconds of dwelling on that possibility, he rejected the idea. All it would do is galvanize the ETO even more against him. He knew that Hughes had framed him and his followers for Ambassador Gupta's murder, but due to his status as a terrorist, he couldn't really come out and complain about it due to his credibility being non-existent.

Plus, he had to admit, it was another stunning move from his unseen opponent. He hadn't thought the man so willing to sacrifice members of his own team for the greater picture, but apparently that had been naïve.

So what could he do? Maybe riling up the Ultranationalists in Spain again would help to knock them out of the picture for now. He needed the Sun isolated, after all, and he couldn't do that while they were still being backed by the second-largest contributor to the ETO.

On the other hand, the Ultranationalists were as much a pain his ass as they were in Spain's. They were much like the Muggle's he'd railed about in his younger years; bigoted, short-sighted, incapable of accepting people different than themselves. No...propping them up would just come back to bite him in the ass in the long run, no matter how many contingencies he tried to implement to keep them in line.

He sighed as he flipped the page of his newspaper, glad he'd taken the time to learn German back when he'd been hunting for Grindelwald. While the idea of claiming the Elder Wand had been an attractive notion before he'd decided on his new path, it no longer held the luster it once did. Certainly, it was a tool of immense power, but his main rival for absolute power, the King of the Northern Sun, was just as powerful without the need of it. Therefore, he let it lie in Dumbledore's casket.

Let some other boob try his hand at it. It seemed to kill off its owners fast enough, anyway.

The sound of soft footfalls on his wooden panel floor caught his attention, and he watched quietly from the corner of his eye as a young woman wearing a conservative maid's outfit walked in, platter in both hands with a large, silver jug and a matching tea cup. He hadn't realized it was tea time yet. Pondering how best to ruin the Northern Sun must've made him lose track of time.

He remained silent as the maid performed her duties and bowed to him as she offered him the tea cup on it's saucer. Without saying a word of acknowledgement — which she probably wasn't expecting, anyway — he took the little plate and placed it on the end table next to him. It was steaming, and he rather wanted to avoid burning his mouth again.

"You're dismissed," he stated smoothly as he returned to his reading. There was no real need to waste more than a few words on riffraff, after all.

The maid bowed and silently went away, tray in hand. For a moment, he glanced back at her and watched her go.

A rather irritating side effect had cropped out of regaining a normal human body, he'd found out a few months after his "resurrection." That was the return of his normal, human urges, which he'd thought he'd long since repressed, as a superior being was tied down to no base desires. Getting rid of such weaknesses had been one of the many benefits of the many rituals he'd performed to enhance himself back then, but it had come at the cost of basically losing his human appearance.

As he rather required a charming, good looking façade right now, it was therefore inadvisable for him to immediately attempt these once more. However, that now meant his body was treacherously demanding things from him that he rather felt were beneath him.

Hiring a maid had been a bad idea, in hindsight. Especially allowing one of his followers to do it for him. Assuming the "Great Mentor" wished to surround himself with beautiful things — considering the grandeur of his manor — said follower had apparently decided that he needed a beautiful maid, for one reason or another.

Riddle had not been pleased.

Said follower had since "disappeared" while "on his way" to "a mission" in "Ireland."

In other words, he was providing fresh fertilizer to his vegetable garden out back.

However, thinking of the dead man had no effect on his problem, made conspicuously more annoying due to the fact that his urges often worked to cloud his mind until he sated them. He used to be able to work for hours without need for much rest, nutrition, or company. These days, he was relegated to an, at most, 12-hour work schedule, with numerous breaks for eating or using the loo as needed.

It pissed him off.

In a way, getting rid of this human shell was one of the main reasons he worked so hard to see the Northern Sun fall as quickly as possible. Then he wouldn't have to hold back and his power alone would force the masses to accept his newer, more efficient and powerful persona.

He grunted to himself irritably. The maid had yet to leave his mind's eye. Perhaps it was time to get rid of her?

He eyed the steaming tea cup next to him. Perhaps not; she did make exquisite tea, and while he was disappointed to note that his necessity for eating had meant the return of some habits — habits being a terrible idea — he was rather glad for the return of his love for tea.

He sighed as he lay his head back against his chair and looked up. Nothing for it, then. He wouldn't be able to concentrate until he got this out of his system.

Fortunately, that didn't mean he had to be nice about this.

About an hour later, Riddle was back in his seat, having enjoyed a nice post-coital shower, rather glad to have been done with the whole thing. As usual, the poor maid would probably require some time off to recuperate from her injuries, but otherwise, everything was back to normal. For now.

He took some solace in knowing that had Bellatrix been alive, this whole shameful episode would've probably caused her to have another psychotic break out of pure jealousy. He had so enjoy refusing her advances as brutally and painfully as possible back then. It almost made him miss her.

Almost.

With his mind clear, however, he could return to beating his unseen nemesis again, eager as he was to finally return to power, after all this time. And, as he'd been thoroughly unleashing his pent-up needs and anger on the maid, he'd gotten a rather good idea.

He had to avoid letting the Northern Sun expand its cadre of secure nations. Its own populace and the Spanish were now effectively taken out of the game by Hughes' last few moves, which meant that the BENELUX and the Austrians were still on the fence. Removing the BENELUX from the ETO was a difficult thing to achieve, however, as these countries had become rather economically integrated with the Northern Sun.

On the other hand, they were also much more of a democracy than Spain and the Northern Sun, which meant that the public's fear of his attacks was helping to convince them to distance themselves.

That left Austria.

Unlike the BENELUX, Austria was comparatively far away from the Northern Sun, and had Germany blocking territorial access between them and the rest of the ETO. As the sole republic of the group, it also had to deal with an intimidated electorate whose only real attachment to the ETO was the promise of free trade laws and the allies they needed to keep other nations at bay. Originally, this had been done with France in mind, but with the Germans' recent campaign against the ETO, the Austrians had shifted their fears from the defunct French Republic to their German neighbours.

The idea that they might be attacked wasn't crazy, either. Anschluss had proven Germany's belief that Austria was basically a broken-off province of theirs.

With the ETO, and particularly the Northern Sun, behind them, the Austrians had been able to breathe easily, however. They knew that if the Germans attacked, the ETO would step in immediately. That brought him to his idea.

He already had numerous operatives in Austria, in part due to his standing deal with the Germans, for which he got a paltry, under-the-table pension. It wouldn't be a stretch to have them begin planting the idea amongst the populace that due to their distance and difficult access, the Northern Sun and the ETO would be unwilling to help them.

Fear, in turn, could be easily manipulated into anger. Anger, which he could use to perhaps ensure that Austria became the first ETO member nation to fall to his current machinations.

He took a sip of his tea and grimaced. It was cold, now. Where was that useless maid?

Oh. Right.

With a sigh, he waved his hand and the liquid was gone, eliminating the temptation to drink it again.

He resumed his reading of the newspaper, already thinking of how best to implement his plan. It had to be subtle — enough so that Hughes would think whatever happened was just a result of the growing instability within the ETO. However, he rather doubted that his minions could pull that off. Hughes had shown an incredible attention to the greater picture, and had apparently connected the dots to suss out his next move. Any wrong moves by his operatives, and the man would be on it like a crow goes after shiny objects.

Riddle actually found himself feeling somewhat jealous of Potter, to his surprise. The man, who by all indications was something of a white knight in muddied armour, had somehow managed to obtain the services of a man as twisted and yet brilliant and fiercely loyal as Albert Hughes, whereas the most Riddle had been able to obtain during his lifetime were half-hearted hacks and brainless followers. Add to that his incredibly talented generals, his brilliant wife, and a cooperative government...

Yes, Riddle was definitely jealous of Potter.

Which made the fact that he would one day steal everything from the man that much sweeter.

Liverpool, Kingdom of the Northern Sun, November 20, 2018...

Hughes had to admit...the Mentor worked fast.

In another lightning strike, he'd somehow managed to strike at another soft underbelly of the ETO. This time, Austria.

"It was fortunate you were in the country when it happened, Field Marshal," he said smoothly as he stood to one side of his King's chair, while Speirs and Curtis sat opposite to them. "Your ability to marshal the Embassy's staff to rescue civilians was quite inspired."

Speirs spat angrily, and Hughes made a silent note to get the cleaning staff in here as soon as they left. "Inspired? It was sheer dumb luck," he grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Those backstabbing bastards almost gutted us all!"

Curtis frowned as she regarded Harry, who looked as pained as she felt over the incident. "This can't go unanswered...sire," she hesitated only momentarily at his form of address, much more used to calling him White or Potter. Despite years under his service, she still insisted on treating him like an equal, except when the situation got serious and the hierarchy needed establishing. "Thirty of our citizens, dead! And those idiots think we'll just let bygones be bygones?!"

Harry palmed his face in frustration. Both of his top military officials were right, of course. Even Joshua and Elicia, both of whom had been prime supporters of Austria's entry into the ETO, had been infuriated by the Austrians' tepid reaction to the riots that had broken out rather quickly throughout the country.

In a rather rare show of unity, even they had supported Hughes' recommendation for the Embassy and their citizens to be evacuated from the country.

"Retaliating would be unwise," Hughes stated coolly then, much to everyone present's surprise. Hughes was notorious for believing that blood had to be repaid in kind; why on earth would he request that they back down?!

Harry, for his part, was additionally alarmed because his Advisor had begun making choices that appeared to be rather...inconsistent with his well-known personality. When the terrorists had struck in the Northern Sun, he'd pushed for their immediate executions. When they'd caught the mastermind in Paris, he'd taken his time in torturing the fellow before having him executed.

And now, here he was, advocating restraint.

What the hell?

"Explain," Harry ordered immediately.

Hughes bowed his head in acquiescence. "As distant as Austria is to the ETO, it is hardly capable of orchestrating this sort of coordinated attack on our citizens. Its government is very much aware that their continued national integrity relies chiefly on the ETO's military might. Or, more specifically, ours."

Curtis and Speirs nodded along in agreement, while Harry just stayed silent and contemplated his Advisor.

"There is no logical motive for them to do this, therefore we cannot rule out third party interference," Hughes added.

"The Mentor, you mean," Speirs grunted gruffly.

Hughes nodded his head at him. "Quite. He has proven himself quite the versatile enemy, and this fits his overall plan to alienate the ETO members from the Northern Sun. By retaliating, we would not only achieve this goal for him, but also risk losing the BENELUX outright."

He was glad to see that all three of his audience nodded along, easily following him. "What are you proposing, then?" Harry asked with a frown.

He raised a flat hand and held it up to his chest. "Respectfully, I ask that we fully evacuate Austria. The BENELUX would understand this move, considering the danger posed to our citizens in Austria at the moment, while the lack of our presence may force the Mentor to show his goal prematurely."

Harry nodded in understanding before eyeing Curtis and Speirs. "Any objections?" he asked.

To Hughes' relief — he didn't want to have to debate the two most high-ranking officials in the military this time around — both of them nodded at the suggestion.

"I admit," Curtis said. "Not having to worry about Austria will help a lot right now. We've been hearing rumors of a possible uprising in France recently. We need our military strength concentrated on putting that down, if it happens."

Another move of the Mentor, no doubt. Hughes had seen that move coming a mile away, however. It was just common sense to try and rile up a conquered populace to start an uprising.

Speirs frowned, however. "If that were all we have to worry about, my job wouldn't be so annoying," he grumbled, nudging his head towards a red folder on Harry's desk, courtesy of the Foreign Office. Obviously, he'd recognized it. "Those shifty NAR bastards and their Sicilian counterparts are starting to act up, too."

That, however, Hughes wasn't as sure if it was the Mentor's influence or not. The Northern Alpine Republic and the Sicilian Republic were both tenuous friends of the Northern Sun, at best. At worst, they were enemies who just barely tolerated each other. While it was plausible, and easily feasible, for the Mentor to turn them against the Northern Sun, one couldn't discount the possibility that this was their own initiative.

Fortunately, he'd had the presence of mind to talk to Warwick on the subject, and the man had agreed to go through with his suggestion. Mostly because he'd had the same idea. Let it never be said that the Foreign Minister wasn't a shrewd man.

It almost made him feel guilty for then going behind his back and co-opting the plan for his own strategy.

"I believe His Grace, the Duke of Warwick, is already on that situation," Hughes interjected before another discussion could erupt.

Again, the King's suspicious gaze fell on him. As far as Harry knew, Hughes was never this willing to cooperate with others, or hold back. There was something he wasn't telling anyone — and he knew that for a fact, as he'd had Astoria look into this — and while he was sure of the man's loyalty, he hated being kept in the dark.

Neither military official, however, seemed too troubled by his actions, instead focusing on the fact that he'd managed to possibly head off a diplomatic and military nightmare.

"That's good," Speirs said evenly, rather glad to be rid of the headache that was dealing with the NAR and Sicilian Republic. Now he could focus on getting rid of the French insurrectionists. "We can hardly afford to split our attention between so many possible enemies. My forces should be able to put down any uprising, but fighting a conventional war and an uprising at the same time would stretch us thin and leave us too open."

The Advisor said nothing as he watched his King nod in agreement, along with the Minister for Defence. He'd had his doubts regarding Speirs, mostly due to his reluctance to fight other Britons during the Civil War, but he'd since retracted that opinion. The man was smart, even if those smarts remained firmly planted in the military side of life, and despite his reservations, his surprise attack on London had ended the Civil War far earlier than their initial projections had suggested.

It also helped that, not being an utter warmongering psychopath, he made for a likeable figure to head the military.

He blinked as he realized that the meeting was wrapping up, though he still felt his monarch's eyes on him, carefully observing him. Honestly, he was rather glad for it, as it meant he wasn't serving some delegating, lazy fop. The King would likely never let up on watching him, or anyone else who caught his attention, if only to better understand their goals.

And as thorough as the SIS was in investigation people, he had the distinct feeling that the King's bodyguards would put many agents to shame. He knew Astoria, for instance, would likely burn through a village just to get her master a single name.

And if Josefina was directly asked by Harry to do so, he had no doubts she'd personally eliminate the entire SIS. Or rather, would at least die trying to do so.

Hughes snorted. How was it that the King was capable of drawing such exceptional female talents to his side? Even the Queen was outstanding in her own right, for goodness' sake!

Then again, that had always been the cornerstone of their kingdom — talent. Everyone Harry had brought into his circle of friends and direct subordinates possessed above average skill in some field or another. Speirs was a solid tactician and a general who could be trusted with running the army efficiently, pragmatically, and loyally. Curtis was a pragmatic technocrat, who was both adept at field command and administration. Warwick's talent at media manipulation was only bested by his skill at weaving through the political web that made up the ETO's governing system.

Hell, Hughes was sure even he had been befriended by Harry specifically for his skills!

Not that he felt insulted by that realization. Quite the contrary; it made him admire the King all the more! The man had often expressed his admiration for the ancient warrior-kings, and none more than the greatest conquerors of their times. It was only logical, then, that he would seek to emulate them by surrounding himself with men and women of talent. Had anyone faltered on the path, Hughes was sure they would've found themselves quite abandoned.

Such was the path of a warlord, he supposed.

"There you are."

Hughes snapped out of his musings to find Josefina waiting for him, leaning against the hallway's wall. Uncrossing her arms and letting them fall loosely at her sides, she gave him a scrutinizing look before nudging her head towards the exit. Clearly, she had something to say in private.

Or rather, outside, where the hustle and bustle made it easier to conceal their conversation amongst the city's noise. That, and a few well placed interference gadgets. One never knew when the enemy spies came out to play, after all.

"Hello to you as well, Josefina," he greeted her dryly as they stopped near the palace gates, Josefina having discreetly activated a jammer device in her pocket. "How are you? How have you been? Eating well, I hope?"

The young woman just rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. "We both know you're beyond such niceties, Hughes," she said flatly as she crossed her arms under her chest again.

"On the contrary," Hughes answered with a slight smile. "I may not have raised you the way the King has, but I still feel some responsibility for your welfare, having aided in your rescue and all."

Again, she rolled her eyes. "Right. And the Mentor is really a rainbow colored unicorn who farts glitter."

"Language, young lady."

Josefina actually winced at the reprimand. Unlike most other adults, Hughes had no need to actually sound angry to make her understand his displeasure. A simple, calm chastisement was ten times worse when it came from the man who basically masterminded the near-extinction of an entire culture.

"W-Whatever," she said gruffly, hating that she'd actually stuttered for a moment. "Xeno sent me. It's about France."

Hughes' eyes flashed over to the palace before returning his gaze onto Josefina. "I'm aware of the insurrection being plotted," he informed her. "Marshal Speirs mentioned it in our meeting."

Josefina frowned. "It's not just being plotted, Hughes; it's happening. Right now." she informed him grimly. "Our reports say there's been a significant uprising in Marseilles and Cannes, and we're worried it's going to spread really fast."

Hughes narrowed his eyes at her. That was actually somewhat distressing to hear. "Has Marshal Speirs been informed?" he asked calmly. The Mentor had once again sped up his timetable, much to his ire. While his goals were becoming clearer by the day, the Mentor's erratic schedule was making it hard to predict when the next move would occur.

"There's a report waiting for him in his office as we speak," she answered evenly.

"Marseilles and Cannes were two of the least garrisoned cities," he noted absently, crunching numbers and extrapolating facts to their natural, logical progression. "The SIS threat report had indicated that the region was relatively dormant...ah."

He glanced at Josefina. "The NAR."

Josefina blinked in confusion. "What about them?" she asked, a bit of well-earned disgust seeping into her voice. The NAR was famous for the bigots it produced. Bigots like that one ex-boyfriend she'd shot and framed for the murder of his boss.

Good times.

Hughes seemed surprised at the question. "What? Oh, nothing. Just a thought," he lied easily. "Thank you for your report, Josefina. I'll be sure to drop by Xeno's office in a bit for a chat."

Josefina glared at her other saviour before shrugging and deactivating the jammer device in her pocket. If he didn't want to tell her, she had to respect that; Hughes had always played his plans close to his chest, and it hadn't led her wrong yet.

"Right. I'll tell him," she confirmed before giving him a lame wave and disappearing amongst the crowded street, leaving him alone.

Good. Hughes' mind was awhirl. Another piece of the Mentor's plan had finally been played, and he was definitely starting to see the bigger picture, now. This wasn't simply about the Northern Sun, anymore. There were bigger stakes in play.

However, if his deductions were correct, then he needed to make two calls today.

He sighed. So much for having dinner at a reasonable hour.

Unknown Location, Germany, December 3, 2018...

"HUUUUUUUGHES!"

CRASH!

Wincing, Riddle's maid was currently cowering in a corner as she watched her master rant and rave against a man called Hughes in his study, an entire cabinet having burst into spontaneous fire as his rage hit fever pitch.

It had all started so well, too...

To her relief, her master hadn't wanted to partake in her body for the past few days, so she'd been quite content to just do the normal chores and serve him his tea, as her orders dictated. Then, at around half-past noon, the doorbell had rung and she'd gotten the door. A rather harried man had been standing outside, and she'd debated internally whether to let him in to see her master, as he had requested, or tell him to get the usual appointment.

Evidently, she'd chosen the former, much to her present chagrin.

The man had been ushered into the study, where her master had treated the man calmly, as he would any other guest. He'd been gracious, offering tea and a few crumpets to munch on, which she'd served with her usual professional poise, before they'd gotten down to business.

Which led to this particular situation she found herself in, now.

The man had all but blurted out a few names that seemed to mean something to her master, who'd grown more and more angry as the list grew longer. At this point, she'd seen all the warning signs and had tried to step away as far as possible from her master, only to be horrified when, upon reaching the last name and beginning his profuse apology, the guest was suddenly grabbed by the throat, lifted up in the air, and a blast of red light had burst from her master's free hand, caving in the man's chest.

He'd died on impact.

Struck by horror, she could only watch helplessly as her master flung the body to the ground and began railing against the man called Hughes, apparently some unseen, vicious opponent of his. Unfortunately for her, her attempts to get out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible were thwarted by his angry rampage, and he'd once again forced himself upon her in the most brutal fashion he could, before discarding her and continuing his angry venting.

More than once after the rape — for it could be categorized as nothing else — amidst her frustrated, impotent tears, she wished she could just poison the man and be done with this life. However, the man who'd conscripted her for this job had all but told her that dereliction of her duties to the Mentor would result in her entire family being summarily executed. Even her older brother, who was living in the United States with his own family, had been named a target.

Grabbing the shredded shoulders of her uniform, she clung at herself more tightly as she tried to banish the memory of the handsome man's violence upon her. The man was a monster, no matter how charming and charismatic he passed himself off as to his guests and followers. None of them knew this side of him. None of them even knew he could do magic. He had made sure of that, and he had renewed the threat against her family if she ever spoke of it to their guests.

She hated him. She hated him so much that the nights she dreamed of killing him were the sweetest she could remember having.

Even so, she knew she would never get out of this hell. Her life was now inexorably tied to the Mentor's, and she knew she would likely die before he did. Frankly, considering what he did to her, she somewhat welcomed the prospect.

All she knew right now was that whatever that Hughes character had done, she wished him the best of luck in ruining the Mentors' plans.

While the maid was content in her vengeful line of thinking, however, Riddle was busy getting out his excess rage before he let it utterly consume him, as it would have, in the past. His time amongst his Death Eaters had shown him that whenever he made decisions based on his emotional state, he would overlook the simplest details that often came back to bite him. Potter was different. Potter would take his anger out in a controlled environment, and then he would make decisions.

It was the smart thing to do. The rational thing.

And Riddle refused to be anything but as good, if not better, as the man he was competing against for control over the world.

Hughes, however...

That piece of gutter trash had once again managed to pull one up on him. While his overall plans remained intact, the German government would undoubtedly come by in the next few days to demand an explanation as to why the thirty most critical and capable military leaders and decision-makers needed for the invasion of Austria had all suddenly come down with a simultaneous case of poisoning.

None of them were expected to survive the night.

But that wasn't the source of his frustration. Those thirty men and women were just pawns. What drove him crazy was how did Hughes know?!

Under his direction, the Germans had been quietly building up their military and spreading themselves throughout Germany in order to throw off suspicion. The very soldiers were kept completely in the dark, and only those thirty people, plus a few others, had known about the grand plan to take Austria the moment the Northern Sun left the country.

Now, the plan was off. Not permanently, perhaps, but sufficiently set back that when they did decide to carry through with it, the Northern Sun would be ready.

Riddle stopped mid-rage as an idea struck him. No, that wasn't the case for sure, now was it? After all, with the French insurrection underway, there was a very high and probable chance that the Northern Sun would be too entangled to deal with a German invasion of Austria. Even if they did, however, he'd coached the Germans on how best to counter the Northern Sun, meaning there were a few nasty surprises waiting for Potter and Hughes if they decided to be more proactive in his elimination. He doubted it, as the many domestic issues he'd successfully riled up meant they would be busy. More importantly, however, if he could tie down sufficient Northern military assets within France, they would be doubly likely to avoid intervening in the planned invasion.

Which, in turn, meant that the rest of the ETO nations, except perhaps Spain, would lose confidence in the Northern Sun's leadership. After all, if their northern ally was willing to throw Austria under the bus, how likely was it that they were going to meet the same fate when the chips were down?

He stroked his chin pensively as he flicked his wrist, using his magic to clean up the mess he'd made of his living room. Only the bloodied corpse of the unfortunate messenger remained a sore stain on his living room's perfection.

Well, no matter. He'd get the maid to clean it up afterward.

Walking over to one of the book stacks, he tapped his finger on each one's spine as he searched for the appropriate tome. It took him a bit — his collection was quite large, after all — but once he got to it, he smiled as he pulled it out.

Hughes may have won this little skirmish, but all that meant was that he now had to find a way around the obstacle...and ways, there were. He had planned on this next move for some time now, at his allies' behest, but he had expected to use it much later. Well, if Hughes wanted to play nasty now, he would oblige.

Personally.

After all, while he could have his men deal with this issue on his behalf, the situation had evolved to such a point where perhaps it was best to do it himself. Better odds of someone not screwing up, that way.

He patted the dusty cover of his book. A book for learning Italian.

Perfect.

Post-AN: Oh, noes! Riddle has plans! Evil plans! And Hughes has some, too! How much must it suck to be a pawn in those two's game, eh? Anyway, please remember to review! I get a kick out of the many delightful conversations I've had with many of you regarding plot development and possible plot points! Of course, if you do want to start a conversation, please also remember that unless it's signed, I can't really reply. Cheers!