Chapter Four: The Taming of the Aristocracy
Britannia welcomed her new Sovereign, the fiery passion and patriotism of his coronation speech having enflamed the masses with newfound optimism. Toasts were made, bells were tolled, Te Deums were sung. If one didn't know better, they might think that Britannia was celebrating the euphoria of victory. Perhaps that was the case, in its own way. With the heirs of Lelouch the Great at the helm, surely victory was as good as won, no?
In the halls of power, the new monarch's political machinations were already afoot. The final steps were being taken to dispose of the traitorous nobles who had murdered Nunnally vi Britannia. In the same stroke, the stage was laid for the unveiling of the remaining nobility's fate. The drama would be played out over fine wines and delicate dishes, the finery doing nothing to detract from the fact that Robert's first act of vengeance was unfolding.
Pendragon, Britannia, May 7th, 2039 A.T.B.
As the sun set on Pendragon, the celebrations continued without fail. The light of the sun was replaced with the light of electricity, illuminating the night sky in a dazzling array of beams and colors. Fireworks went off in the dozens, providing an additional layer of spectacle to the city that was already in the full swing of a party. Restaurants, bars, and plazas were filled to the brim with milling people all looking for an excuse to have fun. It was the second day since the coronation, and still the people found cause to celebrate. Really, it was quite remarkable to Gino how quickly the masses could willingly embrace the euphoria of the occasion when the country was still gripped in its seemingly endless woes. Not that he blamed them. A good party was always a balm to the soul, especially when the costs were being covered by the personal wealth of the royal family.
The blonde nobleman stared out the window of his family's car as it made its way through the streets at a snail's pace. Overworked police and gendarmes worked to keep the roads clear, though the sight of so many people still milling about in the streets showed the effectiveness of their efforts. The law enforcement was good-natured about it, but one could tell that they would prefer if the people just for once listened without making things difficult. For his part, Gino merely grinned at the sights. He always loved a good party.
"Man, I haven't seen a party like this since the Great War ended," he said to his wife and son, who for their part were playing a duet on shinobue flutes. It was a wistful, sad tune, one that Gino had heard Setsuko play countless times since they had first met. She said it reminded her of home, and it was the first song she had taught to Frederick when he expressed an interest in playing the shinobue. The musical notes brought a smile to his face. "I wonder what it'll be like at the palace."
"Droll, I am sure," Setsuko said after playing a few more notes on her flute. "Your playing improves every day, sweety. You could play professionally if you wanted to."
Frederick smiled at the praise. "I only had a good teacher. I'm still a long way from being as good as you, Mom."
Gino gave a thumbs up, his grin broadening. "Don't sell yourself short. You keep getting better at the flute, and you'll be fighting off the ladies nonstop!"
Frederick blushed, while Setsuko rolled her eyes. "Right," she drawled. "There is still the problem of his overenthusiastic father scaring off any potential girlfriends. Something not easily overcome by being proficient at the flute."
Gino placed his hand over his heart in mock hurt, an exaggerated gasp leaving his lips. "Overenthusiastic! I'm just being a wingman for my boy! It's not my fault the Stetson girl was a complete buzzkill."
"She was covered head to toe in beer, because of the barrel you insisted on opening. The poor girl's dress was completely ruined by the time we got her cleaned up."
Gino merely grinned sheepishly. That had been the highlight of the evening, if you asked him. Shame she didn't have the sense of humor to take it in good stride, but if that was the case his answer was that Frederick could do better. He was just looking out for his boy, in his own way.
"So long as a member of the imperial family doesn't end up covered in beer," Setsuko continued, looking out the window to where the palace lay. "Then I suppose I'll let you run a bit freely husband. Your easy attitude could serve us well tonight."
"I live to serve, my lady," Gino said with false solemnity, taking his wife's hand and placing a kiss on it for good measure. Setsuko rolled her eyes, but that didn't stop her smile. Say what she will, Setsuko did love his free spirit; they'd been married for nearly two decades after all. They worked well together. She was the noble matriarch, keeping the family's affairs organized and going steady, while he was the gregarious head of house who lowered everyone's guard and made them forget that they were still dealing with a noble family of Britannia. Even if they currently had no title, aristocratic politics was still something the House of Weinberg had been practicing up to the present, and with a fair amount of skill at that. The relative prosperity and stability of their holdings was testament to this. They were certainly better off than some other areas which poverty and desperation had driven into near anarchy. The new government had a lot of work ahead of it.
"We'll be arriving at the palace shortly, my lords," the driver said from the front. "Valet parking as usual?"
"Sure thing, Phil," Gino said. "And we'll call you when we're ready. Until then, grab a drink, enjoy the fun! It's on the house courtesy of vi Britannia from what I'm hearing."
"With pleasure, sir."
With that they sank into silence, preparing for the night to come. Party or no, this was still to be a gathering of Britannian aristocracy, and such gatherings were always best treated with in a guarded fashion. New monarch or no.
Let's see what you're made of kid, Gino thought as the palace came into view, his mind remembering violet eyes astride a cruel smile. And let's hope you're not too much like your old man.
Inside the palace, the party was in full swing. Held within a chamber of the palace known as the Blue Room, it was quite the elegant affair. Blue curtains and drapes flanked floor-to-ceiling windows, and blue marble tiles reflected the light of the chandeliers in a pretty display. A frescoed ceiling depicted Bacchus attended by multiple handmaidens and guests, fine wines flowing from his urn into their cups to signify his hospitality. In like manner, wine and other drink flowed freely, Bacchus' urn replaced by servers making their way to and fro between loitering nobles and notables. Hors d'ourves were offered to accompany whatever beverage one was nursing, and tables arrayed with silken cloths held platters of more solid food if one's appetite was unsatisfied. The gilded, crème colored walls held further lighting and alcoves for finely clothed guests who wished for a small amount of privacy, or for a place to watch the center of the room where equally finely dressed partygoers danced to Chopin.
There were a few members of the House Guards stationed at various points along the walls of the room, but they attempted to be as unobtrusive as they could. A few guests eyed them surreptitiously, but most of the partygoers paid them no heed, focused instead on enjoying themselves or talking with friends and acquaintances. Some wondered when the host would make his entrance, eager to schmooze with the young Sovereign and hopefully curry some favor.
Little do they know, Mountbatten thought as he observed the crowd. The Prime Minister had been making his rounds of the party for the past hour, plunging once again into the world of Britannian noble politics. He schmoozed and flattered, and gave veiled barbs where necessary, serving the will of his liege by gauging the mood of the nobles. For the most part, they were adopting a wait and see approach, though he could tell more than a few were weary. It had been amusing watching the Duke of Nevada nervously twirl that ridiculous mustache of his at the mere mention of Robert. He still hadn't gotten rid of that nervous tick it seemed.
The herald at the entrance banged his staff, gaining some attention. A new guest had arrived. There was some excited murmuring; had the Sovereign decided to appear at last?
"His Lordship the Count Weinberg, Her Ladyship the Countess Weinberg, and His Lordship the Viscount Weinberg!"
Not the Sovereign then, Mountbatten heard some mutter disappointedly. For his part he made his way to the newly arrived guests, a more genuine smile on his face than what he usually wore.
The Weinbergs have done well for themselves, he remembered, dredging up his archival knowledge of the nobility. Their seat in Bedford has done better than most, and they recently made a lucrative investment in the shipyards near Philadelphia. The duke certainly hasn't been pleased with their maneuvering, but he can't do much about it. The count was Knight of Three after all, and that carries weight.
I wonder if we could elevate them to a ducal rank, considering the current Duke of Pennsylvania will be without his head after tonight. Something to ponder.
Ambitious, very much so, but ultimately harmless. The Weinbergs had no involvement with the conspiracy to kill Her Majesty, and if anything, Robert had expressed admiration of their philanthropic activities. He had come to Mountbatten with an interest in seeing if the family could be of any use to the Crown, both for the added legitimacy it would bring and for the very practical benefit of having a noble ally who was also quite wealthy.
"Welcome to the palace, my lords and lady," Mountbatten said with a very slight bow. "I do hope the Sovereign's hospitality will be to your liking. You're quite fortunate, His Majesty has yet to make his entrance."
The count grinned broadly, eyes alight at the glamour of the party. He quickly moved to give Mountbatten a swift and firm handshake. "Eddy, my boy! You're looking as sharp as always! And you've even got that flask of yours put away for once! The young'un must be cracking down already, if you're restraining yourself at a party!"
This was followed by a boisterous laugh, and Edward sighed slightly. Dealing with Gino Weinberg was always… interesting. He suspected the count was that way on purpose.
"I would be remiss if I engaged in drink while His Majesty had need of my services. And you would do well to observe some decorum when he arrives. At the very least, no surprise kegs of beer. Please."
The count merely gave a sheepish laugh, and he noticed Countess Weinberg roll her eyes slightly. He quickly gave her a small bow as well. "Countess, you are looking as lovely as ever. I hope you enjoy the festivities tonight."
The countess smiled softly, giving a curtsey, but Edward didn't miss the calculating glint in her eyes. Former maid she may have been, but Countess Weinberg understood noble politics and played them very well. She was the one who'd secured the Weinbergs their investments in shipbuilding after all. Still, he found her pleasant enough company. She was more down to earth than some noble ladies he had met.
"Thank you for the kind words, Prime Minister," she said, before gesturing to her son. "This is our son, Frederick. He's attending his second term at the academy."
Mountbatten turned appreciative eyes on the young Weinberg, who gave him a rather formal bow. It was clear that in manners he took after his mother, though he certainly had the frame of his father. He was also dressed in the formal wear of a cadet; a military man in the making.
"Yes, West Point was it not? Your family should be proud young man, I heard you've been making some waves in your time there. I am biased, but you have a bright future ahead of you in the officer corps."
The young man looked slightly surprised that Mountbatten knew of his time in West Point, though he really shouldn't have been. The boy's paper on combined arms warfare had generated a bit of a stir, to the point that even he in his position of Prime Minister had at least heard of it. The Weinberg heir was a fine officer in the making, or so the grapevine said. Time would tell how true that proved to be.
"Thank you, sir," the young man said, giving another bow in thanks for the praise. "I only hope that I can serve my country well when the time comes."
Edward opened his mouth to reply, but the herald's staff banged. Turning his head towards the doorway, his eyes alit upon the House Guards taking up positions on either side of the doorway. The moment had come.
"Excuse me," he said to the Weinbergs, making his way to the door. He did not have to wait long for the herald's voice.
"Presenting His Majesty, the Sovereign Robert I vi Britannia! Presenting Her Majesty, the Princess-Consort Catherine vi Britannia! Presenting Her Highness, the First Princess Emeline vi Britannia! Presenting Her Majesty, the Queen Dowager Cecilia! Presenting His Highness, the Second Prince William vi Britannia!"
The royal family stood before the partygoers, clothed in fine and fashionable manner. Robert had traded his robes of state for a suit colored in a rich dark blue. His wife and mother were adorned in white ballgowns each adorned with a single ruby eye in the center of the chest, while the First Princess wore a stylized black uniform of military cut. He noticed the epaulets of a captain on her shoulders. For his own part, William wore a green and gold ensemble fit for court, the shade matching his eyes and being complemented by slim gold trimmings in the uniform.
There were a few hushed murmurs at the total absence of Zero, who as a consort of the former Sovereign was also expected to be in attendance. Many wondered what it implied, but they all still acted as if nothing was amiss, showering the royal family in applause.
For Britannian royals, they looked rather modest. Some might say they were trying to make a statement with the restrained nature of their finery. But less regal for it they were not. Each of them looked every inch a proud member of the house of Britannia, and Edward felt the stirrings of pride in his chest.
He respected the late Lady Nunnally, but even with her quiet dignity she had not possessed the same presence that the family standing before him did.
The band struck up the anthem at their arrival, and in tune to the music Edward knelt before his liege lords. He was satisfied to note that the rest of the room quickly did the same. Robert took in the sight for a moment, but he didn't let it linger.
"Rise, Our friends, rise," he said with a wave of his hand, a beneficent smile on his face. "You are all Our guests, and We hope to offer you Our hospitality this night. Our country has endured, and continues to endure, difficult times, but that does not mean we cannot for the moment celebrate the beginning of a new era. There is much work ahead, so for now, eat, drink, and be merry! You have earned it for your steadfast commitment to the nation, and for your unbreakable loyalty to Us."
Only Edward saw the glint in Robert's eyes as he finished his declaration, and it was with a small smile that he approached the young ruler.
"Your Majesty, it is with the utmost pleasure that I greet you. I hope this night is one of good fortune and enjoyment for you all."
Robert gave a light scoff, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. "That will do for the formalities, Edward. It is a party after all. Enjoy yourself, have a drink. Everything has been taken care of for the night."
The older man nodded, leaning in to whisper to the young monarch. "They are all here, Majesty. It is only a matter of your order."
With that Edward backed away from the royals, giving them a short bow before turning away. As he passed the first nobles looking to pay homage, he let a small smile adorn his face. It wasn't cruel or devious, or even sharp, but a satisfied upward turn of the lips, like a man happy to have received praise from his superior. The nobles around him took it as such, and paid little heed to the prime minister as he walked around the room.
Little did they know.
Away from the party, in a passage normally used by the servants, there was a different sort of gathering taking place. Fine suits were exchanged for combat uniforms and body armor, while champagne glasses were disregarded in favor of firearms. The men and women of the Royal Guard readied themselves to carry out their liege's will, and none were so dedicated to the preparations as their captain.
Jeremiah walked among the guards, taking in the sight of his troops readying themselves for what was to come. They were but a single part in a larger operation which would be taking place in Pendragon. An important part, to be sure, but it was one of many working towards a similar goal. Throughout the city, units of the Guard and regular Army who were loyal were moving into position, either to cut off exits or to move in and seize those who had designs against the Crown. The Shinozaki Clan was also on standby, analyzing the various safehouses that the traitors had set up to hold their own forces.
The discovery of firearms being smuggled into the palace had led the Shinozakis to a warehouse containing all manner of combat equipment. Old surplus, perhaps, but still enough to cause damage if one knew what they were doing. The discovery of one had led to the discovery of more, along with suspicious individuals who had a military air about them. While the government had acted as if it knew nothing, local military units were on high alert after this discovery, and units who could be counted on were discreetly moved into the area of the capital. Trustworthy elements of the Guard (which amounted to almost all of it, to the Crown's silent relief) were kept on standby for any sort of attack. Fortunately for vi Britannia their enemies suspected nothing, and so no such attack came.
Similar preparations were occurring throughout the principality around the estates and seats of the suspected traitors. Nothing would be left to chance; Robert wanted not only the prime actors of what could only be called a coup in the making captured, he wanted their loved ones and allies as well. Whether that capture would be bloodless depended on how much resistance the traitors were willing to put up.
Some would call such a move heartless. A Britannian would have simply shrugged and called it politics.
A grim smile grew on Jeremiah's face at the thought of spilling these traitors' blood. He had been idle for far too long. His blades yearned to be unleased on those who would stand against his lord, and he knew quite a few of the guards with him felt the same. For some, it was out of sheer loyalty to their liege, for others it was simply a matter of duty and patriotism. Regardless, they all knew that a new era was about to begin for Britannia, and its foundation would be laid with the bones of the old aristocracy.
"My Lord," a guardsman called, getting Jeremiah's attention. "Alpha through Gamma Companies report that they are in position around the palace. Our units in the city report that they are also ready to move. The enemy still shows no signs of knowing what's coming. They're just waiting for the word."
The cyborg nodded, evidently satisfied with the efficiency of his troops. "Very good. And the Shinozakis?"
The guardsman grew slightly anxious, and for a moment Jeremiah worried that there was some sort of problem. His fears were for naught. "Lady Shinozaki reports that her agents are in position, and she herself is in the Blue Room. They're, ah… enthusiastic about getting started, sir."
Jeremiah gave a small snort, suddenly understanding the man's nervousness. He'd seen Shinozaki shinobi when they were mad, and nothing could get their bloodlust up like avenging their liege, dead or alive. To them, there was only one option if they failed to protect the one they were sworn to; either they killed the one responsible, or they died trying.
"Just stay out of their way and you'll be fine," Jeremiah said, patting the man's shoulder. "Are we ready to move out?"
The guard nodded. "Yes, My Lord. At your command."
Jeremiah nodded, pleased. "Very good, then let's get into position. We don't want to be late when we're the stars of the show, eh?"
The guard gave a salute, before moving off to give Jeremiah's orders. For his part, the cyborg ejected his right wrist-mounted blade, running his hand absently along the edge. It shined wickedly, as if sharing its master's desire for blood.
Jeremiah grinned. It was time to get to work.
The party was as lively as ever with Robert's entrance. After the initial round of acclaim and oaths of devotion, the young Sovereign and his wife led the first dance, the Emperor's Waltz by Strauss. All around there were murmurs at the royal couple's graceful movements, each of them showing their years of practice and talent in classical dance. In honor of the princess-consort, On the Hills of Manchuria was played next, which proved quite popular with the partygoers. A Mazurka from Chopin was also played, proving equally as popular. Once the moves were demonstrated to the rest of the dancers, it was taken to with gusto. Many were charmed by the royal couple, and even those not taking part in the dances found the display most delightful to watch.
One such observer stood by one of the pillars of blue marble circling around the dance floor. A stately figure, his hair was combed back and had a salt-and-pepper palette. His fine but simple suit was fitted precisely to his figure, and white gloved hands delicately held a wine glass which he nursed with the air of a connoisseur sampling the wares out of politeness. Seasoned eyes scanned the ballroom, taking in the sights and sounds, but focused especially on the people. He was taking a small respite from his rounds of the room, having talked with every person at the party at least once.
This was the Russian ambassador to Britannia, Sergei Ilyanovitch Arakcheyev. Distant relation to the Arakchyeyev of Alexander I's time, yes, but do please not insist upon asking about it. Sergei was his own man, an accomplished and well-traveled man, and he liked to be acknowledged for his own works. He preferred to end every long conversation, whether for business or pleasure, with a drink, believing that was the only real way to cordially conclude dialogues. This had earned him the moniker of 'the Fountain,' for he always managed to have some form of alcohol with him. Yet he was not a drunkard by any stretch of the imagination, exercising moderation in this as he did in most things.
Those moderate eyes scanned the ballroom, noticing things that others missed, not that it would have been a mark against them. They were subtle things, really. Such as the posture of a certain guardsman, how he handled his ceremonial rifle as if it were ready to be used at a moment's notice, or how certain servants walked with a gait that spoke not of rushed business, but of repressed murder.
It seemed the young Sovereign planned something tonight, and it would entail violence towards some unfortunate person.
The ambassador again sipped his wine, analyzing the flavor again to determine whether it was to his liking. He had been told it was a Californian wine, as good as any from the best French vineyard, but he had yet to decide. Perhaps it went best with a dish?
"Enjoying the evening, Sergei?" a familiar, beloved voice called, and he turned with happiness to see Britannia's newest princess-consort, Catherine vi Britannia.
"Even more now that you have graced me with your presence, Your Majesty," he said with a reverential bow. Arakcheyev was a member of the old school; in his youth he had served Russia when it went was still ruled by the Tsar, and he still held that loyalty to his old lords. His loyalty had led to him helping Catherine survive the fall of her house, and in many ways, he had been like a grandfather to her. The government in Moscow understood quickly that this gave him a unique position in being able to negotiate on behalf of Russian interests; he had a connection to the Sovereign that few others could claim.
"No formalities, please," she said, a bright smile adorning her face. "It's been far too long since I last saw you, Sergei. Not since my wedding."
He returned the smile. "It was unavoidable, my dear. We both have our duties. Especially you, tied as you are to Motherland, Romanov, and now Britannia. But I see that you are happy, and that alone is all I need."
Let it be said that Arakcheyev would be concerned first with the happiness of those he cared about, even if those individuals were inseparable from the politics he dealt with. Catherine vi Britannia was one such person; it was arguable that he should not be so close to her, considering she was the personification not only of Russian hopes for a relationship with Britannia, but the aspirations of House Romanov as well. That family's efforts to clandestinely claw its way back into the halls of power had only tied those two things together; Catherine was the vehicle through which Britannia was to be enticed into a partnership, not only of restoring Russian national interests but the Tsardom as well. Britannian success was to serve as a catalyst which the waiting tsarists would use to call for a restoration of their own. A restoration not only of territories, but of the Tsarist throne as well using the last living male heir.
Arakcheyev had some misgivings about this plan, but he was only one voice amongst so many others desperate for any opportunity to restore old glories. Even if that meant essentially selling off a young girl to the Britannian royal family. Happy marriage it may have turned out to be, but he could not entirely reconcile himself with how easily his compatriots had done this. It could have easily blown up in their faces.
"The destiny of all royals, it seems," Catherine said with a mock regretful air, bringing him out of his musings. "But the people here are kind, and the land is beautiful. Dangerous animals aside."
He cocked his eyebrow at her statement, and she leaned forward and spoke softly in Russian. "There will be a purge tonight. Traitor nobles who were responsible for killing the previous Sovereign. It will be done in this very room."
Arakcheyev's eyes widened in surprise at the information, before he schooled his expression to something more placid. In his own low Russian he replied, "And they are sure of this? Quite a few powerful people are in this room, even if they no longer hold a title to represent it."
Catherine nodded, her eyes showing absolute conviction. "My husband and his retainers have seen to everything. Not a single rat will escape."
He could tell from her voice that things were already in motion. All he could do now was observe, and decide how best to frame his report to Moscow. "So long as you stay careful, little dove."
He was surprised at her smile, full of confidence, enthusiasm, and above all, faith. Faith, he recognized, in her husband and his family. "After tonight, our enemies will be the ones that need to take care. Vi Britannia is done waiting."
The party continued on, and Frederick Weinberg withheld a groan as he walked off the dance floor for the fifth time. It had been one thing for his father to tease him about the dashing look of his uniform; it was entirely another when every young maiden in the room asked him for a dance one after another. Frederick was like any other young man, and was more than pleased that the fairer sex found him attractive. The problem was that he was a naturally reserved person, and could only handle so much socializing before he considered it too much. It was not that the Weinberg son was shy or disliked talking to other people. Rather, he liked for every conversation to be of consequence or to have substance. And, for all that the young ladies at this party were pretty and skilled at dancing… direct and to the point did not describe the majority of them.
His mother's lectures came to mind. "One of your problems, dear, is that you have no idea how to make small talk. You're a noble, and a Britannian noble at that. There's more to politicking and socializing than a simple word and a handshake."
His father had supplied his own bit of wisdom on top of that. "People like it when you make them feel interesting. Even if they're boring as all hell, you gotta at least pretend you're listening! Or, uh, something like that."
That was something he understood, truly, but at the same time…
Frederick had no idea how to talk to people. In the field of military theory, he could go on and on with his classmates, and the servants who worked for his family were easy since they were practically family as well. Beyond that, he considered himself lucky to get through a five-sentence conversation without having made a complete fool of himself.
This was how Frederick saw himself. The truth was, while he did not know how to talk to others, they still found him charming and direct. All who spoke with him sensed his honesty and desire to be amicable. Unbeknownst to him, he was greatly respected amongst his peers, and amongst them all he was considered their best and brightest.
Thus, while Frederick berated himself for what he perceived as yet another social failure, those around him were humbled by what they saw as refreshingly frank honesty. It was a peculiar situation where a person who doubted their worth was considered the worthiest by many of those around him.
Stuck in his thoughts, he leant against the wall, hoping to have a respite from the dancing. He spied his parents twirling gaily on the floor, and the royal couple was also leading this number. He sighed in relief when he saw no other noble daughters walking up to him. Finally…
"I take it you don't like these sorts of things either?"
He jumped slightly at the voice, and turning to his left he was met with the last thing he had expected.
"Y-your Highness!" he said, quickly standing at attention. Whether he was a proper soldier or merely a cadet, he owed the royal family nothing but the utmost decorum. Especially the sister of the Sovereign, Emeline vi Britannia. "I, uh… my apologies for intruding."
God, please don't let me muck up talking to a royal…
His rather lame introduction only seemed to amuse the princess, and she gave him a small smile from her spot on the wall. "At ease, soldier. We're at a party, and I'm frankly tired of hearing 'Your Highness' from everyone's mouths. What's your name?"
Frederick relaxed at the princess' words, but he didn't go back to leaning against the wall. His mother would have his hide if he showed such lax decorum. "Cadet-Lieutenant Frederick Weinberg, Captain," he said, noticing the captain's epaulettes on her uniform and deciding to address her as a superior officer instead of royalty. Technically, it wasn't in error.
She blinked, having expected Frederick to continue with 'Your Highness', before she smirked. "You know, you're the first person to call me by captain. Captain vi Britannia, I like the sound of it," she said whimsically, before her eyes lit up. "You said Weinberg? Were you the one who wrote the Combined Arms paper?"
Frederick was both relieved and slightly embarrassed that she brought up The Paper, both knowing the details of it quite intimately (and thus feeling more comfortable talking about it), and feeling awkward at having one of the premier political figures of his country asking him about it.
"Yes, ma'am, that was me," he said, before giving a nervous smile. "I, ah, wasn't expecting so much attention because of it."
The princess laughed incredulously, as if he'd said some terrific joke. "Are you kidding? It completely upends the nature of modern military doctrine. So many people have been questioning how the Britannian army can fight without knightmares, and you just gave the middle finger to all of their arguments! Fighting knightmares from a distance with tanks, using aircraft to keep any enemy mechanized forces pinned, and then having infantry catch them in a knife fight while artillery provide cover? It's brilliant! And you even left a place for any theoretical knightmare forces in case we somehow rebuild the corps, all while…"
It was strange, seeing someone whom Frederick's upbringing had taught him to regard as deserving of the utmost respect act so… energetic. In the back of his mind, there was a sense of supreme pleasure at meeting someone of his age who not only understood his military theory, but regarded it so highly. He'd received praise from his friends and teachers for the paper, but none of them had been so effusive and sincere in it.
He also registered the humor of the First Princess being such a massive military nerd (even his professors hadn't been this enthusiastic), but frankly Frederick was just happy to have a topic he was comfortable talking about.
"… and then there's your theory on organizing whole divisions centered around knightmares?! Outstanding! You'd make the U.F.N.'s regimental system utterly pointless! Where'd you get the inspiration?!"
Frederick smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "I, ah… I liked reading stories of medieval cavalry charges, and I thought about how it equaled a concentration of an army's mobile firepower. There's a lot of additional factors to account for in modern warfare, but the basic principle is the same."
The princess opened her mouth, formulating a reply, when the sight of the dowager empress caught her attention. The ageless woman beckoned to Emeline, and with an apologetic shrug she turned back to Frederick. "Sorry to cut this short, Mother's calling me. It was nice meeting you, Frederick."
The young noble gave a respectful nod. "Likewise, Captain. I'll give what you said about my thesis some thought."
She smiled at that, before moving in a hurried manner towards her mother. Frederick gave a small bow when the woman looked towards him, but aside from that he was paid no mind. He failed to notice the small smirk the lime haired woman wore as she glanced between him and the princess.
It was as he came out from his bow that he felt a strong arm drape itself around his shoulders, and he looked to see the grinning face of his father looking between him and the princess. "Well, you've certainly exceeded expectations. And here your mother was, worrying about you being able to reach out to people."
Frederick simply grinned in an embarrassed manner, not denying it. "That wasn't planned at all. I bumped into her hiding out here. But, having a passing acquaintance with the Sovereign's sister is definitely a positive. That alone would make this a success for us."
Gino nodded, pleased at his son's astute view of things. While he was glad as a father to see his son talking to someone his own age, and having a pleasant time, as a Britannian noble he was very interested in the implications of a friendship with a member of the royal family. In the oft turbulent times that accompanied the rise of a new monarch to the throne, such a thing could be invaluable.
"And hey, she's easy on the eyes too! An attractive woman and a princess of the realm, my boy knows how to pick em," his father said, causing Frederick to roll his eyes. He knew that's where his father would take it.
"That's hardly an appropriate way to talk about one of our liege lords," Frederick replied.
"Hey, I've earned the right to give some lip, I think! Her dear old dad tried to have me killed back in the day, in case you forgot."
Frederick had a playful retort at the ready, but a servant in the livery of the palace interrupted. "Excuse me, my lords, but all the guests are bid to assemble on the dance floor. His Majesty has a pronouncement of great import."
The two Weinberg men looked to one another, shrugging as they let the servant lead them towards the dance floor. Both of them expected something to come from this speech, most likely the announcement of a new arrangement with the nobility.
That was, technically, exactly what was going to happen.
They quickly found Frederick's mother in the crowd, joining her in the rows of people as they waited for whatever the Sovereign wished to announce. There were murmurs of curiosity and anticipation, and quite a few thoughts of scorn among those who had a bone to pick with the monarchy. In the shadows of the columns and galleries, Frederick saw movement, but there was little he could do aside from subtly informing his parents. There was a growing hush amongst the crowd, as everyone wondered what they were about to witness. The Weinbergs, and a few others who had noticed the figures in the shadows of the Blue Room, felt a growing sense of dread.
After a few more minutes of waiting, a herald came to the stage, banging his staff. "Presenting the royal family! Hail!"
"Hail!" Frederick and the others in the crowd shouted, watching as the royal family made their way onto a small stage that had been erected. They were all wearing the same attire as before, and this time Zero was with them. Frederick raised an eyebrow at the small cadre of guardsmen that entered onto the stage with them. There was very clearly something going on.
The Sovereign stepped forward, and it was with his usual smile that he regarded the crowd. Frederick thought he saw something in the young monarch's eyes, but he couldn't tell what it was. A mix of disdain, and anger?
"Let Us pronounce, once again, Our gratitude for your attendance, noble lords and ladies," he began, gaining everyone's attention. "The current troubles of Our realm are of a great concern to all, and it is with pleasure that We note your presence in spite of the certainly dire needs of your holdings for their lords. Such dedication to Crown and Country is commendable, and worthy of Our notice and reward."
There was an electric feeling in the crowd. The hope of the majority of the nobility was that the monarchy would move from its path and reestablish the formal relationship between itself and the estate of the nobility, ending the, as they perceived it, sham that was liberal monarchy. It was a commonly held notion that the Crown could ill afford to continue the farce that it held a direct relationship with the citizenry of Britannia when so many lords still held sway in their old realms. Had Emperor Lelouch not been assassinated, then this experiment of direct administration would have held more water, but the past two decades had shown that it was no longer viable. That was the preeminent wisdom of aristocratic circles, anyway. The reality was more complicated.
"After consultation with Our ministers and trusted relatives, We have decided that on this date, May Seventh of the sacred year 2039 Ascension Throne Britannia, that the experiment of direct rule be abrogated in favor of a new contract between the Crown and the Peerage. To this end, the formal organization of the fiefdoms is hereby reinstated, binding Us to you and you to Us once more."
There was excited chatter amongst the nobles of the crowd. The long-awaited day seemed to have come at last. A few merely looked on, waiting for the other shoe to fall. They did not need to wait long.
"As with all contracts," the Sovereign began, silencing the crowd once again. "There are certain obligations which both sides must meet. For Us, this entails a duty to properly administrate, adjudicate, and defend the realm. A duty which We intend to see upheld at all costs. For you, my noble lords and ladies, there are similar obligations which must be met. The peoples of your fiefs must be looked after, the Crown's share of the fruits of labor must be properly accounted, and most importantly, loyalty to Nation and Sovereign must be upheld."
There was a pause, and the Sovereign injected a heavy amount of disappointment into his next words. "Loyalty, is something quite a few of you appear to lack a proper appreciation for. In this matter, Our hand is forced."
The Sovereign raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Immediately, soldiers in combat gear appeared around the dance floor and at the entrances to the room, encircling the nobility. Guardsmen in their livery began advancing through the crowd, picking out nobles in a seemingly random manner. He spotted Jeremiah Gottwald dragging the Baron of Baltimore by his hair. There was pandemonium, and Frederick's father held mother close. For his part, Frederick wished he had brought his sidearm.
The Weinbergs, and most of the other nobles in the room, need not have worried. The guardsmen seized only those who were explicitly implicated in the conspiracy to assassinate the previous Sovereign. They were apprehended with little regard for their comfort, their family members seized as well if they had also been implicated. The partygoers not bidden to assemble with the nobility, ambassadors and businessmen, dilettantes and advocates, and the nobles themselves who were known to be innocent in this matter, all watched in morbid fascination as those who were seized were marched before the state and made to kneel to their lord.
There was shouting from the nobles who had been singled out, and it was this coupled with recognizing their faces that Frederick realized the majority of them were avid supporters of the "Old Way", the Social Darwinism championed by the Emperor Charles VI and destroyed by Lelouch the Liberator.
Whoreson, traitor, commoner trash, pretender, this and more abuse was hurled at the Sovereign from those his men at arms had rounded up. For his part, the monarch gazed at the apparent criminals with icy contempt, his eyes appearing to be like cold fire. The rest of the royal family looked on the nobles with varying degrees of contempt and anger. Frederick gazed in fascination, wondering what would happen next.
Lord Gottwald stepped forward, a look of utter loathing on his face. He slapped the most prominent of the nobles, the Duke of Pennsylvania, shocking them into silence.
"You will treat the person of the Sovereign with nothing but respect, lowly ingrates," he growled. "Your crimes are already of the gravest nature, do not give His Majesty further cause to punish you!"
"For what?!" the stricken duke asked, his bluster quickly returning. "We have committed no crime! The Sovereign has no right to imprison us, especially after the return of our ancient rights! I demand our release at once!"
"That is where you are very wrong, Your Grace," Robert said, beckoning the Prime Minister forward. The older man was holding some kind of document in his hands, and he swiftly presented it to the Sovereign. It was unfurled, and the monarch swiftly began reading.
"For the crime of murder committed against the person of Her Majesty Nunnally I, daughter of Emperor Charles VI and sister of Emperor Lelouch I, We, acting in our solemn duty as adjudicator of the realms, strip the accused of their titles and rights as Peers of the Realm. All titles, holdings, contracts, and obligations owed to you will be held in the custody of the Crown, to be redistributed and rearranged as We deem necessary and proper. For your part, as Our subjects, we entitle you to a fair and just trial by a court of law."
There was a moment of shocked silence, before once again the accused nobles were shouting in outrage. For his part, Frederick analyzed the situation. The Sovereign had clearly gone into this with some sort of strategy; by reinstating the contract of obligation between Crown and nobility, he was within his rights to arrest any noble if they could be shown to have committed treason against the state. And murder of one's own monarch was most definitely an act of treason. It was also a message to the other nobles within the room that had not been rounded up. The statement that they would be given a fair trial demonstrated that Robert, for all his power as Sovereign, would abide by his own laws and proceed in a fair manner. For an autocrat, such an image was important, as it reinforced the public faith that the laws actually held meaning outside of the monarch's whims.
The accused nobles continued shouting, growing more and more frenzied as they were led away.
"You call us traitors, yet you cavort with that devilspawn in a mask! He raised the flag of rebellion against the empire, and murdered royalty! Yet he walks free, and is even allowed in the bed of a monarch?! Compared to that, murdering that whore was the act of a patriot!"
Frederick shook his head. Such a thing was useless to point out, and only amounted to a confession. Even by the logic of the Social Darwinists, it was the Crown's right to decide what Zero's fate was. If that meant a pardon and asylum within Britannia, then that was that. Whether that was a wise decision in terms of public perception was a different matter, but to the Crown's and Zero's credit, they had done much to reconcile the Britannian public to his presence within the royal family. The recent displays of grief by Zero at the funeral of his wife had only further helped along the idea that Zero, for all that he and Britannia had once been enemies, was now one of them.
"I do hope that is not the basis of your defense against the charges," Zero replied stoically, his mask blank yet still managing to convey a sense of severe anger and contempt. "Otherwise, the trial will be a swift one."
The traitorous nobles shouted more obscenities and justifications, but they were swiftly led out by their captors. In fact, most of the soldiers in the room swiftly proceeded to follow the group, leaving only a few of those in tactical gear and the Guards. Gottwald had left with the prisoners, after giving a perfunctory bow to his lords.
The room was left in a stunned silence at the sudden turn of events. Few knew what to think.
Frederick's father suddenly stepped forward, shoulders set and gaze resolute. His mother watched in concern, and Frederick could only stare. The Sovereign watched him approach with an appraising gaze. Quite a few wondered what Count Weinberg was thinking. They had all just watched the Sovereign casually arrest more than a few very powerful members of the Peerage, even after reinstating the official fiefs. There was a sense of unpredictability in the air.
For his part, Gino Weinberg stopped a few paces away from the stage, the Guards watching him warily. He knelt, signaling that whatever he wished to say he still paid homage to his liege.
"Your Majesty, I would ask if you truly mean to hold to the letter and spirit of your own laws. The nation suffers enough as it is, and it can ill-afford a tyrant who does as he pleases. As a loyal son of Britannia, it sooth would mine, and many others', hearts if you could reassure us of your commitment to just, rational administration."
It was a pointed question. Everyone remembered that, for all his much-needed reforms and general popularity, Lelouch I had ruled as a despot, and ignored quite a few ancient laws and rights in his crusade against the nobility. The pace and unpredictability of his reform had led to some chaos and confusion, as the emperor had appeared to rule according to his whim. Even in the autocratic past of Britannia's monarchs, there had been few examples of similar magnitude.
To everyone's surprise, the Sovereign smiled. It was genuine, and he gazed upon the form of Count Weinberg with respect. "My Lord, your commitment to the nation is worthy of commendation. We indeed plan to uphold the promise of rational and legal justice, in this and in all other matters. We plan to follow a middle path, choosing neither the anachronism of Social Darwinism nor the uncontrolled pace and nature of Our father's reform. We wish sincerely for a Britannia in which the rights of all Our subjects, regardless of their innocence or guilt, are respected and preserved. By the nature of Our new contract with the nobility, it is something that We expect of Our Peerage as well."
"To that end," he continued, gaining everyone's attention. "In light of your steadfast dedication to the justice of the realm, We appoint you, Gino Weinberg, with the solemn duty of administrating the hereditary Duchy of Pennsylvania. In reward for your long service to the nation, and in light of your efforts to justly rule over and improve the lives of your subjects do We graciously give this boon. Pending an examination of your heir's qualifications, and the production of a satisfactory result on said examination, this title will remain with your family upon your passing."
Frederick could be forgiven for his jaw hanging wide open. In all of the Weinberg family's wildest dreams, they had never expected the acquisition of a duchy. Theirs had been a rather obscure family until his father's ascension to the Knight of Three, and even that had done little to improve the actual family's standing outside of prestige by association.
His father stared dumbly for a moment, openly floored at the sudden turn of events, before swiftly recovering himself and bowing his head in gratitude. "You mine, and my family's, sincerest thanks, Your Majesty. We will do our utmost to see that your faith is not misplaced."
"We expect nothing less, Duke Weinberg. You may rise and return to your family."
The rest of the night proceeded in a similar manner, with nobles who were known for their administrative competence and integrity being suddenly uplifted to ranks they had once only dreamed of. Some individuals were ennobled outright, their qualifications outlined in a similar manner. It was noted by all that the Sovereign made a point of referencing an examination to ascertain the qualifications of the noble heirs to actually inherit their positions. Clearly, inheritance was no longer something that would be acceded to unconditionally. In most other situations, the aristocracy might have opposed this imposition and latent threat to the continuity of their houses holding onto their ancestral lands, but most of those who would have been inclined to issue such a challenge were either long dead or too isolated. In this, Lelouch I's efforts benefitted his son, for Robert I was left with a Peerage that was keen to work with the Crown and rationally see to Britannia's administration. Those that were left were mostly moderates, reformers, and rational conservatives who could generally agree that the nature of the relationship between the Crown and nobility had needed to be changed. The last remnants of the Old Way had been weeded out even as Robert cemented his new relationship with the nobility.
It would be an overstatement to say that the Sovereign had the aristocracy's trust, or even that the rearrangement of the relationship between the monarchy and the nobility was complete, as such things took far longer than a single night to materialize, but those that were left had been awed and reassured enough that they were willing to give the young Sovereign a chance. It helped that the arrests were justified when accompanied by the Crown's evidence. The restoration of their official rights and holdings meant that they had more power to act if their faith in the monarch turned out to be misplaced, ironically acting as a reassurance for the nobles.
Thus, one of Robert's first acts to rearrange the situation for Britannia had been completed. With a willing and able aristocracy now at his back and cooperating with royal administration, the process of rebuilding the nation could proceed much more smoothly. There still remained the looming specter of the war reparations demanded by the U.F.N., and Britannia's isolation on the world stage, but the government was still invigorated and eager to move forward.
The next stage of the drama was now ready to unfold.
Author's Note: ... I did say it'd take me longer to get this out. I just might not have realized how long that would be.
In all seriousness, I sincerely did not expect the delay for this chapter to be as long as it was. I underestimated just how much work grad school would entail, which was a gaff on my part. On the bright side, better late than never, eh?
Part of the reason this took so long is that I really want to get to the stuff that comes after this chapter. That's where the juicy stuff is, such as military shenanigans, administration, and diplomatic maneuvering. Compared to that stuff, this is decidedly... meh, at least for me. But it is necessary regardless of how I feel about it. I did enjoy the opportunity to flesh out some of the characters, such as Frederick. He'll be a fixture of future chapters, I hope y'all like him.
That'll be all from me, then. Hopefully our next meeting isn't nearly as far off.
Happy Reading!