Author's Note: Alright so there's a lot to cover here.
First: Thank you LanceFox for the review, it's always a great thing to see people enjoying what you make. I also somewhat agree with your assessment on the first chapter but appreciate your imploring to stick through it. Having an OC be not just a major component of this story but also the only major character the readers get to see for the first 2 chapters and a good portion of the 3rd chapter was (or is) a big risk, I just hope that the character and his role manages to be enjoyable to read.
Second: This one is only for people already following the story, if you are reading this and there are more than 5 chapters, you may skip directly to the end of this author's note. Now for those returning, while writing this chapter I discovered I had made a major oversight in the 2nd chapter regarding the English-speaking Mercian characters, they lacked the slight old English that they should have, so I have made edits to the chapter, and the other 3, that should update into viewing sometime today depending on how the site is feeling.
Now onto the story, since this one is a long one...
Here he is again, again and again and again. Even a sleeping mind could recognise such a pattern, and he had done so many months ago, maybe even years; but despite this knowledge he is still running, terror filling him. He knows it is pointless, but that gives him no clarity. He knows that the voices never get any closer, not really, but that gives him no strength. Knowing the cycle only serves to accentuate its terribleness and intensify his dread to follow through it, again, again and again and again.
Just stay focused, just stay focused, just stay focused, just stay focused
He repeats this statement in his head again, again and again and again. It, along with a constant stream of pointless mental notes of the environment around him, is his latest attempt in this dream, these dreams, to prevent him from spiraling into a train of thought, one that will lead him to a destination that he so desperately wishes to avoid. But it is a Sisyphean task, just like every other action he takes in this ordeal, and soon the limits of a world constructed by his subconscious give way, forcing him to board that locomotive, bound to tracks that force it on to an inevitable collision, an inevitable conclusion. The faces and their reactions begin to barrage him, he tries to fight back.
Can't you all see? Don't you believe me? Don't you trust me? Don't you know me?! I'm not a monster! I just-, Oh no
Her face crashes into his mind, a sharp pain arises from his chest, he grasps a clump of white fur in his hand, and he comes to a stop. The voices are still crying for him to come back, to see them, to talk to them. They say how they love him and how they miss him. Out of all them, one is absent.
Yours
He isn't sure what would hurt more, hearing her voice condemn him with hateful words, because she cares, or silence, because she doesn't. His eyes water as he curses himself for falling for it, again, again and again and again. His knees falter and he falls to them, hands pressing into the ground and tails coiling around him in a sad mimicry of hugging arms. He sobs his soul into the grass below and when he gazes up, she is there. For the first time in this dream, these dreams, he finds the ability to utter words.
"I love you, and I'm sorry."
Her motherly face is so still he can almost believe her a statue. Her auburn hair sways in the breeze, her tan fur glistens in the light of the Sun, and her blue eyes bore into him, something within them. He knows who she is, but also doesn't; he cannot explain how he at once knows her like he knows himself and yet cannot recognise who she is. And while he sits helplessly before her gaze, her mouth begins to move; but before she can speak, a voice, a new one, different from any other he'd heard in this dream, these dreams, calls out to him from behind.
"My boy."
He turns around and sees someone he only knows from old videos and older pictures.
"Dad?"
His father, strong and stern, stands before his eyes, wearing the only thing he's ever seen him wear; a magnificent outfit, fit for a great general, with golden epaulettes and a museum's worth of medals sparkling under the Sun.
"My boy, get up."
He doesn't know what to say and so remains kneeling on the ground. His father's face grows fierce while his right eye, his only eye, glares with an intensity to put the Great Mobocean to shame, and Amadeus speaks once more.
"My boy, get up!"
Frightened by his father's outburst, he quickly rises to one knee, attempting to stand quickly, until a thought enters his mind.
I've never heard his voice
"My boy, get up!"
Miles wavers at the force of his father's voice and before he can process the repeating words, Amadeus' voice booms again; this time with the force of thunder, terrifying him unlike anything else.
"MY BOY, GET UP!"
"Mon garçon, lève-toi."
Miles' eyes open as he swiftly jolts up, arms spread out like a wild beast cornered in a cage, alarming the figure beside him.
"Mon garçon, are vous alright?"
The warm amber irises that observe him, and the grey fur that accompanies them, bring him to ease.
Just the Marshal, not him...
He then sees the alarmed expression on Noël's face. Embarrassment fills him at this feral display of his, causing him to instinctively rub his neck and look away for a second.
"Uh, yea! I'm fine, just had a dream about…"
What the hell do I say?
The fox and the renard remain in a trance-like state for a split-second, but for the ochre, two-tailed boy it seems like an eternity. As he stares into the eyes of the marshal, he cannot deny the striking similarity to his-
That's it!
"A thunderstorm."
The marshal raises an eyebrow.
"Tonnerre…"
"Yup. I used to have a big phobia of it, cause all the flying I do. Guess I still have some repressed issues that got brought up cause of the lessons to the helicopter pilots. Funny how that works, right?"
The skeptical face of the marshal instils the fear into Miles that, perhaps, he is not as convincing as he thinks he is.
"I hope vous don't décomposer into tears when the artillerie fires…"
He's not gonna push any further? Oh, thank all that is holy!
"No sir! I've been in my fair share of firefig-, er, I mean fights. I'm as dependable as they come."
"Good. Now, lève-toi, mon garçon, I have something important to show vous. It is sérieux."
Miles jumps off his bed, stretching his limbs, neck, and tails and then follows the marshal out of the tent.
"What is it? And why so early? It's like one, usually you let me sleep till five."
"Edouard's last expédition with the parties de scoutisme have confirmed something we've suspected for some time."
"That being? Come on, don't leave me hanging!"
Noël looks down and sighs.
"The Royaume d'Acorn is actively assistant la monarchie. Edouard's team ambushed a patrouille of soldats with strange accents, accents différent from the rest of Mercia. He captured trois and after interrogatoire them, they révélé that they are membres of a détachement spécial from Acorn, though they did not tell us what exactement their rôle or rank was."
"They said that King Max sent 'em?"
"Non."
"Then how do you know this is directly from them? It could just be rouge elements wh-"
"Monsieur Prower, vous expecter moi to believe that soldats, posséder équipement that is quite above standard, are here of their own volition? The facts are clair as day. The royalistes must sense that their time is coming to une fin and are seeking to escalate this conflit. This changes many things. New action est nécessaire."
The marshal's delivery of that last sentence makes Miles' heart begin to beat hard and he feels a cold shiver ascend up his spine.
"What are you going to show me?"
"Suis-moi, mon garçon."
The halls of the palace are awash in the light of sconces, its inhabitants preferring the natural glow to the more clinical shine of light bulbs, which are not on at this time.
"I mus' speak with King Rob'rt, at once."
"The King is not able to host thy audience at this time."
He clenches his fists at hearing this, again.
"Well, where in tha' bloody hell is he?!"
"I am not at lib'rty to bid thee such inf'rmation."
"He's hun'in in tha' Deerwood again, isn' he?"
The beaver in front of him says not a word and moves not a muscle.
"How tha' hell are we suppos' to win this damn war if tha' King's always runnin' off to hun'?"
Once again, no answer is given.
"Fine, be a bloody statue, for all I care!"
"Rememb'r thy place, outsid'r."
Venom and vitriol drips from the words.
"Just because thee art here due to thy king's desire to assist us doest not mean I shall allow such insolence to wend unchalleng'd."
"E'rythin I said was tha' truth. Don' like it? Get stuffed."
He storms off, no better off than before this fruitless encounter.
Fuckin' tosser, all a worthless lot
He starts searching for someone who will actually concern themselves with winning this thing. He enters the war room and sees a singular figure standing over its grand and glorious table, arms splayed across to his sides, studying the map in front of him.
Jus' tha' man I wan'ed to see
"General Em'ry!"
The charcoal hedgehog, dressed in a brilliant uniform demonstrating his status, turns to answer the call, a smile growing on his face at its source.
"What 'tis it, mine friend?"
"We need to talk. Is import'nt."
Ugh, so disgusting
The red and white shoe rises up from the muck pond that it unfortunately stepped into, much to her dismay. She continues walking forward through the dirty and deteriorating streets of this section of the city.
This better not be another dead-end lead, and you better be here mister. The longer I have to keep searching the harder my hammer's gonna whack you!
Her ruminations on what she plans on doing to a certain AWOL fox are suddenly interrupted by the ringing bell of a passing bicycle, just missing her; its owner yells at her.
"Watch where you're walking, yah damn animal!"
Maybe I should whack all these jerks instead...
Her phone begins buzzing and she reaches for it. Upon viewing who is calling, she groans.
Blegh, her. Sorry, not sorry
She presses the button to decline the call.
I'll say I'm busy, which is true, so not even lying!
She navigates to her messages and opens the conversation that's the very reason for her being here, since she hates this place. Not Station Square, the city is lovely, but these slums.
Full of garbage waste
As she looks around at the various nasty glances aimed at her, she adds to her thoughts.
Full of garbage people too...
Turning her eyes back to her phone, she begins scrolling back through the conversation to make sure she's heading to the right place.
Metrorat31: Yo pink pug, said you were looking for some Power dude?
PinkPugilist: Prower
PinkPugilist: And yes. Yellow-orange fox, blue eyes, two tails. Hard to miss
Metrorat31: Well I don't know nothing about two tails
Metrorat31: But I overheard some people mention that name in the underland slums
Metrorat31: Same guys were also swearing like aviators about some "damn fox"
PinkPugilist: Really?
Metrorat31: Ye
Metrorat31: But pug, these guys, they ain't the friendly type, ya now?
PinkPugilist: Don't care, I'll beat up anyone in between me and that "damn fox"
Metrorat31: Nah pink, im srs
Metrorat31: Underland slums ain't like the rest of the Square, mostly overlanders, and you know how they ain't too accommodating with you mobians. Your power friend could be dead for all i know
PinkPugilist: I can take care of myself
PinkPugilist: And besides, I'm not gonna let one of my friends be held by a bunch of thugs
PinkPugilist: Where did you overhear this?
Metrorat31: Colin's Canteen
PinkPugilist: Colin?
Metrorat31: Yea
Metrorat31: Don't know too much but seems like he was some big general from the great war
Metrorat31: Guess they feel like havin the name keeps the "glory days" alive
PinkPugilist: Was?
Metrorat31: Well i don't know everything, but the way they were talking bout him, didn't sound like he was alive
Metrorat31: If i had to guess he probably died in the war, but idrk
PinkPugilist: Oh, nvm then
PinkPugilist: Anyways, thanks for the tip, if it follows through I'll make sure you're well rewarded
Metrorat31: Ye ye
Metrorat31: Just make sure I actually get my pay, talk is cheap and doesn't buy food, you know?
Yep, she's heading the right way. It's a bit strange for her to think about it, that this could be it. Two years and now it would all be over. She has a lot to say to him, plenty of it would be angry and not fun for him to endure, but then she'd get him back home, dragging him if she had to.
You don't run from family Tails, and family never abandons you
As she rounds a corner, her goal comes to her sight.
Colin's Canteen
The neon sign radiates a strong glow in the night air, despite the various dark letters. She sees the neon lady at the end of the sign striking a rather provocative pose.
Ack, boys are so disgusting. Predictable too
She begins walking to the door until she's but a few feet from it, slowing to a crawl. She begins to listen and the voices inside come into focus.
"-a glass to that!"
A great cheer of approval roars forth and the sound of clinking glass follows, she hears one make a shattering sound and then the roar of laughter erupts.
What brutes...
"Al, you hear about what the President said earlier?"
"Man, I don't give a shit about no politics. Day he picks up my tab is the day I bother to go vote."
"Dude, you may not care about this shit, but it cares about you. President said that with the global situation getting crazy, he would try and get the council to start ramping up joint-missions between the Fed and other nations. Fuckin guy is wanting to get us more involved with Mobies."
"Long as they don't draft me, Imma happy camper."
"What kinda Overlander are yuh?"
"The kind who doesn't care for whatevah beef there is."
"How can't you? Damn animals have wronged every one of us."
"Ain't no animal ever done me wrong..."
"You only think that cause you're stupid. The reason we live in this shithole is cause they beat us."
Ungrateful jerks! Did you forget that it was us "animals" who convinced this city to take you?
"All you guys keep blabbering on about the war, shit's nearly twenty years old now; don't you ever get tired cryin about it?"
A new voice joins the conversation.
"Nah Al. Derek may be a weirdo, all interested in politics and shit like that, but he's on the money about this."
"Thanks for the compliment..."
"Ah, toughen up you softie!"
"Look, I just don't see why little old me should bother with all this nonsense. We fought a war, we lost, sounds pretty straightforward to me. Why keep dredging it up?"
"We only lost cause of that damn traitor, that's why! Julian gave them the strength to beat us. We were cheated out of what was rightfully ours, but we won't be so accepting of that forever."
"That's not what that tune you blast every time I try to take a piss says. Unless 'Julian' is that fox's middle name."
"First, that Prower prick just got lucky in pushing us out the city early on, but that's all. Second, don't disrespect my taste in music, it's great. And now that you've brought it up…"
Prower! Tails, you sneaky fox, I've found you!
"No, don't you dare…"
"Oh, but I do! My place, my rules after all."
"I swear, if you play it again, I'm going to shove my glass so far down your throat that you-"
Now Playing: "205 Days In Mobotropolis"
(Inspired By "55 Days At Peking")
A drum roll begins playing.
"Quiet! It's starting."
Alright, time to get my friend back
In one swift motion she summons her hammer and smashes through the door. The five of them all quickly turn at the intruder and speak in unison.
"What the hell?!"
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
"Where is he?!"
The little hedgehog with her comically sized hammer would be a sight fit for a comedy, but the fire in her voice kills any thoughts of laughter from the stunned Overlanders.
Bom-bom, bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
"Fine, I'll beat it out of you!"
The year was Thirty-Two Twenty
'Tis worth remembering this,
She charges forth, smacking a red-haired fellow back several feet with her hammer, sending him clear through a door. This breaks the trance of the rest of the men and they begin to defend themselves. A blond one tries to deliver a solid right hook but she's prepared, swinging her hammer right into it, and he howls in pain.
"AH DAMNIT! MY HAND!"
For the men who fought through
Two-Hundred and Five days in Mobotropolis!
He clutches his 4 fingers with his left hand but before he can move, she follows up with an upward swing that sends him soaring and into the black bar, shattering a multitude of glasses and bottles, shards and liquids spraying everywhere.
T'was called Maximilian's Aggression,
A bloody, continental war!
A huge beast of a man grabs a chair, almost as big as she is, with one hand and smashes it; grasping the makeshift weapon and advancing with great speed and fury.
Between rival peoples,
Mobian and Overlander!
Having no time for fancy maneuvers, she instinctively thrusts her hammer out like a sword, hitting him in the chest and pushing him off his footing and he drops his club. Seeing an opportunity to neutralise him, she pulls back her hammer and follows through with swing but he moves out of its path and quickly grabs it when its momentum is spent.
The flags of the Overland and Acorn,
How they feuded in the breeze!
"Should've never come here!"
He lifts the hammer, along with its wielder, and slams it down, smashing her into the ground. Then she rises again as he swings and flings her across the length of the room, losing her grasp on her weapon in the motion, smacking her hard into the wall.
And many Overlanders, so determined,
Stood proud amidst a city of debris!
She quickly pushes herself up in time to deal with a charging brunet, ducking and rolling to the side at the last moment, leaving no time for him to stop or change direction.
Then came the march of columns
The rolling guns of doom!
His head collides straight with the wall, dazing him. Before he can fully recover, she grabs him and flings him at the huge man, now wielding her hammer. He steps to the side to avoid it but she uses the brief period where his vision is obscured to close in for a kick to his jaw, knocking him back onto the floor.
And the streets of Mobotropolis
Would soon become their tomb!
On the ground, the man raises himself up with the hammer, preparing himself for the continuing fight. The two eye each other up while the music continues to play and a tense calm follows as both wait for the other to strike.
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom, bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
She, too impatient to play the waiting game, jumps forward and, in response, he swings the hammer where she should be, if she were the size of a human. He forgets to account for her diminutive stature and pays for such an error with a solid kick to his nose, which spurts with blood at the injury.
General Prower gave the order
To attack, fury withal!
She is unable to capitalise on this victory however, for the man that had slammed his head into the wall had recovered and now holds her in a bear hug.
"Let me go!"
"Stop squirming yah varmint!"
"Let the Overlander devils
Be driven from the capital!"
She bites into his right hand, snaring two fingers in her maw.
"Ack! You friggin bitch!"
They stormed our beleaguered defenders
Who stood fast with shot and shell!
His grip on her loosens and she manages to break free of it. In swift order, she grabs his waist and swings him around to bump into the now approaching behemoth of a man.
Their uniforms became bloodred shrouds,
Screaming "Scram Savages!" as they fell!
His bleeding hand makes quite the modern art display on their clothes and the floor but the towering figure is undeterred, simply shoving his approaching friend to the side with a great push.
The screams have long been muffled
Their cries cease to ring;
"Enough games ya wretch."
"Bite me!"
But through the ages
You can hear them echoing...
Her goading works and he goes for an overhead swing. The hammer crashes into the wooden floor, driving straight through it and getting stuck in the process. As he struggles to pull it back up, she touches it and the mighty hammer dissipates into thin air, as if just a mirage.
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
"Got ya."
She resummons the hammer and brings it down on the back of his head, pounding his head into the wooden floor.
Bom-bom, bom-bom-bom
Two-Hundred and Five days in Mobotropolis
He lets out a pained sigh and goes limp due to exhaustion. She takes a breather, leaning on her hammer, flushed with the fight and her victory, and on her face a proud smile forms itself.
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom, bom-bom-bom
Two-Hundred and Five days in Mobotropolis
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom
Her breathing slowly calms and she lets her guard down. However, she quickly returns to a battle stance when she hears a noise from behind the bar stand.
"You want some more?!"
Two hands rise out into the air, the body they are attached to hidden by the counter.
"Wait, wait! Don't attack me!"
A figure slowly rises out, one with no injuries on his person.
"I didn't hit you or nothing! You want money? We don't have a lot but you can have it all! Just don't kill me or my friends!"
She recognises the voice; it was the one who had stated his clear disinterest in the old Mobian-Overlander rivalry.
Al
"No, I don't want your money."
His face displays a look of absolute confusion.
"What da hell you want then?!"
"I want to know where he is and what you've done to him!"
He flinches at her yelling, a reasonable response.
"I-I-I don't know who the hell you're talking about! Please just leave! I won't call the cops or nothing, I swear! It's not like they care about what happens down here anyways!"
"Miles!"
His raised arms lower themselves somewhat due to his ever-rising confusion.
"Who?"
"Miles Prower! You just were talking about him; do you have brain damage?"
The man scratches his head.
"I don't know nothing about any Prower! Ask Derek about that shit, I'm sure he'll be happy to rant to you."
She looks around at the mayhem of her making.
"Which one is Derek?"
He points to the door that she launched the first guy through.
"The redhead."
"Thanks!"
Her smile is offsetting to him due it's incongruousness to all the chaos she has brought with her. She steps through the hole in the door and sees Derek laying on his back. She waves at him but he is too preoccupied with his pained back to notice so she instead slaps his face to get his attention.
"Wait no! I'm down, I'm down! No need to do anything we'd regret, ya know?"
She raises her hammer in order to intimidate him.
"Oh, do we? Perhaps if you tell me where Miles is I can be persuaded to agree."
"Who?"
She slaps her face.
This one too?
"Miles Prower! You were badmouthing him to your buddies just a few minutes ago."
"Is that what you burst into here about? This is a free city; I can talk about whoever, however I want."
She feints a strike, causing him to flinch.
"Look, I don't know no Miles!"
Her teeth bare themselves and she gives of a frightening rumble of rage.
"Wait! I don't know no Miles but I do know about Amadeus. Amadeus Prower, was a fox general during the Great War. Got blue eyes, left one was missing and covered with an eyepatch, ya know? But he's been dead for like seventeen years."
"Wait, so you don't have him?"
"What kinda question is that?! You think I'm some psycho who keeps bodies in a fridge?"
"Don't play games with me! I mean Miles!"
"No! I don't, I swear!"
She slaps her face again in disbelief and anger.
Another dead end!
"So, you've never met anyone of the name 'Prower'?"
"No, I've never met a Prower in my life. Closest I got was seeing ol' one-eye during battle, but that's it!"
"Just my luck..."
Her anger is palpable until she walks back out into the main area she looks to Al, kneeling over his friends. A heavy wave of guilt hits her, despite these people not being rather nice and in fact downright prejudiced against Mobians, they had done nothing to deserve this. Her hot-headed nature has led her to making such a rash decision, like it always does.
What would Sonic think?!
Then she gets an idea.
Wait, what would Sonic do?
"Hey."
Al turns to face her, maintaining a cautious stance.
"Yea?"
"Sorry about this. It's all just one big misunderstanding, believe me. I know it doesn't make it right but…"
She reaches into her hammerspace and pulls out a respectable stack of cash and stretches her arm out to him.
"Here. To cover for repairs and hospital stuff."
Al's eyes widen at the sight.
"You're givin it to me?"
She rubs her neck with her free hand.
"Uh yea, least I can do since I uh trashed your place; and your friends."
He walks to her and grabs the stack; in the way one would swipe something out of a bear trap. He then gives her a thankful look once he is sure it isn't some trick.
"Thanks. The place is Derek's, but I'll be sure he gets what he needs to fix it; I'll be sure to get them to a clinic too."
He begins flipping through them, noticing the numbers on them.
"Hey lady, I think you gave me-"
He turns up to face her but she is already gone.
"Too much…"
Now being the only uninjured person in the room, he goes to help his friends up and towards some medical aid. He lets out a small chuckle.
"Beaten up by an animal. Damn, are they gonna be pissed when they realize it tomorrow!"
Walking the streets after her fight, she has a lot of questions.
Who is this Amadeus Prower and why did Tails never mention him?
She figures her best bet at figuring that out is through Sonic, since Miles is obviously not an option. She pulls out her phone and calls his number. It rings twice and then his voice is heard.
"Yo Ames, you found T2?"
I wish Sonic, I wish…
"No, sadly. Look, I need to ask you something."
"I'm not going on a date with you."
"No, not that! It's serious, it's to do with Tails."
Although she cannot see it, she knows that the blue blur just jumped up at the sound of that.
"O-o-okay then, uh what is it?"
Oh, how you try so hard to sound cool and collected. If only everyone saw how bad you can be at it sometimes...
"Well, I was following a lead and came across some guys. They were talking about 'Prower', not kind words mind you, so I went in to find him. Turns out they didn't even know who Tails was, let alone having him."
Sonic says nothing at this, making her uneasy.
"Well, I 'asked' them about it and they told me that they were talking about someone called Amadeus Prower. Apparently, he was some big general in the Great War but the guys said he's been dead for a while now, seventeen years. I assume he's related to Tails in some way, but he never mentioned him before. Did he ever talk about him to you?"
"Yea, he did. Amy, Amadeus is Tails' dad."
Her chest feels a pang of pity for her friend.
"Oh. I see. Do you know anything else about how he felt about him?"
An uncomfortably long moment of silence follows but he eventually answers.
"It kinda hurts to say this but, no. Tails never really talked to me about that kinda stuff; must've thought I was just too carefree to bother helping him with this sorta thing...
His voice trails off and Amy can tell he clearly isn't saying something; she doesn't ask.
Everyone deserves to be able to keep some things private
"Sal might though. Could you talk to her? Maybe she could tell you something that'll help you find him."
She sighs.
Blegh, Her
"Sure thing! I'll get right on that."
"Thanks again Ames for, looking for him. I would help you but I gotta keep the pressure on Egghead. Feels weird to be the one on the hunt..."
"Don't, he's family, and family sticks together and never gives up on one another. Even when one of them is a ghosting jerk…"
"Haha! Yup, that right there is the Freedom Fighter spirit! Catch ya around Ames."
"By-"
He hangs up before she can finish saying even that. She looks at her clothing, stained with dirt, scuff marks, and specks of blood, riddled with wood splinters and plagued by various small tears and rips. She feels unclean.
I need to shower...
Miles and the marshal enter into a tent, inside are a host of generals carrying out various tasks, some reading reports, others writing orders, and some conversing with each other.
"Messieurs."
All of them stop whatever they are doing and face Noël, delivering salutes.
"À ease."
They quickly lower their arms and assume a relaxed but ready posture, the large number of medals on so many chests ensures that a short, but distinct, jingling cacophony occurs. Miles assumes that they will be discussing the news of Acorn soldiers in Mercia, however he is still unsure of what the marshal wishes to show him, for on the trip here he had been uncharacteristically silent, worrying him.
"There is something important that we must all know about. Would vous please enlighten us, Adjudant-général Prower?"
What?!
The marshal gestures to him to speak.
Is this it?
He takes a split second to compose himself.
"Ah well, uh, thank you Marshal. You see, I have received reports from scouting parties that soldiers from-"
How do I say it without saying it?
"Northamer are here, in Mercia. They were questioned and they are not normal grunts."
An ocelot leans forward onto the table, her face filled with furor.
"Northamer? The Armée d'Acorn is in Mercia?!"
Well at least I tried…
He shakes his head.
"No, not the army. Just a special detachment. We don't even have confirmation that King Max is behind this; so it could be just autonomous elements acting on their own accord, for all we know."
"Nonsense! This is an acte of war! The royalists seemeth to beest gath'ring their strength to strangle the dreame of lib'rty in her crib. We must ende Rob'rt with a noose 'round that gent's neck, and then we shall ensureth that fool, Maximilian, pays f'r int'rf'ring with the will of the people Mercia!"
"HURRAH!"
Miles feels like he's almost shaking from the force of the unified cheer given by most everyone in the room. The only ones who did not join it being himself and, to his shock, the marshal, who he notices only just now turning to face the rest of the generals.
Was he looking at me the whole time?
"Général de brigade Beric, while I apprécier the enthousiasme vous, and everyone here, have for le cause, I would also apprécier tempérance. While I agree that Maximilian's involvement in this conflit is a grande insulter and we shall répondre in kind, we must also garantie that we do not give him and his court raison to escalate even further. The Armée de Libération Mercian is already quite occupé just fighting the royalistes of our country, we do not need to add to such a burden."
"F'rgive me f'r mine own outburst, Marshal. Thou art correct, we must not bethink ourselves invuln'rable, f'r pride goeth bef're the falle. We must beest cautious of adding to the list of enemies the Mercian Liberation Army must face."
Noël gives a nod of appreciation to the hedgehog before turning back to the boy.
"Adjudant-général Prower, please continuez."
"Well to be honest, that's pretty much all we know right now. They didn't tell us anything else."
Aside from several hms, the air is quiet. The marshal places an arm on Miles' left shoulder.
"I see. Well, Adjudant-général Prower, merci for communicant to us such vital information."
He turns back to the generals.
"Messieurs, Adjudant-général Prower and I have urgent affaires to attend to. Au revoir."
They all give nods and salutes. The fox and the renard exit the tent in silence and, after a few minutes of walking away from the tent, the boy moves into the marshal's path.
"What the hell was that?"
"There was vital information that needed communicant; plus I feel that having vous révéler the information will help construire rapport with the rest of the officiers généraux, which is going to be nécessaire if vous are going to fight with us in the assaut final."
"Marshal, I'm not stupid. I can tell when something more is going on."
He emits a boisterous laugh
"What's so funny?"
"Vous are rather adorable when vous are furieux; do vous know that?"
Miles' brow furrows at this comment.
"I am not! And I'm serious, what was that about?"
"Alright, alright, vous have found me out. The truth is that I wanted, no, requis vous to say what I had told vous, say it out aloud, to extérioriser it; so that vous could accept that it is the réalité."
Miles crosses his arms and gives a hmph.
"Fine, I said it, and I guess I've accepted that the chances of King Max not knowing about this are slim to none. And if he doesn't, that comes with its own set of issues that I don't want to think about."
"There is another raison I sprung the tâche of telling them onto vous."
"What is it?"
"I wished to see how vous approcher, view, and carry out lies and lying."
"But I didn't lie. I just said what you told me."
"Ah but vous did, mon garçon. First off, all I said was for vous to 'enlighten us' but when vous were speaking, your words implied that vous were the one who had discovered such information."
"But I-"
The marshal does not let him finish.
"Then vous tried évitant saying that the soldiers were of Acorn."
"She inter-"
"And finalement, vous hardly had any problèmes while going through with your lying. The words came like nature, your body and face traître next to nothing. To be completely franc, I'm impressionné. Even when vous know that your lie will be impossible to believe, vous procéder with such détermination and commitment; vous have even almost deceived me before! Such skill in deception is most valu-"
At those words, he can no longer be silent.
"Shut up!"
The marshal is somewhat stunned by the outburst.
"I'm not a liar! I'm not a deceiver! I'm just trying to help people! I'm not a monster! I just want everyone to be happy! I-"
His ranting mouth stalls like a dead engine, for the marshal's hand grips tight into his shoulder.
"Mon garçon, please do not take what I just said as an insulter or attaque on your personnage. My words are not condemnation, but in fact commendation. I know that vous are good personne, but I also know that vous are a jeune garçon, so I understand your réluctance to accept this fact, at least fully; but I know that, deep inside yourself, vous know that good men must often do désagréable things; not for our sake but for those we love and care for. I know vous know this, vous have already révélé that bous posséder such compréhension for the complexités of the world."
Miles tilts his head slightly down and Noël kneels in order to meet him at eye level. His blue eyes are watering.
"Mon garçon, do vous feel any guilt when vous lie?"
He thinks it over, it's a question he's asked himself many times, but he never reaches a real answer; but this is not due to it being impossibly hidden. No, the truth is that he always knew the answer, but to say it, even mentally, is something he cannot do, everyone he knows would condemn him for his answer, until now. But now, it is something he can do, and now, he knows someone who won't condemn him.
"No, I don't."
As he says that his eyes close and a single tear pops out and slides downward. He is too ashamed to try and wipe it away, resigned to letting it fall; but a soft finger wiping it away makes him open his eyes and he sees that grey hand with a miniscule wet spot. His mouth hangs open, but before he can say anything, Noël speaks.
"Do vous feel any guilt for lying in the tent?"
"No."
"And what about to moi?"
"What?"
"Miles..."
Did he just-
"I am not a fool and I am a vieux man. I've seen people lying to me and everyone else for nearly half a century. I know when someone is lying. Every time vous wake up, vous lie to me."
His heart sinks.
"So now that vous know that I know, do vous feel any guilt for lying to moi?"
"I-, I don't know…"
"That is okay."
"Wha-what do you mean?"
"It's okay not to know."
With those words, Miles is speechless. He looks into Noël's strong and stern eyes, a warmth and intensity like the Great Mobocean shimmers in them, and he feels the aching pain in his chest, the one that's been with him day in and day out in some form of another for these last two years, and maybe even longer, fully fade away, even if only for this moment. He feels something for the first time in a long time.
Thank you
He feels safe.