Memories pushed their way forward again as I realized it had been exactly a year since Napoleon had crowned himself Emperor, and the fallout in our family.

For the next four years me and Gaston continued to manage the inn, Gaston as the warm master of ceremonies, me as the barkeep and manager of the place. We had a few rough years but eventually we were able to have the tavern running better than ever. Mother had eventually come out of her depression but the fiery woman we'd know all our lives was gone. Instead was an introspective and prayerful matron, who had little to do with the tavern. She instead would go about the village, often speaking with old friends about the days gone by. She was often found in the church, rosary beads in her hands and Pater Noster's on her lips.

We gave her her space but were always ready to talk with her or invite her to sing with us when the mood came about. She rarely did but whenever she did we could see the old spark she used to have and could out dance with women half her age, her slight feet moving across the tavern floor as fast and as light as a deer's. But afterwards she seemed to fold in on herself and was exhausted in spirit if not in body.

Then a year ago we learned that Napoleon, the First Consul for life, had decided that France did need a monarch, him. A plebiscite of sorts was sent out to all of France, we burned ours and chased the official out of town. How a company of soldiers weren't sent to deal with us we never learned but we counted our blessings and didn't pry.

As if there were any doubt, and I had my own doubts about it, the plebiscite resulted in Napoleon crowning himself Emperor of France on December 2nd, 1804, exactly one year before the battle of Austerlitz I realized.

When news of the coronation reached our town most simply spat and cursed and moved on with their lives. But Mother, something snapped in her that day. She seemed to have come to a revelation of sorts and there after she was much more like her old self. She sang, she danced, she laughed she talked with her neighbors and it seemed we had our mother back. Then two weeks after Napoleon's coronation mother woke up as somber as she ever had. But instead of ignoring us she kissed us both on the cheeks and called us by our childhood names. She then entered the church and spoke with the priest for what felt like an eternity.

After that she returned to the tavern and called us to her room. She bade that the two of us promise to always stick together through thick and thin. She said she knew we would fight, it was what brothers did but she did say that we shouldn't hold grudges and to forgive each other. Then she made us make one final promise, one made on our bloodline and our family honor, that should the rightful king show himself and make to take back his kingdom, then we would everything in our power to help him achieve that goal. The intensity of her words and her stare had us promise.

Then she smiled and said, "I love you boys more than anything in this world, and I would have loved to have been there to see you married with a swarm of grandchildren...but it isn't to be. It's my time. I'm going to find your Father. I'm sure the big oaf is lost without me. Good-bye…God, Mary and all the saints keep you safe."

With that she lay down, clutching her rosary beads and closed her eyes, she took in one breath and said, "Jacques? Is that you?" and breathed the rest out, and was completely still.

Napoleon became something of a curse in our house after that and few liked to mention the name around either of us for many months.

As I promised myself to visit Mother's grave at some point and light a few candles for her and father. I noticed we'd managed to reach the great Oak tree. Sometimes the Meeting Oak, the men of the village had gathered under its boughs since time immemorial. Some of the older families claimed it had been here since before the days of Rome as a sort of sacred spot or was a fairy tree, when the fairies would gather at certain times of the year. I'd never seen one but considering the world we lived in we made sure never to be around the place at night during an equinox or a solstice. And looking at the colossal thing I'd believe the stories. It was a massive and solitary thing with a trunk a good thirty feet in circumference and nearly 200 feet in height. During the summer the leaves could offer shade for every single man in the entire village.

Right now though the empty branches stretched out to the clear December sky like gnarly fingers. I saw that around the base sat or stood every single grown in the valley from the young sheep herder Guillaume, to old Jean who most thought he was over a hundred years old and said he remembered Louis XIV ruling France.

The muttering of conversation came to a complete stop when Gaston and I were seen approaching the tree. As we made our way through to a large stone right under the base of the tree the others parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Two-hundred pairs of eyes watched us, most were curious, a few annoyed, one looked outright murderous. When I saw that one I glared right back at him, the farmhand turned his head, unable to look me in the eyes.

When we made it to the stone, I had Gaston sit and lean against an outcropping of the stone then climbed up to the top, allowing me to see over the rest of the crowd.

There was complete silence as everyone there was waiting for me to tell them why they were there. Clearing my throat and muttering, "Lord give me strength," I said in a loud clear voice, "Right can everyone hear me?"

After a moment everyone blinked but eventually nodded, "Good, right so is there anyone who doesn't know what happened last night?"

After a few moments, about fifty hands were raised, "Alright, one last time then. Ten years ago everyone here remembers when we received the news that the Dauphin died in Paris while under lock and key by the Jacobins. Well it that news was wrong. He's alive. And he's in a castle up in the mountains, only a few hours walk up there if you know the way. Many of the men here can confirm that."

That set off more talking, especially among the ones who'd said they hadn't heard about last night's events. I allowed them to talk for a while before continuing. "Right so here's what happened since Maurice left for that fair he'd left for."

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, I was exhausted. I'd ridden through the night to get home before the storm had come in and I hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours"Alright...where to start, where to start… Well I guess the beginning is as a good place as any. You remember about ten years ago when we heard the Dauphin died of a fever while imprisoned in the Temple?"

The angry mutters seemed to be a good sign of agreement so I continued. "Well it seems that the Prince didn't die in there, he escaped. Into the mountains."

"Bologna!" I heard a voice call out, "Where's the proof?"

"Figured as much," I said. Then I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the mirror. "Right. This is a mirror that shows you anything, anyone, or anywhere if you ask for it. Belle received it from the prince when she went home last night."

The newcomers scoffed but I turned the mirror to me and said, "Show me the Dauphin."

There was a bright flash of electric green light and inside a halo of green witch-fire the mirror revealed the prince, still in his torn clothing from earlier speaking with Belle in the library. Everyone took a step back including the folks who had been there during the march on the castle. Many crossed themselves when they heard the garbled voice of the Prince as he suddenly got on one knee and took Belle's hand in his.

"Belle, I know this is...sudden, but...would you marry me?"

Everyone went dead silent and a few shorter men were plopped on the shoulders of the bigger men to see over the crowd, I held the mirror up, letting the others see what was transpiring while listening carefully.

"What?" Belle answered, her voice choked with emotion.

The prince covered her small hand with his other hand and said again. "I, Louis-Charles Bourbon, do humbly ask your hand in marriage. Do you accept?"

Belle was silent for a few moments, then she embraced him and said, "Yes!"

The Prince shouted for joy and picked up and spun her around before kissing her. She looked him in the eyes with a contemplative look, she touched one side of his face and said, "Have you ever thought of growing a beard?"

Laughter rang out from the mirror as I turned the mirror to face down in order to shut it off. I looked up the the crowd, who were stark silent. "Well does that assuage your doubts?"

A few blinks, "Do you believe that's the long lost Dauphin?" I amended?

The silence continued then suddenly, "Vive le ROI!"

Others took up the cry, "Vive le ROI!"

"Vive le ROI!"
"Vive le ROI!"
"Vive le ROI!"
"Vive le ROI!"
"Vive le ROI!"

Soon the entire crowd was roaring it at the top of their lungs.

"Vive le ROI!"
"Vive le ROI!"
"Vive le ROI!"
"Vive le ROI!"

Then I raised my hands and lowered them to get them to quiet down, "Alright, alright. I guess I've got you convinced."

"Where has he been then?" Someone else called out.

I looked in their direction and said, "If I had to guess…. Remember those old stories about a witch living up in the mountains? Seems like there was more to those old stories than we thought. Seems she cursed the prince to be a monster for who knows how long. And now our Belle's broken the spell and the Prince and her might be tying the knot, like in all those old stories."

The men muttered among themselves, seemingly confused that bookworm Belle of all people would manage to break a curse and marry a prince and the heir to the throne of France.

Then another voice called up, the butcher I think, his red moustache twitching as he spoke. "Well what do we do now?"

"Well that's why I called for this meeting. As far as I know the only people who know about this are everyone here and whoever is in that castle up there." I said. "If anyone else knew that the Dauphin was up there we would have been up to our eyeballs in soldiers."

Many among the crowd shuddered at the idea, they had either participated or heard about Jacques's raid but they all knew that had only been twenty soldiers and they had ambushed them with a hundred of their own. The idea of a real company or worse a regiment's worth of troops sent a shudder down their spines; mine as well.

"That's about what I thought. For now I'm suggesting that we simply keep our mouths shut and don't mention a word to anyone from the outside. At the same time we start preparing for a fight. Might be time to pull out those muskets from under the tavern and stockpiling powder and shot. And getting some lumber for fortifications if the worst happens might be wise as well. Well what say you? Do you agree?"

The men talked amongst themselves before they began to agree with at least the general plan.

"Alright Armand? How many men do you think you'll need to help you make enough rifles for us?" I called out to the town gunsmith.

Armand, an older man with a thick pair of eyebrows that seemed to try and make up for his hairless pate, stood up looked around, and after thinking on for a moment, "I'd say a dozen at least. But why arm ourselves? We're so far out of the way so long as we never breath a word we should be alright."

"Because these sort of things ALWAYS end up coming out sooner or later, and I'd rather we have the arms and not need them, then need them and not have them." I said matter-of-factly

Armand nodded, "Alright but why Rifles? Smoothbores are faster to make, easier to use to."

I gave him a look, he's a grown-ass man "Because there's only two hundred men of fighting age in this entire valley. That includes old grey beards and boys who've never seen the business end of a razor. No offense."

"None taken."

I continued, "We simply don't have the numbers to try and slug it out, we gotta act like light infantry, snipers. Hit and run, take a shot and keep moving. That and we need the range to keep any fusiliers off of us."

"Alright...but you know how long it takes to load a rifle, they'd just over run us."

"Well I actually have a few ideas, but I'd need to talk with Maurice Feron to see how feasible they are." I answered.

"Maurice? That nut?" Some wit called out.

"Said nut is your King's future father-in-law Jean, I'd suggest you shut up about that." I said in a cold voice. "Besides the man's brilliant…even if his inventions go boom from time to time. But imagine him working on something that's supposed to go boom think of the possibilities."

That seemed to convince them of Maurice's usefulness, which he was and I really did have an idea that he might be able to help with. I may have been Pierre for twenty years now, but I had been Tom for even longer and there were a few things I remembered pretty clearly… one was a piece of technology that would revolutionize the battlefield and hey a Frenchman invented it in the first place anyway.

"Alright so we got someone to make the guns but who's going to teach us. We're not all master hunters here." Someone else called out.

"We will." I said, pointing to myself and Gaston, "Both of us were taught how to handle a musket when we were younger and Gaston is the best shot in France and you all know it. I'm not a bad shot myself and I was always able to load a gun faster than he ever could."

"That's because you never bothered to do it right." Gaston said, the first time he'd spoken since we left the tavern.

"Well when the important thing is getting as many bullets in the air as quickly as possible, is neatness really all that needed?" I retorted.

"Not if you wanted to impress old man Dupont." Gaston said. "If I recall Dupont always cracked you over the head when you got sloppy."

"Don't remind me," I rubbed a spot on the top of my head in phantom pain.

"Besides you haven't done it in years, I doubt you could load and fire a gun half as quick as I can." Gaston said, though the smile on his face showed he wasn't serious in the slightest.

"Well we can have a competition later and see if I still have it." I said with a grin,

Then a voice called out that nearly killed the entire venture. "Why."

I turned to look for the source of the voice. "Why what?"

"Why should we do all this? Why should we listen to you? Who made you our leader? Besides if what you said is true then Gaston nearly murdered the king, all because one girl had the gall to say no to him, and that's on top of bringing the asylum owner d'Arque in here." The farmhand called out.

That set one of Gaston's closer friends, who hadn't been part of the mob to come to his friend's defense. "Hey how was he supposed to know he was the Prince? None of us knew that. Besides from what I hear Pierre's already given him a thrashing for trying it so I think we're all squared."

"And what's to stop him from doing it again, when our lives are on the line. He's proven himself to be a self-serving idiot. And I'm not trusting my life to him." the farmhand responded.

"Hey! No one calls Gaston an idiot." The other man said, and shoved him.

The other man responded by shoving back, the shoving turned into fists and soon both men were rolling around in the muddy ground. Others tried to step in but they were pulled into the scrum. More joined, either to stop the fighting or help one side or the other. Soon we had a massive brawl on our hands.

I glanced at Gaston, he had the decency to look embarrassed, "Well guess I have to clean up this mess on my own. Unless you think you can handle those bruised ribs.

Stretching his arms to show his lack of pain Gaston said, "Not a problem."

I gave him a knowing look but shook my head and said "Alright if you insist, you take that half, I'll take the other. Can you handle it?"

"Yes I can." He answered and with a shout both of us dove in to break up the fighting. Our ham-sized fists were flying in every direction and we connected with someone with every blow, putting them out of the fight.

"This is your fault you know." I said to my brother, after suplexing the local wigmaker...how that man stayed in business…

Gaston didn't say anything at first then said, "Well look on the bright side Pierre." He dropped kicked another farmer.

"What." I answered between holding up the shepherd boy and throwing him out via hammertoss.

"No tables to break out here." Gaston said with smiled.

"Oh will you let that go already?"

"Hey I'm not the one who threw his own flesh and blood through a wooden door and embed him into the solid wooden wall of the house across the square."

"I did that once! And it's not like I'm always like that."

"Such a shame."

"What was that?"

Nothing Pierre."

The fight continued for a good two or three minutes, then we heard a loud clacking sound, the sound of steel against stone. Every one of us stopped whatever we were doing and turned to face the source of the sound.

Standing there in the uniform of an officer of the ancien regime, was the book keeper Armand De la Vosgienne. However, he hadn't always been an old book-keeper. Years ago he'd been Baron Armand De la Vosgienne, Baron in the Vosges mountains, and a major in the service of his majesties Louis XV and XVI's armies, a veteran of the seven years war and every minor conflict France had fought since then.

He'd retired to this valley before I had been born, the land given to him as a reward for years of service. He was the largest landowner in the valley as well as the largest employer with half the of people depending on him for their lively-hoods.

Born from a noble family of the sword, his family had been forced to struggle to survive as they'd had little else to their names besides their title and the family blade. With most, this sort of hardscrabble life would embitter them to their more successful non-nobles, but with De la Vosgienne, it had only made him more determined to succeed, and he had, despite having little in the way of favor from more wealthy nobility let alone the court he'd managed to fight his way to the rank of major.

Those years in the military working his way through the ranks through merit and raw courage had produced a hardworking and even-handed man with a dedication to taking care of those below him. His lands he managed with a deft hand and he would frequently visit other farms in the area and would often invest his own money into them if he felt it was need. As he saw it, the nobility, like an officer, was given exceptional power over those below them, but at the same time they had exceptional responsibilities to those same people.

Thanks to a few favours he still had with Versailles he managed to acquire the tax-farmer position for our community. A position that normally earned the hatred of everyone due to the gross grafting that would usually happen. Lord Armand never did that, he took exactly as much as was needed by the taxes and never a cent more. The few times that the farms were unable to pay up the full requirement, he'd pay for it out of his own pockets.

The reason for this was several fold. Lord Armand was a dedicated bachelor and so never felt that he needed to save anything for any heirs or fund any mooching relatives. For another living his entire adult life in the army had hammered home a frugal lifestyle. Some of his fellow officers might have scoffed but actually living off of only an officer's salary without any personal wealth to supplement it forced him to count his coppers. Finally, a combination of successful harvests and a rumored fortune he'd managed to win during his years of service meant he was never short of cash.

This ended during the Revolution and the nobility had been stripped of their titles and lands. Not long after the monarchy had been abolished a force from the National Convention, in an attempt to alleviate the food riots in Paris had come here to commandeer our supplies. While they'd had done so they also had officially stripped Lord Armand of his land and titles, burnt his home down and had made off with most of his valuables. We would have come to his aid, but Lord Armand had forbidden it and there was also the sad fact that an entire regiment's worth of men had been involved in this adventure.

Along with seemingly ruining Baron Armand's entire life work, the Jacobins had also stolen everything we had to bring back to Paris. We were completely uncompensated for our losses, the Jacobin commander, a weasel of a bastard, had said it was all French men's duty and privilege to contribute to the Revolution and with that had promptly left. Which left many worried about surviving to Spring.

It was then Lord Armand had stepped up and showed the hidden stockpiles of food he'd hidden away when he'd learned of the upheavals in Paris and Versailles. When we had offered to help him rebuild his home, he'd turned it down. "I'm no longer a Baron, I don't need a chateau anymore. But a townhouse with a bookshop would be perfectly alright."

Most us had been surprised at that but we accepted his wishes and soon a bookshop was up and running. It never turned a profit but Baron Armand, or Mr. Armand as he insisted on being called, never had a trouble making ends meet. Whether support from the community or he still had other stockpiles hidden elsewhere I never figured out for myself but there he'd been, living the quiet life. Until now.

Standing up straight instead of the stoop I'd always seen, he still wasn't a big man but he now had a presence that forced others to take note of him. Sheathing his sword once he saw that everyone had stopped fighting, he then scanned us and said in a calm voice, "That's quite enough now, brawling like a bunch of Breton fishermen. I thought you were smarter than that."

He then walked up to the stone, I moved to help him, but he hopped up without any sort of difficulty. Once he was facing the others he cleared his voice and spoke. "If all that Pierre has told us is true, then yes. We need to prepare for a fight. For if a single word of the Prince gets out of this valley, and it will, we WILL have our 'emperor' sending forces to put an end to the threat to his throne. So for now we arm ourselves as quickly as possible. Pierre and Gaston have both been trained how to fight as soldiers and will be your instructors."

There were silent nods all around. "Pierre, since you asked me to bring my sword I assume you also want my help."

I nodded silently, somewhat amazed at the change in the stooped old man who'd comforted me when I'd had my heart ripped out in his shop.

"Very well. If you can show these men how to fight as individuals, I'll make sure they know how to fight as a group." Armand then scanned the group.

"However, no matter what precautions or preparations we make. It is going to eventually come down to one unavoidable truth. We may need to leave, as a group, leave our home, leave our livelihoods, leave France itself."