Chapter 26: Kaleidoscope Part 1

La Sarre, Area 2

At the corner of Malaidez by the crumbling water fountain covered in snow, Art purged his thoughts. The cold wind whistled through the lonely and crumbling buildings. Across the street, next to the bakery that never opened, stood his old childhood home: an apartment on the first floor. He didn't let his eyes dwell on the weathered stones and dying vines climbing up the east side, obscuring the window which he had always kept shut. His past had formed him, but Art refused to let it weigh him down. He had been one of two to escape the small town with the small church and its leaning bell tower.

Every second Friday of the month, Art looked back and his feet wandered the same old streets of his youth. The smiling child with a burning smile and heavy heart was no more. Art no longer collected newspaper coupons in a tin under his bed or scoured the streets for loose change. Those habits, which once had been ingrained, vanished with time. Only one remained.

The bells rang thrice and a flock of birds took to the overcast sky. Art, his head bowed and hands deep in his pocket, walked down the icy street. It was the same kind of weather that had kept his mother inside and unable to work; she was no longer there. Two houses down from the end of the street, Art stopped and his breath condensed in the air.

Time had not been gentle to Brigit's house; the shutters sagged and vines ate away at bricks as they scaled the walls. Art gazed down the street at an old woman carrying a loaf of bread under her arm as she hauled her heavy bag of groceries. She looked familiar, but Art turned back to the sturdy door. He took a deep breath.

Art had two rules for whenever he came: forget his unsavory activities and focus fully on Oliver.

His inability to identify the voice of the noble that foiled their attack, the loss of resources as the Emperor arrested their amoral suppliers, the need to vet new nobles who wished to show the Emperor his place, the worry that someone knew who Brigit was and chose to send Refrain... All those thoughts were purged ruthlessly. They mattered not on every second Friday.

Art knocked.

The nurse, a petite woman whose stature hid a dragon, cracked the door open and, upon recognizing him, pulled it wide open. "Art. Of course it's you. Oliver will be delighted."

Art wiped off his shoes and set them aside by the radiator. Shrugging off his coat, he asked, "I hope there hasn't been any trouble?"

Ava took the coat and hung it up. "No. Nothing I can't take care of. Some over eager youth who want to see our so-called demon child, but I sent them packing. Can't have their lot making Oliver upset... And Brigit? She comes by less and less and Oliver misses her."

Sometimes, Art suspected that Brigit didn't care as much for her younger brother as she claimed. It wasn't a thought he ever dared to voice, worried for the consequences it might bring. She ensured that he was well taken care off, and in Britannia, that was all one could expect. "Brigit is busy."

"Knightmare duels?" Ava shook her head as she began to lead him up the steps. "Never thought she would go from playing the violin to that. Now a lady too. What a strange world we live in. But really, she should make some time for her brother."

The smile felt tight as Art passed a picture of him and Oliver laughing by the creek. "There is much to do, I'm afraid."

A rebellion to run for one... but he pushed that thought aside viciously. It had no place in this house.

Ava sniffed. "Well at least you come Art. And truly, tell Brigit that if those fancy nobles she hangs about, can't accept her brother, then they're not worth the coin they dine on." Shaking her head, she stepped into the kitchen and placed a few dog treats on a tray. "Would you like some tea Art? Or some cookies? Oliver and I baked them yesterday."

"No thank you, Ava," Art said.

"Suit yourself," she said and picked up the tray, "At least tell Brigit if she's going to be one of those fancy folks now, she should buy this land. The lord around here has let it fall to such ruin. And taxes keep rising. But as long as Brigit pays, I should not complain too much. Most folks wouldn't even do that."

"Yes," Art whispered. Oliver was lucky that his sister had the ambition to leave and raise herself to great heights, but he suffered for her mistakes.

Pendragon Times

Breaking News: Emperor Charles Arrests Royal Court and Former Earl Seymour Executed for Conspiracy

By: David McKinley

October 29, 2012

It has been an exciting day within New Pendragon, expect updates as the story continues to unfold. In a stunning move, Emperor Charles invited the press to observe the Winter Ball. None of us knew what to expect, although we suspected a formal announcement of some kind.

Instead, the Knight of One, Sir Bismark, dragged a chained Earl Seymour to the throne. The nobility fell silent and the Emperor stood up to announce the man's crimes. For our convenience, the palace provided us with the documents pertaining to Seymour's crimes after the fact. Despite numerous redactions, his crimes are extensive and sickening. The Numbers may be lesser, but a man must be judged by how he treats those beneath them, and in this instance, it reveals a dark truth. Seymour—a kind man to the public with numerous charitable contributions—was a psychopath. Pendragon Times confirmed with multiple investigators in Area Eleven and they painted a much darker image.

For an account of Seymour's complete crimes and those speculated, please see page 5.

In an unprecedented move, Emperor Charles ordered, not his knight, but his wife, Empress Marianne, to execute the man. She pulled out an ornate gun, showing this move was a joint decision, and pointed the gun at him with an unwavering arm. Regardless of what we thought, Emperor Charles was not done. As Empress Marianne trained her gun on Seymour, the loyal Royal guard flooded the room and began to arrest various other lords. Seymour was not alone in his crime and infected the ranks of nobility with his foul stench. (Of note, Margrave Lichenfeld, Earl Polinet, and Earl Rabeson were arrested. A full list of accused nobles can be found on page 10, with additional speculations on nobles who may be arrested on page 13) In the chaos, Baron Gelbrod, attempted to assassinate Prince Schneizel—our illustrious Prime Minister—and was stopped by a heroic servant as other nobles stood idly by.

At the conclusion of this chaos, the Royal Guard successfully detained the nobles and those innocent, or not implicated yet, moved to the side of the ball room. It was then that Empress Marianne finally fired her gun and felled the most vile man of the decade. I rejoice that Seymour no longer may prey on our people.

The Emperor claimed justice and proved that his will is the law. None will escape and we may take solace in that.

Cornwallis County, Ashford Estate, Pennsylvania

Gwen returned home with weary eyes. The news cycle was spinning out of control and the endless arguments at work sapped her energy. The key trembled in her hands as she unlocked the door to her small apartment. Stumbling forward, she didn't bother turning on the lights and wandered through the dark into her kitchen and searched for a bottle of beer.

Something in the darkness moved and she froze, her hands dropping to her side to the small knife she carried with her at all times.

"Lights please, Gwen?" Rick asked. "Rather dour surprise party if you're just going to slink off to bed."

Right. It was her birthday and her friends were annoying do-gooders. Crashing her foot into a chair, Gwen cursed as she hobbled back to the door and turned on the forsaken light switch. The lone light blinked to life.

"Surprise!" Rick and Oona shouted, in their hands a strawberry cake.

The sparkling sugar crust taunted Gwen and her rumbling stomach. Pointing her finger at her two friendly intruders, she barked, "Fine. We'll eat the cake, but I'm tired. You can join my mum on the weekend. Rick, bring Tom and Nikki, or else you'll be completely unbearable."

Rick looked down at the cake that he was cutting with precision. "We've really haven't caught up in ages, haven't we? Tom left last week to go to Ashford Academy. Lord Ashford is expanding the program. From the sounds of it, he wants everyone to attend school for at least one year."

"Oh, that's nice." Gwen sank into her chair and then rested her forehead on the cool table. "I can't believe I missed that! Why didn't you tell me?"

Oona laughed and passed her a slice of the cake. "Dear, you've been holed up at the press for ages. We even tried sending you a letter."

Gwen's fork stopped in midair. Setting it down, she raced over to her pile of mail and bills. "Shit."

"Busy, might have been an understatement," Rick muttered. "Sit down. If the mail had waited that long, then it can wait for another half-hour while we eat this scrumptious cake."

"Don't use big words with me right now, Rick. My head hurts enough as is," Gwen complained, but she sat down and bit into the cake. It melted across her tongue. "I have dreams of words. They dance and split and marry. Then the Emperor comes and orders the 'i' to lop off it's head."

Oona patted her shoulder. "Maybe you want to ask the boss for a break. It can't be good for you to do this."

She shook her head and took a long sip of water. "I can't. Everyone's overworked. We're just a small press, but the noble trials? Those are selling and it's all anyone wants to hear. But they just keep coming and we, we are not a gossip rag, so the boss wants us to fact check. Rather stupid... but if the noble worked somewhat nearby, then I'm off to do interviews. Haven't been home in two days."

Rick cut another slice of cake. "Call in sick. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"I slept," she muttered as her eyes threatened to close. "A few minutes then and there... on the train. Or at my desk. And I can't call in sick. This is the story of a lifetime."

"If you say so. Want a beer?" At her nod, he stood up. "Have you heard from the kid? Or Area Two? The news has been strangely quiet there and even the people I talk to, those that have family up there, haven't heard back."

Gwen frowned and accepted the beer. "No. I got a letter back a while ago, but Lelouch... That boy is terrible at writing unless it's to his sister. Allie's last letter said he got caught up with whatever is happening in Area Two. They're not saying we aren't supposed to be talking about it... but there's a fair share of pressure. Travel prices to Area Two have skyrocketed as well."

Oona leaned back. "I know. Mother was quite upset since we used to sell some harvest up North, but now it's too expensive for much of anything. No frivolous travel right now. But really, would that Count person attack in the winter?"

"Rumor has it, he has," Gwen whispered. "We can't confirm much, but the online chatter says the Count won a massive victory up North. Of course, the comments don't stay up long. I'm worried."

Rick finished his cake and sighed. "The kid can take care of himself. With his brains, he probably landed some cushy mail job far from the action."

Dear Lelouch,

I know you're feeling bad for missing my birthday, but I understand your job makes it hard to get leave when you wish it. I had fun with Allie and the student council. You should write to Gwen more. Allie says she's super stressed and busy right now. Your present, the embroidered tree, is wonderful! I have no idea how it looks, although Allie's giggling tells me much of what she perceives to be your stitching skills. I really love feeling the threads and knowing you put all this time and effort into it. Next time you try, make sure to wrap your fingers. I can smell the blood. Really, you have to take better care of yourself. Mother would be very upset with you.

The big news with Seymour was really shocking although I'm glad that they took care of it. Shirley helped me come up with an idea to do a charity event. The funds are going to be used to help the people that lived on his lands. Everyone is really excited.

Lulu, please stay safe. Shirley says things aren't as calm as the media is saying and I want you to be alright. Don't take any unnecessary risks.

Love,

Your Sister

Obaska, Area 2

Edgar's squadron was officially no more. Both Roy and Lelouch had been promoted and put in charge of new squadrons with fresh soldiers who couldn't be trusted with their guns. At least Roy still had Frederick; Lelouch had Henry, with Alex trailing afterwards whenever communications offered an opportunity. Edgar himself had finally transferred to medical and was learning under Sergeant Tamay who watched him with distrustful eyes. Despite their less than amicable relationship, Sergeant Tamay was one of the most knowledgeable medics that Edgar had the fortune of meeting. He could triage a patient and determine the best treatment within seconds..

Sometimes when Edgar dressed the wounds quickly and Sergeant Tamay needed to tend to his own patients, he would share stories of past patients and their diagnosis. If Sergeant Tamay was feeling particularly benevolent, he would list symptoms and explain how their presence ruled out various diagnoses or made others more likely. Unwilling to forget potentially crucial information, Edgar took diligent notes in the time after.

It was these interactions that let Edgar finally understand how Lelouch could walk through the entire camp and never pause or feel awkward. Sergeant Tamay was an Honorary Britannian, but in knowledge, he could give a Britannian doctor a run for their money. Due to his heritage, Sergeant Tamay would never move beyond a simple army medic in a no-name division and finally, Edgar understood why Lelouch's eyes would flash at the word Number. They were people... all of them.

Edgar finished writing down his last notes on Sergeant Tamay's aside on a disease he called epilepsy. He had never heard of it before, but then, Britannia was not accommodating to those who failed to meet the norm. While it was unlikely Edgar would treat a soldier suffering from the condition, there was always the minute possibility, so he took care to write it down. All knowledge had the potential to save someone and his own laziness would not be his patient's downfall.

Sergeant Tamay cleared his throat and Edgar snapped the book shut, shooting to his feet at attention. "Sorry Sir. Won't happen again. What can I do?"

"You were writing it down... all of it," Sergeant Tamay said.

His mouth dry, Edgar responded, "I thought it could be important. I want to make the best of the knowledge you impart on me."

"I told you about epilepsy, a useless diagnosis." Sergeant Tamay held out his hand expectantly and Edgar relinquished his book. "And... you wrote it down anyway." He flipped through the pages, his face impassive.

Edgar shifted his weight from foot to foot and pressed his lips together as he watched Sergeant Tamay read. "I'm sorry Sir if I wasn't supposed to."

"You wrote down every lesson..." Sergeant Tamay snapped the book shut and for the first time actually looked at Edgar, examining him fully. "What is your goal?"

"I want to be the best medic I can be... and later, a doctor."

Sergeant Tamay crossed his arms and took a quick glance at the med beds behind them. "No one will accept a doctor taught by a Number. Nor will they accept you as an apprentice. Your practice will be considered tainted. I suggest you request a transfer."

Edgar's lip trembled and he forced himself to stand perfectly still... like Lelouch would. Lelouch had known that there was value in the people around them long before Edgar had realized. He freely associated with Pablo and even aided them in circumventing the law because he thought it was unfair. Edgar did not have the kind of strength to do what he thought was right. He did not have the courage to fight and face a court martial on the vain hope of saving everyone. That was Lelouch's thing: throwing social norms to the side in order to reach his goal.

His squadron, even though they were no longer officially together, all had goals for which they would fight for. Edgar wanted to stand behind them and offer them support. He would be there to tend their wounds when they inevitably got hurt. Edgar would never fight the larger battle or work against the machine, but he would sacrifice his own future for his friends. He had followed Lelouch when Roy had declared his intent because he wanted to protect them. They were idiots with no regard for their own safety.

"No. I want to learn under you."

"I'm an Honorary Britannian... a Number. You would waste your talents under my tutelage? Your passion?" Sergeant Tamay glowered.

Edgar's voice trembled as he replied, "I want to save people now."

"Why?"

"My squadron, well former squadron, they're out there fighting. They'll get hurt and if I can't help them, then the least I can do is save them."

Sergeant Tamay continued to glower, the question obviously not being satisfactory. "And the rest of your patients? Will they fall to the wayside so you can treat your Britannian buddies?"

"Of course not," Edgar replied reflectively and then snapped his mouth shut. If he had to prioritize patients, could he with his friends lying in pain... and possibly dying if he moved too slow. Would he be able to make the decision to cut them off as a lost cause if their injuries were too difficult to treat? Their lives would be in his hands, so would every other soldier and officer. He couldn't afford to give preferential treatment.

"A medic isn't easy, kid. Now get out. I will not have a distracted student playing doctor." Sergeant Tamay turned around and walked to a patient with a wet cough.

Bronchitis, Edgar's mind supplied.

Glancing at the other patients curled on their sides from pain or staring blankly at the ceiling, Edgar couldn't step away. They were people too and just as deserving of life as his friends.

He ran after Sergeant Tamay and bowed from his waist. "My apologies sir. I will not let my personal feelings interfere with treatment. Please sir, I beg you, allow me to be your student."

Sergeant Tamay spun around and pushed him into the small alcove. "Idiot," he hissed and pulled on his ear. "Never do that again kid. If the officers get wind of a Number making a Britannian bow, they'll have my head... Brits, never thinking things through."

"I'm sorry," Edgar mumbled, his face burning.

"And why are you so insistent, kid to learn from me? Writing everything down... You are never going to get anywhere with me as your teacher. Find a better use for your skills."

Edgar straightened and rolled back his shoulders. "I want to help people now. I cannot stand by and know that I threw away the chance to learn what would have saved them."

Sergeant Tamay clasped his hands together and stared up at the dipping ceiling. "You're the one who came in with the runts. The child's idiocy is contagious."

"Child?" Edgar asked, thrown by his superiors sudden tiredness.

Rolling his eyes, Sergeant Tamay answered, "First lesson. Learn when someone is lying. Patients lie all the time, especially about their health. Don't want to get dismissed and cut their paychecks to their family short after all. And your friend, Lamperouge, is most certainly not fourteen. Or the orphan."

"Oh," Edgar whispered. He had simply assumed they weren't physically inclined and that Alex had suffered from serious malnutrition.

"Yes, oh. If you care for them, convince them to take the Crown Prince's offer. They're underage. They have a chance to escape this hell."

Thinking back to Lelouch's vehement hatred towards his parents and, from what it seemed, a rather complicated relationship, Edgar doubted that his friend would take the opportunity. And Alex? He was running from something scary enough that he considered the military as an appropriate escape.

Turning around, Sergeant Tamay said, "If you care for them, find a way to convince them. Come on, the patients won't tend to themselves. You can deal with the idiot who forgot to wear gloves."

Battle of Val-d'Or

November 13, 2012

Britannian Retreat

Britannian Soldiers Lost: 1,231

Britannian Injured: 3,456

Crows Lost: ~457

Crows Captured: 16

Crows Injured: Unknown

Civilian Casualties: 352

Summary: The Count mounted a two pronged attack at midnight under the cover of the storm. The sentries were unable to get a warning out on time and the army was forced to retreat North.

Request: We need immediate aid to contain the Count and Crows.

Viceroy's Palace, Tokyo, Area 11

Jeremiah sat silently as Prince Clovis led the discussion on how to regain the trust of the people after the Seymour Scandal. It was a tedious affair and despite having taken a recess earlier for lunch, they were no closer to a solution than when they had begun. His face was perfectly impassive, like any Margrave Gottwald should be. It was the face that his father had worn for so long until it never could be taken off. He had been five when he saw the man's last genuine smile, but it was wrong to speak ill of the dead... and Jeremiah had loved his father.

They disagreed at times, violently so, but his father always made time for dinner and frivolous discussion to put him at ease. His father had been a good man... and had been murdered because of some foolish terrorist's subterfuge. It hadn't even been a glorious and honorable death on the battlefield that his father wished for. Jeremiah had promised his father that if he ever became too old and feeble, that he would arrange a duel, so that he could die with honor.

That promise had been taken away. Underneath the table, Jeremiah's hands clenched and his fingernails bit into his soft skin. The pain felt good and soothed the urge to do something, anything. He wanted to be out there in Area Two, finding the coward at fault... He would kill the Count and deny the man of any dignity when the final battle came. It was the duty of the Gottwald heir... but instead, he was stuck in useless meetings.

Only Margrave Greenford's suggestion to go to Area Eleven and destroy the Numbers who had dared to attempt to harm the wonderful glorious Lady Marianne, kept him in his seat. Still, even on that front, he had made no progress. Despite leading the Purist Party in Area Eleven and forming them into a powerful knightmare battalion, he was no closer to being in the action. He didn't even know how he would begin his search for the traitorous Numbers, and he wouldn't undermine Lady Marianne's authority, by destroying them all for their sins. She had left them alive for a reason and halted her own executions. He would respect that.

Now, if only there wasn't so much politics involved.

Even the knights he trained were slippery snakes who searched for any weakness. The Purists had respected his father, but Jeremiah had done nothing of worth except being the guard who failed to keep Lady Marianne from harm. Even if he didn't have such a failure marring his record, his service to the so-called Commoner Empress did not endear him to the Purists. If he wanted to be of use, he needed someone loyal.

Lord Ashford moved to speak and Jeremiah turned his head to better watch the man. This had been Lady Marianne's mentor for many years and he had personally developed the knightmare. Rumor had it that he was holding off on the next generation because it would upend the entire market. Yet for all his business prowess, Lord Ashford did not often speak in the meetings. He preferred to catch a word later and talk over his ideas personally. It was an effective strategy that did not reveal his personal beliefs, but relied on his connection to Lady Marianne and Prince Clovis.

Prince Clovis sent a sharp look at the other lord who had moved to speak as well, and picked up his favorite pen. "Gentlemen, please, everyone will have a chance to speak. Lord Ashford, I'm sure, has many wise things to say."

Lord Ashford sent a small smile to the prince and gazed down the table. "It has been over a year since Britannia has conquered Area Eleven. The locals have only begun to accept our presence and then Seymour's crimes removed any progress we made."

A haughty noble sniffed. "Really. If you hadn't revealed the crimes, we would not be in this mess. It's your fault."

Jeremiah clenched his jaw and made note of the man. Seymour's crimes had been inexcusable. Any suggestion otherwise was an affront on their honor.

"I did my duty as the Margrave of Tokyo and reported the earl to His Majesty. His Majesty saw it as an affront to his own honor and acted accordingly. This is not pertinent to the discussion at hand."

Jeremiah could only watch in wonder as Lord Ashford brushed off the declaration that he had the Emperor's ear.

"I suggest we offer the Numbers an appeasement. Normally, we would wait a few years to establish the Honorary Britannian program, but in these dire times, I propose we commence with haste."

The room burst into chaos as Prince Clovis leaned back with a thoughtful expression and his gaze wandered to a beautiful painting on the wall. Jeremiah could not recognize the art style, but he knew the prince had been educated abroad at his mother's request. It was quite possibly foreign and if so, the brazen act of showcasing such a painting made Prince Clovis's personal beliefs quite clear.

The arguments were pointless. Prince Clovis had already made up his mind.

The Numbers would become Honorary Britannians and Jeremiah couldn't hide his small frown. Terrorists were still abound and those who had sought to kill Lady Marianne remained free. With the Honorary Britannian program, the perpetrators would have access to even more resources. But Lord Ashford had taught Lady Marianne...

For the Purists, Jeremiah would put up a token effort of resistance. His loyalty would always be to Lady Marianne. As long as she remained close to Lord Ashford, Jeremiah didn't dare to hinder the man.

Emperor's Sky

Seymour Court Cases Drawn Out

By: Gwen Welch

December 2, 2012

The Seymour Incident has caused massive upheaval as various noble titles are stripped and redistributed to those who hold the Emperor's favor. From what we can ascertain, these nobles are generally friendlier to commoners and are in line with Lord Ashford's policies. While we had hoped to see the situation resolved before Christmas, it looks like trials will be drawn out far into the next year as the prosecutors continue to collect more damning evidence and defense attorneys plead for more time.

Few nobles have been acquitted and many more have opted for a plea bargain. While it may dismay some of our readers that these criminals are allowed to continue to walk the Earth, they have been sufficiently demoted and exiled within their own families. I too must admit that I wish for more thorough punishment, but the plea bargains bring new disturbing information to light which helps us catch the truly despicable criminals.

Today, the trial of Lady Judkin, Margrave of Florida, commenced. She has pleaded not guilty and continues to be adamant in her claims despite evidence implicating her. Lady Judkin is assumed to be guilty despite circumstantial evidence given the numerous other positive convictions from the prosecution.

...

Ashford Academy, Area 11

Allie shielded Nunnally as she guided her through the crowd. The tents of the Christmas Festival towered over them in their colorful glory. Fire pits crackled and melted the thin powdery snow in a smooth circle around them. Banners flew above their heads and lights dangled.

Allie had to admit that Millie knew how to throw an impressive and effective festival.

"Allie, let's get some hot chocolate." Nunnally pulled on her hand and her head tilted upwards as she sniffed the air.

Pausing, Allie could smell the sweet scent of chocolate drifting through the air. Her stomach grumbled. "Chocolate is expensive."

Nunnally's face fell as she fished out her wallet and began running her fingers along the coins inside. She snapped the wallet shut with a blinding smile. "I'll pay."

"But Nunnally," Allie protested as her friend began to pull her along, "that's your birthday money! You're supposed to use it on yourself."

Stopping before the hot chocolate stand and its decadent aroma, Nunnally shook her head and stepped forward. "Two hot chocolates please."

"Nunnally," Allie hissed and tried to turn to the vendor, "sorry sir, but we'll—"

Nunnally took a step forward and her back straightened as she tilted her head upward and ordered, "Don't worry. I'll pay."

"Forty pounds, miss," the seller said. The sign beside him clearly stated one hot chocolate for fifteen.

"Really sir?" Nunnally replied dryly and she squeezed Allie's hand in reassurance. "You're trying to rip me off."

The teller leaned forward and scowled. "That's the price, girly. Pay up or run off."

"Your contract stated that you would sell your product for fifteen and donate five pounds for every cup sold. I was the one who passed it to Lady Ashford. I would hope you're not violating that contract."

Allie had to admire the efficient take down of the salesman. While Allie was always willing to help, Nunnally hardly ever needed it. She prided herself on self-sufficiency and constantly sought ways to make an impact. Everyone could always see Nunnally even though she couldn't see them.

Sometimes, standing next to her friend, Allie felt invisible. Nunnally had a certain mannerism that drew everyone's attention and allowed none to be forgotten. In comparison, Allie was nothing. She could only act as support and her talents were nothing compared to her friend's.

Passing her a hot chocolate, Nunnally began to pull her along as she followed her nose. Allie, used to her friend's quirks, gently nudged her to the side to help avoid oncoming traffic. A few glowered at them as they saw her friend's unfocused, but beautiful purple eyes. They passed through the crowd unhindered.

The scent of melting cheese and fresh bread fluttered into her nose: pizza. Allie shook her head fondly. Her friend was too food obsessed.

A large towering and swaying stack of pizzas with a flash of green approached and Allie pulled Nunnally to the side, spilling hot chocolate over her hands.

"Who eats that much pizza?" Allie asked, flabbergasted.

Nunnally bounced on her feet as she tilted her head to the side. "I remember my mother complaining of a friend once... I was supposed to be asleep. I don't think I was supposed to hear her and father. Father was apparently rather upset how many gourmet pizzas Mom was buying for her."

Allie shook her head, her hair flying loose around her. "How many pizzas?"

"Twenty-two in one week," Nunnally whispered. "Father thought it was utterly ridiculous."

"Twenty-two." Allie gaped. "How can anyone afford that?"

The bounce in her step disappeared. It had been the wrong question to ask. Whenever Nunnally talked of the past, she would withdraw as if realizing that it wasn't something to be shared. Knowing that a secret hung between them stung. Allie would never betray her, but she had no idea how to prove it.

"I must have misheard," Nunnally replied. "It was probably just two pizzas."

"Of course," Allie replied.

Sometimes she imagined what Nunnally's great secret could be. Perhaps she was the daughter of an OSI agent and her absent parents went on secret missions abroad. Maybe her brother was an alien and her family lived on a royal grant to keep him from spying eyes. Conceivably, Nunnally and her family was a lost branch of French royalty biding their time to retake power.

Allie would learn the truth one day. Undoubtedly, the secret would not be like the ones she imagined and more mundane such as a criminal background. Allie would wait.

"Allie, come on. We're here to have fun. I can hear the next pizza is coming out! And I'm getting you a slice," Nunnally shouted and pulled her right up the stand and the large brick oven behind it.

"I'll pay," she protested. "The money is your birthday present. Stop spending it all on me!"

Nunnally beamed as she reached up to the handkerchief from her brother tucked into her collar. "You're my best friend! Who else am I going to spend it on?"

"Yourself. Use it to buy a present for yourself like your parents intended." Allie could feel her cheeks flame in embarrassment as others turned to look.

Reaching out, Nunnally pulled her into a hug. "I don't need anything like fancy clothes or food. I just want to hear you laugh." She stepped back and tugged her closer to the mouth watering aroma that could only be surpassed by the sweet and citric smell of oranges. "People are what matter the most. Everything else can be replaced, but not people."

Allie's mother had said something similar during the cold winter after a particularly bad harvest. She remembered feeling rather confused at the statement. Family was always there... but that had been before her older brother had begun to wander off.

"I'll be your friend even if you don't spend money on me Nunnally. I enjoy your company."

Like a shooting star, a brief smile crossed her smile. "Don't worry. I just want to."

Friends always came first. Despite the mysteries and secrets around the Lamperouge family, Allie would stand beside them.

Nothing would separate her from Nunnally

French Meddler

Blog Post by Alexandre Danse

January 12, 2013

As I'm sure, everyone has witnessed the chaos in Britannia over the past months. The Emperor, for years, failed to stop Seymour's criminal schemes. I expected the Britannians to be outraged and for them to understand why the E.U. must continue to oppose Britannia in every move. That reaction never came. Seymour's crimes were despicable, beyond reprehensible, but swept away within a day.

Britannia is corrupt to its core and the show of strength from the Emperor only proves this. The trials that claim to deliver justice are a sham. Nobles plead guilty and walk away with a slap on the wrist. If such injustice occurs when Britannia knows the E.U. is watching, how long did they intend for Seymour to walk free? As a surveillance state where everything is known, Britannia must have been aware of his actions. They only acted when E.U. intelligence delivered the information and forced Britannia to act.

Instead of seeing this as a sign of justice from Britannia, and moral fiber, we should understand the true gravity of the situation. Britannia let this monster roam free and while we may have rid the world of him, there are countless others to take his place. If we wish to put an end to this spectacle of human rights abuse, the E.U. must take decisive action and see through Britannia's foolish posturing.

Author's Note:

Thank you x1tears1X on FFN for your help with betaing.

As I said, this chapter is a little a different. Originally, I intended to make a one chapter long interlude, but I ended up chopping it into three chapters. There also won't be any worldbuilding thoughts for these.

What does everyone think of seeing the perspective of some side characters? I adore all your comments. Even if it's a simple thank you.

See you next week. (Or via discord: discord (period) gg (slash)uSBegVj)