Chapter 27: Kaleidoscope Part 2

Taschereau, Area 2

Alex stood in front of Malfoire's personal tent with heavy pockets. His fingers pulsed in anticipation. It was just like approaching a mark. Alex needed to be calm and composed. There couldn't be a hint of nervousness that would cause his hands to fumble... or Malfoire to pounce.

Alex stepped inside.

"Ah, Alex. I wasn't expecting you. How are you? Is there something I can do for you?" Malfoire asked.

The warmth in his tone soothed Alex and he wanted to relax. Malfoire was a good man. He cared for Alex and would help him. Without Malfoire, Alex would be nothing. He couldn't lose that pivotal relationship. He should forget the night in the trailer. It was a bad dream brought on by anxiety and stress. Tightening his fists behind his back, Alex remembered why he had to go through.

Lelouch had taught him to read for a favor. It was time to repay that. His friend had done so much for him and Alex owed him. Besides, this solution would mean Alex would never be at someone else's mercy again.

"I'm doing well," Alex replied. His voice didn't quiver and as he walked towards the desk; his steps were steady. "I wanted to ask some questions. You mentioned I could earn a promotion."

Malfoire smiled and set aside the document he was working on. "Of course. You know I always have time for you, Alex."

"Thank you sir. It means a lot to me." Alex stopped behind the chair and watched him. It had meant so much, but it was all a lie. The remaining unease vanished. "You know sir... sometimes I imagine you as my father."

"Losing a parent is difficult, but I'm honored by your trust. Tell me, what was Lieutenant Colonel Fortescue drinking this morning? I could have sworn he poured something into his cup of tea."

The instance in question had occurred in the morning. Alex squashed the flare of pride at knowing the answer. "Chocolate. Although he told the other officers that it was an old brandy."

"Amazing Alex. You have such a keen mind. keeping track of all these details."

If Alex had been as keen as Malfoire claimed, he would never have fallen for the man's tricks. "Thank you sir."

"Sit, Alex. Sit. Let us consider your future." Malfoire waved causally and ducked his head as he began to rummage through the drawer of files.

When passing Lieutenant Colonel Fortescue in the morning and observing his questionable tastes in coffee, Alex had swiped a small silver pistol. He drew it and aimed at the man silently. "I'd prefer to stand."

Malfoire paused in his rummaging and looked up at the barrel. The kind demeanor slid away. "Alex?"

"We're going to have an honest conversation. If you lie, I shoot."

"You're surrounded by soldiers on all sides. If you fire the gun, you'll die by my side."

"And you won't be able to hurt Lelouch anymore."

"Ah," Malfoire whispered and leaned back. "Lelouch is perfectly capable of ending our arrangement anytime."

"The price you ask is too high."

"Well then, Alex. Do you plan on killing me then? You want to save the friend who lies to you. Are you not the least bit curious?"

Yes. Alex yearned to know the truth and satisfy his curiosity, but the streets had taught him to set curiosity aside to survive. He had to believe that Lelouch did not tell him for a reason. "You're OSI. Malfoire isn't even your name."

"Warrant Officer York at your service," Malfoire drawled. The mocking smile dared Alex to shoot.

Everything had been a lie. Malfoire... no, York, had lied. He pretended to be the father figure Alex yearned for. York hadn't even tried to explain his actions and ease the pain his confession caused.

Alex steadied his hand. "You used me to get to Lelouch. Lelouch wants nothing to do with you."

"As I said, your friend can end it anytime. If he doesn't want my tutelage, a simple letter will make all his problems disappear. He doesn't: too busy with his childish defiance. Part of him wants to play this game of ours... and Alex, you really shouldn't interfere. You're just one piece on the chessboard: an enticing pawn."

"No chess metaphors," Alex hissed. He had never bothered learning the game which York very well knew. "I refuse to be your bait any longer. If Lelouch really wants to play then it shouldn't matter if I'm there."

York frowned. "No. Alex, I taught you better. You can't just hold me at gunpoint and expect me to honor any promises. Once the game is set, you cannot leave."

If bait was only bait because it was weaker, then York would have been correct, but Alex played a different game. On the streets, knowing how to play bait meant the difference between a meal or starving in the cold. The strength to do what needed to be done was the only currency.

Alex smiled. "The gun is here so you know I'm serious. Sure, you and I know that Lelouch will do whatever is necessary... but you forget, Lelouchis defends his ideals, not yours.. You and him are opposed in philosophies. You look down on the very men that Lelouch has sworn to protect."

"Ideals can be shattered. I'm sure the war will do that in time. I'm waiting for what will be reborn."

Alex grit his teeth. His friend would not be shattered. He was meant to stand tall and unchained. Unclenching his jaw, he said, "Then wait. You will not be the one to do it. That's my condition."

"For what?"

"To be your student in all matters," Alex declared and ignored the feeling of dread. It was necessary. And Alex always did what was necessary to survive. Now, he did it to protect the one person, who despite their lies, cared for him.

York slowly asked, "You. You want to be part of the OSI?"

"Yes."

York leaned across the desk and ignored the gun trained on his head. "And you're sacrificing yourself to the fate Lelouch wants to protect you from. You would do that for a liar and coward?"

"Yes." Alex took a deep breath. "If you leave Lelouch alone, I will submit to your authority."

"I admit, I did not see this coming," York said. "But while pointing a gun at me does make this an interesting job application, it does not prove you're worthy."

But Lelouch, who did not want the position, was somehow worthy.

"Still," York continued, "this intrigues me. So why don't we commence the interview. Sit."

The word was an order and Alex kept his eyes trained on him as he pulled back the chair. The gun continued to steadily point at the chest.

"And the gun?" York asked.

"You haven't accepted."

York snorted. "Indeed I have not. What do you know of Lelouch?"

Snippets of overheard conversations and theories flew through his mind. None of them perfectly fit the situation. Like Roy believed, Lelouch had noble blood. His mother, who is in a wheelchair, felt comfortable in a crowd of commoners, yet her body posture screamed authority. She had claimed to be a Warrant Officer, but perhaps she was a commoner elevated to knighthood. Yet despite his noble blood, Lelouch knew violence and detested the Number system. It was an odd dichotomy that made Alex think that Lelouch might have run away from home and hidden himself amongst the Numbers. But the constant letters from his parents, despite being ill received, suggested that was not the case.

Then there was one final new clue from York himself. Lelouch had the power to end his predicament himself. "His parents have power over you."

York smiled. "That is perhaps the only true thing you could have said without me being required to arrange an accident for you."

"I won't dig," Alex promised. Another clue. Lelouch's identity was somehow a secret relevant to the OSI. A minor noble wouldn't have garnered that response. Even most major nobles.

"Of course you will. It's in your nature."

"I won't talk about my suspicions," Alex amended.

"Good. Protecting Lelouch will be your most important task, overriding any orders given. If he dies, your life is forfeit. Do you understand?"

Alex nodded and at the judging gaze, said, "Understood, sir."

"Now lower the gun," York ordered and Alex complied. "Per our agreement, I will no longer use you as leverage over Lelouch."

Narrowing his eyes, Alex said, "And all attempts to intimidate him."

"You don't have that kind of leverage. Besides," he said, rolling his eyes, "even without you, he'll be obstinate enough. I keep him on his toes and curb his self-sacrificing tendency. I have no idea how he can be his son with such a ridiculous lack of self-preservation."

Alex chose not to ask as York leaned down and a lock clicked. He pulled out a form and passed it across the desk along with a pen. Reading through the form, Alex marveled at the flood of legalese. And then he re-read it as York's fingers tapped along the table. Endless privacy clauses and regulations echoed through his brain.

Hesitantly, Alex picked up the pen. This was it. His soul in exchange for his safety against a madwoman and Lelouch's mental wellbeing.

"Just sign. Paperwork is the bane of the OSI."

The pen rested on the page and Alex dared to ask, "Will the contract be valid? Even with... the new rules?"

York's eyebrows raised. "Yes. Prince Odysseus can muck around with the army as much as he wants. The OSI employs many minors under the purview of the Emperor and that will not change. The paperwork is necessary for logistical reasons, but the words hold no meaning." York paused to stare at Alex. "Once you join the OSI, you belong to us. You cannot leave unless royalty demands it."

That was what Alex wanted to hear. With his service, the woman would never be able to touch him. As long as he didn't draw the attention of Prince Odysseus and his moral outrage, Alex would be fine. Still, as he signed, he felt as if York had insinuated something else.

Alex passed the paper back. "I'll be telling Lelouch."

"Of course." York paused at the sound of feet crunching across the snow. "If you think he'll forgive you."

The footsteps neared and Alex turned to see Lelouch step inside looking frazzled. Lelouch looked between the two and his shoulders straightened and an easy going smile slid onto his face. "Oh Alex. I wasn't expecting you. How are you? Edgar wants me to tell you that we're getting the old squad together for dinner tomorrow."

Dinner would be nice, but was not the issue on hand, so Alex cleared his throat and said, "Lelouch. I'm joining the OSI."

Lelouch's eyes widened and he stormed over to York. "The deadline wasn't up yet. He's not joining the OSI."

"Lelouch,"—Alex grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him back—"York didn't force me. I found out on my own and made the decision."

"But why?" Lelouch asked as he stared down at Alex. "You don't know what he'll make you do. You don't have to do this."

"I have a pretty good idea." Alex had seen them in the trailer and heard enough stories. "I chose this. The contract is signed. It's too late to change my mind."

Lelouch slammed his hands down on the table and glowered at York. "End this now. Alex isn't your pawn."

"Not a pawn anymore. I dare say he may be a knight now, but only time will tell. Unless, of course, you're ordering me?" York stared meaningfully at Lelouch who remained silent. "No? You should be thanking Alex. He was so concerned about you, he offered himself in your place."

Shaking his head, Lelouch stepped back. "Alex..."

York rose and walked forward. "Treat this as a lesson. Hesitation will cost you." Resting a hand on Alex's shoulder, he continued, "I no longer require your presence in the trailer. Alex will do fine as an assistant. Your own contract is still in effect."

Bile rose; Alex swallowed. He had no room to complain. Everything had gone as intended. "It's okay, Lelouch."

Silence hung in the air between them as York leaned against his desk with a smile.

Lelouch clenched his fists, but calmly said, "You're coming to dinner." He turned to York. "And if you hurt him, everyone in the camp will know you are an OSI agent." Mockingly, he continued, "What do you think the Numbers will do when they find out?

"That was your plan," York murmured and clapped his hands together. "Impressive how you continue to slip out of my grasp by creating new tools instead of using the one at your disposal."

"I'm not my parents and I refuse to rely on them," Lelouch said before leaving. The tent flaps drifted in the wind.

After the footsteps faded away, York chuckled and sat down. "Alex, you'll meet me here tonight at twenty-one hundred sharp. Do not speak of our arrangement. To the public, you're now my apprentice. You're dismissed."

"Acknowledged, Sergeant," Alex said and walked out of the tent under the dying sun. The pistol weighed heavily in his pocket, but Alex didn't intend to return it. It was a token of his victory.

Chrysanthemum

Whispers by Red Dawn

April 8, 2013

You can hear their whispers of their thoughts. Constant and every present, they follow you.

"Let me carry that for you," because you are too weak. Your hands still work and so do your arms, but let them help you because you have no worth. You are weak and must rely on others for what you can do.

Their eyes pour over the books and check the numbers. "Everything appears correct," and they sound surprised. Your brain works fine, but they cannot see beyond what is in front of them.

"What about an easier project?"

"Don't go out alone."

"Are you sure this won't be an issue?"

Nobody wants to let you try because you're defined by inability.

Altschloss, Pendragon, Homeland

Spring had come, so Odysseus once again visited his East coast office. The old palace walls greeted him like they had in his youth. A filled crack ran through a marble column from where he had enthusiastically swung his sword indoors. Despite the strife, times somehow felt simpler then. Everything had a purpose, but now, Odysseus drifted through the currents of time without purpose. He could marry of course as his father often reminded him, but should Odysseus have a child, it would endanger Schneizel's claim to the throne.

No. Marriage was a foolhardy endeavor. He didn't need to dally with noble ladies and foreigners and allow them to sink their claws into him. Love was for commoners.

Kevin, his assistant, bowed as Odysseus entered the Office of Welfare. The fire crackled welcomingly and the door shut behind him. An impressive bucket of letters waited in the corner and Odysseus watched as a letter leapt free and glided to the ground. Spring was here, but work did not change.

"Any word from my father?" he asked as he sat down and pulled out his favorite fountain pen.

Kevin cleared his throat and pulled out his notebook. "His Majesty requests that you invite E.U. delegates, along with the Empress of the Chinese Federation, to your birthday this coming August."

Once, a birthday party had been a party. If his father wanted to pander to foreigners with his party, Odysseus had no choice but to agree. "Who is the new Empress? Last I heard, the eunuchs were covering for Emperor Shang's incompetence as he splurged on food, drugs, and girls. The coffers must have run dry ages ago."

His assistant chuckled nervously. "He had a daughter, Tianzi. She's eight."

"And ruling a country?" Odysseus shook his head. "With their monetary concerns and the unrest from a regime change, I expect they'll not bother father much longer."

Keven checked his note again. "No. The eunuchs received a sizable donation for the tragedy of their Emperor's death."

"Tell father that if I must host his political schemes, I want all my siblings there. Especially Lelouch and Nunnally."

"Of course. I will relay the message." Flipping through the notes, Kevin continued, "Lord Ashford invites you to tour his academy next month and wishes to discuss advancing education and medicine within Britannia. He also sent an update on the new medical students which looks promising."

"Schedule the meeting." With Reuben currying favor from his father, Odysseus could work with him openly and seek his advice on implementing more ambitious policies. The surveys had come in from the winter and the number of orphans living in squalor was unacceptable. He would never amount to much, but at least this way, he could leave his own mark on history. And unlike his family, it wouldn't be bloody. There was enough violence in the world already without needlessly adding more.

"Lord Oberstein sent an official complaint that our men were disrupting his business operations."

"Ignore. If they were interrupting, there was just cause." Odysseus paused. "Actually, schedule a surprise visit. I wish to see these businesses myself."

"Of course, Your Highness. I've summarized the other requests in the packet on your right. Is there anything particular you are concerned for?"

Odysseus skimmed through the dense packet and the various noble names. In the back, he finally came to the list that he yearned to see: a survey of complaints from the commoners divided by region. "Why are we having data collection problems for Area Two?"

"The Count and his Crows. The people there are anxious and many refuse to talk with Britannian officials. Additionally, the roads are a prime target for attack, but with the snow melting and the Count's dwindling attacks, we should have data in the coming months."

There shouldn't have been an issue in the first place. If his men were facing such difficulties, then the situation was far worse than the media or even official reports portrayed. "Keep me informed regarding Area Two. Start sending relief aid."

"Relief aid? We don't have any reports of shortages, Your Highness."

"If people are silent, then there is a reason. Worst case I squander some of our generous budget. However, if we do nothing, then inaction will fuel discontent."

"I apologize, Your Highness, for questioning you."

"No matter." Odysseus waved them off. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes. Prince Schneizel requests you contact him at your earliest convenience."

"Dismissed."

The door closed and Odysseus activated the screen and selected his brother's contact. Schneizel loved checking in and Odysseus indulged him. Keeping his brother satisfied was much easier than dealing with the fallout and Odysseus was Schneizel's dedicated keeper. As long as it kept the money flowing generously to the Office of Welfare, Odysseus wouldn't complain.

"Brother, I see you're settling in well," said Schneizel dressed in a white nightshirt as he sat down on a pear white sofa. A fresh cup of coffee steamed in his hands. "Is work going well?"

Odysseus laughed. "Same old. Nobody cares for my office and I have an entire list of folks to badger."

"Send them my way," Schneizel offered with a sharp smile.

"You're busy with your own idiots; let me handle my own."

Schneizel blew on the coffee. "You're too soft brother. They take advantage of you. A whip keeps the hounds at bay."

"Careful brother. Talking like that, people might not believe that sanguine smile you wear before the press," Odysseus teased. "My irritants are hardly worth the trouble and I just need to mention Father's name and they'll concede. All they can do is delay me."

"My mask of politeness is effective unlike your honest niceness because I have the power to eliminate those who dare to impede me. The nuisances of worth learn. Greenford is quite wary of me after my show at the ball." He frowned. "I thought for sure he wouldn't resist taking the opportunity to eliminate me. Either he is more of a coward than I thought or slier than he presents himself."

"You did what?" Odysseus barked. Of all foolhardy actions.

"Father agreed with my course of action."

Odysseus massaged his nose. "Father lacks a proper frame of reference for what constitutes as dangerous."

"I had Kanon standing by at all times. I was in no danger."

He didn't have the energy to deal with this. "Schneizel. We've talked about unnecessary risks. Putting yourself in mortal danger—"

"I trust Kanon with my life."

"I don't trust Murphy with your life," Odysseus snapped back. "There will always be variables you cannot account for so do not put yourself in mortal danger. We've discussed this. Countless times."

Schneizel tapped his chin. "So I shouldn't invite the Count for a game of chess?"

Odysseus clenched his fists. Only Schneizel would attempt to joke about this. "Go ahead. It's your life. Present Father with his head and perhaps he'll give you the stupid crown. Then I don't need to spend my birthday as a glorious showpony for our neighbors."

Wincing, Schneizel set aside his coffee. "I did try to talk Father out of it. I know you prefer enjoying your birthday by yourself."

"Thank you for trying." Odysseus sighed. "On the bright side, Lelouch and Nunnally will be there."

"Oh?" Schneizel leaned forward. "Father has been incredibly tight lipped. He even refuses to send my letters to Lelouch. How ever did you manage getting him to concede to that?"

"He will if he wants me to host this ridiculous party of his. I haven't asked for anything in years—"

"Really brother? You badger him all the time. Father, why are you neglecting your seventeenth wife? Father, you should socialize with your children. Father, let me tear the military apart to save the poor children who honorably serve Britannia?"

"Hilarious," Odysseus said. "Those were for the Empire and you can complain about me upsetting the natural order of things by saving the poor lambs from their fate, but Father wants support from the commoners. My office is currently the most popular. Yours... not so much."

"That would be a lot more impressive if you had planned that instead of following the whims of your bleeding heart. Face it. You hate conflict. Anyone cries and Big Brother Odysseus arrives to save the day."

"I hate you. If you're done mocking me, shall I continue?" Odysseus asked and his brother fell silent. "Father will ensure Nunnally and Lelouch attend in return for sacrificing my birthday."

"You're sure? There isn't anything to gain. Father could order you and you would have to host the party regardless."

"Compromise does wonders and as much as it pains me, I know I am Father's favorite."

Schneizel leaned back and nodded. "That you are. He always did spoil you, but then you never took advantage of him unlike a rational person. I imagine Guinever ruined it for everyone else."

Remembering his sister in her younger years before she developed any subtlety, Odysseus winced. "That probably didn't help. But she's the gossip queen now and stringing along that nephew of Lord Greenford to influence the Purist Faction is pure genius. Father's investments in her pays well."

"And we pay her out of our nose for the same information."

"Really? I find she loves to share."

Schneizel glowered. "Unlike you, I don't have time to listen to her babble for three hours in hopes that she will provide me the information I need."

"She always comes through in the end... but it can be meandering at times, I admit. I suspect she talks your ear off because she doesn't like you." And for good reason. Those who had witnessed Schneizel's tantrums in his youth were not so easily fooled by his mask.

"Thank you for stating the obvious." Schneizel looked off screen. "It's late and I still have another twenty contracts to sift through and forward to Father. I'm attending your party. There will be no last minute excuses so don't take me off the guest list like you normally do."

Odysseus tried his best to look innocent. Judging from his brother's expression, he failed utterly. "You miss those events on purpose. I simply prevent any feathers from being ruffled."

"I want their feathers ruffled. And your meddling started that annoying rumor of us fighting last year when I actually did attend and people realized you removed my name."

"A rumor you used to your advantage," Odysseus reminded. "Night Schneizel. And no more using yourself as bait."

Schneizel rolled his eyes and Odysseus resisted the urge to sigh. The screen flicked off.

Classification: Secret

Agent: Warrant Officer Will York, ID: IFO20993

Stationed: 712 Division at La Sarre, Area 2

Report: Yellow Risk Assessment of 712th Division, April 30, 2013

Britannia has a long standing practice of using non-native troops to subjugate instances of civil unrest. The 712th Division, primarily composed of Honorary Britannians, is less susceptible to the Count's ideological agenda which can be seen in the lack of defections. Due to harsh penalties, desertions also occur at a much lower rate compared to other divisions. The local's hostilities mean it is unlikely troops will collaborate or leak information.

Unfortunately, the commanding officers neuter the effectiveness of the division. Multiple officers have gotten drunk, engaged in promiscuous activities, and accepted bribes which resulted in leaked classified information. None of these officers have been disciplined for their misconduct. (See attached for a list of suspected officers) Officers also waste troops on non-military objectives such as guarding the transport of silk sheets and fine wine. These transports are prime targets for rebellious groups and supply the enemy with needed cash while draining His Majesty's coffers. The misappropriation of funds means the division has been forced to take quarter with a local village which escalates hostilities between the army and the locals.

Currently, a few soldiers are maintaining morale and preventing a red risk assessment. If they were to die in combat, the situation would warrant a code red. Britannia risks a repeat of the Trafford incident and I recommend immediate action to discipline officers and, at minimum, ensure that soldiers have adequate food, proper gear, and sufficient medical supplies.

La Sarre, Area 2

With the coming of spring, Art's terrorism activities slowed to a crawl and noble events strained his time. It was the second Friday, so Art stood by the crumbling water fountain and listened to the spring birds plead. Brigit hadn't been pleased with him delaying his tasks to visit her brother. She insisted the tasks on hands were essential to destroy the Emperor and his cancerous regime; only after, would her brother have peace.

Art did not agree. Within the very town her brother lived, the Number army had made camp. Their Britannian brethren built a proper camp with wooden walls a few miles South. Still tasked with finding the mysterious commander—Brigit remained unaware of Art's suspicions that the voice was no officer—Art integrated himself with the troops. The scorn and hate from the villagers was eerily reminiscent of the same hate Oliver received; Britannia's culture was immutable. People needed someone to despise and a victory on the battlefield would lead to no change.

Maybe Art was growing tired of the fighting. He never used to think like that. The call for justice and equality had blinded him to all other realities. And now, Art was left wondering if all the sacrifices would be worth it. So many dead because of Art's actions and the number would continue to rise.

With the noble court kicking into full gear, Brigit's time as the Count was limited. Art had to train their troops to vanquish the Britannian forces in the upcoming winter. If they didn't find a weakness and strike a debilitating blow, the Empire's dogs would descend and leave a bloody trail in their path. A cleansing. Anyone suspected of associating with the Crows slaughtered and with them, the rebellion.

Art broke his silent rule as he entered the house and walked up the stairs to Oliver's room. The thoughts swirled in his head despite all attempts to banish them. Silently, he stood before the door and fingered the sedative that he always kept on hand since the last attack. This was why he fought. Brittana did not allow him to buy the drug that had saved his friend's life.

He opened the door to the dim room and an excited pitbull leaped on him in greeting.

In the corner of the room, obscured by books, Oliver—wearing his thick sunglasses—swayed as he stood. "Art! I thought maybe... you wouldn't come. You were late."

Art swept his friend into a hug. "Of course not. I promised you then, I'd never abandon you. I'm keeping it. You're not getting away with me that easy."

"I remember now," Oliver whispered. "It's just. Well, everyone else leaves. And after the accident... Brigit doesn't talk to me. She doesn't want to see me."

Brigit fought out of guilt: a suitor denied who had looked at a strong child ravaged by an illness and sought to destroy them in revenge.

"It's not you," Art whispered.

"The kids next door call me a blind demon or vampire. The priest nocks every other week trying to exorcise me. I'm Brigit's burden. I ruined her career. How can everyone but you be wrong?"

"Because they don't understand," Art said.

They saw only the child convulsing on the ground and ran in fear. It was Art—nine years old and dirt poor—who stopped, returned, and sat by the new boy's side. When others cursed and flung stones at Oliver, it was Art who stood before him as his shield. His actions condemned him to a childhood of solitude, but Art never begrudged his friend for it. He had lived on the bottom rung of the social ladder with kindness being his only currency and was a better man for it.

Oliver rolled his eyes and walked back to his desk. "I've been trying to draw. I can't live here for the rest of my life."

"I thought you wanted to play the piano?"

His shoulders sagged and he passed the picture. "Nobody will want me on stage. Even before, collapsing would ruin the show. I was just kidding myself."

Art looked at the harsh sketch of a crow resting on a corpse. "With Brigit's new position, we can access new treatments... And, the E.U. is more accepting in general. You shouldn't give up. I will help make your dream come true."

"I have red puckering burns covering my eyes and scars running along my body, Art." Oliver peered through the crack in the shutters. "Even in the E.U., I'll find no acceptance. It's best I find something I can do from the safety of my home."

"So drawing? I have a few acquaintances who might be interested."

Oliver spun around and slammed the shutters firmly shut. "No. I'm doing it on my own. You should focus on your own career. I know you don't want to follow my sister forever. What do you want?"

"I... never thought about it."

First, he had worked to help his mother when her muscles gave out and she had no energy to move. He had picked up jobs to ensure food was always on the table and told her stories. Then she died, like his grandparents, and their parents before them. He knew that the same disease lurked in his veins. Sometimes, like for his aunt, it took years to rear and other times, like for his cousin, it attacked the skin instead. But, it lay there in wait and Art knew the time would come.

"Well, think about it. You can't be happy following other people. Find a hobby. And don't tell me visiting me is your hobby. Find a real one."

"As His Imperial Majesty commands," Art teased and filed it on his long to do list. Hobbies were said to be great stress relief.

"I'm serious." Oliver poked him. "Step out of your comfort zone. Find a hero."

"A hero?" Art asked. Brigit was one to the people.

"Someone who inspires you. Gives you the confidence to step forward."

Art sat down on the bed and nudged the eager dog to the side. "And who is yours?"

"Empress Marianne." Oliver blushed and passed a sketch of her.

Light lines captured her likeness, while dark thick lines displayed the wheelchair like a throne. A sword with blood rested across her lap and it's ghostly form pressed against Art's neck. Why did Oliver have to choose her?

"The Emperor trusts her despite her imperfection. And when she came to Area Two, the Count fled and the neighbors didn't dare to call me a demon. She is what Britannia could be."

"That's one way to look at it," Art said, feeling ill. Her accomplishments were impressive even if she carved a bloody path through her foes. To her, mercy was a foreign concept. She was one of the pillars Britannia rested upon and perpetuated the lie that a commoner could rise beyond their station. She was a hypocrite.

"She even replied to my letter, you know. Well, I guess it was an assistant. She is rather busy, but it has her signature on it and everything." Oliver opened the lowest drawer and fiddled with the secret hatch Art had helped him install. Turning around, he held the letter victoriously and on it, true to his word, gleamed her signature in a dark walnut ink speckled with gold.

"I'm glad for you." Although Brigit would froth at the mouth if she heard. She wanted Empress Marianne's head on a spike and Art worked hard to ensure they would never be in the same region, even by accident. "What do you think of the Count?"

Oliver stared at him. "You never brought up politics before."

"Sorry. Work has been stressful. I shouldn't have—"

"—No. It's nice. Sometimes I feel like all there is to my life is this room and you always focus on me and sometimes I feel like I don't know you."

"That wasn't my intention. I just didn't want to burden you with my problems."

"Well..." Oliver sat on the chair backwards and trailed his fingers along the edge. "I think, I don't like him. He says pretty words, but with him here, food started running low. Of course Brigit made sure we had enough, but I told Ava to donate some of it. Maybe the Count intends to follow through on his promises, but for now, things are worse than ever. At least with the Emperor, his actions have a positive impact. He honestly cares for us normal folks."

"The Emperor's hands are bathed in blood like every noble," Art hissed. "It's his Empire that prevents you from accessing treatment and allowed your assaulter to walk free."

Oliver frowned. "Brigit killed him, didn't she?"

Art's mouth dried. He had tracked the arrogant noble, accosted him in the street, and delivered him into Brigit's hands. She had watched the man impassively as she played with her knife. When he began to blubber and plead, Brigit drew the knife and carved into his flesh for every injury he had inflicted on her brother.

Art had left halfway through and only returned to dispose of the body. The man's death hadn't quelled the cold fury in her eyes and the seeds of rebellion blossomed. The culture of Britannia had allowed the noble to walk free; Britannia would change.

"Keep my sister's secrets," Oliver said, waving his hand. "I never thought you would support the Count."

Chuckling nervously, Art faced the shuttered window. For all that Art trusted Oliver, the conversation was becoming dangerous. Art said, "Britannia won't change without reason. The Emperor's recent benevolence reflects the changing times."

"Just don't do anything too rash. You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you, but if following the Count makes you happy, then I won't complain."

"Thank you," Art paused and then added with a smirk, "Olie."

Throwing up his hands, Oliver cried, "It's not fair. Your name is one syllable already... I'm changing my name to Merlin."

"Excuse me?"

"And you'll be Arthur, named after my most dear apprentice."

"Warily, Art asked, "Who?"

Pointing at the dog, Oliver said, "Arthur, my loyal dog. Unless, of course, you dispense with the name Ollie."

Between being named after a slobbering beast and a nickname, Art chose the logical option. "I'd be honored, Merlin."

Chrysanthemum

Savior by Wizard

May 15, 2013

Rolling through the world on a gilded throne, the Savior's eyes burn with potassium fire. A roaring sword sings through the nighttime sky.

"Listen," it cries.

And the forgotten masses, bloodied by fists and words, take to the sky. They're a sorry lot but burning with desire. Wheels and canes make their arsenal. The rare chained friend steps aside and lets the forgotten rise. Cursed words have shaped their minds.

Weak, they may seem, but strong they are inside.

The savior speaks but does not see the masses. Yet, the forgotten hear her actions and look to the sky. She will come and set us free. The sidewalks will lower so wheels may roll. Bumps will guide those without eyes. The words of hate will cease.

No longer forgotten or known as demons haunting the night, they will be reborn as people.

People who laugh and cry and sing and dance. Different people perhaps, but diversity is a strength.

The forgotten wait.

La Sarre, Area Two

Setting up camp within a town had the major advantage of plumbing and warmth; two things which Edgar relished. The only downside? The stairs. Unhappy with the Numbers seeking quarter in their homes, the locals banished the 712th to freezing attics. An attic was better than a tent, but it made for an incredibly inconvenient medical ward.

Stepping inside the room, Edgar stopped; a singed Frederick waved sheepishly.

"It's nothing," Frederick reassured. "Just some upset locals. Roy got the fire under control, but he insisted I come up here, just in case."

Edgar gaped. "You are—you—This is the third time this week, you idiot!"

"Bad luck?"

"Take off your shirt," Edgar ordered... again. His heart was not beating faster. He was a professional; doctors weren't attracted to their patients even if they had candlelit dinners.

Frederick complied and held still as Edgar's hands searched for any other injuries to treat. Sweat coursed over mild burns and muscles rippled. Edgar's professional diligence was rewarded with a small sliver of glass entrenched in the back and he turned around to grab his tweezers.

Ducking his head, Frederick said, "I swear I'm not doing this on purpose—"

"—I'd hope not. You're not a masochist—"

"—even if it's nice to spend time with you." Frederick yelped as Edgar seized the shard of glass.

Edgar drew back. "We spend a lot of time together." It never felt like enough.

"I know, but anything could happen... and I'm—" Frederick buried his head and groaned. "—I'm messing this up. But I was thinking..."

Edgar's heart wasn't beating faster in anticipation because maybe his dear friend felt the same.

"Well, I did a lot of thinking. And we could die you know?" Frederick looked up and frowned. "I need to get to the point, don't I?"

"Yes."

Frederick rushed, "I could die tomorrow and I don't want to have regrets... So. I'm going to say it."

Waiting, Edgar tried to not look too eager in case it was something else... but also not disinterested. Edgar wasn't sure if there was an appropriate expression for the occasion.

"I... like you." Frederick looked up with pleading eyes. "If that's okay?"

It wasn't the proper occasion for such a confession. It was improper. But Edgar replied enthusiastically, "I would love to be something more than friends."

Frederick exhaled through a shaky laugh. "Oh. That was terrifying. Thank you. I'm glad."

"I need to finish your examination first," Edgar protested as Frederick began to rise. "Professionally. Sergeant Tamay will have my head otherwise."

Frederick pouted. "Think I should grow a mustache?"

"With what hair?" Edgar shot back and hid his grin.

Two days later they entered the pub together holding hands. A few locals nodded at him respectfully, recognizing him for the medical aid he offered. They didn't trust Sergeant Tamay, but Edgar did his duty. Everyone deserved treatment even if he personally detested them. Of course, being the only soldier within the division on somewhat cordial terms with the locals meant he was designated as the unofficial liaison to resolve disputes.

A young teen stuck out his leg in front of Frederick and Edgar pulled him to the side, relishing the close contact. Gritting his teeth, he forced a smile and scanned the area for his old squad.

Roy, spotting them from his table, waved enthusiastically and whistled as they approached the old squad. "Pay up Pablo!"

Pablo, his face obscured by a large hate, dropped the coins on the table,

Aghast, Edgar asked, "You were betting on us?"

Roy snorted. "You've been literally attached by each other's hips from day one. Drinks are one me!"

The owner scowled but brought over two pints of foaming beer from the tap. He snatched the money out of Pablo's hands and lumbered back to the bar and served the locals of the town. Ignoring the threatening looks, Edgar pulled Frederick to the table.

"Oh," Alex exclaimed with a smudge of whip cream on his nose, "that's why you needed the candles!"

Sweet oblivious Alex; Edgar chuckled.

Frederick pulled him into a one armed hug. "Was I being too subtle?"

"No," Roy said, "you were nauseatingly obvious, the two of you. Pablo thought it would take your oblivious asses another month to figure it out."

Pouting, Alex whined, "Please tell me I wasn't the only one to miss this?"

Lelouch raised his hand and Edgar hid a fond smile.

"Besides Lelouch?"

No one replied and Alex dropped his head on the table causing the others to chuckle.

"Heard you're Gosling now," Edgar teased Lelouch as he looked over his young friend. The lack of supplies was taking a toll. Maybe Frederick could help him in convincing Lelouch to take better care of himself?

Lelouch rolled his eyes and muttered, "Jon needs to stop running his mouth."

Actually, it was Pablo spreading the dreaded nickname, but Edgar wasn't going to tell him.

Ignoring the antics at the table, Edgar closed his eyes and leaned on Frederick's shoulders. They fell and rose like a soothing boat on a calm lake. His old squad and closest friends accepted him. Family. That was what they were. And Edgar would protect them at all costs.

Frederick leaned closer and his breath warmed Edgar's mouth. Eager, Edgar pulled his boyfriend in for a kiss.

Author's Note:

And that is a wrap. Back to the main plot.

An Important Note:

I think everyone is by now aware of the murder of George Floyd and the subsequent protests and numerous accounts of police brutality. I know many people read fanfics for escapism and everyone will have their own opinions. When the news of the coronavirus spread, I changed my plot mildly to remove an epidemic in the army that ravaged the troops, but I will not be doing that in response to current events. Firstly, it's infeasible. I write multiple chapters ahead and the plot trajectory is no longer as malleable. Even if that were not the case, I must acknowledge the type of story I set out to write.

Writing is the expression of ideas and therefore political. You can never fully remove the political component although in certain genres it can be minimized. I consider Excalibur to be a societal story. It is about the people who inhabit Britannia and their personal beliefs and struggle. This results in questions about the proper use of force, the role and responsibility of the government, and how to bring about change. With these issues gaining attention, I'm sorry if this story becomes challenging as a result.

I chose to write from multiple POVs to express the unique voices that arise from different backgrounds and personal beliefs. Without them, the story would fall flat. While I have my own political and moral beliefs, I attempt to paint a fair portrayal. (Yes, Brigit is irredeemable, but then there are people who cannot and will not change.) Whether or not I succeed is your own judgment. I invite people to draw their own conclusions.

I firmly believe that inaction is a choice. You choose to stay silent when you hear racism or sexism. You choose not to intervene when a person needs help. Your inaction does not make you innocent. Standing up can be hard. It risks alienating others and reprisal. But this does not change the fact that a man was murdered while three officers did nothing. Inaction protects the perpetrator and tells others: "this is okay." And this is why, I cannot say nothing and pretend this fic exists in a vacuum.

The murder of George Floyd is a failure of policing. Showing up in riot gear and using tear gas and less-lethal rubber bullets to a peaceful protest displays a fundamental misunderstanding of who the police protect: the people. I fully support the First Amendment. If you're protesting, the ACLU has guides to help you understand your rights. Video evidence is now mightier than the pen and the sword. Record everything.

And lastly, there's still a pandemic, so remember to take basic precautionary measures like wearing a mask.

Everyone, stay safe.

Thank you x1tears1X and Spaded Ace18 on FFN for your help with betaing.