Woohoo super long chapter

Review! :D

The courtroom was abuzz, the different lords and ladies and other assorted people sitting in the background. Everyone was waiting for the criminal, the person upon which they could, without a shadow of a doubt, pin all blame for what must be the crime of the century.

King Arthur had released the information to the general public the day before, and before that he'd sent a message to Gilbert.

Be wary, it read. The public now know about your crime, and you may well get those who are angry at you trying to do you some harm.

And the note had proved itself true the next day, when a small mob rushed his room. He'd had maybe three seconds of warning, enough time to leap to the door and lock it, and then slide a chair under the knob. Later, when he'd dared to look out, he'd met the stern gaze of two imperial guards, from Arthur's own private militia.

Gilbert supposed he should be somewhat honored by this, but all he felt was the rising urge to scream.

He spent most of his time sitting in a stiff, straight-backed chair facing the door, waiting. His navy shirt was clean, unwrinkled, his pants draped in just the right way before tucking into his boots. The wearer of them looked as if he'd not slept for nearly the entire week, which wasn't far from the truth. Dark circles ringed his eyes, looking more than ever like bruises, but his face was otherwise pale. His lips were drawn out into a thin line, and his hair was tousled.

When he came before the court, he looked the same, except he'd pulled on his shaky and ill-used mask of confidence. It was in the winter phase of its life, and Gilbert would be sorry to see it go. He'd had it for so long...dating back to his childhood, and soon he'd have to retire it or have it catastrophically fail on him mid-use.

Still, he wasn't expecting the all the jeers or the crude comments or the gestures or the faces twisted with anger and he just wanted to crouch down and cover his ears, but his well-trained body kept his feet plodding forwards until he took the chair squarely in the center of the room, for the first time noticing it was open to the sky. An interesting trick of the architecture made it appear as if the center of the room were glowing, sunlight beaming straight down like a spotlight.

A few projectiles flew. Something splashed across his cheek, and his fingers flew to it instinctively, coming back sticky and red. Blood? He hadn't felt any pain. But no, he smelled strawberries, just a little bit. They're hurling fruit. No sooner had he come to this conclusion than a rock bounced off his shoulder with bruising force. A few more flew, and he resisted the urge to duck out of his chair, swing down and fling the rocks back. I deserve this. For what I've done to Roderich. And above that, what I've done to Elizaveta. I don't want this, but I need this to happen, just as Natalya said.

He twisted the corner of his mouth downwards in a wry smirk. Does this mean I'm a masochist now? Eh, one of the things I thought I was too awesome to be...it's been a year of contradictions, I'd know it for sure...

Another rock hit him, and he glanced up through the hair hanging over his eyes to see the Imperial Guard weeding through the audience, forcefully confiscating rocks and rotten fruit from the watching nobles and the servant class. He felt as if they were watching a gladiator fight, hoping the loser would get pummeled into the dust.

Then he found Ludwig's blue eyes. His brother was staring at him with a mix of betrayal and hurt, and the albino averted his eyes, only to find a pair of familiar emerald green ones fixed on him. He tried to meet that gaze, hold it, but it was too intense and he couldn't. His gaze fell straight to the floor and stayed there.

Gilbert rubbed his shoulder again where the rock hit him. It was already sore, and he guessed by the spreading stiffness that by tomorrow it would be painfully swollen. He kept his wetting red eyes down until the eventual silence fell. A few of the nobles leaned forwards, eager for a new slice of gossip to spread.

"That criminal? Crying? Didn't you see? Well look at him then. While his head's down. There! See? I could've sworn I saw a few tears. You really haven't seen it? Look, there goes another! I swear that's a tear, and not just sweat."

But when the albino put his head back up, his face was clear, the tattered confidence snugly in place. He didn't look as if he'd been crying, and the muted chatter subsided.

The judge cleared his throat and said something that Gilbert couldn't hear through the buzzing in his ears. "What was that, your honor?"

With a touch of irritation, the judge spoke again. "You, Gilbert Beilschmidt, are being charged with premeditated murder and willful administration of an illegal drug. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I plead guilty," he said steadily, looking straight into the dark eyes of the judge, who shuffled his papers.

"Glad to hear it," the judge said wryly. "Still, that doesn't shorten your sentence." He bent his gaze on the papers. "Twenty years in prison, without parole."

The blood drained from Gilbert's face. Twenty years? I wasn't expecting...but all the same, it'll give me time to think, and I deserve this, don't I? The memory of Elizaveta bolting upright in his room, slapping him across the face, screaming, "It was you? You caused my Roderich to die?" came to the front of his mind. Yes, this is my punishment, and I'll carry it through, no matter what happens to me. If my feet rot off, if I get gangrene all down one arm, well, I've earned it.

Ludwig stood up, surprising all of them. "I petition the court to shorten the sentence."

As for the albino, Gilbert stared at him, his mouth open. Why, Luddy? Why? What have I done to deserve this? Then he twisted his mouth bitterly. Well of course, he's doing it because he loves me. Though he shouldn't, at this point...

The judge looked around as Ludwig shouldered his way to the front of the crowd to stand in the auditorium. "Do you have anyone to join your petition?"

Ludwig's friend Veneziano stood after a moment. The auburn-haired man looked nervous. And you should be. Now, you're helping a dangerous criminal! Inside his head, he laughed.

"Anyone else? You need three people."

And then there was a gasp of reverence? awe? as Elizaveta rose, majestic in black robes, and joined the two standing in the center. "I too petition."

Gilbert's jaw dropped again. Liz? But...this makes no sense? Why? WHY!? Why would she do this?

Her green eyes pressed into his red ones, as if trying to tell him something. He didn't get the message. Entirely confused, he watched her walk up and stand next to them. "I petition to shorten the sentence."

"Petition accepted," said the judge, and Gilbert dug his nails into his fists. Why can't I ever be allowed to suffer as I should feel it to be? Why do other little people always have to intervene? Even if I'm about to tie up the rest of my life and throw it away with both hands, must even that be challenged? The albino felt a deep, incoherent rage for the next five minutes, drowning out the words. He had no idea how long his stay in jail would be, and he preferred it that way.

He freely offered his hands to the guards as they walked up to him, and did his best to stare at the sky. A little, perfectly round sapphire nestled amidst the browns and beiges of the ceiling. Not a cloud in sight to marr it. A little jewel he'd have to memorize for the next who-knows-how-long.

As he entered the hallway leading downwards, he saw a butterfly and stiffened. It flew lightly through the hole in the ceiling, and he worried horribly that it was a bad omen.

Except, he reflected after having been pulled out of the light, the flash of light on its wings had been green, not the hated, hideous purple.

How utterly peculiar.