Daybreak:Alpha Chapter

Chapter 11 - ???

After seeing Cecylia off near the main command, Kaede left the inner camp for one of the five major dining areas inside this army's tent city. Pascal had no excuse to squeeze her into the meeting today, especially with dozens of commanders already packed into the building. With time on her hands, Kaede decided to check up on the maid Marina instead.

She felt the gazes of men follow her down the main road between battalion campgrounds. Most of them appeared simply curious: her pseudo-uniform was Weichsen enough, especially with the Honorary Lieutenant rank and Knight's Cross; but her hair was clearly not that of a common human. However, some of the ogling stares took on a more perverse shade, sending a repugnant taste up her throat as though she could feel the dirty thoughts they projected upon her in their minds.

The worst of it came when she passed by the camp of a battered infantry battalion:

"Heyyyy cutestuff!" a drunken soldier called out. "Yer a sight for sore eyes!"

"Wanna to do something fun?"

"Come on, you'll enjoy it!" barked a third. "They don't call me Big Jonathan for nothing! I'll make that cute midriff feel even firmer!" He finished before the entire group began laughing.

Unlike the regimented Weichsel forces, the Lotharin armies had no military police. Lesser nobles and their armigers took turns patrolling to maintain order with varying degrees of discipline. The female-only Knights Hospitallers were stricter in enforcing regulations, but there were too few of them to keep an eye everywhere.

Kaede could ignore the arrogant, downcast gazes of aristocrats with ease. But these uncouth heckles shook her self-esteem in ways that made her feel dirty from the inside.

"Too busy noble-fishing for the likes of us?" came one last shout as she walked away.

No wonder why most women walk about in flocks, she reflected, desperately wishing for a cloak to cover herself up.

Her scurrying feet soon took her to a major assembly area, where several Hospitallers kept watch and harbored zero tolerance for harassment. In fact, they were keeping order over some sort of recruitment event, as lines of soldiers shuffled forward to sign their names at registration tables.

It didn't make any sense for Kaede: Drafting? But for what? They're already soldiers.

"Hey!" shouted one of the young logistics lieutenants at a registration booth in Lotharin. "Mister! You forgot your pay!"

Standing up from his chair, the officer rushed after the middle-aged soldier who just left his table. He soon caught the trooper by the shoulder and added:

"You forgot your bonus pay for signing up..."

"Don't need it," the man gruffed in a strong accent.

"Then at least leave us your family's contact information. We'll send it to them, and they'll be taken care of should you..."

"Should I die in the Forlorn Hope?" he looked back with a tired, expectant smile. "That's what I'm counting on."

A hushing silence rippled outwards from those words, soon halting most of the recruitment center.

Cold shivers traversed up Kaede's spine as the auto-translation worked its magic. The 'Forlorn Hope' was a Dutch concept that originally meant 'lost troop'. They were essentially volunteer suicide units tasked with extremely low survivability missions, such as the first wave in assaulting a fortress.

In other words, the hundred or so men lined up in this clearing were waiting for their turn to sign their life away.

"But don't you want your family..."

The young lieutenant's voice faded as he looked into the older man's gaze.

Kaede could almost see the hollowed, lifeless sight that reflected off the officer's startled eyes.

"My family are all in Heaven..." the aging soldier uttered. "My wife, my mother, my children... they all died when those demon-worshipers bombarded my town and destroyed my home."

The brief silence that followed was stifling. Nobody could speak a word; nobody except those with similar sentiments as they joined in: "me too."

"All I want is to rejoin them," the soldier added as he shuffled his grasp lower on the voulge haft. "And if I kill a few damned heathens before I meet the Lord, then all the better."

"Then place your trust in the Holy Father," a serene voice answered.

"Lady Estelle..."

Kaede heard the reverberating echo in the crowd. She saw the heads of devout soldiers bowing in reverence. Every eye among hundreds soon fell upon the newcomer -- a lady flanked by Hospitallers, azure phoenix perched upon her shoulders.

Kaede had alway thought that Ariadne looked 'angelic'; but compared to her, Edith-Estellise was nothing less than a goddess.

The Saint and Oriflamme stepped across the open ground as though gliding gracefully through tranquil air. Her soft, wavy blond hair grazed just past narrow shoulders as they billowed in the gentle breeze. Her appearance lay in the mid-twenties, with a benign, Mona Lisa smile permeates the air in serenity. But the most prominent of them all was her tender gaze, promising truth and eternity through alluring irises of lapiz and wisteria.

At a height of one-seventy-one (5'7"), Lady Estelle's lithe figure stood proud but not imposing. Her battledress contrasted the silken white over her endowed chest to black-bordered midnight-blue fabrics. It extended past her narrow waist belt and down a wide skirt to just above plated knees. The rest of her body remain unarmored, though bands of soft leather embraced her waist, chest, arms, and shoulders, ready to strap on protective steel.

It wasn't until later when Kaede discovered that the battledress was a gift from Emperor Geoffroi, hence its design similarities to the Princess' own wardrobe. After all, nuns who took knightly vows weren't supposed to be any richer, and Edith still wore a half-veil draped behind the ears, bearing the white cross on black background of the Hospitallers.

"Weep for those whose presence we miss. Embrace our duty with fortitude and faith..."

Stopping before the middle-aged soldier, Edith-Estellise spoke in a voice that rang clear as the gospel:

"--But do not bring with you the essence of ruin. You family waits for you in eternal salvation. Should you not meet them as the son, the husband, and the father you once were -- a loving heart clear of hatred?"

"Milady," the middle-aged man bowed in respect, only to be supported back up by the saint's own hand.

"Remember," Lady Estelle took his wrinkled hand and clasped it between her gentle fingers. "Our own merciful Savior prayed for his enemies as he completed the True Cross. He forgave those who betrayed and condemned him for teaching humankind the grace of magic. It is his example we aspire to -- our lives laid down to defend all that is Holy. But we shall do so without tainting our souls through wrath and hatred."

"Then..." a single tear dropped from the corner of his gaze. "Will I be able to see my family again with a clear conscience?"

"When your time has come, yes," the Saint's smile beamed like the gates of Heaven itself. "But do not embrace death too hastily. Perhaps the Holy Father sees even greater joys in your future; and when your life is fulfilled, your soul shall rest with loved ones for eternity."

"Yes," the man squeezed his eyes shut. "Thank you, Milady."

Lady Estelle gave his hand one last squeeze, before standing straight and surveying the silent crowd. Surrounded by a congregation that had swelled to thousands, the Saint and Oriflamme addressed them all:

"Soldiers of Rhin-Lotharingie! I am proud to stand here, among men and women as courageous as you! There is nothing ahead for us to fear -- not when we perform the work of our Lord, virtues that Holy Father has taught us all!"

With a hand grasping the hilt by her waist, Lady Estelle drew the Sword of Charity. She raised it to the heavens, its sanctified blade beaming under the late afternoon sun.

"--When the time comes, it shall be my honor to stand beside you, first in line at the river fords. We shall defend this land, this nation, and this people that we love above all! Take heart that even should any of us fall, we shall depart for eternity with a life fulfilled! But until then, fight! Not only for victory, but for a better future, a better world!"

"Father Bless, Lady Estelle!" the men shouted back as they clamored maces against shield, polearms upon ground.

"We'll fight with Your Ladyship until the end!"

Then, someone shouted a phrase in Arcadian from among the crowd.

For a moment, Kaede thought her translation magic malfunctioned. But as the words gained momentum, repeated in chant by countless voices, she came to realize that this must be one of the famed phrases that Pascal knew well.

"Deus Vult! Deus Vult!"

...or, as the history student from Earth whispered its meaning: "God wills it."

Until now, Kaede had failed to appreciate just what Pascal meant by "the army idolizes her." But in that moment, as she stood watching thousands raise their fists in a sweeping tide of fervor, Kaede came upon a shaking realization:

"This woman could launch a crusade by herself."

...

As the commotion began to die down at last and the registration center resumed its function -- though in exponentially greater numbers -- Mother Abbess Anne leaned in from beside Lady Estelle:

"Holy Hyperion himself would have approved. But now we're really late for the meeting."

"Well," the saint smiled. "'His Grace' will just have to forgive me then; it was for a good cause."

Neither of them considered that the young Landgrave would also have to cover the extra expenses. After all, the army barely had enough gold in reserve to pay this week's wages.

Wars could not be fought on morale alone, as much as popular imagination wished.

----- * * * -----

"Did you see that?" Kaede spoke, still awed as she met up with Marina near the edge of the dining tents, obscured by a cluster of pine trees.

"Every person within the kilopace did."

Wiping her washed hands on a white apron, Marina almost chuckled as she eyed her lady's dazed expression. Thankfully, Kaede took only a few moments to recognize the innocuous signal; she then activated a rune on her right forearm to grant the two of them some audio privacy.

"Don't get all starry-eyed yet," the maid half-joked. "You should hear what I found out first. Remember how I've been serving the officers' tables?"

"Hence why the Lotharin army camp has such a security risk with all its servants," Kaede muttered her disbelief. "Sorry."

"Oh no, you're right, seeing as I already got one Cataliyan agent caught..."

Kaede was aghast: "Don't do anything dangerous!"

"Don't worry about it," Marina smiled back. "All I did was move aside some things and leave their notes in the open. A cook found and reported it."

Nevertheless, the Samaran still wore a scowl on her lips as she continued:

"Just remember that if you get into trouble here, don't hesitate to raise my name so I can bail you out of it."

The Lady's Maid did have an informal Weichsel uniform of her own, courtesy of Pascal so Kaede could bring her along. But it was always better to directly get somebody of influence involved.

"Yes, Milady," Marina curtsied in reply, her earnest words admixed with teasing.

"But as I was saying," her expression turned perfectly serious again. "Some of the officers have been making some pointed statements towards the Princess: that she's cold, or callous, or simply unfit for her duty. Her harsh words towards Lady Estelle seems to grow worse with every rumor, and none of the men are taking it kindly."

"I can imagine," Kaede stated simply, trying hard to avoid think about whether or not she agreed.

"But here's the intriguing part," Marina continued. "Whenever group of officers -- especially those ranking Captain or above -- spoke of this long enough, there was a good chance that someone would pull them aside for a more... private conversation elsewhere."

The Samaran girl stared back, her rose-quartz gaze fishing for answers.

"I can't tell you what those private conversations are," the maid shrugged. "But I've seen it enough times to doubt it's just a coincidence."

"You think... they're plotting against the Princess?"

"With that many unit commanders? I think we're looking at a coup in the making."

This statement reduced the familiar girl to silent gawking. Kaede wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't even sure what to think. Everything was just unfolding too quickly.

"Not a very concealed coup, of course," Marina added. "The person organizing this is definitely out of her element. But that doesn't make this any less dangerous when she has such monumental support from the soldiers. Sure, there is the chance that some ambitious lord is trying to hijack her name -- though that would be foolish given the strength of her conviction; he'd have to be speaking through her dreams with a halo to convince her to play his game."

"What are you saying?" Kaede uttered, perplexed by the pronoun game. "That Saint Estelle is planning to backstab the Princess?"

"Makes you wonder how 'saintly' she really is, doesn't it?"

In some ways, Kaede could even agree with the schemers. A military coup d'état was betrayal of the highest order, but it could also save a nation from the whims of a mentally unstable ruler. In the eyes of history, the only difference between 'traitor' and 'revolutionary' was whether or not they succeeded.

But where does that leave her?

Kaede's life was bonded to Pascal's, whose own loyalties had been decided for him by his father. If a coup against the Princess did happen, there was no doubt he would be knifed down as a priority target. What did average military officers care for diplomatic repercussions? Kill first and apologize later.

Does either of us have any choice, in the end?

Perhaps... Kaede thought, if the Princess no longer existed.

Only then would she be free to live a quiet life with Pascal, until an opportunity to return home came, if ever.

Coldness crept up from Kaede's fingers as she faced her own inclinations.

Was it selfishness? Was her prior 'forgiveness' just a cover for the ugly longing of retribution? Would she do nothing and only try to keep Pascal out of the danger, even if it meant ruin for Sylviane?

For better or for worse, the two girls have bonded with one another as individuals. The Princess was no longer just some distant political figure who happened to be engaged to Kaede's master.

But what would my life be like if I had to worry about the Princess' mood at every moment? Uneasy over my every step near Pascal, fearful over every change of face from Sylviane?

Kaede wasn't sure she could live like that.

"Milady?" Marina's concern broke the silence.

Drawing a deep breathe, the Samaran girl braced against her shivers:

"I'll take care of this Marina. I don't know how yet, but... I'll take care of it."

----- * * * -----

Cecylia found Sylviane in a dreadful state.

The Princess sat in her bed, still dressed in her silken sleeping gown. Her hair was a mess, and her empty gaze almost despondent. They rose sharply as Cecylia entered the cabin, only to fall back to the comforter without any reaction.

A silent exchange between the dhampir and the royal maid who sat in the corner spoke it all:

This is terrible.

"You're not even going to tell me to leave?" Cecylia tried to inject some humor as she sat down at the edge of the bed.

"...What's the point?" Sylviane's dry voice cracked. "You never listen."

The dhampir tilted her expression. There's some truth to that. Still...

Cecylia felt the Princess' cold hand as she took it into her fingers.

"I've heard the story already," she began slowly. "So you had a shouting match, and you did some awful things. Brew storm in a teacup, Sylv. Which couple doesn't get into a fight every once so often?"

Tightening her fingers, Sylviane just barely whispered:

"You don't understand..."

"I don't understand," Cecylia pursed her lips and nodded. "Of course, I don't understand. Didn't I tell you about that time when me and my sister ended up in a shouting match, and before we had time to cool our heads and make up... she was dead?"

"Could you imagine how terrible of a person I felt like afterwards? If anything, I had it much worse than you, because you still have a chance."

But as the seconds lingered on, the Princess said nothing.

"You realize you're only making Pascal's life harder by doing this, right?" Cecylia continued. "He's out there, trying to make up for your absence by working himself to exhaustion. While you're here... what are you doing here?"

"...He shouldn't bother," the response came dark and simple.

"But that's the point -- he is bothering!" Cecylia insisted. "He's not trying to wash his hands of you, or sit there glooming over your future marriage, or even doubting his shared goals with you. No, he is out there, trying to save your crown, your life for you."

"Please don't tell me you're just going to throw it all away?"

The Princess' shoulders quivered as she heard Cecylia's pleading.

"W-wouldn't it be better for him, for everyone... if I did?"

"Shouldn't that be his decision?" Cecylia pointed out. "Yes, the average human is an idiot who can hardly think ten years ahead to make intelligent, long-term decisions. It's why we need decisive leadership, chosen by merit. But Pascal excels at strategizing ahead -- he knows exactly how to weigh every pro against con, and his choice has always been to stay true to you."

...Even if he's terrible at overcoming his pride at times, she thought back to their conversation just minutes ago.

"T-then... then why..."

"Then why hasn't he come?" Cecylia finished the statement, eliciting the barest of nods from Sylviane.

"Probably because he's been working himself to death," the dhampir sighed in a moment of sincere deception. "He's just outside, actually. You know how he is, socially awkward and all. I would bet he had stopped by many times and simply didn't know what to say."

"He doesn't say because he hates me now," Sylviane raised her wisteria gaze at last, pupils red and dry from over a day of crying. "Why wouldn't he? I ruined everything!"

Cecylia's heart melted as she exchanged looks with her bosom friend -- a royal princess reduced to little more than a lost child. She embraced Sylviane with both arms enveloped, pulling the depressed girl into a bear hug.

"Of course he does not hate you, you silly," she added lovingly. "Pascal might blame you for a thing or two. But after everything you've been through together -- there is no way he could hate you."

...

It took nearly an hour before Cecylia exited the cabin.

Her lips held no cheer, but it had at least some satisfaction.

"How is she?" Pascal bolted up from the rock he sat on, apprehensive.

"Better, if only by a little," Cecylia sighed. "I've done all I can at this stage. The rest I leave up to you."

With a deep breath, Pascal strode forth, into the cabin door as though braving the great unknown.

Meanwhile, the dhampir girl turned to the remaining figure who had been guarding outside Sylv's cabin: Sir Robert.

"Not that I'm doubting him... but I feel like we need something more substantial than words alone..."

"I sent a message to Lady Vivien last night, requesting her return from Roazhon," the handsome armiger nodded. "She had another meeting with Queen Katell's commanders at noon, but she should be here soon."

"Vivien?" Cecylia raised her eyebrows.

She has heard of the name many times before. Vivien was a musician who caught the young Princess' eye through not only her voice, but her adorable cuteness. Cecylia once joked that the girl was Sylv's 'coddle toy'. But such impressions also represented the layer of deception that Rhin-Lotharingie woven around this unknown figure.

Vivien was the youngest of the Oriflamme Paladins, but even the Weichsel Black Eagles were completely in the dark on what the girl was capable of.

"I can't explain how she does what she does," Sir Robert gave a clueless look. "But if there's anyone who can give Her Highness an euphoria spike, it's her."

Cecylia stared back in thought.

"You're talking about enchantment magic?"

"Well yes," Sir Robert nodded back "We need some way of reactivating her joy emitters, and a controlled enchantment spell is much preferable to substances like Opium." Then, smiling almost as though he was teasing her: "Of course, this would be much easier if His Grace was already married to Her Highness."

There was no reply. The dhampir simply gawked back at the armiger in disbelief for implying that 'make-up sex' was an optimal treatment for depression.

...

"Sylv... I am sorry," Pascal took a deep breath as he carefully sat down on the comforter. "I apologize for..."

"You can be frank with me, Pascal," Sylviane interjected before sniffing her stuffy nose. "I'll understand... if you're still angry with me... if..."

"What? No--!"

The apology he had spent an hour rehearsing came apart in seconds.

"I am not angry with you," he blurted out immediately. "Well... maybe some, but--!"

A sigh followed before he looked intently at her, or at least, the plum-colored mop that covered her dejection.

With gentle fingers, he reached over to lift her chin back up, until his gaze could meet her wisteria light once more.

The redness, the shadows, they were even worse than last time. Eying the dull sight looking back at him, Pascal couldn't help but feel his heart crumble.

"I want you to understand Sylv. I definitely do not want any changes to our relationship; at least, not unless it involves a trip to the altar."

He could see the moisture returning to her glistening eyes, threatening to overflow once more if only she had enough tears left remaining.

"W-why?" Sylviane just barely whispered, as though any louder and the illusion would shatter.

"Why would you? When I've shown you nothing but malice and ingratitude..."

"Now you are being unfair to yourself, Sylv," Pascal twisted his lips.

What could he say to that? When Sylviane didn't even want his forgiveness because she believed herself unworthy of it.

Just... talk to her, earnestly, Cecylia's words urged him to continue.

Pascal swallowed.

"Did I feel wronged by what had happened? Yes, I did," he admitted, thinking back to emotions that had ceaselessly plagued him until but an hour ago, perhaps even mere minutes ago.

"I thought it was grossly unfair, unjust, that I should be treated like a criminal, when all I had done, all my intentions were only of helping you. But... you know what, Sylv? If you had unilaterally forced a decision on me by knocking me out, I would be angry too, especially if I had a royal image to maintain before an entire empire."

Pascal then paused to take a deep inhale, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he grappled to wrestle out the truth:

"I am not one of those hypocritical men who believe only the husband has a right to fury, Sylv... You had every reason to be angry at me when you first woke up. I do not regret doing what I had to do to stop you from going ballistic on the hill that day. But by the same token, I also have no right to complain if you threw a few barbed words at me afterwards."

"Of course, that is not to say that you are faultless either, Sylv," he took her hands into his own while returning a wry smile. "What it does mean though -- is that we are both at fault. Better yet: all three of us are at fault, since Kaede is in this also. But at the same time, all three of us are also victims in this scenario."

"I'm sorry," Sylviane uttered, her remorse beyond sincere and reaching towards bleakness. "I'm sorry for what I did... to the both of you."

"Perhaps you can stop blaming only yourself, because it is not helping much more than when you blamed only me," Pascal exhaled audibly, "only... only then can we talk about this like rational equals, like future husband and wife, and decide what we can do about this in the future."

"Because let us face it," Pascal's lopsided smile expanded to a grin. "I am not one to talk, but you have a terrible temper -- at least in the wrong moment."

Of course, Sylviane didn't smiled back. It wasn't that easy. But at least a semblance of her normal alertness had returned to that watery gaze as she gave a tiny nod, finally acknowledging that they still had a road forward.

One step at a time, Pascal thought to himself as he pulled his fiancée in, almost crushing her fragile shoulders between his arms in the process.

----- * * * -----