Stories of the Imperial Roman Republic

[maddox]

Sára, the situation around the Caicos seems to be painfull.  But I have lore from there. 
The young officer that has Crown Princess Amelia's interest , Eugene, was last seen when he was leading his men trying to break the defences.
It was described as an abatoir.
But also, the Aztecs, ferrocious and warlike, are also honorable, and they collected all the wounded and cared for them as good the surroundings allowed. 
Even the dead got, as far as the Aztecs are concerned, a good burial. With all regards and honors.

And here I feel conficted, one of my factors recently sold a large amount of white cloth to the Aztecs.

Yes Manko, I see your point. Can you at least try to find out the fate of our dashing hero Lieutenant Charpentier? But what has the white cloth to do with it? Why would you feel conflicted on selling  bleached cloth to the Aztecs?

That could have been an indication they expected a lot of burials.  With the Aztecs, since they went all muzel, interment is done wrapped in a white shroud.

Oh, or, it is a coincidence, or being very cocky...

A decent time later, Inca Embassy, Aztec lands.  Fortress city of Tenochtitlan.
A Chasqui arrives with a message scroll.   Telegram style
From Manko to Puriq.  Find out the faith of the Roman noble Lieutenant Eugene Charpentier, last seen on the beach at the Caicos.

[snip]

August 2nd, 1914.  Imperial Retreat at Lago di Vico outside Rome

The warmth of the day's light was slowly fading to a more palatable cool as the sun fell lower in the sky. Around the small estate there was little artificial noise, the silence allowing for the sounds of small wildlife to be clearly heard.  There was a serene peace, one that was not mirrored inside Amelia's mind. The news of the disaster off Grand Turk had shaken the public, but they had not been told the full story. Reading the newspapers, it would be possible to believe that the IRS Sublimis was merely heavily damaged but out of the fight, that Admiral Kilian De Campo had been killed not by his ship exploding from under him but by Aztec shells. Amelia knew the hidden truth. Sublimis was no more and the marines she and her escorts had guarded were ether back in Tamara Insula or still on Grand Turk, fate unknown. It had taken time to find out, but the moment Amelia had been told that Eugène's regiment was the first onshore and therefor abandoned, her very soul had cracked. In all likelihood he was dead, another blue-grey uniformed body on a tropical beach. Something would not let her move past this, a small but persistent part clinging to the thin thread of hope that he might still be alive.

Amelia was sitting alone alongside the lake, gazing with distant mind over the rippling waters, when she heard the approaching footfalls on the soft ground. Taking a moment to gather herself and dispose of a stray tear, she turned in the direction of the footfalls.

"Corporal Sarto, I still wish to be left alone." Amelia threw the comment with a more acidic tone than the poor guard deserved.

"He does understand your wishes, my little waterlily, but I do outrank him by a significant amount." Emperor Trajan VIII replied.

Amelia was surprised by her father's appearance. "Father, I though you were retiring for the evening?"

"I was going to, but I realized sleep would not take me just yet." Trajan gestured to the other side of the stone bench. "May I join you?"

"Of course." Amelia scooted on the bench to make additional room for her father. "Is something on your mind that I can help ease?"

Trajan's eyes focused across the lake, not meeting Amelia's. "I'm afraid so, though I do not expect it to be eased." He coughed before continuing. "Amelia, I have always strived to give you space to make your own choices."

Amelia interrupted, knowing the use of her name at the beginning of the comment implied seriousness. "Have I done something to anger you father?"

"No." Trajan's reply was succinct and final. "You have done nothing to offend me, but I perhaps failed to prepare you for what has happened."

"If you are talking about the war," Amelia responded, "you know better than I how far from over it is."

"This is true." The tone of Trajan's voice had shifted as he continued. "The personal cost has been high so far for you. I know you care for the people of this country, as do I, but the sadness I have seen from you as of late has been the lowest I have seen you since Alonzo's passing."
Amelia scrambled for a reply and settled on denial. "I do not know what you mean father..."

Trajan firmly cut Amelia off. "I know about Eugène Charpentier."

Amelia reacted as if she had been stuck in the chest by a 340mm shell. It felt for a brief moment as if she were suffocating. She had been so careful to keep knowledge of her and Eugène's relationship confined. Clearly she had failed. The only reply she could manage gurgled out like a frog croaking. "How..."

Trajan finally turned to face her. "Your discretion is to be commended, but his mother could stand to take a few lessons on the subject."

Amelia felt the flask of raw despair inside of her slipping its cork. "Father, I meant no harm. Nothing improper happened, well nothing incredibly improper and he did not start..." The tail of the comment was consumed by the effort to suppress a sob that set fresh tears rushing to her eyes.

"He is a good man." Trajan's gentle reply accompanied by softly grabbing Amelia's hands. "Clearly you care deeply for him."

Amelia only managed a spurt of nods in reply, words refusing to come out.

"It was not hard to deduce the cause of your sadness." Trajan said, "Clearly you know he was one of the first on Grand Turk." He did not allow for a reply before continuing. "Know he is in my prayers, though I suspect it gives you little comfort. I wish his safe return more than all but three people in this world, his parents and you. If will enough were able to save him, his health would never be in doubt. Come, will you walk with me back to the estate?"

Amelia's reply was broken between short gasps for breath. "I don't wish to be seen like this. I need to be strong for the country. Strong for all the families missing loved ones. I can't be this way."

"Amelia, being this way means you truly care." Trajan replied, pulling her into an embrace, "Care that I know you feel for all the men on Grand Turk and in Novus Francia. Let us stay here a while and return when we have both had time to feel."

The pair sat on the bench for another hour, sharing in the collective grief for the soldiers fighting in the New World and their families.

[snip]

November 17th, 1914. The Senate Chamber, Rome.

Septimius Rocchi was not the most outspoken of men. The shorter Sicilian refused to live up to the stereotype of his fellow island politicians. However, his reserved presentation masked an instinct for bureaucracy and tenacity that was all but unmatched among his peers. While others would bluster on and on about accomplishments, Septimius was the one making the machines of Roman government tick and twist. A member of the more centrist Publica Magnam coalition, Septimius rarely asked to be walked out into the spotlight of speaking on the Senate floor over the coalition's more eager orators. Today was one of the first times in years that this had changed. As Septimius approached the lecturn facing the Senate leadership, including the Prime Minister, the murmur of voices from the sides of the hall began to soften.

"Gentlemen of the Senate," Septimius began after a small clearing cough. "Members of the Imperial Assembly, I thank you all for the time to hear my words on this pressing matter. I come to you today with a heavy burden on my conscience, which by the grace of God I will lift today. Those assembled before me in the leadership of this body, which stands to represent the ideals of the people of this great nation to govern themselves, has in fact failed the very people it so claims to embody the will of."

A flurry of whispers darted around the room, broken by some scattered applause. The Senate Magistrate banged his gavel. "Order. We will have order in the chamber." The silence returned.

"It is fact that the leadership of this body, elected to the seats they hold by the people and there peers, have lead this country into a conflict with the potential to ignite a far greater war than could ever hope to be controlled." Septimius projected the statement to every inch of the chamber. "They have put us, though stroke of luck and the skill of our valiant armed force, not though their own means, at a crossroads. We now stand to escalate maters by continuing to embark upon this conflict as if all nations involved agreed to play by the same set of rules. Since the beginning of this venture, leadership of this chamber has proven to be no match for their counterparts across the Atlantic."

The verbal firebomb thrown at those in front of Septimius set the chamber alight behind him with affirmation and condemnation. Cries of support and opposition rained down upon the lectern and leadership, Septimius pausing to allow the Magistrate to attempt to restore order as the Prime Minister glared from his seat. With what must have been the final bang before the gavel shattered into splinters, the chamber finally began to settle down.

Septimius continued from the interruption. "As such, for the good of the nation, I feel I must speak on behalf of those who's voices in this chamber have been silenced. Those who would send our fighting men into harms way as a function of so-called diplomacy, treating it as an inevitability rather than a last resort, have forgotten that those same fighting men are the very folk them claim to represent. Does anyone else know how many of their constituents have died in this endeavor thus far? I do, five hundred and fifty of the people who's voice I bring to this body I can no longer save with my words here today. I cannot spare their families the pain of loss. Perhaps however, I can spare the five hundred and fifty first's family the same pain."

Septimius paused for an unintentional dramatic moment while he took a breath. "It is for these reasons today that I stand before you, to call for a vote of No Confidence in the leadership of the Senate."

Septimius met the wrathful eyes of the Prime Minister with the determined gaze of his own as the Senate erupted again and all the willpower of the magistrate in his entirety could not bring order.



December 1st, 1914.

That Septimius's speech was only the highlight of the Roman newspapers for less than a week and a half had been both a blessing and a curse. Days before the vote on the No Confidence measure, a sensationalist piece had been published in a Londinum newspaper. The author, concealed behind an editorial pseudonym, claimed that a second attempt to land troops in the Caicos was underway. This came as little shock, but the claimed casualty numbers were scandalous. According to the author, entire companies of Roman Marines were being annihilated whole cloth for nothing more than additional grains of sand on the tiny islands. Those with an understanding of events in the military knew this was far closer to the truth than fiction, even with allocation for embellishment.

The public backlash had been muted, but notably visible. In the short time between the publication of the piece on November 27th and the scheduled vote on December 1st, what had been understood to be a formal objection by Septimius before a quite resignation and retirement had erupted into a full grown crisis. Given the Senate was not typically briefed on official figures, some of the more radical members, mostly Aquitanian, had spent as much energy as they could muster to force the No Confidence vote to be a formal affair. Seeing a grab for power from the more conservative Morsus de Libertatibus was now possible, Publica Magnam had discreetly backed the push. The coming floor debate and vote was now anything but a formality, it was its own battlefield for the leadership of the elected Roman government.

Septimius watched the points and counterpoints fly, tempers rising thought the room. He remained silent, his mind already made up and knowing he had already done what he could to influence others. As the morning turned to afternoon, the debate raged like a fire in a dry forest. Finally, as the sun sank low on the horizon, the Magistrate called the vote. Septimius voted for the measure of No Confidence, paying little attention to the tally as other cast their decisions. It was this that lead to his mild shock masked behind a neutral expression when the magistrate announced the results.

"The measure of No Confidence in the Prime Minister and his Governing Ministers has passed. Beginning tomorrow we will begin deliberations to select a new Prime Minister. The Senate is adjourned until ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

Septimius remained in his seat as the chamber slowly emptied and quieted. This was not the result that had been anticipated, nor seriously prepared for. Several other Senators stopped to offer brief words, both supportive and degrading. The now-former Prime Minister exited the chamber opposite Septimius, furry tense in his shoulders. Long after the chamber fell quiet, Septimius remained. He was supposed to have resigned by now, the final agenda item for the day. Instead the protest had resulted in his continued service to the people of the Imperial Roman Republic. The enormity of what had transpired weighed on the experienced politician. Lost deep in his thoughts, he did not register the footsteps behind him until their source was right next to him.

"Senitor Rocchi I presume?" The voice of Emperor Trajan VIII echoed softly throughout the otherwise silent chamber.

Septimius was quickly drawn back to reality as he stood and bowed deeply. "Your majesty, my apologies for not greeting your properly."

"A transgression I can hardly fault you for Senator." Trajan gestured at an empty chair. "May I join you for a moment?"

"It would be my pleasure your highness." Septimius answered. He waited for Trajan to sit before taking his seat again.

"So it seems the Prime Minister's political luck has run out on this day." Trajan observed "I seem to recall that you were the cause of this change in the landscape."

"It is true, I did call for the measure to be put to vote." Septimius replied.

"Perhaps fortunate that you did." Trajan dryly observed. "It did give the Aquitanian delegation a nice release direction in light of that newspaper story."

Septimius opted not to suppress a faint smile. "Yes, angry Aquitanians can cause trouble."

"So I'm afraid I am slightly out of touch with the Senate these days." Trajan began "After all, most of our attention has been occupied elsewhere. Could you perhaps enlighten me on who may succeed Bonnay?"

"I'm afraid I have been similarly distanced from those discussions, your highness." Septimius replied. "As I believed this to be a matter of formal principled protest and had quite frankly planned to resign on its failure to pass."

"So you would not consider yourself among the candidates to replace him?" Trajan's question cut directly to the point.

Despite being taken aback by the direct question, Septimius maintained his composure. "I would not."

"It is a shame." Trajan continued. "As I suspect getting a majority to rally behind another candidate will prove difficult and time consuming. Especially if Imperial Endorsement is not immediately forthcoming."

Septimius quietly mulled over the mention of Imperial Endorsement. "Is there a candidate that your highness would have in mind?"

"I suppose you are going to make me say it." Trajan's tone shifted slightly joking. "That would take all the game out of it, and someone once said I could never play politics well."

"It would simplify matters, your majesty." Septimius replied. "Decoding subtly has never been my best trait."

"And you are as good a politician as they say." Trajan replied. "Which I why the candidate I have in mind is you."

"If I may," Septimius replied. "a question."
Trajan nodded. "Please."

"Why choose me?" Septimius could see no gain from beating around the bush. "I am far from the most influential or popular choice."

"That is exactly why." Trajan answered quickly. "Because in times such as these we do not need leadership that is in it for their own gain. We need leadership that puts the people first. I perhaps know more of you then I let on, and I know the words you said in your indictment of Bonnay's leadership are how you truly feel. I am not alone in these thoughts and if you could find it within yourself to serve this country in the greatest civilian capacity you could, you would have my support. As public or private as you wished. Think on what I have said, and should you choose to throw you hat in the ring, as I believe the term goes, I would be honored to have your leadership of this elected body." Trajan then slowly rose to his feet. "I can tell I have given you much to think on, so I will allow you time for your thoughts to wander again. Good Evening Senator Rocchi." With that Trajan turned and began walking back to the door he had entered from.

Septimius returned to his chair after bowing to the Emperor as he left. His mind alight with possibility and problems.

[snip]

December 11th, 1914. The Imperial Palace, Rome.

Amelia stood facing out of one of the receiving room's large windows, examining the sky with a detached contemplation. The clouds threatened rain, as they had for the last few days, but had yet to carry out the deed.  Further north they did not hold back their deluge, and Amelia's train from Brest had been obscured by rain for most of the day's journey. Being summoned back to the capital for the occasional event or official business was something that provided random disruption to her academy education. This was yet another such event. The only other occupant of the room at the moment was her father. The Emperor sat on one side of a low table, on which some beverages resided on a tray. The chair on the other side of the table sat empty, awaiting the arrival of the reason for Amelia's return.

As had become routine for these sorts of events, Amelia had been provided with a packet of information to catch up with on the train. Typically, one of the Marines would provide it to her after boarding and depending on the time of day it would ether be opened right away or left for a more sensible time after the next meal. It was through this packet that Amelia had learned in far too great a detail what exactly the No Confidence measure had ment. Now the men who had been forced by circumstance to include her were no longer in the positions of power they, for the most part, had looked down on her from. Given the extenuating circumstance of the war, the government had taken the drastic measure of appointing an interim Prime Minister. Amelia understood that the interim was merely a formality and that the man elected by his peers would be fully confirmed for a formal term when the process had been played out.

It was tradition that a new Prime Minister had to gain the permission of the Emperor, or Empress, prior to assuming the mantle. While in the past the occupant of the Imperial throne had the final say, in the modern era the permission was more a formality. No Emperor had attempted to override the selected man for the job since the founding of the Imperial Republic, which is not to say that undesirable candidates hadn't been conspired against to prevent their election in the first place. The sharp clang of the small bell mounted above the door closer to the empty chair drew Amelia's attention back to the room from the clouds. She moved quickly but silently to take the smaller chair next to her father. The door opened and a Marine guard stepped into the room, holding the door open for the not yet visible visitor.

"Senator Rocchi has arrived." The guard stated plainly. "Does your highness wish him to be admitted?"

Trajan replied softly with a wave of his hand. "Please allow Senator Rocchi to enter."

"By your grace." The formal tone of the guard unshifting. He gestured to someone standing outside the door. "The Emperor has asked you join him Senator Rocchi."

Amelia watched as the Sicilian, though considered short he still had a height advantage on her, enter the room. Septimius Rocchi's reputation had been another item helpfully outlined in the packet. Amelia knew little of him outside of that information, a testament to his quiet attitude. Amelia's opinion of career politicians would be considered low at the best of times, so Septimius' reputation did not endear him to her in the slightest. However, she knew the game that needed to be played and kept that feeling bottled up inside, focusing on a disinterested inquisitive expression. Her father rose from his seat as Septimius approached the table. Trajan waited to begin speaking until the marine had left and closed the door behind him.

"Senator Rocchi, a pleasure to see you again." Trajan greeted Septimius warmly. "I do hope you have been well since we last spoke?"

"I have your highness. I pray the same is true for you always." Septimius replied rising from a deep ceremonial bow. Without missing a beat, he turned in Amelia's direction and again bowed deeply. "Crown Princess, it is my privilege to make your acquaintance." He returned to his full height before continuing. "I hope this dreary day finds you well?"

Amelia curtsied, allowing a momentary pause before replying perhaps more aloofly then she intended. "I am quite well, thank you for asking."

"Please take a seat Senator." Trajan gestured to the plush armchair opposite his own on the other side of the table. "Would you like a beverage?"

"Thank you, your majesty, I am fine without one." Septimius replied while planting himself firmly, but comfortably, in the armchair.

Trajan chuckled "And right into the point as always Senator, though I gather you are here to force me to undo the habit of calling you Senator?"

"If your majesty were to allow it, then yes." Septimius allowed enough of a smile to contort his face to appease the Emperor.

"I take it the Imperial Assembly did allow for the interim posting then?" Trajan inquired. "I'm afraid my constitution kept me from being able to observe the proceedings."

Amelia lost the thread of the conversation between the two men momentarily. He didn't mention he was feeling unwell again. I do hope it was nothing more than an unsettling meal, goodness knows that is a family weakness from time to time. What if something more serious is wrong? the latter question had been known to rattle around her mind more frequently with each snippet of news or denial of any issues by her father. She was pulled back to the conversation by a question from her father.

"...then I do feel compelled to ask." The Emperor's voice was steady, but gentle. "What are you planning to do about the pressing matter of the day, the war with the Aztecs?"

Septimius took an almost imperceptible moment to gather his thoughts and draw a breath. "As your majesty well knows, the landings that are again underway are not progressing as well as we had hoped. Perhaps with less time for the defenders to prepare the results would have a glimmer of silver around the edges. But I fear unlike most dark clouds, this one does lack the traditional lining. By the projections you have no doubt seen, we would need to continue landing our brave troops on the various islands that make up the contested region for the better part of 1915, and that is if the action in the northwest of Novus Francia does not require an additional influx of troops."

"I see." Trajan replied while unconsciously touching his chin. "And of course, that allows far more time for another party to become involved in the conflict, making it far more difficult to continue justifying as we have continued to do."

Amelia spoke before ether man had a chance to reply. "Senator Rocchi, with the way the landings are progressing, do you know what our anticipated casualties of continued action would be?"

To his credit, Septimius did not noticeably faulter at the sudden interruption. "It is unfortunate that such projections are needed, Crown Princess. They have in fact been made, and the cost in the lives of our brave soldiers would be quite high."

"I wish to know the numbers," Amelia interjected curtly. "How many men would we expect to die?"

"The projections do vary." Septimius' reply was already laced with the obfuscation of someone experienced in promising nothing. "However, we would perhaps be looking at the almost complete destruction of three to five legions and significant casualties to the remainder of the existing Marine legions."

"You say that over forty thousand, perhaps up to sixty thousand, men" Amelia failed to keep the daggers out of her voice "would die attempting to take these islands? In addition to the thousands at Ironclad Bay and those left to fend for themselves in July?"

"Yes, those would be within the estimates we have." Septimius seemed genuinely saddened yet hardened with resolve. "Which is why, with the permission of the Emperor, on becoming the interim Prime Minister, I intend to authorize and instruct the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to open a dialog regarding a cease fire and a return to a diplomatic solution. It is my opinion, supported by many members of both the Senate and the Imperial Assembly, that the previous government fatality underestimated the Aztec Sultanate. It is therefor now in our best interests to make the best peace we can so that we can begin preparing for whatever may come next with the full might of our great nation."

"Both of you deserve to be rewarded for your candor." Trajan gently eased his way back into the conversation. "Mister Prime Minister, you have my permission to form a government and to address this crisis with the Aztecs in the way you and the government of the people of the Imperial Roman Republic best sees fit. Rest assured that I, and my household, will always back you publicly and we will happily discuss concerns in private to come to mutual understandings over any disagreements we may have. Now, the day does grow later, and I know we have more to discuss then the war. I do hope that both of you will continue to engage in all the topics we are to cover."

"It would be my pleasure, your majesty." Septimius replied. "The Crown Princess has quite earned her reputation for being of sharp mind and sound, if passionate, communication. I do also hope she will not hesitate to add thoughts or questions to the conversation."

As the comment registered, Amelia wondered what the politest way to remove one's jaw from the floor was in such a formal setting. "The Prime Minister's words are most kind, you have already shown more interest in me as a person then your predecessor did in me as a woman."

Septimius smiled. "In that I have no doubt, Crown Princess. Shall we continue?"

As her father and Septimius moved onto some domestic topics, Amelia worked to begin reforming the freshly shattered expectations of the leader of the civilian government. She wondered how quickly his desire to end the war would bear fruit, and how many lives it would indeed save.

[snip]

February 4th, 1915. Imperial Roman Senate, Prime Minister's office.

Septimius Rocchi was still getting used to the ever-so-slightly overstuffed chair behind the grand desk in the Prime Minister's office within the Senate building. He was constantly catching himself making minor adjustments to his sitting positions while in conversation. Now was another such time, as Albin Confortola took his seat across the desk.

"Minister Confortola, a pleasure as always." Septimius did not extend his hand for a traditional shake, Albin had a dislike of them.

'Prime Minister." Albin was curt but formal in his greeting. "The conference on Bermudez is underway. My understanding is that Bastian has yet to give away the entire farm, but we may be less some livestock when it is said and done."

"You sound doubtful regarding the choice to send him." Septimius stated rather than questioned.

"In that choice, I have no doubt." Albin replied. "The parameters, or lack thereof, he was given on the other hand..." the thought trailed off.

Septimius filled the void. "I know you are as familiar with the Aztec concept of the Warmaster as I am. I know that the discussions around giving Bastian the same levels of freedom were, spirited." The polite euphemism for the argument that had resulted in at least one rapidly relocated glass of liquid hung in the air for moment longer than necessary. "We need to trust him Albin. Having him need to run to us at every decision or question makes us look weak and puts his foothold on the negotiating table untenable."

"But what if he returns a deal we cannot hope to publicly justify?" A tinge of panic flirted with the edges of Albin's voice. "That would be the end of the government for sure, and that instability would be looked on negatively throughout Europe."

"Fortunately for us, our government does not exclusively hang on this outcome." Septimius replied. "Starting this conflict was far from the only mistake of our recently departed predecessors. I trust Bastian because the Emperor trusts Bastian. If the Emperor will back the deal produced, we have little to worry about."

"I must confess, this is a thought path I have too followed, but come to a differing conclusion on." Albin turned to ensure that the pair were still the only occupants of the room and the doors were closed. "You know as do I that his health is not as it once was."

Septimius grimaced. It was indeed true that Trajan was not as well as he had been. While it would be an improbable reach to get where he guessed Albin was going, it was not an impossible scenario.

Albin continued. "What if he were to pass? God willing, he will not." Albin crossed himself during the later half. "Would the Crown Princess continue to support us?"

Septimius recalled the conversation with Trajan months before when Amelia had been present. The fire behind her eyes as she threw casualty numbers about with the weight of each family they represented dragging her spirt down a dark hole still lodged in his memory.
"I believe she would Albin." Septimius replied solemnly. "She will be a force to be reckoned with from the throne when the time comes, and I for one do not wish to stand in her way."

Albin threw one final thought into the air. "And do you think others will have that same respect for her when the time comes?"

Septimius did not have an immediate reply, and Albin seemed to take the silence as all the answer to the question he needed.

"Let us hope we need not find out." Albin finished. He placed a folder with a few sheets of paper inside on the desk. "Bastian's latest report. I'll leave you to read it." With that, the Foreign Minister stood and left the room.

[snip]

June 18th, 1915. Estate of the Barre family, outside of Bordeaux.

"...and so, it is with this spirit that we award all the participants of the landings on Grand Turk with this commendation."

Amelia did her best to project a pleased smile from her perch behind the podium. In front of her sat around two hundred of the men who had endured under Aztec imprisonment from July of the previous year until a few short months ago. Overall, the men were looking much better than they had on arrival, long-term physical issues like slight malnutrition or learning to walk on one leg and crutches, were slowly progressing to normalcy. Seemingly of their own accord, many influential families had volunteered estates and staff to provide location for the returning wounded to convalesce at. Various fundraisers had been held to create a fund to ensure families could travel to where any wounded members were settled for their recovery. The whole endeavor had been incredibly well-received and functional.

This same sort of ceremony had been held at various places in both Europe and the New World. Despite the decision not to continue the landings, the undertaking of the war was still painted positively in the press. Admiral Fabron had begun a tour of the country to raise money for various veteran organizations. Overall, the public perception seemed to be that Rome had accomplished something and that blood had not been spilt in vein. Of course, there were some that felt different, but those voices were quieter. Amelia had presided over one other of these ceremonies and attended a few others with her father. This one however, had been the one she had been looking forward to, and dreading, the most.

The day the letter appeared on her desk was almost otherwise forgotten. The words were not. Months had passed without knowing, all logic pointing in one direction but a thin unbreakable thread of hope tugging in another. Months of not knowing ended with the written script on a small envelope. On opening and looking at the first words on the page, her eyes had filled with tears and her knees buckled, dumping her into a blubbering tangle of fabric and flesh on the floor. Once able to focus her sight, the words on the page wrapped around the flask of despair that had sat heavy in her heart since war broke out and squeezed it until it was no more.

Crown Princess,

I do sincerely apologies for my lack of communication. There has been nothing under my influence that could have changed this fact, but nevertheless it eats at my soul that you have perhaps suffered grief at the silence. Let me reassure you that I am alive. I cannot provide more detail at this time, but know that I have been a prisoner of war. I have been treated as well as could be expected under the circumstance. I am told we will be returned to Europe at some future time, and should you wish I will communicate to you when that occurs.

Sincerely,
Lieutenant Charpentier, Imperial Roman Marines

It had taken a while longer before she found the second note that had fallen on the floor.

Amelia,

If you read the other letter first, I do apologies for its stiffness, but I wanted to ensure something got to you as soon as possible.  I have much to tell you, but it sounds as if an opportunity to do so in person may be closer than I dare hope. Know that I am well, despite my injuries. I hope it is not unflattering of me to say that there were days where the thought of you was one of the few bright lights that held me back from total darkness. There was not a day that passed where I wished to let you know I was ok to ease your grief. Please forgive me in this regard.

Yours,
Eugène

Whether or not her father had known when he assigned her to this ceremony that it was the location where Eugène was recovering, Amelia did not care. Before the day was out, she would see him again. Even if she had to fight off an Aztec infantryman. Prior to the formal ceremony, the enlisted men present had been presented with the medals. Later, it would be time for the officers, but first the official schedule indicated lunch. Amelia had another plan.

Aurélie Orlando, ever the trusted co-conspirator, had handled the arrangements, and now met Amelia at the back of the small stage the podium stood on. "Lovely speech."

"I only practiced it for a week." Amelia sounded jokingly offended, the butterfly colony in her stomach threatening the burst. "Am I following you?"

Aurélie quickly looked around to ensure the pair of young women were not noticed. "Yes but keep your voice down." She then began walking in the opposite direction of the lunch spread laid out under a large tent the rest of the crowd was moving towards.

"Have you seen him?" Amelia pestered. "I still don't know of his injuries..." the though trailed off.

Aurélie paused, turned around, and grabbed Amelia by the shoulders. "Listen, you and I both know it doesn't mater how he is hurt. He is alive, that is all that matters."

Amelia nodded in return, the only appropriate response. After a minuet or two more, the pair arrived at a small garden with several benches surrounding a delicate looking fountain. Aurélie deposited Amelia on one of these benches and without pause vanished around the corner. Amelia found herself absentmindedly bunching her dress up in her hands repeatedly as seconds stretched to minuets which stretched to what felt like hours. What could have been no more than five minuets later, but felt like hundreds, a familiar voice came from around the corner.

"Just though there then. Thank you, Miss Orlando."

Amelia was on her feet without realizing it, forcing her hands to unclench from the fabric of her skirt, allowing the blue fabric to fall back down to her feet. Her heart pounded in her ears and breaths came quicker and quicker. The echo of two footfalls accompanied by the sharper clicks of some sort of assistive device neared the corner. Amelia felt the breath catch in her windpipe as Eugène turned the corner.

Amelia caught herself almost franticly scanning the marine from foot to head quickly and repeatedly. No limbs seemed to be missing. In his right hand was a cane, which he seemed to lean ever-so slightly on when putting weight on his right leg. A jagged, but healed scar line started outside of his right eye and ran down his cheek, stopping slightly under the jawbone. The scar added some character to the still handsome face, which broke into a smile as his eyes looked to hers.

"More beautiful than I remember." Eugène stated, coming to a stop a step and a half away. "I do hope you can forgive me for the silence, I would have written every day if I could."

Amelia closed the gap quickly, stopping far too close to Eugène for polite conversation between two unwed nobles. She reached up and gently ran her fingers along the scar. "Was this serious?" The only question she could muster both entirely inadequate and cracking as over a year's worth of feelings were slipping their metaphorical cork.

"Almost." Eugène's reply was soft as he reached to brush away the first of what looked to be many tears lining up to run down Amelia's cheeks.

"The leg?" Amelia succeeded at croaking the question out through quivering lips.

"Healing," Eugène answered "but quite possibly never to where it once was."

"Where else?" Amelia's vision blurred as she made one final attempt at failing to keep her emotions in check before breaking down.

"Nowhere else." Eugène's voice was wavering slightly as well. He wrapped his arms around Amelia. "At least no where else that your presence cannot fix."

The final comment snapped the last taught threads of restraint on Amelia's emotions. Thousands of feelings exploded in a mixture of chaos. All her control went to ensuring she continued to support her own weight rather than fall into Eugène or on the ground.  She felt herself being guided to the bench and taking a seat. Wrapping her arms around Eugène, she felt his wrap around her. One lower near her waist and the other around her shoulders, softly directing her head into his left shoulder. It was all too much, and Amelia was unable to stop from breaking down into gasping sobs. Eugène held her tightly and let her feel.

Minuets passed, then the tears began to subside. Amelia gently removed herself from Eugène's embrace and returned upright before reaching up to wipe the last tears away. "I feared you dead Eugène Charpentier."

Eugène's cheeks were also tear stained. "It will take more than that to kill me. You know that."

"When I found out you were in the first wave," Amelia seemed not to fully register the reply. "I feared the worst. To be honest I believed it for a long time, but I missed you every day."

"I missed you every day as well." Eugène answered the unasked question. "I do not lightly say that thoughts of you guided me though some dark moments."

"Glad to be of use." Amelia slightly joked and mimed a seated curtesy.

Eugène chuckled, then turned slightly more serious. "I do hope you can forgive me."

"Of course, I forgive you." Amelia replied. "You had a duty to preform, I knew nothing could have stopped you and you would not have forgiven me for trying. Besides," Amelia scooted closer to Eugène on the bench. "if I didn't forgive you would I do this?" Without hesitation she leaned in and kissed him.

Eugène was taken slightly by surprise but returned the kiss. "No, I suppose you would not."

"That said," Amelia let some playfulness slip into her tone that surprised her "If you do try and storm a beach again, you might have to fight me to get of the ship."

Eugène chuckled. "A fight I'm sure I would lose."

Amelia smiled. "In that you are correct." She felt Eugène grab her hand. "It's been far to long since I was able to touch you."

"And I you." Eugène replied. "I do hope I can see you more frequently."

Amelia blushed. "About that. I suppose its only fair you know something, its nether bad nor good, just a fact. My father knows about us." She met Eugène's eyes with a concerned expression.

Eugène's face turned contemplative. "Well, I suppose it was going to get out at some point. My mother, bless her, truly cannot keep a social secret."

Amelia smiled. "The Emperor said as much."

Eugène continued. "I suppose that would introduce a certain formality into things. Can you handle that stifling decorum?"

Amelia leaned in close, replying with a low whisper. "As long as I can steal a moment alone at times to kiss you without the judgment of others."

It was Eugène's turn to smile. "Is there paperwork that needs to be filled out? I don't recall my etiquette classes instructing on how to formally court the heir to the throne."

Amelia laughed louder than she intended to. "I don't know ether. I do know that you have a standing invitation to dinner, just you, me, and the Emperor."

"If he sees fit to throw me in a dungeon to protect your honor, would you visit me?" Eugène jested while acting quite concerned at the possibility. "It would get quite lonesome beneath the palace."

"I'm sure I would be in the next cell over." Amelia replied. "Or stashed away at the nearest nunnery."

"A fate worse than captivity indeed." Eugène replied.

Amelia leaned against Eugène's chest again. "I have until sometime after lunch before my absence is noted. I'm going to stay with you."

"It would be my honor." Eugène replied, pulling Amelia in tightly.

The two stayed wrapped in each other's arms, talking, for almost an hour before Aurélie returned to collect Amelia. Amelia stole one final kiss before leaving Eugène to return to the ceremony. Amelia could not keep herself from a far more genuine smile when presenting Eugène with the metal.

[snip]

August 18th, 1915. Prince Lafayette Proving Grounds, northwest of Cagliari, Sardegna.

Carmine Duval approached the other well-dressed man who stuck out like a pimple between the milling men in grease-stained coveralls carrying toolboxes rather than briefcases.

"Mister Charles?" Carmine called out from a short distance away.

"Yes," The man replied. "That must make you Mister Duval then."

"Indeed it does." Carmine extended his hand. "Please call me Carmine."

"The pleasure is mine." The man grasped the hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Please call me Ettore."

Carmine stole a quick glance at his pocket watch. "I do believe we should be on time if we walk quickly. I would hate to be late for the test."

Ettore nodded in agreement. "Yes of course."

The pair began following a well-marked path, striking up a cordial conversation as they walked. The pair continued until they arrived at a small building beyond which lay an open field. Closer to them was a small, modified flatbed railway car, on which was perched a smaller naval cannon. The cannon was mounted in the middle of the car, and a boxcar behind it seemed to hold ammunition and other accessories. A traditional small crew car rounded out the small engineless train. Further away sat a truly monstrous gun carriage. Suspended between two six-axel rail bogies, the massive 340mm gun pointed out over the breaking waves into the Tyrrhenian Sea. While the smaller gun and its train seemed to be able to move along the rails almost at will, this larger gun was far more heavily emplaced. It lacked the dedicated train cars of its smaller counterpart, instead having its supporting assets strewn about behind it in various temporary structures.

Carmine and Ettore were greeted at the door by a Roman Army Major.

"You must be Misters Charles and Duval." The Major warmly acknowledge the two men. "Welcome to Prince Lafayette, you must have a wonderful sense of timing, we are just about to begin the test. Please follow me to the observation room."

Carmine and Ettore followed the Major inside as activity around the large gun increased. As they arrived in the observation room, a loud siren began to blare.

"For safety." The Major unsuccessfully tried to shout over the rising cry of the alert. "We have sixty seconds till the first firing."

Carmine pulled out his pocket watch, and Ettore did the same. A silent nod confirming that both intended to measure the results.

'Fifteen seconds." The Major remarked. "I advise you open your mouth before the gun is fired."

Both men followed this advice, while watching the final preparations of the guncrew.

"Ready Gentlemen?" The Major asked.

Any reply ether man would have attempted would have been buried back into their larynx by the thunderous crash of the massive cannon. The carriage almost unnoticeable digging back into the dirt as the end of the barrel vomited forth fire. Nether man could hear properly for almost a minute, the gun crew must have been totally incapable of processing sound. Each man kept one eye on their pocket watch as the gun crew sprang back into action. Seconds turned to minutes, but progress was made on getting the gun ready to fire again.

"Its going to be close." Ettore remarked, checking his watch again.

"Agreed." Carmine replied. "I do hope we are close, I have quite the bonus riding on this."

Ettore chuckled. "It seems our superiors made the same choices regarding motivation."

As before, the siren began to scream and shortly thereafter the artillery piece sent another round to greatly inconvenience some local aquatic life.

Carmine could not quite restrain a little bit of joy from creeping into his voice. "Almost three hundred and sixty seconds on the dot."

"Just as we promised." Ettore smiled. "It's a pleasure having done business with Melara."

"As it has with Schneider." Carmine replied, again extending his hand.

Ettore grasped it with far more enthusiasm. For the next hour, at almost prefect six-minute intervals, the naval gun belched fire from its railway carriage. Somewhere in the world, someday, a fortress would feel the wrath of this weapon further inland than any ship could ever hope to shoot.

[snip]

September 9th, 1915. Foreign Ministry, Rome.

"So, we hurt them that badly then?"

Nerio Cino tossed the question at Albin Confortola, whose desk they sat on opposite sides of.

"I would not be so sure of that Director." Albin replied. "To me, this has Japanese intent all over it."

"I don't entirely disagree with you." Nerio replied. "I think it will be interesting to see who decides to attend or not."

"And which of those categories do you think we should fall into?" The Foreign Minister's question was of course the reason for Nerio's appearance, and that of the several admirals and other naval staff waiting outside of the room. Albin was taking the time to feel out opinions on the topic one by one before a communal discussion.

Nerio took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. "At the risk of sounding more like a diplomat than an engineer, I think we need to be in the room at least. As with design, what you know about you can plan for."

Albin did not noticeably react beyond nodding and making a note on a sheet of paper. "Anything else to add?"

"I don't think so." Nerio replied. "As you have almost all of my bosses outside, I'm sure you will hear a lot more before this afternoon."

Albin's gaze did not depart from his notes as he motioned to the door. "Please send Admiral Rossi in as you leave."

Nerio showed himself out of the room, nodding to Rossi as the uniformed officer held the door for him before entering the Foreign Minister's office.



Later that afternoon, the smaller conference room down the hall from Albin's office was perhaps filled with one person to many. Nerio found himself seated next to Admiral Rossi. Albin sat at the head of the table, declining to stand before committing to beginning his remarks.

"After discussion with the involved parties regarding the Aztec proposal for a conference, we are going to accept the invitation with a couple of caveats. First, we are going to send minimal personnel in case the situation on the ground is less than amicable. Second, should it look like anything binding is going to come out of the conference, it will be required that such an agreement be approved by both myself and the Minister of the Navy before proceeding with any formalization of such an agreement."

Albin looked up from his papers and scanned the room before continuing. Seeing no questions bubbling up in the crowd, he continued.

"The delegation will be led by Jean-Marc Lefebvre." Albin gestured to the man sitting to his right. "and I believe Admiral Joseph Rossi will be representing the Navy's interests?"

Rossi nodded next to Nerio. "Yes, that is what was agreed. I believe Mister Cino will be detached from the construction and refit department as well."

This was the first Nerio had heard of it, and he quickly attempted to reverse his failure at containing the surprise. "I believe you are correct, Admiral."

Albin hardly noticed, and continued with his remarks.

[snip]

November 25th, 1915. Imperial Retreat at Lago di Vico outside Rome.

Eugène Charpentier exited the cab of the motor car and stepped out into the cool air as the sun began to flirt with the horizon. He thanked the driver before returning his kepi to his head. The Imperial Retreat seemed far more subtle than he had expected. The grandeur of the palace in Rome, and the various other more public properties of the Imperial Family, was not on display here. The smaller estate, nestled against the hillside on the northeastern end of the lake, hid the power of its occupants well. Eugène took a moment to look out over the lake, eyes following the small path from the side garden down to a small boat dock. As the car rattled down the lane, the silence slowly consumed his ears. In what could have passed for hours, but was perhaps only a minute, he stood taking in the sights.

"Lieutenant Charpentier." A male voice came from behind Eugène. An older, balding man in a tuxedo stood between Eugène's position where the car had dropped him and the now open doors of the villa. "I've been instructed to show you to the parlor." Waiting just a moment, the man began to reenter the villa.

Eugène hurried to follow the man into the entryway. Inside the villa, a staircase began an assent on the left side of the double doors, stopping halfway between the floors at a large landing. The marble columns stretched to the ceiling at evenly spaced intervals. Every so often, a dark wooden door broke the uniformness of the wall to indicate the presence of another space. At the end of the hall opposite the door which the pair had just came though, a large window extending to the second story above looked out over the central garden, surrounded on the other three sides by an open walkway.

Eugène did not have time to observe the space in great detail as he was quickly led off to the right and though one of the dark wood doors into a smaller room. Bookshelves packed tightly with bound spines of new and old literature, interspaced with the occasional larger object such as a collection of preserved insects, wrapped the walls. Against the interior wall of the room, a large marble-clad fireplace hosted a happily crackling log. Next to the fireplace where two overstuffed couches and a large armchair around an ornately decorated coffee table. An assortment of beverages was placed in the center of the table, the large containers flanked by more serviceable smaller drinking vessels. Eugène was silently directed to one of the couches, where he came close to sinking into the cushions for good, before the man spoke again.

"Please help yourself to any drinks you may like." The man's formal tone stiffly backing his voice. "I do not know when our host will be joining you, please wait here until then."

Eugène nodded his understanding, and without another word the butler exited though the door they had come in and closed it behind him. Eugène poured himself a small glass of water, and quickly finished it. He allowed his eyes to wonder around the room, and eventually his curiosity drew him away from the confines of the couch to the ornate wooden desk in the back corner of the room. The desk was tidy, hardly an item was out of place, but clearly used as a workspace. On the desk was the item that had drawn Eugène's attention, a small model of a warship in a glass case. He leaned in to inspect the model closer, examining the details. His attention was focused enough that combined with the well-oiled hinges the first clue that someone else was in the room was a male voice from behind him.

"She made that you know."

Eugène turned around, unable to fully suppress a shocked expression when he saw who the statement had come from. With the precision of parade ground drill, he quickly shot to attention, then bowed deeply. "You Majesty, please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive Lieutenant." Emperor Trajan VIII replied almost dismissively. "Please, allow me to join you." The Emperor slowly made his way across the room to the desk.

"It's quite detailed." Eugène stepped to the side to let the Emperor be closer to the model. "The ship named for your father if my memory is correct?"

"Indeed, it is." Trajan replied. "It was a gift from Amelia on my birthday a few years ago. I later understood that she was working on the night Alonzo died. I don't think I've ever seen her looking at it since I received it."

Seeing that Eugène was struggling to form an appropriate reply to the mention of the late Crown Prince, Trajan continued by changing the subject. "She is a person of many talents. I understand you have been exposed to some of that curiosity?"

"Indeed, I have." Eugène replied. "While I was stationed in the New World, she was most curious about the local flora and fauna, for example."

"An affliction she undoubtedly inherited from me." The Emperor gestured at one of the nearby insect displays. "Come, let us sit by the warm fire for a while." Without waiting for a response, Trajan began to move in the direction of the nearest couch. He sat and let out an audible sigh. "Just what my feet have been waiting for. Join me for a drink?"

Eugène took a seat on the opposite couch. "It would be my honor, your Majesty."

Trajan smiled while reaching for a decanter with a light brown liquid in it. "We can dispense with all the formality. As my dear daughter would say, it can get stifling. Besides, I understand we should perhaps begin to develop a relationship beyond the one typically found between an Emperor and the heir of one of his most important Duchies?" Trajan had finished pouring two glasses and handed one to Eugène as he finished the question.

Eugène suddenly found his foot was metaphorically lodged in his mouth. The reply he choked past it was hardly eloquent. "Yes, that seems a likely trajectory."

Trajan chuckled loudly. "Ah, the head of a young man attracted to a young woman. Don't worry yourself to much, I fondly recall the time I felt much the same way about my dear Catherine. Come, let us share a drink or two and allow me to get to know you."



Amelia heard the loud guffaw of her father from the top of the stairs. Clearly the time spent between him and Eugène was progressing well. She descended the staircase quickly, skipping a step or two along the way. From the base of the stairs, she crossed the entryway and arrived at the slightly ajar door to her father's library. She paused to listen momentarily as the dregs of laughter faded.

"That is marvelous!" The Emperor exclaimed from the other side of the door. "Simply marvelous."

Amelia gently pushed on the door and it swung open with hardly a sound. Eugène and Trajan sat on opposite couches, the Emperor facing her while Eugène's back was turned. The flushed cheeks indicated the laughter was gregarious and uncontrolled. Amelia stepped in thought the doorway and stopped just inside the threshold, waiting to be noticed.

"Ah, there she is." The Emperor exclaimed. "My beautiful daughter, please come join us." He gestured to the unoccupied chair.

Eugène turned in his seat and smiled at Amelia. "Hello Crown Princess." He stood up and wobbled almost unnoticeably before bowing.

Amelia curtsied, eyes finding and lingering for a moment on the nearing empty decanter of light brown spirit between the two men on the table. "Hello to you father, Lieutenant Charpentier. I have been asked to inform you that dinner is ready."

"Wonderful." Trajan replied "Come now, let us dine together. The three of us. Lieutenant, if you would do me the honor of escorting the lovely Crown Princess to the dining room, I will join you both momentarily." The Emperor then picked himself up off the couch and ambled his way to the door and out into the hallway.

Eugène walked over to stand next to Amelia. "Crown Princess, I am happy to see you again." He stayed a respectful distance away. "May I escort you to the dining room, wherever that may be?"

Amelia playfully pouted a little. "Only if you agree to treat me entirely like a fragile doll the entire evening."

"As her Majesty commands." Eugène replied with a sweeping bow.

Ameila's face was split by a grin. "And just how much have you had to drink with my father?" She closed the gap between them and took Eugène's hands in hers.

"He wished to start with a drink or two." Eugène replied "I believe we ended up a bit higher than that."

"I will forgive you for this." Amelia replied, a joking tone underpinning her voice. "As long as you kiss me once before dinner."

Eugène let go of Amelia's hands and pulled her close while wrapping his arms around her torso. The kiss was gentle and restrained, but the feeling underneath the surface was one of bubbling passion.

Amelia pulled away before the kiss lingered long enough to be discovered by anyone else. "I missed that Eugène. Now, we should probably arrive at the dinning room before my father, let me show you the way." She took Eugène's hand and led him into the hallway, following the scrumptious smell of food further down the hall.

[snip]

Note: This one is a little long and does contain a couple more graphic descriptions.

November 26th, 1915. Imperial Retreat at Lago di Vico outside Rome.

Amelia was unsure of what had awoken her quite acutely from sleep. The dream that had danced across her mind quickly faded into the folds of a mildly prodding headache. Warm, heavy, soft blankets pulled at the strings of sleep, but whatever had caused her to wake granted her mind the agility to throw the tendrils off. As she took stock the room from the light of the waning moon pooling though the window, the memories of the evening played back quickly.

Dinner had been scrumptious, every bite a clamor of sweet or savory that hung on the tongue just long enough. Despite her misgivings about the clearly many drinks shared between her father and Eugène before the meal, they seemed to have done wonders to lighten the conversation. When it continued in the proper parlor after the food had been concluded with a rich cake for dessert, the more intimate setting proved welcome. At some point in the evening, the Emperor ended up in front of the room's small piano and had played many songs. Whether he did not notice, or chose to ignore, that Amelia had scooted close enough to Eugène to rest her head on his shoulder, Amelia did not know. When her father had excused himself for the evening and Amelia and Eugène had a moment alone in the parlor, they got much closer to each other. As Amelia kissed Eugène and Eugène kissed her back, hands slowly began to move across bodies, each touch on an unfamiliar area eliciting a new response. Amelia began to seriously consider locking the doors, but after a pause to discuss, they both agreed that such a consequential step was too much. After taken a moment to straighten up, Amelia and Eugène had retired to bed. Falling asleep was easy for her.

Unable to find the source of whatever had woken her from her position within the bed's embrace, Amelia sat up. A second examination of the room again yielded no cause. She slid her feet out from under the blankets, noticing the cool of the night air before sliding feet into waiting slippers. Standing up, she grabbed the thick robe from the hanger near the fireplace. Wrapping it over her thinner nightgown, both to preserve modesty and warmth, she made her way to the door of the room as she tied the belt around her waist. Pausing for a moment to listen, she heard no sound. Gently, she unlatched the door and swung it into the room before poking her head into the hallway.

Looking from left to right, Amelia saw nothing out of place. Moonlight pooled on the floor under the windows. Amelia stepped into the hallway, gently closing the door to her room as silently as she could. The click of the latch was unnervingly loud, but brief. Her room sat near the end of one hallway, a large window at the end looking out over the lake. Amelia approached the window and looked out. It was then she noticed the garden gate was open. A few steps away, headed in the direction of the lake, was Eugène. Much like Amelia, he had pulled a robe over his pajamas. Even from this distance, Amelia could tell something was off about Eugène's mannerisms. He was looking around frequently, but seemingly unfocused. Something about his body language indicated terror. Without thinking, Amelia was moving in the direction of the stairs that would put her near the garden.

The cool night air did its best to pry inside the robe as Amelia traversed the garden to the open gate. She responded by pulling the robe tighter as she passed through the gate and continued down the path after Eugène, who was now at the small dock. Her pace slowed as she approached the foot of the dock. Eugène stood about halfway along, hands now pressing against his temples. He was whispering to himself, while Amelia was unable to make out specific words the tone was an unknown blend between anger and fear.

"Eugène," Amelia softly said as she stepped onto the dock and hesitantly approached. "Eugène is something the matter?" She began reaching her right hand out of touch him on the shoulder.

Without warning, Eugène turned around. His right hand shot out and clamped hard around Amelia's forearm. Eugène's eyes were filled with the same blend of anger and fear that his voice was. He squeezed and pulled her arm in towards him.

"Eugène!" Amelia's cry was soft but filled with pain as her arm was twisted and compressed.

Something changed quickly on Eugène's face, the terror replaced by sudden realization and confusion. He let go of Amelia's arm almost as quickly as he had grabbed it.

"I'm so sorry." The tone of Eugène's voice begged forgiveness. "Amelia I'm so sorry, are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt." The lie rolled naturally off Amelia's lips, she sensed it was a detail that the truth would only hurt. "I'm scared, but not hurt."

"I'm so sorry." Eugène repeated. "I'm sorry." He mashed the heal of his palms into his eyes.

"I am all right Eugène." Amelia replied softly, doing her best to keep any fear out of her voice. "Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry Amelia." Eugène repeated. "Please forgive me."

"Eugène, you are forgiven." Amelia again reached out her hand. "Eugène tell me you are all right."

Eugène looked up, tears falling down his cheeks. He timidly reached out and took Amelia's hand, far gentler than he needed to as if she were made of dust. "I am not further harmed. I'm afraid this is the result of an affliction that time has yet to mend from my experiences."

Amelia reached with her left hand a brushed a tear off Eugène's cheek. "Can we sit and talk, my darling?"

"Yes." Eugène replied, an aura of calm beginning to return. "If it is all right, can we stay outside? I would prefer that."

"As long as you keep me warm." Amelia answered, as a shiver mixed between the cool air and pumping adrenaline scurried along her spine.

Somehow, nobody else seem to have heard the cry, and Amelia and Eugène were able to sit on a nearby bench overlooking the lake undisturbed. They sat close together, holding hands, while Amelia leaned against Eugène's side. As much as she felt he needed to be the one leaning, the sizable difference in heights prevented this. She gave Eugène's hand a firm squeeze, then waited for him to speak. Time passed before Eugène was ready and began.

"I fully expect you to think me a broken man." Eugène's tone was deflated. "Honestly, I hoped to hide this from you, believing that after time had passed it would no longer be a subject needing discussion."

"I will do nothing of the sort." Amelia replied while attempting to squish every molecule of air from between her and Eugène.

Eugène gave Amelia's hand a gentle squeeze before continuing. "Sometimes, when sleeping, I have these vivid recreations beginning with the day we stormed the beach through our eventual repatriation. The level of detail the mind can remember of such chaos astounds me. Even the smells come back, the smell of burned flesh is particularly unique." He trailed off, seemingly unable to find where to continue.

"Are the events discrete or is it more a general sense?" Amelia asked.

"Mostly general." Eugène replied. "But those are never what brings on something like what just occurred. Those are discrete events I wish I could forget but cannot seem to banish."

"Do you want to tell me the one you had which awoke you this evening?" The question was carefully filtered by Amelia to lack any sort of curiosity in its delivery.

Eugène exhaled heavily though his nose before answering. "It is not a memory suited for conversation, are you sure you wish to experience my retelling?"

"Yes." Amelia's reply was firm. "I want to understand."

Eugène turned his head to meet Amelia's gaze. "If that is what you wish." He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to her forehead. He resumed staring unfocused at the far side of the lake before beginning.

"The Aztecs are masters at close combat, that is something we learned quickly had been understated. They have these, I am not sure if you can really call them swords but it's the best I can do, which split flesh as clean as the sharpest surgeon's knife. Even a grazing blow could cleave flesh from bone if it landed. So, when we found ourselves in close combat, the bayonet proved less useful. Rife stocks became clubs and sometimes fists where all that could be used to give the illusion of preserving one's life. On the morning, before we learned of the mauling the navy took, there was an attack on our position. The group, we were so mixed up at this point its worthless to call it anything else, I was in command of took the brunt. Our Naylor crew was down to their last belt of ammunition, and once the Aztecs figured out the gun was dry they were in among us as if propelled by lightning. I found myself, rifle in hand, facing an Aztec officer. He carried one of those swords, and by what I assume was the blood dripping off it clearly knew how to use it. The sound he made as he charged, was almost inhuman. I screamed back at him and lunged with my bayonet but missed. Fortunately, my momentum carried me almost out of the path of the sharp edge. Its how I got this." He paused to brush his free hand over the scar on his face.

Eugène took a breath, then continued. "We turned to face each other again, but there was no more room to charge. The Aztec lunged at me and knocked me off my feet, as I fell, I reached out for a small digging shovel that was nearby. My hand managed to wrap around it, and as the Aztec raised his sword to end me.  I remember screaming, both in pain as his weight was pressing against my wounded leg and as a last-ditch attempt to intimidate. Everything slows down in my memory as I swing the shovel from the ground. I can see the edge of the blade as it enters my field of vision, though I was focused on his face and sword. He is bringing his blade down, I don't know where he was aiming at. The edge of the shovel blade connects with his head just about here." Again, Eugène used his free hand to gesture to the spot.

Eugène turned to look at Amelia. "Do you want me to continue?"

"Yes." Amelia replied, unwavored by the feeling beginning to edge into the back of her mouth that she might vomit.

Eugène nodded, then began again. "Again, this is all going very slow in my memory, in reality this took fractions of a second. The best I can describe it is that the shovel blade pealed back half of the Aztec's face. It didn't sever it, so what was cleaved off hangs by what must be the remains of his nose. He is upright for a moment, straddling me. Then he falls, the full weight of his body landing on my torso. I can hear the last gurgling breaths, feel the spasms as his body stops having a functioning brain. But the dead man almost manages to push himself back up. I cannot move the body off me, my leg is in too much pain. So I lay there, his blood running over me, as I scream and scream. Sometimes it ends, as it did, other times it does not. The dead man has come back before as well; those times he proceeds to swing his sword at any millimeter of flesh he can reach. I feel every cut but wake up with not a scratch."

Amelia was losing the battle against the urge to vomit following the graphic description, but demanded her body cooperate. "Eugène, that's horrible."

"As I said." Eugène replied "You should think me a broken man."

"I will do no such thing." Amelia forcefully answered. She sat up and looked at Eugène before continuing. "You are a changed man, combat has done that to every man, woman, or child who has seen it since Cain struck Able. That does not make you a broken man, it makes you a man."

Eugène sighed before replying. "Sometimes when I am in that moment, in my nightmares, I know a piece of me is trapped on that beach. That it is still there, fighting. I cannot get it back Amelia. I want to, so I can be whole again, but I can't. I am broken and perhaps I should have never left the Caicos."

Amelia suddenly found herself filled with anger at Eugène, and the reply bit far harsher than she intended. "You remove that foolish thought from your mind right now Eugène. Remove it and never speak of it again!" She felt tears welling in her eyes and paused to sniffle before continuing. "I'm sorry, I should not be yelling at you. That though scares me Eugène. It scares me so much, because for months I lived in that reality. A reality where I could never be with you again so long as I lived. That you even at your darkest question whether you should have returned scares me. I know the Eugène I waved off when you left for the new world is not entirely the same one that returned; I don't care. I have you back and I never want you to leave again. I don't know if I could take it."

Eugène attempted to interject. "Amelia..."

Amelia ignored Eugène and continued. "I will always be available to you to talk about this. Always. You are not alone Eugène, you are not alone and I refuse to let you think that."

"Amelia," Eugène tried again. "Can I respond?"

Amelia collected herself from the rant. "Yes, I'm sorry Eugène. Please."

Eugène took both of Amelia's hands in his before beginning. "As I have said before, there were days were the only thing which pulled me though to the next day were thoughts of you. Knowing that if I did not do everything in my power to survive, that I would not get to see you again. You have done more for me than you could possibly know. I only wished to keep this from you to protect me, because the idea that it would end our friendship was to agonizing for me to confront. I'm sorry you had to find out in this way."

"I understand." Amelia replied. "I only wish you would have told me sooner, so I could have helped you sooner."

Eugène silently accepted the comment with a nod. "Can we stay a while longer?" Eugène asked. "The peace of the night is calming."

"I would stay with you even if it were snowing." Amelia replied. "I would stay with you until I turned blue from the cold."

"I hope that will never be necessary." Eugène responded. "I would be there for you as well, should you wish me to."

Amelia leaned against Eugène again, scrunching herself against him for warmth, and to ensure to him that her affection was sincere. The couple sat together for some time, before Eugène assisted Amelia back to the villa. The long kiss they shared before departing to their separate bedrooms was not one of passion, but one of acknowledgment that they both wished the other to be there, so long as they lived.

[snip]

Note: I don't expect that anyone not in the room would have knowledge of these events. If you've got a story you want to play off it, lets chat via PM first.

December 5th, 1915. Catăna, Sicily.

The somehow bustling and sleepy city of Catăna on Sicily's eastern edge held many charms for those with interest in the architectural feats of eras past. The city had many grand structures dating back to its rebuilding in 1169. Its traditional warm winter weather also helped attract tourists year-round. This flow of unfamiliar faces made it easy for those who wished to travel incognito to blend in and remained unnoticed. Even those with a high public profile, such as the Prime Minister of the Imperial Roman Republic, or even the Emperor himself with enough discretion.

The anonymity of the tourist haven was what had drawn Septimius Rocchi, among other important career members of the Imperial Roman government to the vacation villa of a local family located to the south of the city along the coastline. The secluded location was guarded, but discreetly. Secrecy was paramount, but nobody in attendance fully knew the reason for their summons. Septimius did. Next week, Emperor Trajan VIII was to undergo a surgical procedure of some sort. This was to be a necessary, but unlikely needed, meeting of planning should the worst happen. Every man in attendance knew that something along these lines was to be discussed, the possible urgency was what needed concealment.

Septimius waited near one of the side doors to great the Emperor when he arrived, the others having gathered in the large dining room. The motor car pulled up, trailing a small dust cloud behind it, and the valet quickly moved to open the door. Trajan VIII stepped out, politely but firmly dismissing the offered hand of help from the valet. He walked over to Septimius and extended his hand.

"Mister Prime Minister," Trajan's tone was warm "what a pleasure it is to see you again."

Septimius shook the extended hand. "The pleasure is as always mine, your Majesty."

"Should we join the others?" Trajan began moving in the direction of the door. "I do not wish to keep them waiting, I'm sure they have more important business to return to."

"None more important than wishing your Majesty a healthy and long life." Septimius replied, quickening his step to open the door as the valet was still grabbing the Emperor's bag from the car.

The pair walked the short distance from the side entrance to the dining room where the rest of the assembled men waited. On the Emperor's entrance, they all stood and waited for him to take the seat at the head of the large table, Septimius sat to the Emperor's right. The seat to the left remained empty, where the heir would have traditionally sat. Septimius silently wondered how many of the other men in the room speculated about Amelia's absence. After taking a large drink from a glass of cold water, Trajan stood to address the room.

"Thank you all for coming." Trajan began after clearing his throat with a light cough. "As I trust you all understand, what we discuss here today is not to reach anyone not sitting in this room until such a time I personally allow for it." The obvious connotation that nobody was to inform the Crown Princess hung in the air for a moment before Trajan continued. "As I'm sure you are all aware, I am to undergo a medical procedure in about a week's time. As such, in accordance with the laws of succession, a plan should be in place if time allows for such a plan pending the untimely death of yours truly during such a procedure."

One of the other men at the table seized a pause to call out. "Long live your Majesty!"
Trajan allowed a smile to crack his face. "The enthusiasm is appreciated and message welcome. Thank you." His face returned to its more serious expression. "However, I feel at this time it is best to discuss the reason for this procedure. It is to remove a mass from my liver, a mass which the doctors believe to be cancerous."

Not even the strictest of nuns would have been able to maintain silence in the room. Whispers flew about rapidly. Trajan allowed a moment for this to continue before motioning for silence.

"This procedure if successful, is at worst expected to improve my quality of life for the remainder of my life and perhaps grant me some additional time. At best, it will remove all the cancer and I will be free of it. The doctors who support this opinion I find to be optimistic. The reality of the situation is gentlemen, I am dying."

Septimius sat in stunned silence. He had not known about the extent of the Emperor's illness. Nobody in the room did. The Emperor's seeming abrupt dealings with his own mortality were shocking.

Trajan continued. "It may be that I do not survive the procedure, it may be that the cancer takes me in a year's time, or I may yet be around to gloat over you all for another ten years. We simply do not know. But, in the interests of the Republic, I feel it is best to assume that we will much sooner than we like be dealing with my death. Where do you gentlemen feel the discussion should begin?"

An older, bald man stood up from his seat near the head of the table. "Long live your Majesty." The call was joined by all the other participants before the man continued. "I feel it is best to, should your Majesty wish, to begin with the succession."

Trajan took his seat and nodded. "You may begin, mister Bellini."

Bellini nodded back. "We know that the Crown Princess, Amelia Vittoria Sforza, will succeed your Majesty in the even of your passing. However, she is as of current, unmarried. This is not abnormal for the age of twenty, but should something happen to her it would introduce some variables into the situation that would increase the difficulty of maintaining continuity. I propose that an item of agenda should be ensuring that the Crown Princess is joined in marriage within a reasonable period of time."

Several other affirmative murmurs came from the others around the table. Septimius remained silent.

Bellini continued. "I'm sure this has been a subject of deliberation for your Majesty as well. Do you have anything you would like to add before we discuss?"

Trajan rose from his seat again, Septimius found himself much more aware of how tired the Emperor's body seamed. Trajan exhaled though his nose before replying.

"It has indeed crossed my mind," Trajan began. "but I am afraid that should any of us wish to remain in the Crown Princess's good grace that the issue has been decided by her already. I for one do not wish to attempt to change her mind on this issue."

"You mean to say that Princess Amelia is being courted?" Bellini's tone was carefully but artificially neutral. "Why is this the first we have heard of this?"

"There was the small matter of the courter being held prisoner on Grand Turk for six months." Trajan replied. "Which given the understanding of the logistics for this young marine to be involved in the first wave of the invasion and its aftermath, should fill most of the time gaps. He was only recently cleared for return to duty."

"Is there any reason to believe that his experience in combat has impacted his.." Bellini gathered his words before proceeding. "The ability of your Majesty's line to continue?"

"I can't say I've thrown a nude milkmaid at him and waited to see what happened." Sarcasm coated Trajan's reference to a well-known scandal surrounding a candidate for marriage to the only daughter of an influential duke being forced to successfully impregnate one of his household staff before he was allowed to marry. "From what I understand of his medical reports there is no reason there should be any difficulties on that front." He continued with a more serious tone. "Gentlemen, nobody in the room should be under any illusion as to the Crown Princess's feelings on this matter. Though she would of course respect the traditions surrounding royal marriages, she would not forgive a soul in this room were she not allowed her say in the matter. The suitor is a good man, of noble stock, and has by all accounts accorded himself in the finest tradition of our armed forces. For better or worse, the era of marriage as a means to a political end is likely itself at an end. While I may not be able to advocate her interests beyond my passing, those who would wish different for her in this matter do so at their own peril."

Bellini seemed to accept this, and nodded. "Your Majesty is clear in his wishes."

Septimius stood. "If I may speak?" No objection was forthcoming, so he continued. "I know not all of you have had the pleasure of meeting the Crown Princess. I have. Know that what his Majesty says is true, she is of strong will. I trust her judgement in personal matters such as this and our interference in them would serve only to bread resentment."

"Well said Prime Minister." Trajan said. "So if anyone does wish to cross the Crown Princess on this matter, I suggest you do so if you wish an early retirement. Now, as we seem to have agreed to let matters in progress take their course on this front, what is the next item of discussion?"



That night, Septimius sat alone on the balcony of his room in the villa. A bottle of wine continually made its way into a glass in his hand, an empty bottle nearby having suffered the same fate. His tenure as Prime Minister was supposed to be focused on improving the lives of the people of the Republic. Now it was all but certain that at some point before his term expired that he would need to be a part of the transition of the throne. He hoped that he had not misjudged Amelia's readiness for the task which would be her's sooner than she realized.

[snip]

December 27th, 1915. Estate of the Duke of Gascon, outside Bordeaux, Aquitania.

The wind-driven rain splatted rhythmically but disorganized against the large windows and stone walls. Inside, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Its warmth gently radiating out to the sitting area around it. Amelia stood almost past the perimeter of the fire's effect, the colder air doing its best to bite the warm back. The soft overcoat pulled over her shoulders and the mug of hot cider in her hands did more than enough to keep her warm.

Amelia had spent the Christmas holiday with her family in Rome. Her father, almost recovered from a surgical procedure, had been joined by her uncle Manuel, his wife Isabella, and their children. Amelia had learned that she was to be an aunt, as her cousin Yohann and his wife Sacha had announced they were expecting their first child sometime in the early spring. The time with family had been wonderful and it marked Manuel's return the Europe for several months. In a tale as old as time itself, as the days wore on the family presence became overwhelming and when Amelia had departed from the train station on the 26th, the sadness on seeing family waving her off was joined by a slight relief to be away from them.

Departing the train in Bordeaux hours later, she was greeted by a waiting motor car that whisked her away to the Duke's estate. The home of Eugène's father was more modest that most of his stature, at least from the outside. What the well-weathered but maintained building hid inside were fine works of art and many old scientific apparatuses on display. Collections of books sprouted from every other room and the smells from the kitchen somehow managed to float their way into what felt like every corner.

This was the first time that Amelia had met some of Eugène's siblings. The most rambunctious of whom was his youngest sister, Vanna. Almost ten years younger than Eugène, she still had the wild imagination of a child. Next oldest were two brothers, Federico and Hercule. Last, but not least, was Clarissa, Eugène's oldest sister. Clarissa and her twin brother Amaury, where two years younger than Amelia. Unfortunately, Amaury was not home as he was starting his first term at the Tor di Quinto calvary school. Amelia found herself reminded of her relationship with Alonzo as Eugène interacted with his siblings, clearly there was something universal about being the oldest male child in a house full of youngers.

Stealing moments alone with Eugène proved difficult, but not impossible. The couple had managed to sneak in some dancing to music provided by one of the Duke's phonographs. Respite from the constant observation was short, as a giggleing Vanna had been unable to control herself on bursting into the room and ran squeeing from Eugène as he tried to prevent her from misrepresenting the event. Some sweets and gentle conversation had prevented any misunderstanding. Now Amelia enjoyed the quiet of the study, waiting for Eugène to join her. A soft knock at the door tugged the threads of her thoughts back to the present.

"Who is it?" Amelia called politely.

"It is Eugène." The familiar voice came from the other side of the door. "May I make a request?"

"Of course." Amelia replied, setting the mug of cider down on an end table. "What is it?"

"If you would be so kind as to face away from the door for a moment." Eugène answered. "I have a surprise for you."
"Really?" The gears of curiosity began to spin in Amelia's mind as she turned to face the window. "I do hope it is nothing to elaborate. I am looking away from the door."

Amelia herd the door open behind her, and the shuffling of more than one pair of feet were audible. After some brief unintelligible whispering, feet returned in the direction of the door, which then shut.

"May I turn around now?" Amelia enquired.

"Yes." Eugène answered.

Amelia turned to find Eugène standing next to a large box with a purple bow tied across the top. "What is this darling?"

"Your Christmas gift." Eugène's answer was straightforward and his expression almost unchanged.

"You should not have." Amelia gently chided as she walked from the window to Eugène. "This is clearly something ornate."

"It is nothing not befitting of you." Eugène smiled.

"If I didn't know better, I would expect that you wished me to guess what it is." Amelia playfuly accused.

"Now where would the fun be in that." Eugène nettled back. "But I do not thing you would get it within three guesses. I consider myself..."

The comment was interrupted by the box, which let out high pitched yip followed quickly by a bark that transitioned into a low wine. Eugène deflated slightly and glared at the box.

"I thought we talked about this." He scolded the box. "You were supposed to be quiet until she opened the box."

Amelia could not help herself and smiled broadly. "Eugène, you did not."

She stepped up to the box and pulled the bow. Removing the lid, Amelia looked inside. Staring back at here was a scared little male Cane Corso puppy, no more than a week or two weaned from his mother. The puppy had a matching purple bow around its neck. Amelia reached into the box, moving her hands slowly towards the nervous black brindled canine. She gently picked the puppy up and held it to her chest.

"Merry Christmas Amelia." Eugène said, reaching a hand out to tousle the pup's ears. "We had a litter at just about the right time, and if memory serves you have not had a dog in a while."

Amelia was distracted by gently reassuring the pup that everything was ok. "Thank you Eugène, he is so cute!" Amelia held the pup up in front of her. "Now you will need a name. Let me think."

She looked over the puppy before walking over to one of the couches next to the fireplace and sitting down. The puppy ended up in her lap, where it kneaded Amelia's coat for a moment before curling up in a tight ball.
"How about Tiberim?" Amelia scratched the pup's ears during the question. "Is that what I should call you?"

The puppy reacted by rolling over and attempting to lick Amelia's hand, the little pink tongue poking in and out of its mouth.

"Well, I think that is as close to a yes as I'm going to get." Amelia laughed and picked up the puppy. "Hello Tiberim, its so nice to meet you."

Seeing an opportunity, Tiberim lunged at Amelia's face and began licking it all over. Amelia laughed again, allow the assault to continue for a moment before pulling Tiberim out of reach. Eugène sat next to Amelia, who responded by placing Tiberim in prime licking range. She laughed as the puppy smothered Eugène in kisses, before sneaking in one of her own.

[snip]

January 5th, 1916. Saint Rochelle, Novus Francia.

Nerio Cino stood at the landward end of the massive drydock that now dominated the harbor of Saint Rochelle. The massive almost quarter kilometer pit was only a little over halfway filled by its current occupant, the armored cruiser IRS Argonauta. Perhaps the most damaged survivor of what had become called the Battle of Ironclad Bay during the Caicos War, Argonauta's repairs had been held back until the drydock had been completed. It was felt that the ship's condition did not allow for a safe transit of the Atlantic. The IRS Triumphus, the only other contender to the most beaten but floating ship, awaited her turn in the dock for similar reasons. The old battleship still sported obvious damage from Aztec 280mm and smaller guns, plus a notable list.

Nerio had been asked to remain behind after the false start of the Acapulco conference to provide his expertise to the repairs of Argonauta. The project had been running smoother than expected for such a new yard, but there were still issues aplenty. Nerio had plenty of work to do, but the Argonauta was taking her repairs well. If things continued according to schedule, the warship would be back in the water within the next few months.

Nerio had always felt some small kinship with the Argonauta. His first major role as a Senior Designer was as part of the team working on the unique hybrid propulsion plant. In some ways, Nerio felt as if the Argonauta was one of his children. While he would never say this to his wife or biological children, Argonauta filled an odd-shaped hole in his sprit. It was only fitting that now; he was privileged enough to help nurse the steel offspring of his mind back to fighting health.

[snip]

March 14th, 1916. Imperial Naval Academy, Brest.

thudthudthud

The sound of fist against door awoke Amelia in an instant. Quickly she was out of bed, hastily pulling a robe over her nightgown as she approached the door.

thudthudthud

Whoever was on the other side of the door had a sense of urgency that set the hair on Amelia's arms on end. "Who is it?" She inquired.

"It's Ploussard, Crown Princess." The firm male voice from the other side of the door seemed ever so slightly tenser than the normal tone.

Amelia opened the door without hesitation. Ploussard's expression did not give away anything to the other two members of her guard that accompanied him. Something about his eyes was unsettled however and Amelia knew there was not much that could disturb the normally stoic Marine.

"Sergeant Major, to what do I owe the pleasure at this early hour?" Amelia did the best to cast any grogginess from her voice.

"Please forgive my intrusion Crown Princess, and my haste." Again, Ploussard's tone displayed the smallest hint that something was disturbing him. "I do not have time to fully explain until we are on the train. You have five minutes to dress and gather any essential items, then we must depart."

Amelia nodded in understanding. "I will be out as quick as I can."

She then closed the door and hurried to the closet for a simple skirt and blouse. Once quickly changed and after locating a pair of shoes, she franticly flew around the room to gather some items into a small bag.  Four minutes later, she opened the door again. Without any further words, she followed Ploussard.



March 16th, 1916. Imperial Palace, Rome.

Amelia sat in a solitary, rather uncomfortable, chair in the hallway next to the door to her father's bed chamber. She had not slept a moment since Ploussard awoken her and having had far too much time alone with her thoughts, the lack of sleep was beginning to wear on her. Once on the train, which had all but leapt away from Brest with the urgency of a startled game animal, Ploussard explained what had prompted such a hasty departure. Exceedingly early in the morning on the fourteenth, her father had been discovered collapsed while out of his bed. The servant that found him had no idea how long the Emperor had lain on the floor, but the pool of blood from a wound on his head had already begun to dry. The only other detail Ploussard had was that the Emperor was alive, but not yet awake.

Thoughts of this event had spiraled around Amelia's head for the day's train ride from Brest to Rome. At a stop to top off the coal reserve, more information had arrived. The Emperor had briefly regained consciousness, but only for a short while. The doctors were hopeful that since he had woken up, that he would awake again with time. By the time Amelia had arrived at the palace early in the morning of the 15th, her father had still not awoken. It was late in the afternoon that he finally began to show signs of improvement and later awoke again. Amelia had only been allowed to see him briefly from a distance and had only been occasionally updated by one of the doctors. Sleep had not come that night, and the breakfast delivered personally by the palace chef remained mostly untouched on a tray next to the chair.

The door slightly down the hall from the chair opened, and the head doctor on the palace staff stepped out. The balding, rounder, man approached Amelia. She looked up from the uncounted time carefully inspecting the fabric of her skirt when it was clear he was stopping to speak with her.

"Crown Princess." The Doctor gave a short bow.

"Doctor Manfredi." Amelia could only manage a small nod in response. She waited for the doctor to begin.

Manfredi wasted no time. "I understand that nobody has provided you with an adequate update on your father's condition." The use of Trajan's relation rather than title was clearly intentional.

"I have been told snippets." Amelia declined to keep some of the acidity out of her tone, lightly nibbleing the doctor's head rather than biting it off wholesale. It was likely not his, total, fault.

"For that you have my most sincere apologies." Manfredi bowed deeper this time. "I am more than happy to provide as detailed an account as you wish."

"When can I see him." Amelia skipped over any formalities. "I do mean properly see him, not just though the doorway blocked by one of your staff." The staff member in question had of course not blocked her from entering the room but had been in place to stop her from making it too far into the room. Manfredi did not need to know that in this moment.

"He is awake now." Manfredi replied. "However, I would like to give him another quarter of an hour to ensure his condition remains stable before allowing any visitors. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes." The curt reply from Amelia left nothing to interpret. "While we wait, you may provide your account of events."



Amelia felt the door to her father's room swing shut behind her, the gentle thunk as Manfredi closed it muffling the sound from outside. Across the room, the Emperor lay in his bed. Propped up by some pillows, his head wrapped in bandages, Trajan's gaze took noticeably longer than normal to come into some sort of focus on the room's new occupant.

"Catherine?" The name cleared Trajan's lips softly. "Catherine, my love, is that you?"

Amelia froze a step away from the door. The almost whisper of her mother's name fluttered around her ears, burrowing for perch in her mind, digging up old memories that had remained buried for almost eight years. No response to her father's inquiry made it from mind to mouth.
"Please, come closer." Trajan called out. "Please."

Slowly, with great intent placed in every step, Amelia began to approach the Emperor. Any reply she attempted caught in the back of her mouth as if she were gagged.

Trajan's facial expression suddenly changed, quickly passing though realization and into regret. "Amelia..." The comment trailed off.

Finally, some words dislodged from the dam at the back of Amelia's mouth. "Yes father, it's Amelia."

"Please forgive me daughter." Trajan's tone underpinned the sincerity of the request. "I mistook you."

"I forgive you father." Amelia sat on the foot of the bed as she replied.

"You have so much of your mother in you." Trajan replied "From the way you carry yourself to your ease in allowing my transgressions."

"I don't see how." Amelia felt an old mental scar beginning to open, but pushed the tendrils of pain back out of her voice.

"Amelia," Trajan's eyes focused a little more intently on his daughter. "There are far more similarities than you allow yourself to see."

Amelia opted not to reply, but to move the conversation along. "Doctor Manfredi talked with me about what happened. I'm happy you are improving."

"It will take more than one of these fine floors to remove me." Trajan allowed the topic change to proceed uncontested. "However, they clearly did try. I will need to have the offending section given title, so it does not think it worthy to try again." The attempted joke fell flat.

"You gave everyone quite a scare for a while." Amelia continued. "When I was on my way, they were unsure if you would wake again."

"I am, perhaps, more resilient than they give me credit for." Trajan's tone suggested the reply intended to provoke a more positive emotional reaction. On seeing it fail, his mood took a more somber turn. "Amelia, I know you have worried for my health. I have not been entirely truthful with you on this subject for some time now. There is something you need to understand and then something we must discuss."

Amelia felt her heart leap into her throat.



March 18th, 1916. Between Rome and Florence.

As the lights of the capital fell further to the south, Amelia felt the bracing against the crushing weight of the conversation she had with her father two days prior giving way. Knowing what was to come, she excused herself from the day car of the small train taking her back to Brest and returned to her sleeper car. She closed and locked the door, the latter step not one normally taken. Leaning back against the door, she let the solid wood take her weight and sank slowly to the floor. Sitting against the door, the tears she had held in for the last forty-eight hours sprang forth. They carried with them the fear, sadness, and realization that these last four days had brought, and try as she might Amelia could no longer arrest them. Unsure of the passage of time, mountainous waves of emotion broke over her in never ending rhythm. At some point, she moved from the floor next to the door to her bed. Only after there were no more tears left to give did sleep finally begin to probe the extremities of her mind. Once asleep, she did not wake until the train had almost arrived at Brest. Nobody who saw her after she left the train would have known anything was amiss. When she arrived back at her room, she penned a letter.

[The Rock Doctor]

"Thanks for hiding your serious medical condition from me," said no child ever.

Good work, snip.