Wings Of Vi Azurel
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'Edward, we should switch. It seems improper for a princess to caddy for a duke, even if you are her uncle, don't you think?'
'But I'm your-' The pink-eyed boy at the Emperor's side opened his mouth, starting to speak, only for his voice to die down quickly as the Emperor faced him with an almost amused gaze.
'What was that?' Charles spoke, hardly the snap or roar one might expect from an Emperor chastising a page carrying his golf clubs. Cornelia was astonished. Her father must have been in an incredibly good mood, especially considering she'd never seen this boy at his side before…
'… Nothing, Your Majesty.' The page, with his silvery-blonde hair in that tight bun - Achilles, she'd heard her father call him - mutely demurred, although when Charles turned his back, Cornelia watched him stamp his foot and grind his shoe into the finely-manicured lawn. Almost as if he was seething at the Emperor for some slight. As if he wanted to play too…!
'That's what I thought.' Charles adjusted his visor, looking out over the course. The Pendragon sun was blistering in the sky overhead, a dim mirage and haze flickering at the horizon.
Edward gave his niece a side-eyed glance, tugging nervously at his collar, before giving her a gesture to indicate she ought to set down his clubs and switch with Achilles. 'Of course, your Majesty, I was about to suggest the very same thing. Come, boy.' Another seething stare came from the page as Edward spoke to him, almost as if he were feeling demeaned by the duke's tone. This page certainly had an attitude about him, and yet Edward, apparently taking after the Emperor's example, permitted him liberties Cornelia would have paid dearly for. 'Cornelia, look a little more honored by His Majesty's proposal, won't you? A day at the Emperor's side is a rare thing, even for a princess.'
'… I'm honored, Your Majesty. Please.' Cornelia hefted his clubs - somehow they seemed twice as heavy as her uncle's, and suddenly she realized that page was far stronger than he looked! - and cinched the straps a bit tighter as she felt how heavy and off-balance she'd be while carrying them. It was thankful she could at least set them down every so often… still, her cheeks burned with shame as she realized that it was likelier than not that Achilles wasn't especially strong, but that she was especially weak.
Of course you're weak, Cornelia, you let this happen to you… Cornelia wasn't sure whether the voice echoing in her head was Marianne's or her own.
'Don't cry in front of him.' A murmur in her ear made Cornelia jump, as Charles and Edward took a few practice swings on the driving line.
'I wasn't…' Cornelia muttered, before feeling one of Achilles's slender, feminine fingers brush the dripping tears away from her cheeks.
'Don't let him see you cry. I'm sorry about your mother.'
'… Thank you…' Cornelia was bewildered. She couldn't help but feel a stab of distrust in her. Something about Achilles was… wrong. '… But… don't touch me.'
'Suit yourself. But if you let him see you cry, you've lost.' Achilles gave her an almost wry smirk over his shoulder before hefting Edward's clubs onto his back, striding purposefully forward and leaning up on his tiptoes to murmur something at Charles.
'Ah, the 3-wood? But I thought the five…' Charles spoke, as if the boy were elucidating something to him. Perhaps Achilles was some sort of unnatural golf prodigy? It would explain why he was so keen on caddying for the Emperor, after all…
'Boy, you're my caddy today, in case you've forgotten. By His Majesty's command, no less.'
'Of course, Your Excellency, but I always advise His Majesty on such matters.'
'Let him have this small satisfaction, Achilles. You and I will play a round tomorrow, if Lord Stuart tells me you've been an impeccable caddy for him, is that a fair agreement?'
'… I suppose I've no choice, do I?'
'No, Achilles, you don't. Have fun. … Cornelia. My three-wood.' Charles's voice boomed. Cornelia picked through the clubs in the bag, certain there were more than there were in her uncle's.
'Cornelia, it's the one with the three on it. Heavens, but I'm afraid Lady Victoria - rest her soul - has left me with my hands full with these two. They're darling little girls, but not a lick of sense between them.' Edward smiled and shook his head. Charles merely nodded, as Cornelia finally found and handed the Emperor the club he requested - only to be sharply reprimanded by Edward's biting voice, the voice that she'd already been trained to fear and cower from.
'The handle, girl, by the handle! Do you expect His Majesty to hit the ball with that end?'She flinched back into herself as he hissed.
'Edward, relax.' Charles's words put a sudden relief into Edward and Cornelia both. 'We're still brothers, as far as I am concerned, and you are raising my daughters. You needn't be concerned with their occasional lapses in judgment. I understand that this has been a trying time for your family. Achilles, fetch the Duke his driver as well.'
'Oh, but your Majesty, I'm afraid I'm pitiful at long drives. I'd much prefer to use the three-iron for this and actually stay on the fairway.' Cornelia could sense deception in her uncle's voice. Far more likely was that he didn't want to overshoot the Emperor.
'Very well, Edward, but don't keep me waiting too long.'
A few strokes later, and Cornelia and Charles stood in the shade of a broad-leafed oak, watching her uncle swing. Achilles gave him an exasperated glare, occasionally meeting eyes with the Emperor, who merely waved, calling out to the duke. 'Edward, stop ripping up my course and hit the damn thing already! Cornelia, what's wrong?'
Cornelia swallowed heavily, biting back her tongue and her tears. 'I'm sorry, your Majesty, allergies.'
'My clubs aren't too heavy for you, are they? Achilles is used to it, I'm afraid. … Your uncle is terrible at this game, isn't he?'
'… He is.' Cornelia mutely responded, and for a very small moment, she felt a hint of a smile come back to her lips. Her father. At least there was someone left in this world she could feel safe with.
'I miss your mother too, Cornelia. She was a dear and loyal wife. I wish I could have visited her before the end. You don't need to hide your grief from me.' Charles extended an arm, and for a moment, Cornelia hesitated- another 'Fore!' came echoing out over the green, before another dull thunk echoed after it, but when she was sure her uncle wasn't staring, she scooted to the side and into her father's half-embrace.
'I was younger than you when I lost my mother, you know. I know what you're going through. But I also know that you can be strong, because you're my blood. This game is not about me and your uncle having fun despite your mother's death. It's about reassuring him that he still matters even though she's gone. But in the end…' Charles squeezed her a bit tighter, 'You should know that he does not. Only one name of yours matters in the end - Britannia. You are royalty. It falls to you to uphold that legacy.'
'Yes, father.' Cornelia closed her eyes.
'Can you be strong for me? Can you carry this burden? … I don't really mind carrying my own clubs, you know.' He cracked just the slightest hint of a smile as well.
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'No, it's…' Cornelia wiped her tears again, hefting the clubs higher on her back and showing her father a very brief smile, before returning to her neutral expression. 'I want to carry them, Father. I want to be useful to you.'
He patted her on the shoulder. 'It pleases me to hear you say that, Cornelia. This will pass. Someday you both will make her proud.'
…
Calafia Palace, the historical residence of the Duchy of California, had passed to Edward and his family upon her mother's marriage to the Emperor. As Cornelia looked upon the grounds from the window of her sprawling, opulent bedroom window - festooned with expensive gifts tied with lacy pink or white ribbons as a sort of peace offering - she realized that many of the features she recalled from the days she'd spent here as a young child had gone missing. The days before Euphemia, before Marianne, when Cornelia and her mother had felt most truly alone, even when they'd been surrounded by family. Visits to Calafia had been regular even back then… Leo Villa was so huge, and so empty, and Victoria always wanted to come back, to try and remember her own childhood here… she'd married at seventeen, given birth to Cornelia not all too long after that. Mother had been scarcely a child herself, when… Gone were the stepped fountains where she used to skip stones. The stables where Edward had promised to keep her Arabian stallions - where'd they gone off to? No doubt given to some other noble as a peace offering after mother's death… Cornelia tried to clench a fist in anger, to summon up some rage, some defiance, against her uncle, but as she did, her anger rapidly deflated. No, they're better off with someone else who actually wants to take care of them… That's what Euphie would think. That's what mother would think.
Perhaps she could learn not to hate her uncle. It would take time, but…
And then a knock on the door came, and then Edward appeared there. And for a moment, that bitterness resurfaced. For a moment, until she realized that his eyes were downcast and his hands clasped together.
'… Uncle Edward?' Cornelia spoke, her voice quavering as she turned to face him. Momentarily, her eyes darted to the spot in the bookshelf where she'd concealed Marianne's brooch. No, don't let him know where it is…
'Cornelia, I'm sorry I struck you. I think we need to talk. I hope you'll listen to what I have to say.' The regret seemed… genuine. He was asking her permission to come in. Could she deny him…?
'… O… okay.' Still nervous. Still unable to resist even the slightest command from him. He sat on the bench beside her, slightly hunched. In just his dress shirt, sleeves unbuttoned. As he clasped his hands together again, she realized that despite his slender figure, he was strong. The tensing muscles in his arms showed through that thin poplin fabric. He'd been to war in the past, she knew. Most Stuart men had. And some of the women…
'Cornelia, I don't hate that woman for being a commoner. I hate her for what she did. To your mother, and to this family. And to Britannia.'
Cornelia momentarily reconsidered her willpower to withstand this… 'Uncle, please, let's not talk about Lady M-…' A withering glare from the man made her objection die in her throat.
'No, Cornelia. We need to discuss this. You need to understand what she did. What she is. There is nothing wrong with commoners. I don't look down on them. They are the backbone of Britannia. Without them, the nobility could not exist. We know it better than they. It is our obligation not to mistreat them and to be good leaders for them. Do you know what a good leader is?'
'… A good leader is fair… just…' Cornelia murmured off the top of her head, trying to recall some of the lessons of her tutors. Some of the speeches she'd seen her father give, heard others give.
'A good leader is decisive above all that. Do you know what a chain of command is, Cornelia?' Edward seemed to relax his expression. Perhaps he enjoyed playing the role of her educator. Of her mentor. He seemed to be relishing this opportunity. The fact that Cornelia was squirming in discomfort was not evident to him.
'Yes. In the military, everyone has someone who commands them.' She knew where he was going with this.
'And how do you think they know that?'
'They have…' She patted her upper arm, her collar.
'Ranks. Precisely. They have ranks. Every soldier knows who his or her leader is, because when they see a rank on someone's uniform, they immediately know whether they are subordinate or superior. If ranks didn't exist, could leaders make decisions as quickly? What if there needed to be a discussion every time there was a group of soldiers gathered together, to determine who became the leader of the group? Ranks make that simple. Instantaneous. There is immediate consensus as to who is the leader and who has authority to make the decisions.'
'So you hate Lady Marianne because she defied her rank.' Cornelia spoke, bluntly and coldly.
'That's… part of it, yes. Britannia's society operates on the same principle. When a commoner speaks to a noble, they are meant to understand immediately, without there having to be a debate or discussion on the matter, that that noble outranks them. It's nothing to do with that noble's particular ability to lead, although the education of a noble is meant to emphasize good leadership. It's to do with keeping society stable. With keeping the chain of command intact. Britannia is, in a very real sense, a tool for conquest - the Army fights our battles and slays our enemies, but it is our civilian society - our economy, our technology, our industry - which will ensure that we truly prevail. The system of nobility and of royalty above all isn't just a relic from the past. It's the chain of command that allows our leaders, from the lowliest baron to the Emperor himself, to be more decisive than any other society that exists on this planet.'
'And you think she is a threat to that?'
'I don't just think it, I know it.' Edward spoke lowly, looking Cornelia in the eyes. 'Do you know how beloved she is among the common folk? Do you know how often they now say that she's evidence that anyone is as good as anyone else? That we ought to do away with this system of nobility altogether, make it all earned by merit?'
Perhaps they're right. Cornelia thought it, but dared not say it. '… I understand. But she's not a bad person, uncle, you have the wrong idea about her…' Cornelia squeaked, but soon trailed off, silenced by her uncle's truly withering glare.
'Cornelia. That's not the only reason I hate her. If it were that alone, I could at least stand to speak to her. She is a great warrior and has done great deeds for the Emperor. But she is not the good person you think she is. She has been manipulating you and your mother from the moment you met her.'
'That's not true!' Cornelia blurted out, blinking back tears of shame and frustration. Edward's hand unclenched, but his rage that had momentarily flared subsided.
'Cornelia, you just interrupted me and called me a liar. Surely you understand that's not acceptable behavior in this house. Apologize.'
'… I'm sorry, Uncle.'
'Do you see that I'm controlling my temper? You are a child, but I expect you to learn the same restraint, and to learn it quickly so you can set an example for your sister.'
'Yes, Uncle.' Cornelia murmured quietly, looking away.
Edward seemed to consider demanding that she look at him, but decided against it. 'Your mother should have been Empress. That title was hers by right. When I heard the rumors that she'd befriended the woman who stole that title from her, I couldn't believe it. … Then your mother fell ill, and it began to make sense.'
Oh. Cornelia felt sick. He was going to go there, after all.
'You may think she was healthy at the time, but your mother's behavior… toward us, toward her own blood, had become… increasingly unpredictable. We had no explanation for it until she was diagnosed. By that point, she'd already begun refusing our visits.'
You never even TRIED to visit her, LIAR…
'That woman took advantage of your mother's illness. She used it to turn her against us. She knew your mother would become increasingly dependent on anyone who was close to her in her final days. That she would become detached from reality. Your mother saw Marianne as her only friend in this world. Marianne made sure of that.'
Cornelia's molars ground together, tears dripping from her cheeks. You're a LIAR. 'So you're saying that…'
'All that might even be forgivable, if it weren't for the fact that she tried to use it to steal you and Euphemia away from your rightful blood too. Surely you don't think she wanted to be your friend? What do you and a grown woman - a mother - have in common with each other? But to have a pair of royal princesses come foster in her household…'
'That's ENOUGH.' Cornelia snarled, turning to face her uncle and looking him in the eye. For a moment, Edward even seemed shocked. Cowed. 'You don't know anything about Lady Marianne OR-'
CRACK.
'Get. Up.' Those snarled words would be the first thing to come into Cornelia's awareness, as she gradually got her vision back, blinking away swimming white starlight and through hot tears as she held her reddened cheek and glared up at her uncle.
Of course. She'd been a fool to think he was done hitting her.
'Do you think I struck you because I was angry at you? Cornelia, I am going to make you a promise here and now. I will never strike you merely for displeasing me or angering me. But show me defiance and you will understand pain. And so will Euphemia. If that's the language I must speak to you girls, it's a language that I speak fluently.'
…
Four holes passed largely in silence. The words Bernadette had spoken five months past continued to burn in Cornelia's ears. If he knew what Edward was doing to us… was doing to me.. Surely he'd… No, but surely her uncle was counting on her telling him. Why else would he have permitted her to be alone with the Emperor? Why else would he have brought her out here? He'd told her many times. He'd never believe you. And then it would get worse. Far worse.
No. No, he probably had been asked to bring Cornelia out here. Father wanted to see her. And it had been long enough that she had had time to grieve. To move past her mother's death. And the look on her uncle's face when the Emperor had asked them to switch caddies… Panic. Uncertainty.
Her uncle was still afraid. Afraid of what she'd say to the Emperor when Edward was out of earshot. Afraid of her spilling the dirty little secrets of what he was doing to her and her sister. How he treated her father's children.
All she had to do was tell him. He was right there. Her uncle was still swinging at a ball in a bunker. The Emperor was eyeing the green from the rough. Achilles looked as though he was about to break one of her uncle's other clubs over his head.
What if there was no other opportunity after this one? What if they decided not to play a full course? What if this was her last opportunity to speak to her father in private?
What if Edward made good on his threat to start hurting Euphemia…?
Cornelia swallowed heavily. She stepped forward, toward her father's back. The most difficult words she'd ever spoken in her life croaked forth.
'Father, I… I need to tell you something.' She'd found her voice by the end of that statement. Blinking back tears of shame and fear.
'What is it, Cornelia? You can tell me anything.' Charles glanced back at his daughter, then bent down, placing a hand upon her shoulder.
'Uncle Edward, he…' Cornelia bit her lip, glancing to the side.
'What about Edward? Don't be afraid. Trust me.' The Emperor's hand squeezed a bit tighter on Cornelia's shoulder. His eyes began to flicker with righteous fury. Cornelia's heavy burdens began to lighten, and as she felt the feeling of them lifting, the words came pouring out, a desperate, sobbing mess.
'He hits me. All the time. Ever since he first took us in, he's been hitting me. He threatens me that he'll start hitting Euphie too if I don't start behaving myself… Lady Marianne promised Euphie and I could live with her and Lelouch, and she was my friend, and I l-…' Cornelia swallowed heavily, tears streaming down her cheeks. 'I just want to go and live with her, I want to be by her side, I don't want to live with Uncle Edward anymore and I'm so scared that if I told you he'd punish me worse if he found out and he'd punish Euphie too and I don't know what to do I just want to disappear but he's my uncle I don't want him to be punished either his wife said you'd have him executed if you found out please don't-'
'Cornelia, enough.' Charles's expression had changed, to a dour, grim countenance. That fury still gleamed in his eyes, but faintly, more tempered. Clearly something that she'd spoken had disgusted him. 'We will have a talk with your uncle.'
Cornelia glanced over to the bunker. One last swing sent a gout of sand pouring onto the fairway, and as Edward climbed out of the bunker to observe where the ball had fallen, his eyes met the Emperor's, and those of his daughter. Standing together. Staring at him.
Charles marched over to Edward, and as he did, Edward's expression of good humor gradually faded. His face went paler and paler, as he realized Cornelia was staying behind, and the look on her face could have only meant one thing…
'Your Majesty, I don't know what she told you, but…'
'Edward, this game is over. Achilles, go home. Cornelia stays with me.'
'A… As you wish, Your Majesty, but-'
'Meet me in my office tonight. Go home and speak with your wife. Where is Euphemia?'
'She's at the Alstreims', Your Majesty.'
'She will be staying the night. And you will be ready to explain yourself when we meet again.'