Liberté

by TheIronKnightmare

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Anthro, Dark
Length: 5873

150 years before FiM, and the kingdom of Prance is on the verge of a bloody civil war. As the capital descends into chaos and rebels storm the palace, a young officer is framed for murder, and learns the hard way that betrayal can come from anywhere

" Every man is guilty of the good he did not do"-Voltaire

150 Years before the events of FiM, and the kingdom of Prance is in turmoil. The King and his allies feast and hold extravagant parties while the rest of the nation starves. Poverty is rampant, the poor feel abandoned by their rulers and revolution is in the air. As riots break out, the army is drafted in to keep the peace, and after a night of very heavy drinking, a young officer is arrested for a crime he didn't commit…

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-10-14 19:49:05 UTC

Oh, what a night!

Ability is nothing without opportunity- Napoleon Bonaparte

    "Come on, Jean! This is ridiculous!"

"Buck off, Thibaut, you old mare! I'll come out when I'm good and ready!"

"Yes sir, Captain sir." A voice sniggered from outside. Jean d'Albert rolled his eyes, turned his head away from the door and scrutinised his reflection for the third time. The deep blue uniform customary of the Prench army fitted comfortably around his wiry, slender frame, with the tailor made precision and attention to detail that singled him out as an officer. A newly applied badge on his left breast showed that he was, specifically, a captain. A fact that Jean still wasn't quite used to. With Thibaut yelling it from every single rooftop in Mareseilles, it's something I'm unlikely to forget Jean thought to himself, allowing a his lips to curl into a small smile. Abruptly, it disappeared as he noticed he had a small sliver of lettuce stuck in his teeth. He grumbled as a pale grey aura engulfed his horn, levitating a toothpick from the room's cabinet. After making sure that the offending green sliver was removed, his azure coloured eyes stoically continued their inspection. His charcoal grey fur was sufficiently clean and smooth, his hooves were buffed and shined to near perfection, his pale, white mane was tidy, his horn fine and the mark on his flank, a lance crossed by a trumpet, was visible in case he had to confirm his identity for whatever reason. Satisfied, he smiled and turned towards the door. He felt bad about keeping his old friend waiting, but if Thibaut Beauchene was anything at all, he was understanding.

       Jean hadn't seen Thibaut for a number of months, as while he'd been campaigning against the Gryphons on Equestria's north western frontier, his childhood friend had began work as a Lawyer in the Crown Courts, dealing with claims that ranged from minor grievances such as slander, to more serious, gruesome offences. With half the city at each other's throats these days, he must have his work cut out for him Jean thought with a wince, as he neared the exit. With regular riots, an increase in gang activity and the worsening poverty, crime had sky rocketed. Which, partly, was why he was here. The urban guard had proven to be worryingly inept and was more concerned with beating the living shit out of anyone who so much as looked at them shiftily than in actually keeping the peace. This, understandably, had only worsened things, and as a result the army had been called in. Not that he was complaining, of course. He had the next week signed off for leave, so he could catch up with his friends and family. All of which wanted to celebrate his promotion, though in totally different ways. Whereas his mother and father had planned a masked ball at their home in the country, where any noblepony worth their salt would attend, Thibault had arranged for the two of them to meet with some other friends of theirs and get absolutely hammered in the various bars and pubs in the Old Port district. A prospect that, after months of strict discipline, Jean relished.

       The lock whined and the door creaked as Jean pulled it open with his magic, his gaze meeting that of the maroon pegasus that stood outside. Thibaut had opted to wear a reasonably well tailored suit, which bulged ever so slightly at his midriff. I guess desk work doesn't exactly give you an athletic physique Jean concluded to himself. His friend's blue mane was unkempt as usual, and his hooves were speckled with mud from the street. Good thing this isn't the regiment, or Sargent Rothiere would be having a fit Jean thought to himself; the idea of the young lawyer getting chewed out by the stocky drill instructor that had been the bane of Jean's existence during his six months of officer training brought a grin to his face.

"Hey, Cap, see something amusing?" Thibaut enquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Huh?" Jean asked, being dragged from his thoughts.

"See something funny?"

"Nah, I was just thinking about something."

"You always are, egghead." Thibaut said, grinning and nudging his friend in the ribs.

"Says the lawyer to the soldier" Jean deadpanned.

"Yeah, well I'm not the one that spends their evenings reading Coltaire"

"You should, the enlightenment movement really is quite fascinating..."

"Suuure it is" Thibaut  interrupted with a smirk. "And as much as I'd 'love' to discuss it with you, we're going to be late."

"Why? When are we due to meet the others?"

"In Half an hour."

"Shit, really?"

"Yep" Thibaut stated simply.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jean snapped.

"I did, you dozy bastard! But you had to spend about six months getting yourself ready! And you don't even have wings to preen" Thibaut retorted sharply.

"Ugh, ok, I'll admit, I went a little over the top." Jean conceded.

"A little? Its the pubs by the docks, not bucking Canterlot Castle" Thibaut chuckled, "And if we see princess Celestia in The Drunken Goat, I will be surprised."

Jean laughed; he laughed more than he probably should have, but there was no way of describing how much he needed this after the last few months. And after that patrol... a traitorous thought seemed to whisper in the back of his mind; a train of thought that he promptly halted. Just a chance to enjoy himself and relax, that's exactly what he needed. Even if it was only for a week, it was well worth the wait.

"Yeah, well if she was there she wouldn't be interested in your sorry arse."

Now it was Thibaut's turn to laugh. "Hey, all the mares like this suit!"

"Yeah, I bet your mother thinks you're very handsome."

"Yours certainly did."

"Behave."

"Sorry."

"Just for that, the first round's on you."

"Funny that, so was your mum."

Jean laughed again. Hardly becoming of an officer to laugh at such crude humour he thought but hey, I'm off duty. The two friends talked and joked as they headed down the inn's  staircase and into the tavern below. Jean nodded politely to the innkeeper who stood behind the bar, the earth pony returning the gesture with a smile. Thibaut, on the other hoof, winked at a pale green unicorn who was busy using her magic to clear one of the tables. She simply rolled her eyes and turned to walk towards the kitchens, a stack of trays levitating out in front of her. Thibaut's rejection drew another chuckle from Jean as the two stepped through the double doors and into the street beyond.

The evening was unseasonably cold, even for November, and as a result the two stallions shivered noticeably as they stepped away from the inn and it's warmth. The streets were dark, save for the gas lamps on either side that cast a pale, almost anaemic glow over the eerily quiet rows of terraced houses, punctuated by the occasional bakery or store. As the two walked, Jean noticed that one of the pâtisseries had been looted. The glass of it's front window had been smashed inwards by the bench which now lay on it's side behind the counter, its frame  oddly reminiscent of a wooden skeleton. Various obscenities had been written on the walls in paint, mud and Celestia knows what else, as well as drawings that ranged from satirical depictions of the Prench king, Francis VII, to material that was down right pornographic. On closer inspection, Jean noticed that the looters had taken everything that wasn't nailed down, and then returned with tools for anything that was.                                                                                                                                                                                                                          "This is terrible, Thib." Jean whispered, shaking his head in disgust. "These ponies...they've been completely ruined."

"They're the lucky ones." Thibaut said quietly.

Jean turned to him, a surprised look on his face. "How do you mean? How could THIS be lucky?"

"Last week we had a baker who'd been accused of hoarding away bread so he could sell it when the prices went up again and make a killing." Thibaut explained, a growing look of discomfort manifesting on his usually happy face. "The ponies in his area were starving, and when they heard that someone was holding out on them in order to make a profit, they weren't exactly happy."

"What happened?" Jean inquired, wary of the sickened look on his friend's face.

"They dragged him out of his shop, beat him within an inch of his life, then lynched him from a nearby tree. His wife and kids too."

Jean was at a loss for words. He knew that things were bad in the city, but this...

"What about the guards? Did they catch the ones who did it?" Jean felt anger bubbling in his chest. The baker had it coming. He reasoned. But his wife? His children? What had THEY done to deserve that?

"Buck all that's what." Thibaut snorted, some of his usual smart arsedness returning. "They decided to just leave it. Hell, they only took the bodies down when they started to rot."

Jean felt his stomach turn violently, as unbidden memories flooded back to him; Rain. It was raining. It was raining when they came...

"Jean? You ok buddy?" Thibaut asked, trying to keep the hint of concern from his voice. He failed.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine." Jean said shakily, a lost expression on his face. Almost as though he had momentarily forgotten where he was. Again, it happened again.

"Glad to hear." Thibaut stated, not entirely convinced. "You sure you don't want to go back to your room for a couple of quiet drinks? Don't want you slowing us down if you're ill" Thibaut said, smiling and giving him a wink.

"Buck no!" Jean stated, grinning as some of his old confidence returned "I'm not letting you drag me out into the cold for nothing." That, and Jean wasn't exactly eager to return to his room for two reasons. Firstly, the room was not only a let down, it was almost unfit for habitation, and every second he spent away from the place was a relief. Secondly, that would mean, inevitably, that he'd be left alone with his thoughts, something he wasn't going to experience under any circumstances, especially after his previous "episode".

"Fair enough" Thibaut said, relieved that Jean seemed ok after all.

       The two resumed walking at a brisk pace and left the bakery behind them. After a while of walking in silence, Jean spoke up:

"So who exactly are we meeting tonight?" He asked.

"Oh you'll see." Thibaut replied.

Jean's curiosity was piqued. "Come on Thib, spill."

"Nuh uh." Thibaut replied, struggling to keep a grin from forming on his face.

"Come on!"

"No, it'll ruin the surprise!"

"Ugh, fine." Jean said dejectedly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Can you at least give me one name?"

"No can do." Thibaut said firmly

"You're impossible!" Jean yelled, struggling to keep back the laughter threatening to brake free of his chest.

Thibaut chuckled. "Soo..." he added after a moment, "...spoken to Maria yet?" he asked with a sly wink.

"Unfortunately no." Jean answered sadly, "but we're going out for dinner tomorrow night."

"Where?"

"Gaston's."

"Fancy. You know, in a romantic environment like that, it might be a good idea to ask a certain somepony a certain important question..." Thibaut added slyly.

"What question?" Jean asked uncertainly.

"Well, when two ponies love each other very much..."

"Thib..." Jean interrupted in a slightly embarrassed tone, "We've already...You know..."

"I meant propose to her!" Thibaut responed. "For Celestia's sake, get your mind out of the gutter! You soldiers are all the same" he added in mock horror and disgust.

"Oh, right." Jean said, almost ignoring his friend's comedic outburst "You know Thib, that's not a bad idea."

"Huh, try not to sound too surprised" Thibaut replied, sticking out his tongue.

"Yeah, I guess there really is a first time for everything."

"Hey! I'm hurt" Thibaut stated, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

"You should be, it's depressing."

"It's a good thing I like you Captain Jean d'Albert" Thibaut started "Or else you'd end up in the Chateau de Saint Thomas."

"As if." Jean replied, grinning broadly "You're just lucky that they can't arrest you for being bucking stupid".

The two friends laughed. They laughed as though the world and all it's problems didn't apply to them. As though they were untouchable; if somepony was going to suffer, it wasn't going to be them; if somepony died, they'd be the ones doing the burying, not lying in the ground.

How wrong they were.

Oh how we Laughed!

The die is cast, what's done is done- Gaius Julius Caesar

After a long and largely quiet walk, punctuated by the occasional joke or comment, the two stallions arrived at their destination. Jean had to hand it to Thibaut, he had found the classiest, most upstanding establishment in Mareseilles' Old Port; unfortunately, that simply meant the place had a few more windows intact and smelt a little less like urine. When they came to the entrance, they had to step over some poor vagrant who'd fallen asleep in the doorway, propped up against a wall. The mare was in a sorry state, her orange fur was matted and hung heavy with filth, and her neon blue mane, once bright and eye catching, had fallen out in clumps, revealing bald patches of raw, painful flesh. Jean was overcome with a huge feeling of pity and guilt. How could he enjoy himself when ponies were suffering like this? The landlord would probably end up asking her to move, though Jean doubted the poor wretch had the strength to stand. On closer inspection, he noticed the mare was a leg short at the back, wore a dark blue uniform similar to his own (though her's was threadbare and coated with grime), and carried a piece of paper that bore a message in barely legible Prench: Lost a leg fighting Gryphons, need money for bread.

A soldier. Jean thought. That made it personal. He dropped a coin into the hat that lay by the mare's side, who on sensing the presence of somepony looming over her, awoke slowly, and smiled groggily, revealing a mouth full of brown, jagged teeth. Jean returned the smile sadly, and with a heavy heart walked inside. Thibaut, on the other hand, simply stepped over her without a moment's thought. Jean turned to him. If looks could kill, Thibaut would have been obliterated.

"What?" he asked, unsure, and fidgeting slightly under the other stallion's scornful gaze.

"Why didn't you help her? You didn't even bat an eye." Jean whispered.

"No point" Thibaut stated, looking rather ashamed with himself despite the conviction in his tone. Good, he should be. Jean found himself thinking.

"And why, 'Monsieur' Beauchene, is that?" Jean muttered angrily, worried that the mare might have overheard his friend's fatalistic remark.

"Because she doesn't have the strength to move. If some scumbag doesn't bump her off  to get at the money in that hat, then the cold will probably take her."

Jean tried to find a fitting reply, struggled, and found none. How? he wondered. How did this happen? While he and his wealthy friends were planning nights out and going about their regular business, ponies were getting stabbed over small change and lynched over loaves of bread.

"How did this happen, Thib?" Jean muttered sadly, "how did it end up like this?"

"I don't know." Thibaut stated, placing a hoof on his friend's shoulder. "The war with the Gryphons nearly bankrupted the economy, and seeing as the wealthy pay no tax, the poor had to foot the bill. Couple that with a string of poor harvests and a population boom, and...well...ponies suffer."

"I thought you said you didn't know?" Jean said, turning to look at him.

        "Yeah, well, I probably just read it somewhere." Thibaut said, running a hoof through his spiky, blue mane.

After a moment of silence, the pair crossed the threshold and opened the door to the inn. As soon as they did, they were hit by a wall of heat and noise. Ponies of all types were crammed into the canteen area, each in varying states of coherence and intoxication. A group of three particularly rowdy customers had commandeered the piano in the far left corner, and were singing some half intelligible song about a shepherd doing unspeakable things to a sheep. The walls would once have been red, but had a sickly yellow hue to them now, due to the lighting and years of exposure to pipe smoke. The wooden floorboards were faded and sticky to the touch, and many of the round tables that dotted the canteen were wobbling under the weight of their often paralytic occupants.

"Jean! Thibaut! Over here you pair of rogues!" A voice sounded above the din.

Jean turned to face the sound, and found his eyes drawn to a table near the corner that was occupied by a pair of stallions. One of them, the older of the two, and a good few years Jean's senior, wore the night blue uniform of the Prench guards, though unlike Jean this officer was a Lieutenant. His tan coloured fur was showing signs of greying, and his night black mane was twisted into a short ponytail which hung out from underneath the battered old tricorn hat he wore, and a horn jutted out from it's front. The mark on his flank was that of a sabre; the stallion was an accomplished sword's pony, a fact that Jean could testify to first hoof. The second stallion, the youngest of the four of them, wore the uniform of a Prench navy privateer; white with red cuffs and a crimson tipped collar that drew almost level with the earth pony's eyes. His cutie mark was a sexton and spyglass, illustrating his talent for navigation. On the face of it, the sailor seemed almost laughable; he looked more like a child who'd found his father's uniform than a hardened mariner, but alas, the pale white stallion's appearance was deceptive. Jean recognised the pair instantly, and smiled broadly.

"By Celestia's beard! If it isn't Matthieu Dubois and Roland Fontaine! What are you two doing here?"

"What do you think, you fool? We're here to drink to your promotion!" Roland, the Privateer piped up.

"And let's not forget his imminent proposal to the lovely Maria de Laval." Matthieu, the older stallion said with a wink.

"You told them?" Jean asked Thibaut as they sat down next to their friends. "Wait, how is that even possible when I only told you on the way here?"

"Well Jean," Thibaut began, "you're not exactly an enigma."

Am I really that predictable? Jean wondered, Only 25 and I'm already losing my touch.

"Besides, we're here to celebrate your luck at getting that promotion." Matthieu stated before Jean could reply to Thibaut's criticism, his low, rumbling tone somehow carrying comfortably over the sound of the bar around them. "You're a lucky stallion Jean, there you are, 25 and a captain, and I'm 37 and still stuck as a Lieutenant." Matthieu stated, his voice dripping with barely concealed bitterness.

"Quit being so negative, Matt." Roland interjected. "If you've got nothing productive to say, then get the cider in, this round's on you anyway." Roland's falsetto voice, despite being amiable, carried a certain steel to it. With a grumble, Matthieu pulled himself to his hooves and walked slowly towards the bar. Thibaut turned to Roland as Jean watched the older officer order in the drinks, and argue with a bar mare about the going prices of cider; saying something about how crooks like her deserved to take a long drop from a short rope in the Chateau de Saint Thomas.

"So Roland." Thibaut started, "How were things in Equestria?"

"Typically uneventful." Roland put simply, "though it's been a while since we left Manehattan, so anything could be happening there right now. Had to drop off a shipment of contraband in the Zebrahara afterwards." Roland stated, almost absent mindedly referring to a journey which, in reality, encompassed half the globe and involved a great deal of risk.

"You were in Equestria?" Jean inquired, joining the discussion.

"Yes, indeed." Roland said, warily. Then, on realising what his friend had meant by the question, he swiftly added: "I couldn't swing by to see you I'm afraid, you know how it is, deadlines and the like." He paused to sip his drink. "And besides, I could hardly interrupt you while you were busy defending our Equine brethren from the Old Enemy."

Jean nodded understandingly, then brought his own mug to his lips, an aura gripping the handle and lifting it from the table's heavily stained and well worn surface. The Equestrians had called upon it's allies, the nations of Saddle Arabia and Prance to help defend it's northern frontiers from increasingly common Gryphon incursions, and Jean, like many others, had answered the call.

"How's Maria?" Jean remembered all of a sudden, his thoughts of war and politics replaced by infinitely more desirable ones involving his lover.

"Beautiful as always..." Roland whispered wistfully under his breath.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"Oh, sorry, was miles away." Roland quickly replied, "She is well, and is eagerly awaiting your return." he added after a brief pause, the certainty returning to his voice.

"Hark! The valiant hero returns!" Matthieu's voice boomed happily as he clapped Thibaut and Jean affectionately on their shoulders. "You wouldn't believe how much I had to pay for this miserable lot." He added grumpily as he used his magic to place the tray down on the table. "There may be a crisis going on, but the bill for this was ridiculous!"

"If Matt could stop being a grumpy old sod for a second, I'd like to propose a toast!" Thibaut said, rising to his hooves. He leaned forward so that he stood with one foreleg on the table, his back legs planted on the inn's floor, and his mug held in an outstretched hoof. His friends all followed suit.

"To Jean d'Albert! A good pony..." he said, turning to look at Jean, a small smile on his face"... and a better friend."

"To Jean!" Roland echoed merrily.

"To Jean!" Matthieu bellowed.

Four mugs of cider clattered against each other; four friends laughed merrily, and from their table inside the tavern, the whole world seemed to shine.

The Alley.

The dead cannot cry out for justice, it is the duty of the living to do so for them-Louis Bujold

His head swam, his vision warped and his head pounded.

Just how much did I have to drink?

Jean honestly couldn't remember. After the toast, he'd drank and drank like there was no tomorrow until the world around him had faded to black.

Am I dreaming? It certainly felt like it, as though everything around him was just sort of...happening, and he had no control over it whatsoever.

Where am I? It looks like...an alley way? at least, that's what it appeared to be in Jean's semi conscious state. He felt his back being propped up against something cold and damp, a wall most likely, and through the haze of his intoxication, the scene around him became a little clearer. There were four figures standing to his left, their faces obscured by the shadows cast by a nearby street lamp. He then noticed a fifth pony was present, though this one lay motionless on the ground, something jutting out of his, or her, back. The four standing ponies seemed to be standing in a circle around the floored one. Jean noticed that one of them was visibly shaking.

"There, it's done." One of the ponies, a stallion, stated flatly.

That voice, it sounds almost...familiar...

"Dear sweet Celestia, there's so much blood..." another, the shaking stallion, said, trailing off at the end.

"Bah! This one's nothing." The stallion to his left replied; "At least this one died quickly. Takes them ages sometimes, especially if you stick them in the belly."

The shaking stallion gagged slightly, then turned to lean against the wall almost opposite Jean, his weight balanced unsteadily on his trembling hooves.

"Just like your friend said. It's done. Now where's my money?" The fourth stallion, who had his back to Jean, snapped impatiently.

"Relax, my friend." The first stallion replied delicately, "you'll get your money when the job is finished, as we agreed."

"It is." The other stated bluntly. "The magistrate is dead."

"But your part in this endeavour hasn't quite finished." Stallion number three shot back, a growing sense of frustration manifesting in his voice, as he raised a hoof to silence the other's protest. "My associates and I will now take our leave, while you smear some blood on this one." He said, nodding curtly at Jean. "Then, when the clock strikes next, you'll run to the nearest guard post to raise the alarm. The guards will appear, see some vagrant covered in blood lying next to the body of a prominent citizen, put two and two together, and cart him off to the Chateau." He finished, almost sounding pleased with himself.

"Ok." The fourth pony muttered bitterly after a brief silence, as he stepped over to Jean, stooped down, and began to smear something warm and sticky onto his hooves. "But that will cost extra."

"A pony after my own heart." The third stallion stated with a chuckle, "I wouldn't have it any other way..."

And with that, Jean passed out again.

A rude awakening.

War does not determine who is right, only who is left- Bertrand Russell.

Rain. Rain and more rain. The first thing that Lieutenant d'Albert had learnt after arriving at his posting is that, on the Equestrian-Gryphon frontier, all it ever did was rain.

It didn't help also that, thanks to the battalion rota, he'd been selected to assume joint command of a Prench army and Equestrian royal guard patrol. Which is why, when any sensible pony would be sipping tea in front of a nice, warm fire in their cosy barracks, he was leading a group of thirty miserable stallions and mares through a particularly Celestia forsaken forest.

The saturated ground squelched audibly beneath their hooves, and the relentless downpour not only soaked them to the skin, but also greatly damaged visibility. Seeing as they were battling Gryphons; an adversary who they only had an advantage over with regards to ranged weaponry, being robbed of their ability to see the enemy from further than twenty feet away had them all on edge. Suddenly, a snap. The whole patrol group freezes. It's members disperse in a looser formation, crouching behind any nearby cover, and readying their weapons; an ecstasy of frantic fumbling breaks out among the Equestrian elements of the group, whereas the Prench troopers, every single one of them a veteran, loads their rifles with calm, methodical precision.

"Do you see anything, Jean?" his counterpart, Lieutenant Armoured Charge, whispered in accented Prench.

"No, not yet. I'll send forward a picket to check it out; waste of time using a spyglass in this weather" Jean replied. The Equestrian officer relaxed, visibly relieved that his more experienced counterpart knew what to do. Just a child Jean thought to himself. Barely out of the academy. Trembling like a frightened rabbit. Truth be told, Jean hadn't been much better at the start of his career, but by this point he'd already been blooded; he'd fought in what must have been five skirmishes, albeit minor ones. By general standards, he too was considered inexperienced, but good enough to show the Equestrian army how it was done.

"Pass a message down the line, I want Porthos, Dantes, Sword Pyre and Zealous Strike up here now." he whispered to Sargent Chifre, who crouched behind a felled tree to his left.

"Aye aye, sir." Came the reply, as the Sargent ran from one patch of cover to the next; heading for the bushes where most of his men were crouched.Strange he thought to himself,how Equestrian names differed from anything I've come across previously back home. Cultural differences, most likely. I mean, who's ever heard of a nation where it's citizens ostracise those of them who don't have cutie marks? It's utterly absu... Suddenly, faster than the minds eye could blink, all hell broke loose.

Chifre was just moving forward with the troopers Jean had requested, when all of a sudden a gunshot sounded. At first, Jean thought it had come from their side of the woods; some jumpy recruit had fired at a shadow. Until he realised, with mounting surprise, that Chifre had fallen. After half a second, another series of shots sounded, and the rest of the group was felled. Unfortunately, for them as well as for those who looked on, not all of them died instantly. Sword Pyre, a hot headed unicorn mare from Canterlot, cried out in agony as a heavy ball of lead hammered into her mid section, rending her innards and shattering her spine; her legs, suddenly useless and without feeling, crumpled under her weight. She tried desperately to crawl back to cover, but was promptly finished off. Dantes would have cried out also, had a round not struck him in the jaw, shattering it to a pulp.

"Company! Return Fire!" Jean yelled. His troops obeyed, and began to fire into the trees ahead of them. A scream sounded out of the gloom as a round hit it's mark and the yelling of an enemy officer, from what could only be a few hundred yards ahead, almost rising above the sounds of battle around them. Gods Below! Jean thought with a start. How close were they?!Without warning, Jean felt something warm splash across the left side of his face. He touched a hoof to his cheek, and his eyes widened. Blood. A weak, gurgling sound came from his left.  He turned, and his stomach tightened.

Lieutenant Armoured Charge had been hit. A round had ploughed through the metal of his neck guard and torn his throat open. Jean gagged, and had to try hard not to be physically sick at the sight. Anypony who says fighting gets any easier is a damn liar.He thought bitterly. In desperation, he planted both his front hooves firmly on the young officer's throat, applying pressure in an effort to stem the tide of dark, arterial blood that pumped from the wound. "You'll be fine." Jean told him without conviction. "You'll be ok." They had no medic, no apothecary, and camp was almost two hours march from here. The Lieutenant was done for. This is all my fault Jean thought, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. If I'd have used my spyglass I would have seen them. Then Chifre, Charge and the others...They would still be...The Lieutenant went still, his last breath escaping from his body, and around Jean d'Albert the sounds of battle faded, replaced by the jangling of bones...Wait...Bones...?

Jean awoke with a start to the sound of a set of keys jangling together. Every night. Every night that dream. No, not a dream, a memory. On the plus side, that's all it was. A memory. Jean's mind replayed the patrol in his head every night when he slept. Sometimes he would awake as the fighting began, sometimes he would stay asleep long enough for him to lead a charge against the enemy's right flank. Sometimes his mind would warp the events into some gruesome manifestation of the guilt he felt; that the bodies of his comrades would rise up and attack him, either dragging themselves along on rotted limbs, or advancing swiftly in the guises of those not long dead.

After shaking those grim thoughts from his mind, the first thing Jean became aware of was the terrible, splitting headache that he felt and a heavy, aching feeling in his joints. Secondly, he noted with rising panic that this was not the room he had rented at the inn (to be fair, this place was an improvement, though it couldn't possibly have been worse.) After a moment or two of staring dumbly about his surroundings, Jean realised that this was a cell. The weak light of Celestia's dawning sun shined through the cell's only window, illuminating It's whitewashed walls, that were heavily marked with age. The cell's only contents, bar himself, were the straw sack that he was lying on, a bench on the wall opposite, and a bucket. A drunk tankhe thought to himself, by the gods below I had a lot to drink. This assumption was confirmed as his migraine flared up again, causing him to bring his forelegs up to massage the sides of his head, jamming his eyes shut in the process. As he did so, his nose caught the aroma of a familiar, sickly, metallic smell. He stopped. His eyes opened, then widened. His breath caught in his throat, as he brought his hooves in front of his eyes. Blood. They were covered in dried blood. His heart raced, his breath became ragged and tears threatened to spill from his wide, terrified eyes as he remembered the Lieutenant lying on the ground beside him, chocking and drowning in his own blood.  Pull yourself together you fool! It was a dream! Nothing more! The Lieutenant and the others are dead and buried! There must be another reason for this. After a moment or two of uncertainty, he pulled himself unsteadily to his hoofs, stumbling slightly as he did so. Across from him was the cell door. Odd he thought, I don't remember the cell doors at the guard station being this sturdy. He said, as he pushed against it. That's where the drunks end up, unless they've changed things since I went away. "Maybe my magic will do the trick." He said to himself, and tried to focus his power on the door. Nothing happened. "What?" He tried again, and the result was the same. Strange. He reached up to touch his horn, and was greeted not by bone, but metal. Instantly, he knew what it was. An inhibitor? Why? What the buck is going on here? What happened last night? Some memories gradually came back to him, but they were distorted and uncertain. A toast...Matthieu hitting on a waitress...Roland and a planned town development in Equestria...what was it? Ponyville or something...an alley way... and...and... That was as far as he got before a small hatch in the cell door opened, startling him from his thoughts.

"Awake now are we?" the jailor addressed aggressively. "What do you want, scum?"

"Where am I? What's happened?" Jean asked shakily, feeling as though his skull were about to burst. The Jailor laughed: "You dense or something, boy? Where on Celestia's green earth do you think?" He spat sarcastically.

Jean felt his cheeks burn at the Jailor's impertinance; "I'm at the Mareseilles guard station, you've put me here because I was drunk."

The Jailor laughed louder this time. "No such luck I'm afraid. This is the Chateau de Saint Thomas, and you're not here for being drunk, you piece of shit. Your're here 'cos you killed somepony."