Chapter Text
Waterloo
01: Naiveté
FOR THE GLORY OF THE KINGDOM.
It was the one thing he could see everywhere – from the newspapers to the haphazardly-drawn flyers being distributed in the town square.
"Please get one, sir!" Said a blue-eyed boy cheerfully, eyes shining with such hope that it hurt to stare. Smiling, he ruffled the boy's blonde locks and turned his eyes away, focusing on the top of his head instead. With a soft murmur of thanks, he walked away, slowly as if dazed, toward the palace where his lord lived.
A frown touched his forehead as he pushed the iron gates open.
He was becoming increasingly worried, seeing how erratic his lord's behaviour was becoming. At night, he could hear him talking on and on in his chambers, devoid of an audience, but still firm and vigorous. The litany consisted of his hatred, his uplifting of his country's status as an empire, how infallible he was.
All those things were difficult to digest, difficult to prove, but somehow, something inside him compelled him to do whatever it was his lord asked.
Without question.
With hope.
With patriotic pride.
After the horror of the revolution, after the bitter cold he experienced in Moscow, still feeling the last vestiges of hunger in his stomach, and still reeling from the blow of not having something tangible to show for his sacrifice and valour, he longed to rise above everything and be a part of a great nation that would be the envy of all Europe.
He will be a part of an empire he dreamed would be as mighty as the Holy Roman Empire in its glory years. There was nothing to do now but place his trust on his emperor and hope that this time, France will succeed.
With renewed vigour, Francis Bonnefoy increased his pace and pushed through the palace's huge oaken doors.
TBC