December 26th, 1799

Since he'd spent Christmas day feeling ill and tired, Francis decided to make up for his lack of disposition the following morning. Despite the fact that the pain in his leg was getting worse, and despite the fact that he still felt objectively horrible, he wanted Laura to have a good day.

And so, he asked her if she wanted to take an early stroll through the city streets. She agreed, knowing that he probably needed to catch a bit of sunlight, and after helping him dress up, held him by the arm and took him outside.

—There's a small park two streets down from here. Even in winter it's quite beautiful. Do you think you can manage to get there?

—Yes —Francis nodded—. What's a couple of blocks when I've already crossed a whole country?

—No need to brag —she smiled and shook her head—. I already know of your feats, general Forestier. I'm just concerned. I don't want you to overexert yourself.

—I'm fine —he replied, despite the fact that he still was in a lot of pain—. Don't worry.

—I can't help myself.

—I know —Francis smiled back—. But anyways... I didn't come out here to talk about my poor health. I came here because I wanted to take you out for breakfast. I remember very clearly that in one of your letters you mentioned that there's a coffeehouse you like, somewhere on this block.

—It's next to the park. But how are you going to pay?...

He removed a pouch of coins from the pocket of his coat.

—I grabbed this from my backpack while you were getting ready. I also have a circular letter of credit with me, in case we need more money. But I think that the coins will suffice.

Laura hugged his side as a thank you, as they kept moving through the white sidewalk with ease, despite the chilly air.

The couple arrived at the park a few minutes after. The whole area was covered with snow, the trees were dead, and the lack of life was somewhat intimidating, but the former Duchess was right, it still was a beautiful place to see. At that early hour of the morning the lamplighters were feeding the flames of the light poles, and the golden hue of the lanterns gave the landscape some sort of magical charm, that Francis never found in the freezing woods of Harmania.

Maybe, the difference in atmosphere laid in these very lanterns. They indicated the presence of life. The care of men. The hard work of honest people. They reminded those who passed them by that they were not alone. That warm, yellowish hue meant society. It meant hospitality.

On the other hand, the blue and green colors of the frozen forest meant hostility. The end of the road. The lack of help, of empathy, of aid, of company. It showed the darkest, cruelest face of nature with pride. There was no salvation there. No hope for a rescue. Only death, in the silent winter.

—Francis? —Laura called him again, and made him snap back into reality—. Are you okay?

—Y-Yes... —he mumbled, and swallowed his memories back down—. I'm fine. It's uh... It's a precious place indeed. I love it.

—Do you want to sit down?

—No, there's no need —the general gently shook his head—. Where is the coffeehouse?

—Over there —she pointed to a small road between the trees, that led to another street.

—Then let's go.

This, they did. Francis's steps became quicker and shorter, as he crossed the snow. Although he did enjoy the sight of the park, and he was not lying about it, there were far too many memories burbling to the surface of his mind, and he did not want to deal with them at that moment. He just wanted to spend his early morning with Laura, and enjoy his life for once.

Therefore, he left that square of dead nature behind and went inside the shop, along with his wife. They sat down, ordered two coffees, bread, eggs, bacon and beans. In yet another weird switch of behaviors, Laura ended up finishing her breakfast earlier than he did. Francis tried to keep up, but he knew that eating more than the eggs and bacon would make him sick. And so, he had to stop.

—Do you want the rest? —he asked her, and gestured to his plate.

—No, I'm quite satisfied. And you?...

—I'm okay. Just... not that hungry.

The general then looked outside, through the window. And saw something that dragged him back to Harmania again, without his consent and willingness.

The was a homeless man sleeping on one of the benches of the park they had just left. He was tucked in on himself, like a cat, and was covered with snowflakes. The nameless miserable did not move, did not stir, did not cough, did not show any signs of life.

Francis grabbed his pouch, threw he money he owed for their breakfast on the table, and stood up with a jump.

—What's wrong, my love?

—There's a man in the cold, outside.

Laura looked towards the window.

—Is he dead?

—I'm not sure. But I can't stand to watch another death unfold —the general said, then called the waiter.

In Lievre, it was common for restaurant and coffeehouses to wrap their client's leftover food in leaves, and handle it to them. Some of the richest business also allowed said customers to buy wooden lacquered boxes, to carry away their meals in a more sophisticated manner.

The coffeehouse only offered the leaf wrapping choice, and so, Francis asked for the remains of his breakfast to be packaged up. Then, with Laura's help, he went outside and tried to wake up the poor man they'd seen on the bench, with the hopes of giving him the food, and a couple of coins so he could rent a small room somewhere.

—Monsieur... Monsieur, please —the general whispered under his breath, as he shook the man's shoulder.

Eventually, he woke up, terrified.

—W-Who are you? —he tried to pull away, scared by the surrounding shadows.

—We're not here to hurt you, monsieur —Francis released him, and raised his hands up, to prove his point—. We just wanted to make sure you are alright. You were sleeping in the cold.

—And?

—You weren't moving.

—Really?

—Yes, monsieur.

—Fucking hell... Y-You should have let me die —the stranger huffed with bitterness and crossed his arms, closing his eyes again—. Why did you wake me?

—We had to —Laura replied, with a mix of worry and pity.

—But w-why?... Life's shit. It's all just horseshit. Why did you?... —he shook his head, and tried to make himself as small as possible.

It was then when she noticed something Francis already had, when they still were at the restaurant.

This was not only a simple homeless person. He was a veteran from the King's Guard. A man who had seen the horrors of war, of the revolution, and had survived by offering his sanity and health to the Gods of war. Mars had stolen his left leg from him, and a few fingers of his left hand. Unfit to work because of his disabilities and because of his fractured mental state, the soldier lost his family, his money, his house and his glory. Now, he only another ragged and dirty man, feeding his stomach with the snow, the filthy water from the public wells, and the crumbs of bread his panhandling bought him.

—In which war did you fight?

—W-What? —the nameless soldier asked, as he began to shake.

Francis covered his trembling body with his own coat.

—In which war did you fight, grenadier?

The man opened his eyes, barely.

—H-How did you k-know?...

—You were a grenadier? The green aguillette, monsieur. It's still used in the republican army.

Some recognition seemed to cross the veteran's face, and after a second of confusion, he opened his eyes fully.

—I know you...

—You do?

—Are you really?... —the stranger's anger dissipated, as his awe grew—. The Baron of Forestier... Damiano Vecchia Fanton?

Hearing his father's name be said out loud felt like a punch to the gut.

—I'm afraid I'm not, monsieur. That would be my father.

—Then you... —the soldier grabbed the general by the shoulders—. Y-You must be Francesco...

Before Francis could ask the stranger any more questions, he was pulled into a tight, desperate hug.

—Monsieur...

—I-I was a friend of you father... Of t-that good man... My n-name's Achille Caffarelli. I w-was a Commander of t-the mounted g-granadiers... I k-knew m-most of your family before... before...

Achille broke down crying, and although Francis' own eyes filled with tears, he was unable to pull back, and break the hug.

—I'm sorry, monsieur —the general patted his back—. I really am.

—I'm j-just happy to see you, boy —the grenadier at last let him go, and touched one of his cheeks with his wounded hand, just to prove to himself that the young man before him indeed was real—. I am t-the one who's sorry... —he then looked at his dirty finger and, ashamed, put his hand down—. I must smell...

—I don't care.

—Me neither —Laura replied, equally as emotional as her husband—. But I do think that you, monsieur, deserve a bath and clean, new clothes. Francis...

—Yes, I agree —he nodded, smiled at his wife, and looked back at the veteran—. Please, come with us. We have food, shelter, and everything you need to feel comfortable again.

—I c-can't bother you two anym-more t-than I have...

—You're not a bother, monsieur —the woman insisted—. And I've heard of your name before. You were also a friend of my father, the vicomte Louis Saliceti, weren't you?

—Y-Your father?... —Achille squinted his eyes again—. Are y-you madame Laura?

—I am indeed, monsieur —she smiled, and bowed slightly.

—And y-you two...

—We are married —Francis replied, without a second of hesitation.

—B-But the D-Duke... w-weren't you...

—Alphonse was hanged. He's dead. And I thank God every day for that; he was a despicable man —Laura said, but didn't lose her soft expression—. He doesn't matter anymore... What matters is that we need to get you out of here. Come with us, monsieur... Please.

The man, tired of sitting at the bottom of the dark pit of his despair, agreed. And so, the trio walked back to the Forestier residence, where the couple fed the elder with the lukewarm remains of Francis' breakfast, and prepared him a bath.

—I hope these clothes fit you, monsieur —the general handed the garments to the veteran.

—You're a little bit taller than me, but I think I'll be fine. Thank you, Francesco.

—It's Francis now, monsieur. I changed my name... The old one brought me too many bad memories. I hope you understand.

—I'm sorry. And I do. I'll try to remind myself of the new name... Francis. If I don't, please forgive me; I'm old.

The former gardener laughed, and saw the grenadier walk away to the washroom. As the older gentlemen cleaned himself, Francis had a small conversation with Laura in the living room about the weird twist of fate they had just witnessed.

As they spoke, there was a knock at the door. On the other side, were the Laupins —at exception of little Laura, whom had stayed home, under the care of a maid—.

—Good morning. We are terribly sorry for dropping by unannounced, but we wanted to invite you to have lunch at our house —Noelle said, as her husband nodded.

—That is, if you wish to do so... We really don't want to bother you.

—We'll be pleased to go, but... We are currently dealing with a small problem —Francis replied.

—Please, come in and we'll explain —Laura gestured, and the Laupins did so as ordered.

In the living room, the younger couple shared with the older the details of the delicate situation of the newly found grenadier.

—I have a small propriety downtown. A room I bought when I still was a bachelor, in a building near the city square. I could lend it to monsieur Caffarelli, if he's in need of a place to stay in. 

—If you want, I'll pay for his stay...

—There's no need for that —Camille stopped Francis mid-sentence—. I'll be glad to help, if he accepts it.

The group heard heavy steps and the creaking of wood, coming from the staircase. The veteran didn't take too long to show up in the living room.

—Oh... Good morning.

—Monsieur, this is major general Camille Laupin, and his wife, madame Noelle Laupin —Francis introduced the man to his friends.

The grenadier bowed, and held his own hand back with the other. Apparently, he was trying to stop himself from asking for a handshake. Camille noticed his reluctance, knew it most likely came from shame and a fear of being humiliated, and decided to give him an invitation himself. His open palm seemed to surprise the veteran. But, after a second of hesitation, the man itself finally shook it.

—Would you like to come and have lunch with us today, monsieur?

—Lunch?

—Yes... My wife and I came here to invite Francis and Laura, but it's only fair you come along too.

—I'd be honored.

—Then it's settled —Noelle smiled—. Let's all go at once.

---

Before the food was served, the group sat down in the living room of the Laupin's residence to talk. Camille and Francis specifically, took turns interrogating the man, as subtly and nonchalantly as they could.

They pieced his replies together in their own minds, and came to the same conclusion: Caffarelli wasn't lying. He did know Francis' family, and he had an important role in the King's guard.

But how did he go from a renowned commander, to a homeless nobody?

—After your father's execution, I went down a dark path —the grenadier confessed, looking down at the cup of tea that one of the maids had served him. Francis, hearing those words, drew a sharp breath in and shifted in his seat—. He was a good man. He was fighting for the rights of the people. And when he went to talk to the King, to convince him of changing those unfair and exploitative labor laws he'd passed, the Baron did so because he knew it was the right thing to do... He wasn't searching martyrdom. But that's the destiny life gave him.

—He was accused of being a revolutionary.

—And he was... without even knowing it —the veteran said, then smiled at the general—. You remind me so much of him. You have his face... That crooked nose, that sharp jaw, and even that moustache... but the eyes... those belong to your mother. What a wonderful woman she was... She used to hold banquets for the poor and the betrodden. And gave a big part of her wealth away to save the starving peasants that the King was neglecting.

—I don't have many memories of her, or of my father... She died when I still was very young. And since then, the ones I do have been fading more and more.

—I am sorry.

—It was not your fault, so don't be.

—Well, I can say that both of your parents were heroes. Great people, with great values... But King James and his family were despicable. I'm sorry, ma'am, because I know you once were married to his son, the Duke of Alvern, but it's true...

—I know it is —Laura calmed the grenadier down—. And I make my current husband's words my own, there's no need to apologize.

They kept talking about the past. Noelle and Camille did not mind to sit down and just listen about the old history between Francis', Laura's, and Alphonse's family. In fact, they were quite entertained by the tale.

Only when their lunch was over, the conversation ended as well. And it was then that the Laupins took their chance to mention their propriety downtown.

—So? How does that idea sound to you?

—You'd... —the grenadier gulped, surprised—. You'd let me live there?

—Yes.

—B-But I don't have any money...

—Until you can find a job, we have no problem lending you a hand —Camille said—. As long as you keep the space neat, and clean... You can use it.

The veteran broke down crying. He then told his own tale of sorrow and pain:

He had lost his leg during the revolution, while following orders from King Henry, sent directly from the Plaidier Palace. He was told to take care of the other palace in the capital, Tournielles, in the very same night that the building was attacked by the rebels, and burned to the ground.

—I did not want to be there, but orders were orders... —Achille shook his head—. I had n-no choice...

Because of his actions that night, defending the building, he was expelled from the republican army by the Directory. He began to drink. His wife left him. His family turned their backs to him. He lost his job, his home, his loved ones, and gained his only current pleasure: alcohol.

—Well, my friend... You are now in good hands —Camille patted his back, and said:— I want to make a deal with you, because I can see you are a hardworking man, and you've just fallen into a bad situation...

—Monsieur?

—If you promise me to stop drinking, and get yourself a job... I will pull some strings, and try to get you a veteran's pension. And I'll do my best to return to you your medals, and your lost rank in the army.

—And I'll help him —Francis nodded.

The grenadier, laughing between his tears, agreed happily with the proposal.

And so, after killing so many people, for so many months, the two friends were finally able to save one life.

They had done at least one good thing with the power and the money they now had. Their crimes and sacrifices were worth something, in the end.