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A hand grabbed Louis' shoulder, and he was roughly shaken awake. He was barely able to rub his eyes before he was unceremoniously pulled from his bed and tossed to the floor, the pain shaking him from his sleepy daze in an instant. Stumbling to his feet, he tried to open his mouth to speak, only for the man who had woken him to grab him and put Louis over his shoulder, leaving him winded as he was carried out of the room.
Louis cursed his small size - it did nothing but humiliate him. Being fourteen, he was naturally smaller than the grown men he worked with, but still, he was small even for his age. He could only hope he'd hit a growth spurt before he was stuck like this forever.
"What is the meaning of this!?" Louis demanded.
"You'll see soon enough," was all he got as a response.
Clearly something had happened - but what? Louis ran through the possibilities in his head. Certainly not everything he'd done in his career was entirely above board, but he could think of nothing that would warrant a response like this. What on earth did they think he'd done?
After a short while, Louis was taken down to the basement, to an interrogation room. The man carrying him opened the door and threw him inside, then slammed and locked the door behind him.
"Wait here," The gruff voice said from through the sheet of metal.
"Not much else to do," Louis muttered, though he was careful not to be heard - this was not the time to be clever.
Coughing from the dust, he got to his feet and brushed the dirt from his pyjamas. The stone tiles were like ice beneath his feet, and he could feel every piece of grit, every little rock digging into his skin. If they'd just asked, he would have come willingly - he was innocent after all - and it would have given him the chance to at least put some shoes on. But no, he had to have his bare feet on the grimy cell floor. He quickly made his way to the table in the centre of the room and sat down, positioned in such a way that his feet didn't touch the ground.
With nothing to do but wait, Louis examined the room. It was small, the walls and floor made out of dark stone, stained in places with who knows what. The only light filtered in through a barred window level with the ground outside, and even that was pitiful - the sun was only just starting to rise, it was still rather dim outside. Starting to feel a slight chill, Louis wrapped his arms around himself. His clothes were far too thin to be worn out of bed, but what choice did he have?
The wait was agonising - it probably wasn't quite as long as it felt, but Louis couldn't help but wonder if it was psychological. He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little nervous, but he knew he had to keep it together. Stay strong. If anyone got even a hint of weakness from him, they'd tear him apart.
The lock clicked, and someone entered, a man Louis was familiar with. They didn't come into direct contact often, as he was a few steps further up the ladder than Louis was, but he knew his face - though he'd never seen it in an expression like this. A cloud of cold fury had descended over him, like he would slice someone in half if they so much as breathed wrong. Louis bit the inside of his cheek. His lack of knowledge about the situation was making him uneasy - he was walking into a battlefield blind, unable to see what enemy lay before him. It was impossible to strategise without being able to tell what pieces were on the board.
"Guiabern," the commander said, sitting across from Louis, his weight shaking the table, "Where were you last night?"
"Last night?" Louis frowned. That did explain the urgency, but not why he of all people had been taken for interrogation. He hadn't done anything. "I was here. I had dinner in the cafeteria then returned to my chambers in the evening. I haven't been anywhere else."
The commander stared Louis down, analysing, looking for anything which would prove he was lying. The slightest twitch. A shift in his expression. But Louis did not look away. Did not give in. Eventually, the commander broke eye contact, and Louis relaxed a little, but did not let his guard down.
"So... in other words, nobody saw you after dinner? There's no-one that can corroborate your alibi?"
"...Alibi? Is someone dead?" He'd known whatever this was couldn't be good, still... finding out he might be a suspect in a murder investigation was a nasty surprise. "What happened last night?"
"I'm sure you already know perfectly well what happened."
"What, so you've already decided I'm guilty? What happened to due process? You haven't proved a thing - and you can't, because I have done nothing wrong."
Before Louis could even blink, a fist came flying at his face, and pain radiated through his skull. Vision blurring for a moment, Louis clutched his head, then felt something warm and wet on his upper lip. Looking down, there were spots of red on his perfectly white pyjamas. His nose was bleeding.
"For a crime of this severity, you're lucky you weren't taken right to the gallows."
"I am not a criminal," Louis hissed, "I have broken no law. You have no right to treat me like-"
"Listen here, boy," The commander roared, slamming his hands on the table, "You might think your title or your career protects you, but it does not. There is nothing that will shield you here, understand?"
"...Fine." Arguing was pointless.
"Then let's start again. Where were you last night?"
"Did you not hear me the first time? My answer will not change just because you asked again - I was here. I haven't left the base."
The commander clenched his jaw. "Hands on the table."
Cautiously, Louis complied. He briefly considered fighting his way out of this ridiculous situation, but that would only serve to make him appear guilty. Not to mention he was unarmed - he wouldn't get anywhere without getting skewered. The commander reached forward, and with one hand he pinned Louis' right wrist to the table, while with the other he began to push Louis' pinky back.
"What are you doing?" Louis asked, distress creeping into his voice.
"Where. Were you. Last night?"
"I- I already told you-" As hard as he tried, he was losing his grip on his composure, his armour being ripped from him and revealing the weakness beneath. The commander pushed his pinky further, past its limits, and Louis cried out in pain as his bones and tendons crunched. Desperately, he tried to stop the commander with his free hand, but the man was far stronger than Louis - it was futile.
"I was here..." Louis said, face flushing as he heard how high pitched his voice went. Tears began to leak from his eyes. "I don't know what you want me to tell you."
The commander sighed. "Fine then. We'll try another question." He let go of Louis' finger and it flopped back to the table, useless. Breathing deeply, Louis attempted to focus on anything but the agony, tried to pull himself back together, but his finger burned white hot, and he could not keep the tears at bay. He knew he must look a mess - unbrushed hair, a bloody nose, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was supposed to be better than this, stronger than this. But torture was better than death. Humiliation was better than death. As long as he was alive he could come back. He could redeem himself.
Just don't die.
That was all that mattered.
"Can you use magic to teleport?" The commander asked. He pinned Louis' hand to the table once more, pushed back his ring finger as far as it would allow. So this was how it was to be. This question had a right answer, and if he did not provide it, another finger would be broken, yet what this man considered to be the 'right answer' was not necessarily the truth. But Louis did not like to lie.
"I don't know, I've never tried. Perhaps? Though I'd need to practice it to get it to a level where I'd be confident in the accuracy."
The commander put more pressure on his finger, and a stabbing pain began to spread from his joint to his fingertip. Reflexively, Louis squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open. Looked the commander in the eye. He grunted, then released Louis' finger.
"A final question."
"Yes?" Louis asked warily. As the pain in his fingers faded, he regained control of his voice.
"Do you bear any ill will towards the royal family?"
The question was like a bucket of ice water dumped on Louis' head. The royal family...? Suddenly the brutal treatment made sense. If some tragedy had befallen them and he was deemed responsible...
What if something had happened to the King?
All the colour drained from Louis' face. Surely not? He hadn't had a chance to heal this sick country yet. All his ideals, all his plans, turned to dust in an instant. It couldn't be... could it? He'd always seemed so untouchable to Louis, so high above everything, like an angel descending to earth to give his blessings to those he deemed worthy. It was a foolish notion coloured by the innocence of childhood, but still... Was Hythlodaeus not strong enough after all? What would the country do without him?
Louis shook himself out of his daze. The commander had said nothing of the King. He was catastrophising. Without more information, he could make no certain judgements - yet he was unable to completely push away the image of Hythlodaeus with a sword in his heart, rivers of crimson gushing out, flowing down his body and creating an ocean of blood beneath him.
"No, no, of course not," Louis said, "I am only here in service of the King. I joined this army for him. To pledge my support to him. I put my blood, sweat and tears into uniting this country under one banner - his banner. I would never do a thing to harm him or his family." Rage bubbled up inside Louis - after everything he'd done, every sacrifice he'd made, he still had to prove himself? Prove his loyalty? Was it never enough?
The commander leaned in close, but Louis did not flinch. He refused to be intimidated further.
"Best hope that's true, boy. Your room is being searched. If there is any evidence you're lying, we will find it."
"You can't find proof of a lie. Besides, if it were true, what kind of fool would I have to be to keep evidence in my personal quarters? I'd have hoped my intelligence was more highly regarded than that."
Without warning, Louis was knocked off his feet, a hand tight around his neck, the commander's bulk knocking over the table and chair as he lunged at Louis, pinning him to the wall.
"Do you really think this is the time to be funny?" He growled, squeezing Louis' neck tighter. All Louis could do was cough and wheeze, grabbing ineffectually at the commander's hands to try and loosen them. Flailing his legs, he just about managed to get the tips of his toes on the floor, barely saving himself from suffocation. This man was insane - he was going to kill him for a crime he hadn't committed before he even had any sort of trial.
Without warning, the commander pulled back, dropping Louis to the floor, crashing to his knees and clutching at his neck as he gulped in as much air as he could. The commander watched him silently as he sat there, a pathetic pile on the floor, nearly all his spirit beaten out of him. But not quite. He glowered at the commander with a subdued anger, the glowing embers of a nearly dead fire that threatened to reignite the moment you let your guard down. The commander's hands twitched, then he kicked Louis in the stomach at full force, knocking the scraps of air he'd managed to get in right back out, and leaving him crumpled.
"You'll be collected and taken to the capital soon. Sit tight."
Louis said nothing, didn't even give him the satisfaction of a pained grunt. He would dispel these allegations soon enough.
The journey to Grand Trad was an uncomfortable one. Manacles bound his wrists, squeezing so tight enough to shred his skin, and the cart was horribly bumpy - Louis struggled not to fall off his seat. When he was finally taken out of the carriage, the sky was grey, like the clouds were holding back tears. The streets were emptier than Louis was used to seeing them - an air of grief permeated the entire city. Even now, nobody had told him what had happened. He had no clue what charges he needed to refute, but whatever it was, the effect it had on the city was profound.
Grabbing his arms, two guards began to drag Louis inside - he barely had more than a few seconds of fresh air - but even that was enough time for someone to spot him.
"Murderer!"
It echoed in Louis' ears as he entered the building.
So someone was dead. And the blame had been placed firmly on him.
Louis was brought before the senate. Darkness filled the room, only broken by spotlights above the politicians that towered over him, and the one above his own head. The room seemed designed to make whoever stood in his position feel lowly and insignificant - it took much of Louis' willpower not to let it get to him. At least he'd been allowed to get dressed before he'd been taken here. It would have been far worse if he'd had to stand there in his pyjamas. Slowly, he scanned the faces that watched him from above, until his gaze landed on the King, and he could not help but smile in relief, his shoulders relaxing. The King was alive! He'd been worrying over nothing. But if not the King then... who was he accused of killing?
"Why are you smiling for?" A rhoag asked, voice full of venom. Forden, the head of the sanctist church. He'd never seen him in person, but he'd seen pictures in the paper, or on posters from time to time.
"The way people were talking, I was worried the King had been killed. I am pleased to see he is well - that is all."
"Hmph. I doubt the King's health is of any concern to you considering what you did to his son, Louis Guiabern." Forden glared at him. "Guiabern... You haven't even had that name for a year and you've already sullied it"
"His son? Is the Prince dead?" Louis asked, choosing to ignore the Sanctifex's jab.
Confusion whirled around in his head. What interest would he - or anyone - have in killing a six year old boy? Eliminating an heir was pointless when the King still lived, and he had decades of life left in him. Yet to say he felt nothing upon hearing this news would be a lie. The Prince was merely someone he knew existed in his village, but... this was another one of his people dead. His chest ached - the Prince was the only survivor he'd known of other than himself. Now he might be the only one left.
"He might as well be, after that curse you put on him!" One of the council members yelled.
"We can't say for certain yet it was him," Another said, sounding exasperated. This discussion had probably been going on long before Louis had arrived.
"I'm being accused of cursing the Prince? Am I understanding that correctly?" Louis asked.
"Indeed," said Forden, "The Prince lives for now, but his condition will deteriorate until there is nothing left of him."
"And what proof have you that I am responsible for this heinous crime?"
"There was a witness," Forden said, "The assailant in last night's attack was small, a child - around your size. Not only that, but they demonstrated a proficiency in magic beyond most adults, nevermind children. Who else could it be?"
Louis blinked. Then laughed.
"Ha! That's all you have? You can't be serious. Your highness, surely you don't believe this drivel?" Louis gestured to Forden with a bandaged hand, staring directly at the King.
But something was wrong.
He hadn't noticed it before, but the King's face looked... empty. Hollow. Like his soul had been ripped from his body, leaving only a husk. Wrinkles carved his face where they hadn't before - he seemed to have aged far more than was possible in just three years.
Of course he didn't look well - his son had just been handed a death sentence - but still... Wasn't he stronger than that? A man with such passion for his vision could not be defeated with just one loss. If anything, this was just more of a reason to fight back, to purge these lands of those who would see his principles crushed.
"Your highness?" Louis asked, concerned.
Why wasn't he saying anything? He must be able to see how ludicrous and unfair this was. Where was his conviction?
The King blinked, then raised his head slightly, like he was seeing Louis for the first time.
"Louis..." The King's voice was weak. "Did you harm my son?"
"No, no of course not!" Louis pleaded, "You must believe me - I have nothing but the utmost respect for the royal family. What reason would I have to do such a thing?"
"To get the throne for yourself, why else?" Forden thundered, his voice echoing throughout the chamber, "Upstarts like him are never satisfied. He's only fourteen and he's already risen this far through the military - he's a power hungry beast that needs to be put down before he gets out of control."
"I am simply passionate about this country!" Louis countered, "I put everything I have into my job because I believe in the King's vision and would do anything to see it realised! Is that a crime?"
Arguments burst out across the room, and Louis was unable to pick out a single voice. His gaze remained locked on the King, begging for him to see that he was telling the truth. But the King hardly seemed to be aware of anything going on around him, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
The one person that could have helped him. The one person that could have proved his innocence.
The one person that he cared about had betrayed him.
Tears welled up in Louis' eyes, though whether they were from sadness or anger he did not know. His last hope had been torn away from him, and the shouting only seemed to get louder and louder, a cacophony that tore through his eardrums. Everything was falling apart, the walls felt as though they were coming down on him, crushing, squeezing, suffocating, burying him in a tomb of accusations and treachery. It was as though the commander's fist was around his neck again - he couldn't breathe. All he could manage were shallow gasps, his lungs refusing to obey his orders. With shaking hands, he grasped at his neck, his skin cold and clammy.
Why was this happening? Why why why why WHY?
Not again. He couldn't do this again. Lose everything again. After he'd tried so hard to rebuild. To keep moving forwards, despite the anguish of his loss weighing down on him every single day. He'd lost everything and still tried to keep going. But the King? He would give up so easily?
Louis was dimly aware that the arguing had stopped, that everyone was just watching him hyperventilate on the senate floor. He didn't even care. He couldn't believe what a fool he'd been, to believe in such a weak man. It had cost him everything. But as long as he was alive he could come back. Just don't die. That was what he clung to.
Eventually, it was decided that, since the evidence was all circumstantial, Louis was to be demoted and sent to some irrelevant, far-flung corner of the country, where he would never again have a chance to gain any sort of power.
The Louis Guiabern that had entered that chamber was dead. He was a new man now, one that would never again rely on others for his hope. They would only let him down in the end. Betray him. If this country was ever to be a utopia, then he would have to be the one to build it, no matter what it took.
He would never lose again.