21: Absolution

They pass through the golden gates, behind which reside the last remnants of her people. Tall stone buildings with stucco features and high windows rise on each side of the broad, cobbled street. Polished carriages drawn by fat, glossy horses clatter down the cobbles, and on the raised sidewalks richly clad people sidle along, stopping to converse whenever they come upon an acquaintance. Most faces show a slightly tanned, warm toned complexion accompanied by dark hair, and eyes which range from shades of warm bronze to dark brown. Councilman Dok leads her gently but firmly by the arm through the somewhat crowded street, ignoring the inquisitive looks from those around them. They take her to Arun Square, where at one end the city hall faces east towards the rising sun. The magnificently tall whitewashed building with beautiful stucco detailing is the seat of the General Council, as well as the High Council. A white marble fountain at the centre of the square sprays jets of water towards the skies, letting it rain back down as a fine mist. A gilded horse rears up through the haze, its rider brandishing a tall spear. They writhe together, caught in the midst of endless battle. The rider is Aclerion, lord of the dawn and greatest among the gods. Here he is depicted riding upon his first mount, Conquest. Myth claims that Aclerion left the halls of the undying and mounted Conquest by the gates of the gods. He rides across the heavens to herald a new dawn, and upon reaching his destination he will claim a new mount, the red steed named War. The statue of Aclerion turns its stern gold visage towards the House of Judgement, the courthouse at the other end of the plaza.

"Councilman Dok, might I ask where you are taking me?"

"Hoping for an audience with the High Council, Agent?" he says wryly, peering at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm afraid it'll be the House of Judgement for you. No welcome news I'm sure, but don't go getting any funny ideas." He makes a vague gesture towards the armed lawmen stationed by the entrances to the House of Judgement. As if on a given signal, the three men behind them draws whatever weapons they had concealed within their frock coats. She feels the thin barrel of a weapon press against the small of her back.

"You fear me, Councilman?"

He smiles. "Every man should feel some small amount of fear when he comes face to face with the wolf, should he not?"

"I will admit I see no wolf here," she says.

Nile Dok pats her wrist with his hand.

"All agents are wolves, Iresia. I believe that's the whole point of it. You hunt and kill and eat as a pack, and when prey grows scant you turn on the weak and eat each other." His dark eyes twinkle. Councilman Dok has led a double life longer than she has even been alive. Aside from Chairman Lindberg, who holds a seat in the king's Council of Nobles, no one has risen so high as Nile Dok within the royal government. He went so far as to befriend a boy whose father had been executed for high treason, Erwin Smith, knowing very well the answer to the questions his comrade decided to devote his life to. Dok had even married an Eldian woman and managed to father children while moving up the political ladder, securing himself a seat on the General Council – the highest attainable position within their society for someone of low blood. Iris is certain that if there is one here who should fear the other, it is she.

Nile leads her up the stairs to the courthouse, through the lobby and entrance hall within, and into one of the corridors hidden behind the grand marble staircase. Here, he opens a set of tall wooden doors and motions for her to enter. The lawmen stop outside the door, evidently intent on standing guard. Once through the door, he asks her to hand back the single-action revolver Valentin had given to her, and then he checks her for concealed weapons. The room within has a high vaulted ceiling, where decorative plasterwork encircles and frames masterful paintings. They depict the myth of creation as well as the doom of their once proud sun nation. Three panels right inside the door show the gods moulding the world from dense grey clay and inflating it with gas to make air and water spring from the ground. The next panel shows legions of men clad in steel armour, spears and swords in hand. The painting beside it depicts armoured cavalry riding down people clad in rich cloth and leather, to a backdrop of blackened buildings and red flames. The last painting shows children kneeling before a hook-nosed man wearing a legate's helmet and gilded armour. The ground beneath them is slick with blood, and the bodies of the dead are piled around them in great mounds of corpses. Thus ended Thessia, over two-thousand years ago.

Iris looks towards the tall windows covered in ornamental latticework, which further diffuses the impression of having just arrived in a high class holding cell. Ostentatious armchairs, sofas and a chaise lounge are arranged upon the lavish rug at the centre of the room, half smothered in beautiful silk upholstery. A huge chandelier with prisms the size of quail eggs hangs majestically suspended over the neatly arranged furniture. The polished wooden floor is inlaid with intricate floral intarsia, and clean enough to eat from. Iris does a full turn and ends up looking back at Nile Dok, standing stock still in the open doorway.

"Is this a cell?" she asks. The fact the room lacks anything which might pass for a privy has not escaped her.

"Think of it as a waiting room - one you will not be able to leave until we let you out. Have no fear, you will not be here long. We have more suitable accommodations waiting for you downstairs." Below ground level.

"Pray tell, what will I be waiting for?"

Councilman Dok peers at her quizzically as if trying to decide whether she is a strange but beautiful butterfly, or a common, ugly one. He looks much older than Commander Erwin Smith, though they should be of similar age.

"Your mother wished to see you. She will be here any moment."

Iris moves backwards until her shins bump against the side of the chaise, and she sits down. How many years have passed since she last saw Mama – three, or four? She cannot even remember the last words they spoke to one another before this long separation, probably because they were of no consequence. Councilman Dok is still looking at her with that same, speculative expression.

"Why did you do it?" he says.

"I do not understand the question."

He smiles again. "No, of course not... Well, now that you are safely in our custody I must return to my duties. Good day to you, Agent Bachmann."

Without waiting for any form of reply he steps out the door and closes it behind him. She hears the clinking of keys and a soft rattling as the lock turns, followed by a soft 'click'. Dok's soft steps fade as he walks back they way they had come. Strange, now that he is gone she almost wishes he would come back. The room feels very big and much too grand. She looks down at the beautiful floor, and remembers playing cards with Reiner in front of a fireplace one winter's eve. It must have been during one of those trips up north they made each winter. She remembers Reiner shooting her a deadpan look over the top of his cards before placing one on the floor between them. His smirk when she tried to decide which card to play, changing her mind over and over again. It was always so difficult to focus when he looked at her that way. Why had she put the silver cigarette case in his pocket? Was it because she wanted him to carry some small part of her with him, or had she just wanted there to be something in the world to bear witness to the fact that she had existed; something to say "I am human, and I never wanted this"? It cannot be that she held any hope, can it?

She flinches when the lock on the door rattles and clicks. Someone must have arrived outside, only she had sunk too deep in thought to notice. The handle turns and then the door bursts open. A piercing shriek echoes through the rooms and corridors, and in a flurry of skirts and magnificently done up hair a woman gallops over the threshold. A smaller, much quieter figure follows after, hauling a large coffer by a leather strap. It clunks loudly against the beautifully polished floor and the pale girl winces, shooting the lawmen outside an apologetic look as if it is their floor she might have ruined. The door swings shut behind them and Iris stands, bracing herself. Elfrida Bachmann throws her arms around her eldest daughter, shrieking at the top of her voice like a banshee.

"Oh my dear girl, my dearest darling girl, how you have grown. But it is terrible, terrible, I simply cannot stand it! That they would sink so low as to claim such a thing! It is a scandal! Such an affront to our noble family, I simply cannot stand such base slander! Oh Attacus, oh Lymantra, what is to become of us all?" She dissolves into tears, shaking Iris roughly back and forth like a ragdoll. She pats her mother on the back awkwardly and breathes in the fumes of perfume and powder. Finally, Elfrida sniffles and releases her daughter.

"Be brave child," she says, as if Iris had taken any part in the violent outburst of grief. "We must keep faith. That is how we will get out of this, keep faith and tell the truth." As if they were all collectively being accused of something. Elfrida looks young for her age, almost childishly so, dressed in frilly garb with ridiculously puffed up skirts.

"Papa?" Iris says, and sees her mother's lips press together to form a thin line across her face.

"Should we expect him to abandon his duties for a social call? He will be at your trial, standing as your most staunch defender. We would do well to remember the terrible strain this whole ordeal has put upon him."

Iris wonders if the aforementioned ordeal encompasses her entire life. She lowers her chin. "Trial?"

Elfrida tuts disapprovingly. "Is that a proper way to address a question, Iresia? Just look at you, crude as a boor and filthy. I dare say you look half a tramp. Ariadne, help me get your sister out of those unsightly rags. I will not have you displaying those colours before the High Court."

The little figure who had hauled the coffer over the threshold pushes the locks of pale, blonde hair back to reveal a pale, fine-boned visage bearing a faint resemblance to Iris' own. Her large, blue eyes flitter between the floor and her sister's face. Ariadne is five years her junior, which means that by now she has turned eleven. Within the year she will be considered mature enough to make her debut into society. If society still exists at that point, that is.

"Sister," Ariadne says and curtsies. "I am so glad to see you again. So glad..." They have not seen each other in three years, and immediately her sister is expected to assist in undressing her. High society is savage that way.

Mama treats her discarded pieces clothing as though fearing they might be infected with the bubonic plague, wrapping them in a linen sheet Iris suspects she intends to have the servants burn in the yard outside Durmholz. They dress her in chemise, corset, petticoat and stockings. The light muslin gown Mama pulls from the coffer is fitted tightly around the chest and upper body, with a high lace collar that is much too tight for comfort. Her tall standard-issue military leather boots are exchanged for a set of silk brocade shoes. Stood in the light from one of the windows Iris looks down at the lace, the muslin and the silk, while somewhere out there comrades she had wished to protect might lie beneath the open sky, shrouded in mud and blood and dirt.

Elfrida claps a hand over her mouth, eyes glimmering with moisture. "Oh, Iresia, how you have grown... I begged your father for news of your welfare, but he would not say a word other than that you had left Mitras to serve our people. What horrors you must have endured while subjected to the perversion of such people! I shudder to think of it. If only you had not- but no, let us not speak of such here." She glances to the grandfather clock at the other end of the room.

"We were only supposed to stay for thirty minutes. Ariadne, say goodbye to your sister now - show her your best curtsey. Excellent, such a good girl." She claps her hands excitedly as Ariadne curtseys prettily and bids Iris goodbye in demure, pleasant tones.

"Try not to dirty your dress my dear, you will not get a chance to change it before the trial. I most heatedly protested such barbarism, believing that a fine establishment such as the High Court would understand the needs of someone of gentle breeding, but alas my protests have fallen on deaf ears. Speaking of ears - remember to wash and powder your hair, it looks an awful mess the way it is."

"Mama, I do not believe the court will pay any attention to how my hair looks."

"We cannot know that. We must all do our best now to convince the court that a great mistake has been made: And that includes you, Iresia." Elfrida pats her shoulder and she nods mutely, not knowing where to begin with any form of reply. Her mother takes her sister by the arm and leads her from the room. Ariadne gives her sister a look of curiosity and wonder as she crosses the threshold. She had been little more than a babe when Iris left the house to move into the Academy dormitory. Though the Academy facilities are located on the same grand estate, their lives could not have been more different from one another. The door closes behind them and the lock clicks once more.

Six lawmen arrive to escort her to her holding cell not long after Mama and Ariadne have left. They lead her to the end of the hallway outside the lavish room, and down a flight of spiralling stone steps. The further down they go the darker it gets, and the air grows moist and cool as though they are entering a deep cellar, or a tomb. She loses count on the amount of steps they descend, distracted by the echoes of their feet bouncing between the walls. She sees lights down below as she descends the last few steps, arriving inside a dimly lit underground room. The floor is made of packed dirt, the walls of solid stone. Firelight flickers from torches and sconces on the walls, but despite the open flames it is cold down here. Iron bars divide the room into four cells, two on each side of the walkway through the middle. All cells are presently empty. The tallest lawman leads her to the first cell on the right. He is a thin-lipped man with prominent bone-structure and blue eyes - a man of noble blood. Most likely he is the drunken, gambling wastrel of a noble house, as the lawman's position is not one of great repute. It is a job considered suitable to men of the low blood, but then, so is pretty much any position. They employ Eldians only for the lowest, dirtiest jobs.

"Get in," he says in a dry, cracked voice. "And just so you don't get confused, your lot aren't too popular around here. All I need is an excuse, and I'll show just how unpopular." He smiles, displaying a gap where someone has knocked out one of his front teeth. He looks to be somewhere around thirty, going on sickly, and the whites of his eyes are yellowish. She wonders if it is agents or women he means to say are not too popular around here. If his hard eyes are any hint to go by, she would say it is both.

She steps into the cell and the door closes behind her with a loud screech. The air smells of damp and dirt. A straw-stuffed mattress lies upon the cold floor to her right. The two blankets crumpled on top of it are so matted with dirt it is impossible to tell whether they were grey all along, or if it is a more recent development. A large pewter bucket occupies the opposite corner from the mattress. There is a rickety wooden table with dry washbasin just to the left of the door, but no water to fill it with. Her skirts drag through the dust as she walks to the mattress, and she discards the large petticoat before sitting down. The blankets feel slightly moist as she pulls them onto her lap. The lawmen ascend the stairs, their muttered conversation reverberating through the space as they climb. The low murmur is abruptly cut off as they reach the top and close the door behind them.

She spends her time watching the shadows chasing back and forth across the stone walls. When the torches burn down she shivers in the darkness, wishing the lawmen would come back to throw more insults at her. At some point she falls asleep, drifting in and out of wistful dreams. Next she wakes the torches are once again lit, but she does not know whether it means that a new day has dawned, or just that someone thought she might succumb to hypothermia. The light filters hazily through her lashes as she lies curled underneath the musty blankets, watching a large shadowcat leap across a field of light, disappearing into the darkness on the other side. It crosses the distance again and again in endless determination. Her body is void, endless space where particles drift without purpose or context. She dissolves into nothingness, the bonds of flesh melting from her like an anchor tearing free. Her eyes close again. Time makes no sense any more, it begins to loop in senseless circles. She falls asleep and wakes up before she dozed. The chill settles in her until she is boiling hot, and she crawls out of the clammy blankets to lie panting like a dog on the packed dirt. She closes her eyes, knowing that next time she wakes she will be back in the before, back when the cold was in her bones.

Something sharp pokes her in the ribs.

"Oi," a voice says.

"She dead, Caius? That'd be bad me thinks," another, higher voice with a slight lisp says.

Iris grunts. She cannot feel her arms or her legs. It is like her body ends at the hips and shoulders, and the things protruding from the joints are rigid, alien objects. She pries her eyes open, seeing the shadow of a thin man standing next to her. She cannot feel her lips. Her mouth opens but all that comes out is hot air.

"You okay?" The man she takes to be Caius bends towards her. He is not the blue eyed guard who threatened her. "Got food for you ma'am."

Footsteps echo down the spiral stairs and through the chamber. Light steps, deliberate and even. The two lawmen's heads turn to see who comes, and as the thin man shuffles to the side Iris sees that someone has lit a fire in the pit at the centre of the room. A cooking pot hangs suspended above it, trailing smoke towards the small, circular hole in the ceiling. The shadow of a man creeps across the wall by the stairs, and moments later a third man enters the stone chamber. Fireblind, she blinks and tries to make him out. There is something familiar about the way he walks.

"Move aside," a deep, soft voice says. She closes her eyes, recognizing his voice. He bends beside her. "I will lift you."

"We're not supposed to bring her out," the thin man supposedly named Caius protests, but she feels arms hot as coals close around her, and a second later she is lifted off the damp mattress.

"I am to prepare her for trial."

The floor floats past and she is gently rocked up and down as they move out of the cell and into the warm firelight. It burns. She remembers what her skin smelled like as they peeled the remnants of clothing off her burns. Like frying fat.

"Do not struggle. It burns because you are too cold," the deep voice says. He puts her down next to the fire. The ground feels very warm through her tattered skirt. She sees one of her feet sticking out of the fabric like a foot-shaped, white turnip. She wiggles her toes, but the turnip's toes do not move.

"Darius," she wheezes, voice broken and dry. He looks up at the lawmen who loiter uncertainly just outside her empty cell.

"Leave us."

"Can't do that sir, she's our responsibility and we ain't had no orders saying to leave you alone with her," the lisper argues, but his eyes flicker uncertainly from Darius to the stairs. Firelight dances across Darius' rough-hewn features and reflects in the black, unblinking eyes. A half-smile plays across his lips.

"Leaves us," he repeats, voice firm but soft.

"Let's go, Opp. We'll watch from the top of the stairs. Too bloody cold down here anyway," thin Caius says, as though trying to convince himself. He picks up the musket and baton leaned against the wall next to the stairs, and his friend follows behind him as he ascends the steps. Darius fills a pewter cup with water from a flagon while the sounds of the two men's footsteps slowly fade. He puts the cup to her lips and she reflexively tilts her head back, swallowing as he pours the water into her mouth. Her body shivers and some of it spills across her cheeks, dribbling down her chin and onto her chest. He fills another cup with water and helps her drink, before putting the cup down.

"Straighten your legs," he says, and takes her foot in his hands, kneading it until she begins to feel the warmth from his hands. He rubs her ankles and shins until sensation returns to her legs, and then does the same with her arms. It feels too good to protest the impropriety of it.

"How... long," she whispers, voice breaking on the second word.

"Two weeks. The High Court was scheduled to convene two days from your arrival at the House of Judgement, but things have been... unsettled within the walls as of late. When I brought word to them of your poor health it was decided to postpone your trial."

"Poor health?"

"You have been very ill. I have cared for you to the best of my ability."

She only remembers the total, engulfing desolation... and the cold. Quietly she takes an inventory of herself, noting that that she is still wearing the same clothes, minus the petticoat.

"Is there civil unrest within the walls?" she asks.

"You could say that." If she did not know better she would say he finds the thought somewhat amusing. He fills a wooden bowl with the contents of the pot, putting it in her stiff but no longer numb hands. Some sort of soup. She drinks it while he speaks.

"Your 'disappearance' caused quite the stir, going so far as to raise speculations regarding your potential affiliation with the Marley infiltrators. That Captain Hange Zoë caused a great commotion when she began to make enquiries about your origins. Her questions troubled the Council of Nobles, who felt the Survey Corps were poking their noses into too many things that are not their business. Once a military official brought certain concerns and personal insights to the king's attention, his Royal Majesty became convinced that the commander of the Survey Corps is involved in a plot to usurp him." He smiles dryly.

Iris snorts. "Was our Councilman Dok the conscientious figure who warned the king of Commander Smith?"

"Possibly, and the Council of Nobles were quick to lend their support to the idea. The First Interior Squad quickly seized hold of the traitorous clergyman Nick and extracted what they could from him. Some grunts were hired to capture the princess and the titan-shifter Yeager, but the head of the company, Dimo Reeves, turned traitor. The Mad Dog saw through the ploy and gave the old man a red smile before he took hold of the princess and the Yeager. Commander Erwin Smith was arrested for the murder of the man Reeves yesterday, and the Survey Corps are now either outlawed or in the crown's custody."

"Rod Reiss really is the true king," she rasps. "He plans to feed Eren Yeager to Historia."

"It seems so, but the High Council has decided that it is of no consequence to us if his majesty wishes to reassume control over what appears to be the 'Attack Titan'."

Darius does not know what happened out on the plains, where Eren used the founding titan's power? She frowns. The High Council must know that the crown lost possession of the founding titan, but even if they do not know who stole it in 845, it seems strange they would show so little interest in Yeager when he is the most likely culprit

"Why?" she says to Darius. "Why is it of no consequence? The nature of the attack titan is for the most part a mystery to us, is it not?"

"Because Grandfather awakes."

It seems she ought to feel something at this news, excitement or perhaps some amount of joy, but she does not. It is a little too big to take in all at once. She ponders quietly a moment or two, before asking: "Is there a conspiracy to dethrone the king?"

"Most likely, yes. Chairman Lindberg has withdrawn from the royal palace under the premise of tending to a family emergency. Commander Erwin Smith's sentence is to be decided tomorrow. If there is to be a coupe, it seems likely that the axe will fall there. We are mobilising, in case the King's Armed Forces seizes control and decide to hunt the chairman down. His residence is not listed in any public record in accordance with the treaty, but the other nobles might know something which would enable the Armed Forces to find us."

"And in the midst of this I am to stand trial?" she asks, and sees Darius nod solemnly. "Talk about having your priorities in order." Said not without some small amount of bitterness. She licks her dry, cracked lips.

Darius hums thoughtfully. "Is Cressida Wolfbrandt dead?

"Not to my knowledge. She returned with us after we freed Eren Yeager from the clutches of... the Marley infiltrators." She had come close to calling Reiner and Bertholdt by name.

"Ah, what a shame." He sounds almost sad saying it. "She must have gone dark with some of the Survey Corps members." Darius pulls a pocket watch from the inner breast pocket of his plain frock coat. "We must go soon. I will escort you upstairs."

"Already? There is no chance I might wash before? Mama will be very cross with me."

"No. I am sorry." He does not sound particularly sorry. She looks down at her dirty, frayed sleeves. Long rat tails of dirty hair falls forward across her shoulders and into her eyes. She smells of sickness, grime and human filth.

"Will you stay for the trial?" She is not even sure she cares.

"I always do."

A strange reply, but this is not the time to be picky about conversational skills. At least he seems to remember what they are both doing here. She wonders how the officials have failed to notice that Darius is half-mad, but if there ever was a time for critical analysis of her superiors, it is long past.

"Darius - will they kill me?"

"Do not worry," he says, getting to his feet. He offers her a hand and helps her stand. "Everything will be alright in the end. If it is not alright, it is not the end."

She thinks it might be his way of saying "Yes". She looks down at the stained, dirty bodice of the dress. To face the High Court in this state, looking like a noblewoman who rolled down a very long and very steep hill, only to come to a stop in a dung heap.

"Would you help me out of my dress before we go, please?"

He shoots her a deadpan look before answering.

"If you wish." Not even a blush. Not that she can blame him, but he could at least try to seem the slightest bit scandalised. Perhaps one's idea of propriety alters once one has become someone's caregiver... or the allures of women elude him completely. She has never seen him make eyes at anyone, now that she thinks of it.

He undoes the buttons at the back of the dress and helps her pull it over her head. She instructs him in how to unlace her corset, and once free of it she pulls off her stockings. The gods, and whichever lawman stole them, know where her satin shoes have gone, but she does not. Darius eyes her up and down as she stands beside the fire in nothing but her shift.

"Yes," he says thoughtfully. "Good."

He offers his arm to her and leads her up the steps at a slow pace, as if they are lord and lady taking a stroll through the gardens. The two lawmen, Caius and Opp-something, waits for them outside the door at the top of the stairs. The warm, dry air washes over her, making her feel like a creature of the dark being let out into the light. Squinting in the bright sunlight shining through the tall windows at the opposite end of the hall, she lets Darius lead her towards the entrance hall. They ascend the marble steps, turning right into a wood-panelled corridor whose soft carpet makes her feel as though she is walking on fluffy clouds. She hears the murmur of voices drift through a set of open double-doors up ahead as though in a dream. Her grip around Darius' arm tightens. She presses herself against him, steps slowing. They reach the double doors, the lawmen pressing in behind them to drive them forwards. The courtroom is large, bright and crowded. All representative of the General Council sit in the benches to her right, and those of the High Council occupy the raised benches to her left. The seven justices sit upon the dais at the front of the courtroom, with the chief justice occupying the large, throne-like chair in the middle. The small gallery in the back of the room is where next of kin and witnesses are expected to sit until they are called. She will sit alone behind a small table in front of the gallery, next to the witness box.

"You must walk the rest of the way by yourself." Darius pats her hand.

The room quiets as she lets go of him, as if everyone just noticed that she has arrived. She fixes her eyes on the table waiting for her and strides forward, long, dirty hair swaying back and forth. She hears Mama let out a half-terrified shriek, which cuts off so quickly she can only surmise that Elfrida has fainted. Chairman Lindberg sits at the centre of the benches reserved for the High Council, blonde hair neatly parted to the side and combed back, ice blue eyes watching her dispassionately through his small, round eyeglasses. She flicks her eyes sideways and finds Nile Dok reclining on one of the benches to her right. How long will he be able to stay if there is a revolution igniting outside their gates? She reaches the plain wooden chair beside the table, and sits down. At the dais, the justices all rise in unison. Silence settles inside the court, broken only by the sound of the large wooden doors slamming shut.

Chief Justice Camilla vai Nazaria is a small, austere woman with the countenance of a shrivelled plum, her complexion pale, like all those of the high blood, and her eyes are a piercing azure blue. She motions the other justices to sit with the air of a queen bidding her subjects to kneel before her, and fixes Iris with her stern gaze. While all the justices are of the high blood, slim and pale and blue-eyed, none bear such obvious marks of a rigidly ascetic lifestyle as Chief Justice Camilla. The woman is positively papery thin, devoid of all attempts at beauty and all expression of pride. Her hands are gnarled as if she derives pleasure from depriving herself of lotion, like each frayed cuticle is a battle-scar to wear for all to see. She clears her throat as if to invoke an even heavier, more pressing silence than the one already settled within the room. Perhaps she is urging them to breathe more quietly, or if possible, not to breathe at all.

Camilla vai Nazaria places her left palm over her heart and raises her right hand to her brow in ancient fashion. "The sun rises," she says in a thin, high voice.

"Over Thessia!" the attendants of the court thunder in unison, as though it had been agreed beforehand. If so, no one had seen fit to inform Iris of it.

"Iresia vai Ditrus." Camilla's words do not sound like a question, but when the chief justice does not continue immediately, Iris begins to wonder if she should offer some form of reply. She instinctively turns her head to glance at Nile Dok. He looks mildly amused, and inclines his head almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Of the Bachmann family," Chief Justice Camilla continues and begins to flip through a stack of papers before her. "Your father is Dieter Bachmann, our head of research?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"How remarkable." The way she says it, it is not remarkable in any positive aspect. "You are a first class graduate of the Academy?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

A general murmur arises among the assembled councils and justices, as if they all have a thing or two they would like to say about that. An aged, balding justice leans forward in his seat, peering sideways at Chief Justice Camilla vai Nazaria.

"Were you not part of the committee to evaluate and select this child for the Academy, Chief Justice?"

Nazaria gives him a cold look. "You know very well that we were both part of that same committee, Justice Samus."

"Yes, yes, I am not quite so feeble as to have forgotten that much... This one is supposed to have graduated in 846." He peers down at the paper before him through squinted eyes, despite the large and visibly thick eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. "Why did we pick one so much younger than the others?"

Camilla turns over the top of her papers, peering down at it. "How old are you, child?"

"I am six-and-ten, Your Honour."

"You were six, and the other selected eight or nine then."

Chief Justice Camilla turns to Justice Samus. "She was healthy, strong and eager to prove herself, what with the rumours of the blood curse having afflicted that brother of hers. Remember Julian 'the Paragon' vai Ditrus, Justice Samus? I would also remind you that despite that unpleasant business, this young lady is the result of generations of excellent breeding. Ladies and gentlemen, what you see before you is supposedly one of the last scions of Acherus, the demigod son of Aclerion. Regardless of whether you believe such tales, I personally do not, one cannot deny that this child's blood is of ancient and most noble stock. Few have served our people better than her father, and his father before him."

Chief Justice Camilla pauses, allowing for a general murmur to rise within the courtroom. In the benches, councilmen crane their necks as if to get a better look at her, buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps. A high councilman leans into Chairman Lindberg to whisper something into the man's ear, making the chairman wince and grimace.

Chief Justice Camilla vai Nazaria clears her throat again, never even reaching for the gavel at her right hand side. The room quiets once more. "Well then, child. Now that your identity and pedigree has been established, let us run through the court proceedings. Today the High Council will detail for us the chain of events which led to your arrest, and provide us with the information necessary to understand the allegations brought against you. You will take the stand tomorrow, followed by character witnesses and anyone willing to testify on your behalf. Once this is done, my colleagues and I will deliberate, and if time allows we will deliver our verdict later that same day. Do you understand these proceedings as I have described them for you?"

Iris dips her chin. "Yes, Your Honour."

From various members of the High Council, she learns of the extensive work done by various members of staff to attempt to track down the persons responsible for the attack on Wall Maria. Surmising that the object of their mission was the founding titan, all possible ways to approach the royal family had been investigated, and though it had been established that service within the King's Armed Forces within Mitras was the most obvious route, agents had been planted within the royal staff and the other government bodies. Knowing the enemy titan vessels had attacked from the south, it was determined they would most likely stay within the geographical area most well known to them. The southern division of the Training Corps was as such believed to be their most likely point of entry into the King's Armed Forces. Agents were planted within all actively recruiting branches, but special care was taken in choosing the agents to infiltrate the southern division. She was the third to be chosen for this special duty, fresh out of the graduate crop of 846. Chairman Lindberg himself rises from his seat to read the motivation for choosing her over any of the other six first-class graduates.

"Agent Bachmann is of most noble breeding stock. Her early psychological evaluations showed us that we had a highly malleable idealist personality, with a deep seated yearning for worthiness and achievement. Given a strong directive we believed she could be shaped into a most formidable agent as well as a true believer of our cause." Here he pauses, as court assistants roll a large stand into the room. An enlarged copy of a report card hangs suspended from the stand, bearing her name in stark letters at the top. The General Council is invited down onto the floor to inspect the report up close, as to draw their personal conclusions from it. Once they have all returned to their seats the six justices and the chief justice make their way off the dais to stand before it. When everyone's curiosity has been sated the justices return to their seats, and the stand is rolled back behind the High Council's benches.

Chairman Lindberg continues: "Bachmann proved to be a dissocial, pragmatist character who, despite repeated attempts from her peers, never connected strongly with anyone. Remarkably enough, neither did she seem to hold any grudges or get into any disagreements. She listened well to briefings and proved to be an analytical mind, capable of unbiased reasoning. Serving as part of the cleanup crew in 845 and 846, the group partook in an unusually high number of armed encounters on account of the instability caused by the fall of Wall Maria. Agent Bachmann was the appointed leader of five missions during this time, suffering an expected number of casualties as well as three fatalities. Undergoing psychological assessment following each fatality, Agent Bachmann showed no signs of being emotionally compromised by these deaths. As a leader she showed a high regard for the welfare of her comrades, but when the situation demanded it she proved herself willing to sacrifice the lives of others to accomplish her mission. She even proved herself willing to go beyond that which duty required, and was badly injured in the spring of 846. If not for the ingenuity of our head of medicine, Ivan of the clan now known as Sychkin, the injury would have claimed her life."

His last sentence seemed to be the cue for two court assistants to hand over a number of copies of a medical file to the representatives of the General Council and the justices. When they have had some time to read and discuss the file amongst themselves, Chairman Lindberg motions for silence.

"Agent Bachmann recovered fully and performed well in our last evaluative tests. All this, and the opinions of her character that her fellow graduates expressed to us, convinced us that she would be the ideal candidate for long-term, deep infiltration."

She tries to see herself in Chairman Lindberg's description of the agent they chose. How many times has she asked herself the question "Why me"? The answer, as it turns out, is terribly disappointing. With her head bent, she listens to a high councilman as he reads the reports made by a third party agent tasked with overseeing her progress. Obviously, the third party agent is Valentin Wolfbrandt, but he is conspicuously absent from these proceedings. Where is he? Why is he not here to laugh in her face as she falls from grace?

Several hours later Chairman Lindberg pronounces that the High Council feel they have presented the case in its entirety, and are content they have proven that she has either wilfully or negligently disobeyed a direct order. The consequences of this failure are already known to all parties present, and need no further explanation. Chief Justice Camilla lifts the gavel and bangs it against the wooden block two times.

"This court is now adjourned. We will meet on the morrow to hear the testimony of the accused. Young lady, you are hereby excused from this courtroom. Your escort will meet you by the doors."

Everyone stays in their seats except for Iris, and to her surprise, Councilman Dok. He climbs down from the benches and joins her as she walks past the gallery. Papa is not among the people sitting there. The powder on Mama's face is streaked with tears, and Ariadne looks as grave as a funeral attendant. Darius is still present, and he rises as they approach him.

"Agent Grimm," Dok says and tips his chin. Darius bows to the councilman, as is appropriate, and taking her by one arm the two men escort her out through the open double doors. Once outside, Councilman Dok stops and turns to her.

"Here, I leave you. There was a disturbance in Stohess this morning, and I really should try to convince the two goons of Berg Newspapers not to print anything sensational about the persons responsible for the damage. Some might be tempted to believe it is the King's own First Interior Squad as the Mad Dog himself was seen, which is why I am tasked with disabusing them of such notions. Sad to say I will not be able to attend you tomorrow. My old friend Erwin is to receive his sentence at the royal palace, and my presence is required." He reaches forward and pats her shoulder. "Best of luck, Agent Bachmann. I believe we will see each other again, regardless of the outcome."

They watch him walk away, before Darius leads her down into the darkness of the underground prison.

They reconvene on the morrow. It was even harder to walk into the courtroom today, because she knew what awaited her inside. Papa sits in the gallery next to Mama and Ariadne. His hair is still thick, but there is more grey in it than she remembers. He wears his best frock coat, and looks her stonily in the eyes as she walks past. She takes her place by the witness stand dressed in nothing but her dirty shift. The Chief Justice peers quizzically at her, but does not remark upon her appearance. Nile Dok's spot on the General Council's bench is as promised, empty. Will Erwin Smith and she share a fate at the end of this day?

"To order," Camilla vai Nazaria calls, though no one is in any way being disorderly. "Are you ready to give us your testimony, child?"

"Yes, Your Honour ."

"I doubt I need to remind you that honour demands you tell us the truth."

"You do not, Your Honour"

She gives a short-worded, factual recount of her life and actions over the course of the last three years, including the events that transpired during the 57th expedition outside the walls, and the calamity following the appearance of titans within Wall Maria. The justices contemplate her in silence once she is done, and their judgement is a massive weight pressing down upon her. Finally, Chief Justice Camilla clears her throat. She brushes invisible crumbs from the front of her court robes.

"What were your orders, Agent Bachmann?"

"To separate the blindworm from the adder and to eliminate all hostiles."

"Did you understand what these orders meant?"

"I thought I did, Your Honour, and Agent V. Wolfbrandt confirmed that I had understood them right."

"When did you meet with the boy Wolfbrandt?"

"A week and two days from the choosing ceremony, in which I and the two Marley infiltrators joined the Survey Corps."

"In your own words: Do you believe that you, at some point, had an opportunity to complete your mission, but for whatever reason, failed to do so?"

Iris swallows. Her throat is sore and dry. Knowing there is only one answer she can give to the court, she closes her eyes.

"I believe there was, Your Honour."

The courtroom erupts in a cacophony of wild chatter. Several arguments seem to break out between fellow councilmen, who resort to waving their hands at each other in expressive gestures while making loud exclamations. Someone behind Iris utters a loud, piercing cry followed by repeated hushing sounds, making Iris suspect that Ariadne had been thoroughly shocked to hear this, and is now being audibly quieted by their mother. One of the justices had straightened himself with such violence that both man and chair had almost toppled over backwards. The chair totters on two feet, the justice's arms flapping like a bird taking flight, and the ancient Justice Samus dives forward to lend his support. Through shared effort they tilt the chair back onto its four legs with an echoing 'bang'. Camilla vai Nazaria sits in the midst of the chaos, looking mightily unimpressed with her fellow men's lack of composure. She lifts her gavel and bangs it repeatedly against the wooden block, slowly but steadily bringing the court back to order.

"Gentlemen please. Settle down or I will have to ask you to leave my courtroom." Chief Justice Camilla bangs the gavel against the block a few more times for good measure, before deciding that the men are ordered enough for her liking. "Thank you for your testimony, child. You will have another opportunity to speak before this is over. Be seated now."

Iris bows her head and moves to her chair.

"Time for our character witness," the chief justice continues. "This court calls the girl's father, Dieter vai Octavius Bachmann. You may approach the witness stand."

Dieter Bachmann rises out of his seat and marches forward like an army commander into battle. He takes his place, gripping the sides of the witness stand like a preacher readying himself for his sermon, fully intent on the deliverance of his flock.

"Lord Bachmann, do you confirm that Iresia vai Ditrus is the child of your flesh and blood?"

"Yes, I do... Your Honour," he says shortly. Weaker men have shied from his gaze through the ages, but Camilla vai Nazaria is not easily deterred. Used to elbowing her way through a deeply patriarchal society, she meets him dead on.

"Lord Bachmann, is there to your mind any particular reason why this court should show leniency towards your girl?"

"There is. She is my daughter."

The justices wait, evidently thinking he will have more to say, but his hard mouth stays firmly shut. One of the justices, a broad shouldered elderly man with bright white hair and bushy moustaches, leans a little forward and speaks very loudly, as though a great chasm separates them and not just some ten meters.

"Don't you have another daughter?!"

Dieter Bachmann's eyes narrow. "I had a son once, but he is no more. Two daughters remain to me."

Chief Justice Camilla glances to the gallery where Ariadne is seated next to Elfrida. "So there is another daughter then. Your younger girl looks strong and healthy to me."

"Do you mean to say that all daughter are the same - have one, and you have them all?"

"No, I suppose not," she says carelessly.

Iris' father turns his gaze on the general councilmen in their benches, his flinty blue eyes settling on each man a second or two before moving to the one next to him - slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. When he is done with them he turns to the high councilmen, giving them the same treatment.

"Let us not pretend that we are here to discuss the virtues or value of daughters. This trial is to decide with whom the fault lies. Who is most guilty for the failure of this mission? Is it the child, who stumbles and falls like children do, or does the fault of the offspring lie with the father? I told her our history of deceit and oppression the day she was born, before she even had a name. Perhaps I should have beaten her and taught her to hate, as to be deaf to the allures and temptations of mankind. Or does the fault lie with a system that sends a girl of three-and-ten to do the work of grown men?" An angry murmur rises following these words, and Dieter Bachmann takes it in as though the councilmen's displeasure is of no more consequence than the buzzing of flies. When he tires of their conspiring he straightens his posture, and one by one the men in the benches fall silent.

"I do not have the answer. Wretched and faithless she may be, and I cannot say that I am proud of what she has become - but she is my daughter, my flesh. I held her when she was new-born, this small, wrinkly thing that fit into my two hands, and now you would take her from me. That is all I have to say." He stands with his head held high and his shoulders back another moment before releasing his hold on the witness stand. He turns and walks back to his seat in the gallery, the space where he has passed seeming to yawn open. Chief Justice Camilla flips through her papers, taking her time at it.

"Iresia, as no witnesses have come forward to give testimony in your favour I will ask you a question, and I wish for you to reflect on the answer before you give it." She looks sternly at Iris. "Rise, girl."

Iris stands, feeling everyone's eyes on her.

"Is there any information you wish to share with us before we deliberate?"

Had she made the right choice? It might be that no one really knows whether it is the right or the wrong choice at the time they are making it. You get handed a set of circumstances, and then at a time when you still do not know all the parameters and have little time to contemplate the decision, you choose, and try to live with the consequences. Because that is what it is really about, is it not – choosing what you can live with. Perhaps she had made the wrong choice, but she would do it all again.

"No, Your Honour."

Camilla vai Nazaria could never be accused of being softer than the blunt end of a smith's hammer, but she looks at Iris as if she would like to ask the question another time, and receive a different answer.

"Is there any new witness present who wishes to come forward?" The Chief Justice waits, but the silence is more compact than ever before. "Very well, my colleagues and I will begin our deliberations. We call you back when we have reached a verdict." She brings the gavel down on the wooden block, and all around people rise from their seats and begin to file out through the doors. Darius comes forth to take Iris by the arm, and they wait until the crowd thins before they make their way outside. She finds her parents and her sister stood in the hall just outside the doors. Tears have created deep riverbeds through the powder on Mama's cheeks, and the kohl has slipped from her lashes to settle in dark smudges beneath her eyes. In her desperation she resorts to needles acts of violence, slapping her silk gloves against the shoulder of Papa's frock coat with a feeble 'thwack'.

"Oh you beast! You cold and cruel man! It is a crime in itself I say, a crime not to come to the defence of your eldest child. Is this all the love you have for us? Have I not been a patient and faithful wife to you all these years? If so, why do you conspire to put me in my grave? I cannot lose another child, I simply cannot! My heart will not bear it, the pain will shatter me into pieces and I will go to bed one night, never to rise again. Have pity, Mister Bachmann, my love, for what is all this influence you have worth if you cannot use it this once to save your own flesh and blood? Ask to speak to the judges once more, make them see what a farce this is. I beg you, I beseech you!"

Dieter takes the gloves from his wife's hand with a face that looks as though it was hewn from stone. "This is why women have no place in war or government. Spare me your senseless blathering, Frida. This is not a time when your emotion will be well spent or effectual." He turns to look at his daughter. "Your mother believes words carry more weight than actions. Trust me, if any words of mine could put those Marleyan devils down, or make you innocent, I would have spoken them. You have made this bed for yourself; now you must lie in it."

The justices are not long in deliberation, and the accused along with the court attendees are called back within the hour. It is not a good sign, as Papa points out grimly before they file back into the courtroom. When Chief Justice Camilla sees Iris approach through the aisle in between the gallery and the general council's benches, she motions her to the witness stand. Her knees feel wobbly and she grips the sides of the stand to hold herself upright, wondering if her father had held onto it for the very same reason.

"To order," Camilla vai Nazaria drones rather unnecessarily, giving them all a hard look which makes Iris feel like some sort of boneless pudding. "We have heard the evidence the High Council has presented against the accused, and we have heard an account of the event from the accused's own mouth. Even when we take the words of the character witness into account, we have heard precious little to convince us there are circumstances which would alleviate your guilt, child. Considering the vulnerable position of our people within these walls, and the dire situation we find ourselves in - the justices and I find it impossible to consider the act of failing to comply with a given order, as anything but an act of treason."

A murmur rises among the attendees of the court. Many of the councilmen shift in their seats and turn to whisper to their neighbours, and the general emotion of the crowd seems to be assent. Iris feels slightly sick, though the verdict is not unexpected.

"The usual punishment for this vile offence would be hanging, disembowelment and quartering, but it is not a punishment suited for those of the high blood." Camilla pauses and looks at each of her fellow justices in turn. Her eyes linger on them a moment or two before sliding on, her expression darkening. Finally she bows her head and sighs deeply. "Iresia vai Ditrus: On the morrow four days from now, you will be brought out into the yard behind the House of Judgement, where a firing squad will await you. May the gods have mercy on your soul, child."

There a loud clattering and thumping as many councilmen jump from their seats, some shouting their assent, others crying their outrage that a convinced traitor be given an honourable death, while a select few seem to protest the tardiness in proceeding with the execution. A loud, wordless scream cuts through the din and babble as Elfrida Bachmann unleashes her pain and anguish upon the world before fainting and falling down, cushioned by her many skirts. The sound of voices quiets to a low, steady murmur in Iris' ears as she tries to blink through the spots of light and darkness flashing before her eyes. She grips the witness stand, trying to fight to the strange feeling of warmth and weightlessness, noticing Darius only when he lays her arm across his shoulder to hold her up. He leads her down the aisle and her clumsy feet try to keep up with his step, but fail as often as they succeed. It does not matter though, because Darius is strong and can easily bear her weight. She sees Mama lying unconscious on the floor through the strange flashes of light. Only men may attend the executions of nobles, and this is the last time they will see each other; although one of them actually sees the other.

"Goodbye," she whispers to Mama and to Ariadne, sitting on the floor next to her, face screwed up and tear-streaked.

The world flashes in and out of sight as Darius leads her back down into the darkness. Her feet stumble and drag against the stone but she feels no pain. They reach the bottom of the steps and stumble into her cell, Darius breathing sounding laboured in her ear as he lowers her onto the straw mattress. She collapses, flopping bonelessly, her eyes staring at nothing in front of her. She had known it was coming and yet it is unfathomable. It happens all the time in the stories, but always to someone else, and never to you.

"Forgive me, but I must go." She blinks at the sound of Darius' voice, almost having forgotten that he was there, and suddenly terrified now that he needs to leave. Her hands scrabble for something to hold on to and catch his sleeve, clutching it like he is the only thing keeping her from drowning. "No." He pulls himself free and straightens before shrugging the coat from his shoulders and holding it out to her.

"There is something I must do, and I will not return before the day of your execution. Wear this, it will help keep you warm. Remember Iresia – if it is not alright, it is not the end."

She does not know what that is even supposed to mean, but before she has pulled herself together enough to ask, he is gone. After some time she pulls Darius coat over her, as it is the only thing within reach that reminds her of anything close to home. The guards bringing her meager meals, rekindling the fire and emptying the bucket stood in the corner of her cell, is all that marks the passage of time during the following days. They allow her to clean herself on the eve before her execution, leaving a bucket of water, a brush and a piece of soap inside her cell. She cleans herself, dipping her hair into the dregs of the water last of all. What is left after that is thick and black with grime. She wrings the excess water from her hair and shrugs into Darius' large coat. Kneeling on her mattress she clasps her hands together, breaths coming in shuddering bursts from her lips.

"Everything I have ever needed you have given to me, whether I deserved it or not. Please, give me strength not to shame myself or my family any further. Steady my foot so that I might walk to the post unaided, and hold my hand so that I will not try to run away. I know it is a lot to ask, but please... give me the courage to die. I do not know if I can do it without you. Help me, and I swear my soul and a thousand years of service to you. Lord of the dawn, watch over me as the sun sets forever."

She does not feel the lord in her heart as some say they do, but reason goes to say that if he exists, he hears her. Sitting down, she pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs her arms around herself. The firelight flickers through the dark chamber and dances through the thicket of her lashes as she half-closes her eyes. Is Ymir already on the other side, waiting for her by the gates? She wants to believe it. If Ymir is not already there she will wait for her, and they will pass through the golden arch together. In time Braun will come too, and they can talk over the things they never got to discuss in life. Perhaps they can help each other reach absolution, and accept that much was denied them in life. Not everyone gets the things they wish for - another hard-learned lesson.

She thinks of the note she slipped him inside that cigarette case, wondering if he will try to establish contact. How long until he gives up the attempts? Will he understand what has happened to her, or spend what remains of his life wondering? Perhaps he will not think of her at all. The note might by now lie atop a desk inside some army general's office in wait of a decision what to do with it. Braun might never have cared. Her own ambivalence and doubts might have influenced her thoughts to the point where she saw things in him that were never there, like ghosts rising out of the mist... But she does not believe so. She hopes he never returns to Paradis, and that he is able to live the rest of his life in some semblance of peace.

Though she cannot remember closing her eyes, she must have done so. Suddenly there are lawmen at the door of her cell, banging a baton against one of the bars until the echoes chase themselves around the room in a raucous cacophony.

"Oi young lady, it's time," the lawman Opp says, and somehow she manages to get up.

They lead her up the stairs and out the back door into the yard. The westward wall by which the post has been raised is reinforced with an extra layer of brickwork. Bags of sand have been piled before it to prevent bullets from ricocheting. The firing squad consists of seven men wearing lawmen's uniforms and high hats. They are young, but thankfully not as young as her. A few of them will have weapons carrying blank rounds, as to diffuse the burden of conscience for the one who fires the killing shot. Having fired a blank round herself, she knows it does not feel the same, but the illusion of shared responsibility helps people do what they alone could not.

The other half of the yard is crowded with councilmen in morning dress. She sees Nile Dok among them, now sporting a black eye as though someone's patience with him ran too thin. His narrow weasel-face shows no emotion, but he nods to her as he sees her. Papa steps out of the crowd, and when someone moves to stop him from approaching he brushes them aside. He looks down his high, thin nose at her.

"Chin up now, pumpkin. It will not do much for the outcome, but facing death with his shoulders back and his head held high does much for the man... or woman."

She does not know what to say to him. Words seem to have lost all their meaning, now that no time to make good on them remains.

"I tried to do right, Papa."

His nostrils flare hearing this, and a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitches.

"When will you learn that what is right is decided by men's purses, not by their conscience? Never, it seems. Perhaps it is my fault." He exhales a short breath which might constitute a sigh. "I will be here the whole time."

The lawmen Opp and Caius push her forward from behind. The sun is about to rise, and it is tradition for the execution to take place in the first light of dawn. Iris twists her head to look back at her father, and it seems to her that there is all the things in the world left to say now that there is no time left to say them.

"Farewell father," she says as they shove her forward. She sees a last flash of his thin, white face with the mouth turned down in a frown, and thinks that maybe, just maybe there was some wetness to his eyes. In spite of everything she feels a ridiculous, proud swelling in her chest as she takes her last steps towards the post. They turn her to tie her hands behind her back, and she cranes her head to look at the crowd with that tall, imperious man in front. The stoic who had shed not a single tear as they burned the body of his first-born son, whose face now seem to strain not to crumble.

"No hood," she says to the men as she sees Caius fumbling with a black cloth sack in his hands. "I would die with the light of dawn on my face." She feels calm now, content. Perhaps this is what Darius meant when he said those cryptic words?

"Alright, ma'am. Any last words?"

She looks into the crowd. Valentin has not come.

"No, not really." She swallows, heart beating fast and hard. "Here I come, Ymir."

'BANG'

The courthouse door slams open, bouncing off the wall as it strikes it with a ringing clash.

"Oi, what the hell is-" a high, harsh voice shouts, and then cuts off mid-sentence. Several uniformed figures swell through the doorway and into the courtyard, their heads snapping back and forth as they take in the gathered crowd. Jean Kirschtein's gaze sweeps across the firing squad and then finds her tied to the post by the reinforced wall. "Bachmann?"

"Hello!" Captain Hange Zoë cries, making a quick recovery from the shock. "I am Captain Hange Zoë of the Survey Corps, nice to meet you all. What an interesting establishment you have here, and those weapons look mighty fine too, I really must get to take a look at them at some point. I've come to you today because I seem to have misplaced one of my subordinates." Her head swings around, and if she is surprised to find said subordinate tied to an execution-post, she hides it well. "Ah, there she is! How nice of you to care for her for me, but now I really must reclaim her."

Iris notices that Nile Dok seems to have shrunk back into the crowd, to the point where she can no longer see him. Chairman Lindberg shoves his way to the front, his pale eyes scrutinizing Captain Hange with obvious contempt.

"That will not happen," he says frostily.

"Oh but I simply must insist, I have orders from my commander you see," Hange says cheerfully. Behind her, Kirschtein, Armin, Connie and Sasha hang back, wary of the large crowd of men.

"Your commander has no authority here. Only the highest possible authority may interrupt these proceedings, and for that I would need to see a royal decree or Her Majesty the Queen to appear in person."

Hange stares at Chairman Lindberg, visibly nonplussed. "And... who are you?"

The chairman's mouth twists disdainfully. "I am Caeles Lindberg, chairman of the High Council which governs this part of Mitras." He removes a roll of paper from his inner pocket, thrusting it forward in Captain Hange's general direction. "This treaty establishes the protection of our people as well as our right to govern ourselves, signed by Karl Fritz himself, and valid as long as the royal family rules within these walls. Only those of royal blood may impose on or stay this court ordered execution."

Hange takes the treaty in her hands and unrolls it. "Wonderful, if I could only get some time to verify this-"

"Take all the time you want, take it with you for all I care. This execution will proceed as it has been decided upon, before we lose the morning light," Chairman Lindberg says and turns his back to her.

"The hell it will! You don't have the right to decide something like that," Kirschtein barks, pointing his finger at the chairman's face, his eyes flashing menacingly.

"Actually, Jean," Armin says, reading the treaty over Captain Hange's elbow. "It looks like they do. If this treaty is real..." He gives Kirschtein a look which signals defeat.

"Well... that doesn't matter," Kirschtein splutters. "We don't even know what Bachmann's supposed to have done. If she's guilty of anything at all she needs to have a trial, instead of just being tied to a post and shot by a bunch of shady bastards. I mean, what the hell is this place anyway?"

Chairman Lindberg turns back to Kirschtein. "Make no mistake young man; you are not in a position to do anything right now. We have you surrounded. Our weapons are far superior to those you carry, and so long as you stand on this soil our word is law."

Hange frowns deeply, darkly. "Stand down Jean. I don't think Mr. Lindberg is a reasonable sort of man, are you?"

Lindberg's mouth widens and turns up, baring white teeth. "It is good that we understand each other, Captain Hange Zoë. You may stay and watch."

Iris smiles to Kirschtein, before her eyes slide back to her father.

"Arms!" Lindberg barks. "Shoulder your rifles."

The sun rises and breaks through the thin blanket of clouds to shine its warm, brilliant light down upon the yard. The white stone beneath everyone's feet catches the light and sparkles like broken glass. She feels its warmth against her face, blinding her to the sight of the seven riflemen standing before her.

"Take aim!"

She closes her eyes, leaving the world in the hands of her comrades. Let them have their go at it, best of luck, friends. Best of luck.

'BANG'

The End...?

I am going to be very honest with you and say that I am feeling very dejected and disillusioned. I had planned to do so much more with this story, introducing more political schemes, chances at redemption, and tying the story back to some things introduced in earlier chapters. I wanted the story to have an actual plotline, but I fear that in my efforts to make it so I have only managed to make it mundane and boring. Obviously I am not a native english speaker, and while I have never let it stop me it poses its own set of difficulties upon the process - which at times becomes rather arduous. Make no mistake, I love writing, but at times it is frustrating and rather draining too. So, I thought that if I do decide to call it quits, this would be a good place in the story to do it. I haven't decided on anything yet, and to be honest I am not too keen on leaving it with such a gloomy ending... But perhaps I need to let it go for my own sake.
That's all for now. I'm going to have a long, hard think about it while I write a 'christmas special'-thing I've been thinking about lately.

Oh and just in case this is it - Thank you for reading.