Chapter Fourteen-point-Eight: Friends and Enemies

Imperial Military Academy, Caerleon, Holy Empire of Britannia, May 2016

Michael Trinity was in a foul mood.

He sat in the Mess Hall, slowing chewing his way through a portion of macaroni and cheese, glaring at the person seated at a table across the hall from him. That person sat alone, his eyes on his tray, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

He was alone. Michael didn't get that. He had more than enough admirers to keep him company over lunch; the Darlton brothers, that Kruszewski chick, and plenty more besides. They all admired him, or so it always seemed. They couldn't get enough of his test scores, or seeing him on the firing range, or in a knightmare. They loved to gawp at how amazing he was, at how he blew everyone else away, at how he was seemingly so utterly awesome at everything.

Alexander Bismark Waldstein.

Alexander damned Bismark damned Waldstein.

Michael Trinity had high expectations of himself. He always had done. Growing up as the middle child of the Trinity family, he had always known that he was destined for greatness, and that he must give his all to attain it. He had given it his all, pushed himself to his limit, in everything he ever did; and the rewards had come thick and fast. A place in Colchester, and then a place at the Imperial Military Academy.

Yes, the Imperial Military Academy. The Imperial Military Academy, the one actually worth going to; not like the Knight Schools, or the Candidate Schools. The Imperial Military Academy, which his brother Johann had attended before him, and from which he had graduated with Merit, and the Sword of Honour. Now he had his own Knightmare Squadron, and he was wreaking awesome havoc in Africa somewhere.

Michael had always known that he would follow his brother, and do great things. But nothing he ever did ever seemed to compare to what he did. No matter what he achieved, what he earned, it was always second best, at best, to Waldstein. All the way throught Colchester, and now at Caerleon.

And he was still too stuck up to even sit with anyone at lunch; too proud to seek anyone's company. It was so...

"You're gonna wreck your teeth, big brother."

Michael opened his mouth in reflex, embarrassed at having been caught grinding, and angry at whoever had turned it. His head snapped round, and saw a young girl sitting at the table's short end nearby. A young girl with golden eyes like his own, and red hair fastened at the back of her neck, and a Cheshire-cat smirk on her face.

A young girl who just so happened to be his younger sister Nena, now a first year cadet.

"Shove it" he growled, taking a glug of water. It wasn't that he minded his little sister coming to the academy. He had never been much good with people outside of the academy, and in his darker moments at least, he might admit that it was good to have someone trustworthy around. But at the same time, she was his little sister! And to make matters worse, she had somehow gotten even better at infuriating him than before.

He saw a couple of boys walking by, servants he guessed, by their lack of insignia. They were gazing at his red-headed sibling with obvious adoration. Nena half-turned her head to glance at them, then giggled and blew a kiss.

"Get outta here!" Michael bellowed, and the lovestruck boys fled. Nena gave him a pout.

"Awww, you scared away my dates for this week."

"No one's laying a hand on you while I'm around!"

Nena scoffed, giving him that look; the one that made him feel like he'd come to school in his pyjamas or something.

"What, did Mom tell you that? Tch, she won't let me have any fun, and neither will you apparently" She crossed her arms over her chest and clicked her tongue. "Big Brother Johann was never a Mama's boy ya know."

"I don't like them leering at you!" Michael snapped back, unable to stop himself. He really didn't. He hadn't liked it before, at Colchester, and he didn't like it now.

"Uh, oh," quipped Nena, apparently unperturbed. "You made a scene, big brother. Waldstein's looking."

Michael looked up. Waldstein was indeed looking over at them with a expression of mild curiosity. Nena giggled and waved at him.

No. No way. No friggin way!"

Michael stood up, and stormed over to Waldstein's table, ignoring the looks from those around him. He was too angry to care what anyone thought.

"Waldstein!" he barked.

"Yes?" Waldstein asked, his expression neutral.

"I got something to say to you!" Michael reached over and slammed his hand down on the table. Waldstein did not so much as flinch, his chestnut eyes unmoving. "I don't like you."

It had always worked before. He had always been able to intimidate people, to frighten them into backing down. At Colchester even the tough guys and the jocks had feared him, let alone the nerds and the girly-faced wimps. But it never worked on Waldstein, and that made him even angrier.

"Was it something I did?" asked Waldstein mildly.

"Everything you did!" snapped Michael, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Even back at Colchester!"

"I don't recall you," Waldstein replied, blinking.

"Trinity! Michael Trinity! And I'm gonna be the greatest Knight of the Round Table ever!"

"Are you? I wish you success." Waldstein reached for his cup.

"I don't need your wishes!" Michael swiped at the cup, knocking it onto the floor. Now everyone was looking, and he didn't care a bit.

"I am sick of you!" he bellowed. "I'm sick of you always acting like you're so awesome, like you're so much better than the rest of us!" He swept his arm across the mess hall. "Everyone here is sick to death of you! You teacher's pet!"

"If this is about my..."

"I'm not done!" Michael ranted, slapping the table again. "Whenever we get our beds off by one corner, that's fifty burpees! And when you get done so fucking fast, Master Chief makes us do twenty more for kicks! When none of us can catch up, they make us run twenty more! Our lives are a living hell!"

Waldstein gave him a sour look.

"So...you're blaming me because you can't measure up."

Michael exploded.

"I'm a Trinity!" he roared. "My path in life is to join the Military! To be a Knight like my brother, and my father and grandfather! It's my destiny!"

"Then get better." Waldstein stood up, taking his tray. "That's all I have to say."

He began to walk away. Around him, Michael could see the cadets gossiping among themselves. What was with this guy? Why couldn't he get a rise out of him?

"I'm not done!" he roared, grabbing Waldstein's shoulder. "It's not just you making our lives hell! You get stuff on the side too!" He jabbed an accusing finger straight at Waldstein's infuriating face. "Simulator privileges! Furlough! And you've never once had demerits for anything!"

"Because I do nothing to earn them" replied Waldstein, his tone low. "Now, remove your hand."

There was something in his eyes, something dangerous. Michael's heart leapt. He was getting Waldstein riled, he could see it. It was how he had always done things before. Rile the tough guy, smack him down, then take his place as alpha. Sure there would be demerits, but he would take Waldstein down with him!

"Nothing, eh? Well, somebody's got friends in high places. Is the Commandant sucking up to dear old dad?"

Waldstein's gaze hardened just a little.

"My father has nothing to do with this whatsoever. You know this. He is on the otherside of the world."

"Yeah yeah in that rat-infested hellhole called Area Seven! Your dad's little project! An Area full of Numbers who act like they aren't Numbers just because they surrendered without a fight! Hell, even the Elevens put up a fight, but the Sevens are just lining up to kiss your dad's ass! Talk about pathetic!"

There was a crowd gathering. Michael could see the Darlton brats all watching.

'Good, now throw the first punch Waldstein! Do it!'"

If that is all you have to say, then I won't waste my time on you." Waldstein replied, stepping away from him and continuing towards the serving hatch. "If you want to be better, I'll do all I can to help. But I can't do anything if all you do is cling to your grievances. I'm sure your brother, Colonel Trinity, did not make that mistake."

Michael gritted his teeth. He dared to mention his brother?

"He would not approve of you acting like this," Waldstein went on, in that same tone. "Barking like a dog."

Deep inside Michael, something snapped.

"At least I didn't need a womanto teach me how to be a knight!"

Waldstein halted. All around him, the air turned strangely cold.

"Well, do you deny it?" Michael couldn't stop himself. "I hear Cornelia was always fond of you Waldstein? Did you have fun playing with all the girls? Did you...!"

His cheek erupted in pain, and his head snapped to one side. Michael managed to recover himself, and saw Waldstein standing there, a black leather glove in his hand; the twin of the one tucked in his belt.

His glove?

"Send me your second, sir." Waldstein's voice was icy cold.

His friggin' glove?

"Whuh...?" Michael was too stunned to respond.

"The time and the place, sir. Or are you a coward?"

Michael blinked. The mess hall was as silent as a tomb.

"Heh, why waste time with that?" He began rolling up his sleeves. "Why not here, and now? You've got fists, haven't you Waldstein?"

Waldstein stuffed his glove back in his belt, and set his tray on a table beside him. Yes yes yes! It was working! His smirk widened into a grimace as he settled into a combat stance, and Waldstein strode towards him. Now he could...

(X)

Nena sighed.

Her idiot brother was on the floor, his nose broken and gushing blood. She could have sworn she had seen teeth flying. At least he wouldn't have to worry about grinding them down any more.

She glanced over at Waldstein. His division-mates were edging towards him; notably the Darlton brothers, and Kruszewski; a gentle-looking blonde, who for all her looks was deadly in a knightmare.

"Ten-hut!"

The command crashed through the mess hall like a thunderclap. At once, all snapped to attention; including Nena. She knew better than to provoke Master Sergeant Lou Barkley; the bald-headed man-mountain striding between the tables towards them. He came to a halt beside Waldstein, and stared down at Michael with thinly-veiled contempt.

"Cadet Waldstein."

"Sir!"

"Did you or did you not just assault Cadet Trinity here?"

"Sir, I...!"

"Answer the question Cadet!"

"Yes sir!"

A shiver ran through the Mess Hall. Nena forced herself not to sigh. It looked like Michael was getting what he wanted; even at the cost of a smashed nose.

"Cadets...clear the hall!"

The hall emptied like magic, but Nena stayed where she was. Barkley didn't not respond right away.

"Cadet..." he said, with something dangerous in his tone. "I believe I ordered the hall cleared."

"Yes sir."

"And you are still here."

"Respectfully sir. This cadet is my brother."

For a moment she thought he would order her again. But instead he turned back to Michael.

"Cadet Trinity...on your feet! Now!" Michael struggled to his feet, and into an approximation of attention.

"Cadet Waldstein," Barkley went on. "I'm getting long in the tooth, and my eyes and ears aren't what they were. So I really hope I didn't see you call out Cadet Trinity here."

He stepped closer to Waldstein, leaning forward until he was almost nose-to-nose. How Waldstein managed to stay so still like that, Nena would never know.

"Because it would meant that you, Cadet Waldstein, somehow forgot that duelling in wartime is a court martial offence!" The last words came out as a roar.

"And Cadet Trinity," he turned to Michael. "I do hope I didn't hear you cast aspersions on the honour of her Imperial Highness Princess Cornelia. Would you like to say it to her face, cadet!?"

"The jerk!" Nena thought. "He was watching the whole thing!"

"And you, Cadet Trinity the younger." Barkley turned and stepped towards her, his boots ringing like artillery shots on the floor. "What exactly passed between this pair?"

"Sir, Cadet Trinity impugned Princess Cornelia's honour, and Cadet Waldstein called him out. Cadet Trinity challenged him to a fistfight instead, and Cadet Waldstein hit him."

She might be Michael's sister, but she wasn't a fool. The security cameras would confirm all of it.

"Cadet," Barkley said again. He leant in close, until Nena could smell tobacco on his breath. "What exactly passed between this pair?"

Nena understood these things enough to know what he meant. Ah well, she had given him the truth, so no one could blame her now.

"Sir, Cadet Trinity insulted Cadet Waldstein, and Cadet Waldstein punched him."

"Very well then." Barkley straightened up, and turned to glare at the two cadets. Waldstein stood tall, his face an emotionless mask, more like some ancient statue than a living man. Michael, meanwhile, swayed gently as he struggled not to fall over.

"Cadet Waldstein, for violent conduct, five demerits, with punishment duty. You will report to the Custodian's office with this card." He took a card from his pocket, and handed a card to Waldstein. "Show this to Mr Hudson. You will clean this Mess Hall, and if it is not clean by morning inspection, you will clean it again until it is satisfactory. Am I understood, cadet?"

"Yes sir."

"Trinity, for conduct unbecoming a cadet, fifty demerits, with punishment duty. You are on septic sanitation until you are relieved."

He turned to face them both.

"If I hear of anything like this again, I will personally recommend your expulsion from this institution, and the entering of your names into the record. You will be dismissed from the armed forces, and forbidden to seek armed service of any kind in the Holy Empire of Britannia. Do you both understand?"

"Yes sir!"

"Cadet, take your brother to the infirmary. Cadet Waldstein, dismissed!"

"Yes sir!" Waldstein snapped his heels together, grabbed his tray, and strode towards the hatch; pausing to drop his tray on the pile.

"Up an'at em big brother. Let's make you all better," Nena cooed, grabbing her brother by the arm and hauling him towards the door. As they passed Waldstein, she blew him a kiss; and giggled as his eyebrow quirked. So cute!

Michael blithered something that sounded very rude.

"I can't control how you act, big brother, so do yourself a favour and quit ordering me around." She smirked. "But, as your responsible and adorable little sister, I do need to be by your side while the nurses check your scrambled brains."

Michael burbled something incomprehensible, and probably quite rude. Nena giggled as she half-helped, half-dragged him along the corridor.

(X)

Imperial Military Academy, Caerleon, Holy Empire of Britannia, March 2017

"The victor! Cadet Kruszewski!"

Alexander's heart leapt, and he clapped his hands so hard they began to sting. All around him the crowds roared their approbation as Monica Kruszewski, rolled her Glasgow back into line before the Western Division tent.

Seated in his Glasgow's seat, extending out behind his cockpit, he could see the arena clearly. The graduation tournament had become something of a tradition over the past eight years. This year's event was even grander and more magnificent than he remembered; with the venue moved to the knightmare training ground, allowing more stands to be set up. All of them were packed, with what seemed like all manner of people; journalists, friends and relatives of cadets, and even local people and knightmare enthusiasts; who paid on the gate for the privilege.

The most important guests sat in becoming state upon the rostrum. And most important of all was their Royal guest, who on the next day would view the graduation parade in the grounds of the old Caerbrennin Palace, and give the graduation address.

Alexander's heart pounded as he gazed upon the Royal seats. For the guest was none other than Princess Cornelia, taking a little time off from the war in Africa to attend the graduation. It had been widely speculated that she had come to select new knights for her retinue; and that the choices would be made this very day.

It was both wondrous and strange to see her again. For she had changed so much, and yet so little. Her hair was longer; arranged in a stylish wave that was as sophisticated as it was dashing. Her white Imperial Guard tunic had been replaced with a new uniform of her own design; a purple jacket and matching trousers, the jacket decorated with gold braid in a style reminiscent of the Royal Guard devicer's formal uniform.

She was clapping politely, a satisfied look on her face. Next to her sat Gilbert Guilford, whom she had chosen for her personal Knight, and on the other side was Andreas Darlton; smirking broadly. Both wore the uniform of Royal Guard devicers; long coats with gold frogging, and white trousers; but whereas the coats were normally in Royal Guard red, theirs were in the same purple as Cornelia's own uniform; a mark of the favour in which she held them.

Monica pulled her Glasgow up next to his; the rear hatch dropping open as her seat slid out.

"That was magnificent, Cadet Kruszewski!" Alexander called out. He would have clasped her hand, but she was out of reach.

"I did my best, Cadet Waldstein!" Monica called back. She too had grown over the past years; both in body and in spirit. Her eyes sparkled, but he could still detect just the hint of a blush on her cheeks.

"Cadet Trinity has entered the lists!"

Alexander's blood ran cold. He snapped his head back towards the arena, and saw a Glasgow - with the Northern Division's blue markings - rolling towards the centre. He could hear his fellow Western Division cadets - both in the stands and around the tent - shouting imprecations towards the knightmare; some of them quite rude. Michael Trinity was not the most popular of cadets.

He remembered that wretched incident a year ago, when Trinity had insulted Princess Cornelia and been rewarded with a broken nose. It had gotten him the only demerits he had ever earned, the only black mark on an otherwise spotless record. That in itself had been frustrating, but made all the worse by a sense of failure. He knew he had let himself be goaded, allowed himself to be driven to break the rules. Trinity's punishment had been far harsher, but in a very real sense he had won that round, and Alexander only had himself to blame.

Trinity had shaped up, to some extent. His older brother Johann had shown up a week later, ostensibly on leave from one of the African warzones. He had been seen hanging out with his little sister Nena, who plainly adored him, but the real reason - it was whispered - had been to knock some sense into his brother; perhaps literally.

Trinity halted in the middle of the arena, and the crowds fell silent; waiting for him to make his challenge. The Glasgow turned on the spot, slowly, then levelled its Shot Lancer and thrust it out.

At him.

"Cadet Trinity challenges Cadet Waldstein!"

The arena was silent. All eyes were upon him, waiting for him to accept or refuse the challenge.

There could be only one response.

Alexander settled back into his seat, and pressed the control. The seat slid down into the cockpit, the hatch closing behind him. He took the joysticks in his hands, and with a thought he raised his own Shot Lancer, thrusting it into the sky, then aiming it straight at Trinity. The crowds roared their approval.

"Cadet Waldstein accepts the challenge!"

He drove out onto the arena, feeling all their eyes upon him; feeling her eyes upon him. He lined up in front of Trinity, shield presented. Trinity paused a moment, and Alexander wondered if he was having second thoughts.

Then he lowered his lance, and jabbed the tip at his shield, so hard that his Glasgow rocked back.

"Cadet Trinity challenges challenges a l'outrance!"

The crowd liked that. They always liked a good fight, a good bust-up that would leave one or both knightmares battered to scrap. And he knew that Trinity would have it no other way.

Alexander tapped his own lance tip to Trinity's shield, indicating his acceptance. This done, he turned and rolled to the starting position, Trinity doing likewise. They faced off, and Alexander slowed his breathing, readying himself.

An electronic tone, and another, and another. Then one more, a much higher pitch than the others.

Alexander saw Trinity moving. His lance dropped down, and he almost leapt towards him; Landspinners shrieking and smoking on the concrete. Alexander lowered his own lance and moved, aiming himself just to Trinity's left. Closer and closer they came, the metres falling away.

He jinked just a little to the right, thrusting out his shield. Trinity's lance stip struck it, the metal shrieking as the tip deflected away. Trinity turned his waist, thrusting his shield forward; the classic Shield Bash. But Alexander was ready for it, twisting his ankles and sliding away and around. Their shields clashed, and Alexander was thrown against his seat; so hard that he could see flashing lights in the corner of his eyes.

He broke away, sliding backwards away from Trinity. He bent his legs, driving his Landspinners until he stopped. Trinity came around in a tight arc, levelling his lance for another charge. Alexander did likewise, couching his lance and accelerating; charging straight at Trinity. He readied himself for the impact.

And then his heart clenched, as he saw the lance tip drop. Trinity was going for his legs, trying to trip him. He swung his lance over, catching Trinty's lance just in time. Both lances struck the ground, pressed together, and snapped with almighty crack. Alexander spun away, coming around in an arc, and keying for his K-Maul.

He straightened up, slowing down as his Glasgow's arm came down, K-maul in hand. Trinity had done likewise, and was banging his K-maul against his shield as he came on. Alexander pictured him inside his cockpit, red-faced, spittle flying, shrieking with homicidal rage.

Just what had he ever done to make that man hate him so much?

He was in range. He swung his K-maul overarm, the flanged head striking Trinity's shield with a clang. Trinity swung at his waist, forcing him to drop back. He swung again, but Trinity was too fast, and again he struck the shield. He swung again, and again, battering at Trinity's shield, driving him back.

Then Trinity moved, dropping down as his mace struck his shield, and breaking to the left. He spun, faster than Alexander thought possible, bringing his maul around hard. Alexander threw himself into a spin, trying to dodge the swinging mace. He felt the impact, as the head struck and bounced off.

A hit. Only a glancing hit, but still a hit. Warning lights were flashing on his monitor. He dared not allow another.

He swung down hard, hoping to catch Trinity off-guard. Trinity dodged at the last moment, Alexander's k-maul catching the side of his cockpit, denting it and scoring away the black paint. He slewed away and came around, spinning his wrist, his k-maul swinging around and around. Alexander readied himself, shield forward, as Trinity came on. He swung hard, his k-maul striking Alexander's shield, denting it. Alexander tried to swing, but Trinity was on him again, bring his k-maul down and up and down in a figure of eight, allowing no respite.

Back and back he stepped, struggling to resist the onslaught. He had known that Michael Trinity's heart was full of rage, but he had never expected his knightmare to reflect it. It was as if the Glasgow was possessed by some wrathful demon, bent on his destruction.

More warning lights were flashing. He had to think of something, and quickly, or else he was going to lose.

He waited, letting Trinity's k-maul fall one last time, and then pull away to swing. Then he thrust his Glasgow forward, barrelling straight into Trinity. Trinity stumbled back, and Alexander swung hard. Trinity got his shield up, and the maul bounced off it, dragging the shield to the side and sending Trinity stumbling two steps to the left. He swung his own shield, catching Trinity again, then swung his k-maul, tearing the shield from his arm and sending him stumbling away across the arena. He feel to one knee, and around him Alexander could see the crowds on their feet, thrusting their arms into the air, roaring at the tops of their lungs.

He waited a moment, allowing his frazzled mind to calm, to focus. Trinity's Glasgow turned its head towards him; its electronic eyes seeming to burn with rage. Alexander glanced down, and saw where his shield had landed, several metres away. If Trinity went for it, he would have a clear shot, and a decisive one. If he tried to fight without it, Alexander would have the advantage.

For a moment more he paused, uncertain, torn. He owed that man no favours, no clemency. He had been nothing but trouble, nothing but a blight on his time at the academy. He wasn't the only enemy Alexander had made, not the only one who resented his success, or just didn't like him for whatever reason. But he had been by far the worst.

Yet…for all that…

He stepped over to the shield, and kicked it, sending it scuttering across the arena towards Trinity. The audience had calmed down, and were watching intently. Alexander watched also, waiting for Trinity to pick up his shield and continue the duel.

But Trinity did not pick up the shield. Instead his Glasgow leapt to its feet, kicked the shield away, and then charged straight at him, k-maul brandished high. For a moment Alexander was caught off-guard, frozen in surprise. He brought up his shield, and barely caught the terrible blow. With warning alarms buzzing in his ears, he swung hard, catching the defenceless Glasgow on its plastron, sending it stumbling back. He swung again, and again, battering the Glasgow left and right, until one last blow sent it stumbling away.

He watched, breathing hard, as the Glasgow tried to turn, to raise its weapon. Then it fell to the ground, and lay still.

Even through his Glasgow's armour, he could hear the roar of the crowds.

"The victor! Cadet Waldstein!"

He slumped in his seat, letting the roar of approbation wash over him. Why, oh why, had he not just picked up the shield? Why did Trinity have to be like that?

"Cadet Waldstein, descend from your knightmare and stand before the rostrum!"

Alexander blinked. Had he really heard that?

He exited the cockpit, and let the ascension cable carry him down. As he stepped away from the Glasgow, he looked towards Trinity's fallen machine. A medical team was hauling a struggling, cursing Michael Trinity out of the cockpit, and strapping him to a stretcher.

Oh well, he couldn't have been that badly hurt.

Then his heart clenched as he turned back towards the rostrum, and saw Princess Cornelia and her entourage descending the steps towards him. Commandant Rosen was there, his face expressionless.
Alexander halted at the appropriate distance, and snapped to attention. Cornelia regarded him for a moment. He could feel all eyes upon him.

"You fight with chivalry as well as courage, Cadet Waldstein," declared the princess. "But so generous a deed would have gotten you killed on the battlefield."

"That is true, your highness." He could feel his face heating up. He felt a fool.

"Yet for all that, this is not a battlefield," she went on. "Yet, Cadet, would you be inclined to show mercy on the battlefield? In a place where the slightest mistake is death?"

Alexander began to say that he would not, hoping to say what he thought he was supposed to say. Then he faltered, and felt…something.

"I would, your highness."

That caused a stir. Alexander could sense the ripple of uncertainty running through the crowd of dignitaries behind him. He could see it in the eyes of those behind her. But it was too late to take his words back now.

"And why is that?" prompted Cornelia. If she was offended or even surprised, she made no show of it.

"As Emperor Henry of blessed memory once said," Alexander began, trying to ignore his churning
stomach. "What marks a knight from a savage is honour, and honour is honesty, bravery, humanity, and mercy. It is better to die once with honour, than to live a hundred years without it, for to live without honour is to die every day."

He stopped, and the words hung in the air.

"You speak my ancestor's words well, Cadet Waldstein," Cornelia said gravely. "I shall now do, as I know he would have done."

She paused, and the Commandant cleared his throat.

"Cadet Waldstein! Kneel before her highness!"

Alexander knelt down. It didn't feel real. It was like being in a dream.

"Will you be my sword-arm, my liege-man, and my knight?"

He could hear the words; of the oath of knighthood Emperor Henry had written himself. But…it still didn't seem real.

"By God and my right hand, I swear."

"Will you forsake ambition, and fight for honour alone?

"By my sword-arm and my true heart, I swear."

"Will you speak only truth, though it cost you life and all?

"By my first breath and my last, I swear."

"Will you forsake yourself, and serve honour unto death?

"If I stood at the gates of paradise, I would withdraw for honour's sake."

In one smooth motion, Cornelia drew her gunblade; the one Empress Marianne had given her, so many years ago.

"I dub thee, Sir Alexander Waldstein. Once," she lowered it to his right shoulder, "twice," then to his left, "and three times."

She lifted the gunblade to en-garde postion, then sheathed it, and held out her hand.

"Arise, Sir Alexander, and be acknowledged."

Alexander took her hand, and as he stood up, the crowd erupted with approbation.

"Welcome home, old friend," she said, her eyes sparkling as they had done long ago. "I've missed you."

Alexander's heart glowed.

(X)

And here it is. This is the last bit before the end of the timeskip. Next chapter will be in Africa, at around the time of Clovis' assassination.