The Eaglet: Napoleon II, Unbound

[Duke of Reichstadt]

THE CHANCELLOR OF AUSTRIA - PRINCE VON METTERNICH​

Late nights were the rule at Schönbrunn, not the exception.

Another letter, another problem. "... And we have been hearing reports of desire for the people in the lower areas of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands to create their own homeland, a 'Belgium,' independent of the House of Orange. The movement seems to be particularly popular among the university students..." A Belgium? What would a Belgium do other than be swallowed by France when she had recovered her strength after years of having the Usurper bleed her. I can see it now: fighting the Dutch today and then Austria tomorrow. What a king William has proven to be. Truly a 'Sovereign Prince!'

The Chancellor threw the letter down, not bothering to read further to know that William I was doing absolutely nothing to remedy the situation. Metternich would have sooner installed a potato as King of the Dutch than one as indecisive as William. The Austrian noble sighed and reclined in his chair. An intervention would have to take place and most assuredly it would need to happen soon. Shall force be considered? Is that prudent? He doubted the other members of his Holy Alliance would enjoy any military movement along the border of the German Confederation even if it was to quell rebellion. Plus, Dutch police rounding up schoolboys might be viewed as heavy-handed by the rest of Europe and his mind wandered as he tried to decide the best course of action.

Though the chancellor had been rewarded many titles by the House of Hapsburg during his loyal service, he wondered if the other princes he spent time propping up would ever recognize his hard work? The man nearly chuckled then, imagining himself a Dutch Count or even an Italian Duke maybe! No, no, that was not the life for him. The glory was for the Williams of the world to take. He was to rule Europe, but not as a conqueror like the Usurper, nor as a financier like the British fancied themselves. No, his reign was in the back alleys, salons, the markets, from the shadows - truly, a thankless job. William and his royal peers could idle so long as Metternich worked.

"Heavy is the head." He said, picking up the letter and putting it on the stack that could wait for a reply. Surely an untimely accident to some of these 'Belgian leaders' would throw cold water over their fiery resolve. Belgium was to be Dutch... or even Austrian once more... but never again would her people fight for the French.

The candle light was growing dimmer, and forced him to retrieve a companion for it in his desk. He knew some of the servants joked that the only light from the Schönbrunn at night was "Metternich's Lantern." Perhaps if they had such a work-ethic like the one they mocked they could be more than butlers or gardeners. The thought of some Hungarian or Croat pissant able to become Chancellor was ambivalent one, in that he found the notion equal parts humorous and revolting.

Well, Metternich's Lantern is ablaze tonight. While the Hapsburg's snored he ruled their empire for them.

*​

The last item on the agenda was usually his favorite item. The report he saved for last was like a digestif for the bland gruel of Belgiums and Williams he had to sift to: The Eaglet.

Vienna's own little zoo animal, a spectacle for visiting dignitaries of the allied powers over the Usurper. Some had thought that Franz would be an embarrassment for Metternich - but no, quite the contrary! The marriage between Marie-Louise and the Usurper had been a deft political move and served to benefit Austria when she needed it most. Granted the Corsican wanted Alexander's sister, but Metternich knew for Austria to survive the crucible of those wars was to gather her strength in his shadow. The "Golden Heifer" was offered up at the tyrant's alter of bloodlust so that Austria could gather her strength. Besides, Little Franz had transformed from a French Prince to a good Austrian soldier, and would always be kept in the confines of the imperial grounds. Franz was a reminder to not only Metternich, but the world that they had triumphed over Napol- the Usurper.

The whispers of fear that the boy was some sort of threat was laughable. Metternich had to monitor events in the four corners of Europe, surely he could monitor the goings on of single a man not yet fully-grown; Franz could not even shave his whiskers without Metternich knowing. In some ways, he viewed his monitoring of the young man as a sort of... paternal undertaking. After all, if it were not for him, Marie Louise and the Corsican would have never married in the first place.

He opened the letter and could not help but smile as he went through the young man's daily activities. The usual fluff: "Franz was particularly interested in drilling today," and "Franz wished to discuss the disposition of the allied forces at Leipzig and the order of battle" (Metternich only instructed Franz' tutors and comrades to discuss the Allied victories) and of course "Franz seemed in good spirits, but there is a perpetual air of melancholy about the man." He was smiling then, until he read the final lines of one of his agent's report : "Franz is showing a certain affinity for the Duchess Sophie of Bavaria, and it's this soldier's unprofessional opinion that she shares the sentiment. The prince and the duchess took a leisurely stroll out of earshot today - the duchess seemed to be very close to our Eaglet and leaning on him as they walked ." The Chancellor lingered on that , before balling the paper up and tossing it aside. Corporals and tutors could surround the man, but Sophie is a different story. An ally of some political importance... All of a sudden the Eaglet became more menacing than he had previously been.

He relaxed - the Usurper's son was under virtual house arrest and there was nothing any Bavarian duchess could do about that. As long as Metternich could keep himself abreast of their little relationship he was still in control.

Metternich was the master of Europe, a teenager was no threat to him...

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

Europe in 1830​

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

THE ARCHDUCHESS OF AUSTRIA AND PRINCESS OF BAVARIA - SOPHIE​

The Hofburg was alive! The boring trappings of the imperial court, most likely a hold-over of Spanish influence, melted into excitement on nights like these. Her father-in-law seemed to symbolize the transformation as his somewhat stoic countenance would give-way to reveal the true Francis I: a paternal man at heart. He loved throwing banquets or balls for both his subjects and for himself so he could relax the imperial countenance.

Sophie, most of all, reveled in it. The Hapsburgs had been her family too now for almost six years but they altogether were too serious for her: life was about celebrating, about actually living! She knew her presence alone at court had changed things to the point where even the tight-wound Metternich knew to avoid her influence. Slowly but surely, Sophie was becoming on par with the other matrons of the House of Austria through her sheer presence. That being said, there was still work to be done.

Her husband, for starters, was a boor. Vulgar and uptight Franz Karl was not a bad man, but rather an uninteresting one. By all accounts, he seemed more interested in dull soldiering then he did anything else. Sophie had to be the one pushing and petitioning her father-in-law and brother-in-law Francis to ensure that Franz Karl received important positions and assignments to ensure his influence - and by extension hers - in court. If left to his own devices, Sophie truly wondered if Franz Karl would not simply recede into the background at the Hofburg, slowly becoming one with the walls until he was no more. What a thought!

Enough wishful thinking, then. She checked herself once more in the mirror - her chestnut hair in large ringlets around her temple, her sweet features accented by the merry lips she tried in vain to contain from smiling all the time. Content , she made her way down to the ballroom.

*​

The imperial court was out in strength tonight. Her sister, Caroline - the Empress of Austria - was seated near her husband, the sovereign, who seemed to be dotting on one of the grandchildren. Ferdinand, Francis' eldest, was a pitiable man born touched by God. He was seated near his father; his appearance marred by whatever affliction had challenged him since birth. Sophie enjoyed speaking with Ferdinand, though he stuttered and sometimes would go into fits; he was still probably a better conversationalist than her own husband. The Princess of Saxony, Marie Caroline, was looking unusually cheerful, engaging in small talk with some dashing soldier. She was afflicted similarly, though not quite as badly as her elder brother, but perhaps suffered more greatly due to her husband's temperament. Franz Karl was predictably stone-faced and apparently part of a conversation with what appeared to be diplomats of some sort. Sophie immediately turned and made a bee-line for the area opposite her husband.

Thankfully, Caroline seemed to notice her approach and smiled. Sophie made her way over, taking a seat next to the Empress. "Charlotte, you look lovely!"

"You're a terrible liar, Sophie. And call me Caroline, or preferably, your highness." Her elder sister said, a trace of a smile on her lips.

"A thousand apologies, your highness. You look dreadful then." The women shared laughter before an interruption from the emperor himself,

"Ah, what's this? Another Bavarian woman at my table? Am I in Vienna or Munich?"

"Come now dear sire, you surely find Bavarian women irresistible," Sophie said, nodding to her sister. Caroline seemed to blush, but the emperor smiled,

"Your humor is sorely missed. You must come riding with us soon." Before Sophie could even respond to her sovereign, Another face joined their number.

"Papa, the count is behaving as if he were an arse." Marie Louise, the Duchess of Parma had interrupted there conversation. "He refuses the quadrille!"

Francis sighed, "No daughter of mine shall be refused - do not worry. I will consult with Neippereg." He turned to his wife and Sophie, "Carry on without me."

The sisters bowed their heads slightly and in unison, "Your grace."

Marie Louise only thinking of herself was not something the two Bavarian's were not already unaccustomed to. In fact, while most of the court seemed to be dismayed at the treatment of her son, Marie Louise's criticism was notably absent. It seems as if the warm embrace of the Count Neipperg made her forget more than her former husband. "If she cared half as much about Franz as she did the quadrille, the man might be in brighter spirits." Sophie offered. She knew her sister could not speak her mind, as the position she held dictated a higher standing of social decorum from her. Despite this, Sophie was somewhat surprised by the response,

"I believe it is the duty of all mothers to ensure the well-being of their children. Perhaps Marie Louise should be present in Vienna more often." Before Sophie had a chance to respond, Caroline continued, "Speak of the devil, and he doth appear."

Sophie followed her head nod to see a strapping young man in the uniform of a Tyrolean officer. His defining attributes were most certainly from his mother: tall and slender (though Marie Louise's figure had long ago begun to grow), thick and curly blond hair - always parted on the left - with a clear complexion that was near translucent. Deep, clear, melancholy blue eyes held one in their gaze - a commanding presence perhaps being a trait from the father.

"That Franz, always dashing, isn't he?" Caroline offered, nearly nudging her sister as she did.

"Quite." Sophie offered, hoping the young man would see them before he was intercepted. As luck would have it, Franz did in fact see Sophie, smiling as he did, and made his way across the room, navigating a developing quadrille.

When the duke had made it to their table, he bowed, "I must be the luckiest man to be able to share the company of two such beautiful women."

Caroline reacted first, "Oh come now, Franz, we aren't some Viennese ballerina."

"Viscous rumors." He responded, taking a seat next to Sophie.

"So you deny them?" Sophie asked with a playful smile.

"I spend too much time with you to pursue such frivolity." He responded, looking out to the ballroom. It's true, she thought. His apartment is directly above mine with only a stairwell separating us. He would read while she would paint or play the piano, sometimes she would hold his head in her lap as he read and she would play with the golden curls of the man. And they were-

"Sophie, how fairs your husband?" Franz offered.

The woman scowled at the man and the sudden reversal. "He doesn't ask dumb questions, that's for sure."

Franz turned to her smiling, "Your highness, I believe I have struck a nerve with your dearest sister."

"A rare feat." Caroline offered. The three chuckled, taking turns with pleasantries. They continued on for a while, chatting as old friends would. Despite Franz' relative immaturity to the two sisters he had grown up rather quickly. It was almost as if he was desperately trying to abandon the vestiges of childhood in order to more fully become a man. But what a joy Franz was and could still be. His kindness went beyond the pair of Bavarians, as he was always ready for serious discussion with his uncles, or playing with his cousins, nieces, and nephews. His wit was impeccable and lent itself to good conversations - something Sophie treasured herself.

Franz suddenly turned to Caroline, nearly interrupting the empress, "May I borrow the Archduchess? I promise to return her in good health."

Caroline chuckled, "I would be more worried about you... than her."

Though taken aback, Sophie accepted the man's outstretched hand, and they made their way out into the Viennese night.

*​

Their stroll through the Volksgarten was peaceful with lanterns dotting their way. A few party goers had similar ideas, and they nodded to the others as they passed. Franz had not said much even though this was his idea, and Sophie found herself directing the conversation. The man's responses were short and half-formed, as if he were focusing on something else. After the third or so attempt to start a conversation, Sophie disengaged herself from his arm and stopped their pace, "It was your idea to come out here, and now you have chosen to ignore me. Explain yourself!"

"Not so loud." He said, more aware than he had been the past few minutes. The man looked around before proceeding to grab her arms, "Do you love me?"

Sophie felt herself begin to blush, "Franz, I-"

"Just answer me, truly."

"Yes, yes of course."

"Good." He said, letting her go. He stood up straighter then, seemingly assured from her answer and the lack of people around them, and regarded her as if a man would. No more was the youthful Franz of yesteryear with her, but someone different sprung forth. She shivered then, that familiar look holding her in place. She had always thought Franz resembled his mother, but now, in this moment, he seemed so much more his father. "I need your help." Without waiting he continued, "I am going to leave Vienna tonight. I have corresponded, in secret, to a former soldier of my father, who tells me that they are prepared to receive me in France. I cannot tell you how now, but I am quite confident Metternich does not know. I must travel by stealth, however and I would make use of your carriage." It was almost as if he was vomiting the words up, trying to sound confident despite the surreal nature of his request.

Sophie was near paralyzed, frozen in fear of what she had heard. Franz had always talked about returning to France when they were alone, his head in her lap, but it all seemed like a fantasy - harmless in its impossibility. Now it was very real.

"You want my help... to leave me?" Sophie responded, shivering even though the night was warm.

Franz winced, "That is not... I do not have the intention... Sophie."

The woman turned and silence hung between them for a long moment. She supposed this was the inevitable conclusion to the life he led. Brought up by Metternich puppeteering his tutors like Dietrichstein, forbidding him to speak French nor learn of his father's exploits. To be abandoned by his mother, perhaps twice, and knowing that your father would have made you emperor of all of Europe if not for his own grandfather. Franz was a prisoner of Metternich, a prisoner to his mother's failings, a prisoner to the victorious allies, and now a poisoner to his father's legacy. Now it seemed he wished to be freed.

When she finally did turn back, she could feel tears welling at the corners of her eyes, "Go quickly. I'll say you took ill and are in your apartments."

Though Franz was smiling, those deep blue eyes which had once seemed so warm to her, were now cold.

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

A LETTER - Captain Louis-Eugène Cavaignac​

July 1830
Dearest Fredric,

I must inform you of recent events without betraying the oaths I have sworn to France and our sovereign, HM Charles X. Certain events in Austria have brought change to my career in Arras. When I last saw you, I was to captain a regiment there and proceed as if a drill instructor. Now, it seems I am to be a watchdog along our border with the Italian princes. Alas, I cannot reveal where nor Who I am looking for - though I believe with your knowledge of current events you can make an estimable guess as to Their identity. There is a great excitement in the air, as I believe the men are prepared to capture this rogue. There is quite a large military presence where I am located, as it seems to be that there is some concern with the size of the traveling party of the Enemy of France.

Rest assured, we will protect our homeland vigorously from all her foes.

Please send all my love to our family.

Your loving cousin,
CPT. L.E. Cavaignac

P.S.
As you are a prudent man, I rest easy in knowing that you are taking the necessary steps to remain safe and healthy in these times. A word of advice, however, I would offer to you: retire from Paris for the time being. I have no motive other than caution in this recommendation; I believe the summer months this year will be particularly Hot. It does not do a gentlemen's health well to be in Paris when the heat of summer sets upon it. I believe I consulted a report that it would be best to summer in the countryside no later than a week from now, before it gets any hotter.

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

THE JOURNALIST - ADOLPHE THIERS​

Blessed day! The tyranny of King Charles would soon be at an end and men like Polignac would never again have their hands at the levers of power. It was indeed laughable to think that one, even a king, could turn back the hands of time. France could not and would not return to the days of Louis XIV. As Thiers' horse galloped through the cobblestone streets of Paris he chuckled to himself seeing his "rag" (according to Polignac) plastered to walls. The National listed the July Ordinances as a rallying cry across the city for constitutionalist allies. Ironic that Charles' most iron-fisted attempt at rule was the cause of his dissolution.

Alongside copies of The National, was also a project of his. It displayed a pleasant looking, bourgeoise man, under which it read "Louis-Phillipe, A Friend of the People." A friend of the people indeed! If all went according to plan, he would be more than a friend to the French People.

It nearly occured to him the role he himself played in this monumental impact on history. Who would have thought that he, who had come to Paris nearly penniless could both overthrow and replace the King of France? He urged the horse on, faster now.

Louis-Phillipe as the successor to Charles X was a masterstroke. His liberal tendencies and common-living made him infinitely more popular among the average man. Better yet, the man could be influenced. Hell, when Thiers showed up at Louis-Phillipe's home to offer him the crown, the man had hid and allowed his wife to speak for him. Such bravery! His rule would undoubtedly be like his home life - better left in the hands of the more capable.

Thiers passed a small crowd of people, holding bottles of wine that were assuredly more expensive than all the money they had ever made in their wretched lives. "Vive la France!" Was drunkenly hailed as they partook of what was presumably Charles' wine. Thiers grunted, nodding out of necessity to them. Those who had chased the king out of Paris were going to quickly outlive their usefulness if order wasn't soon restored. He didn't spite them for the rebellious outrage, after all, he was riding that wave this very moment, but the common man was a true-neutral and was only ever persuaded by his own need. While Thiers' circle shared a common goal - enfranchising the men who actually advanced the welfare of France - the commoner could not see past his own nose.

The victorious journalist galloped passed the "revolutionary" soldiers around the Palais Royale, slowing only when he nearly came upon the front doors. He burst through the double doors with the invigorating strength of an arrived conqueror. Julius Ceaser crossing the Rubicon and now Adolphe Thiers entering the royal palace - oh ho!

Expecting to see the Marquis de Lafayette and his fellow Orléanist Jacques Laffitte awaiting him, he was met with surprise when only the banker was present. The man was sitting down on a stairstep, staring off into the distance.

"Laffitte! Where is the Marquis?"

Laffitte did not answer, but merely outstretched his hand with a crumpled letter in it. Thiers snatched it away and began to read allowed,
"I regret to inform you of a disturbing development in the south. It appears that..." Thiers had to re-read what he was seeing before continuing, "It appears that Napoleon Bonaparte's son has appeared in southern France. The royal forces sent to apprehend him crossing the Italian border were dumbfounded when he arrived in Lyon - apparently crossing covertly from Switzerland. By the time a regiment arrived in Lyon to put him under arrest, he had already been presented to a crowd of people. I suppose they have heard of our own revolution in Paris, for they cheered at his sight, and hoisted him up among them. Most concerning, the soldiers sent to apprehend him have appeared to join him in number. I fear that if we do not consolidate our revolution and prepare a militant response, our days are numbered. I write hastily as I am riding hard for Bordeaux, in hope to raise an auxiliary force and meet this young Napoleon on the field. Maybe I can buy you and our new king time to scatter Charles's forces and prepare to meet this tyrant-to-be in number. Yours, General d'Aboville." Thiers was stunned, and let the letter fall to the ground. "Good God," was all he could muster.

Laffitte did not move, but sighed, "Lafayette is going to Marmont now to see if we can broker a deal for his forces."

Thiers nodded, "Prudent... yes... d'Aboville was one of Napoleon's generals, no? Can we trust this report and his staunchness to defend our revolution?"

Lafitte snorted, "All of our military is made up of Napoleon's generals. The ones who matter, anyway. Marmont was one of his marshals for Christ sakes! Who's to say he too won't abandon Charles?"

At that moment, both men turned to see the meek entrance of a fellow Frenchman, Louis Phillipe. He straightened up and cleared his throat before speaking. "Gentlemen," the nobleman started, "you have convinced me. I am ready to receive my crown, for the good of the French people."

Thiers and Laffitte had no response, frozen in time...

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

Europe, July of 1830
*​

Notes:
-Light blue in France indicates the areas nominally under the control of Charles X.
-Pink indicates the areas controlled by the Orleanists or their allies. (Paris, Bordeaux, and Lille)
-Dark Blue indiciates the areas who have proclaimed for Napoleon II. (Mostly Lyons, and it's surrounding countryside)

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

THE EAGLET - NAPOLEON II​

The last fortnight or so had not felt real, it must have been picked from a dream or a drunken stupor. From the secret missives, to leaving the Hofbug (and Sophie), to trekking across Italy and Switzerland, it seemed as if he was a character in some play, only, he couldn't see the audience. And it seemed to only grow more dizzying now that he was in the land of his father. The air! The people! Perhaps it was the feeling of finally being free that made him feel this way, or the excitement of being surrounded by people who loved him for who he was, instead of reviling him.

His initial entry into Lyon caused him some concern. It was his first time setting foot in France since he was a child and even though he had the support of those who aided him, the thought that he would be rejected nearly left him unable to dismount his horse. Gourgaud, a general and his father's friend even on Saint Helena, and Deschamps, a veteran of his father's wars, had snuck him to the edge of some plaza. He had hastily prepared something during his spiriting away that he thought might resonate with the people of France when he saw them. It had felt so distant only days ago but now the moment was upon him. Gourgaud then had apparently gathered a crowd, promising something or the other to get their attention. When Franz stepped out from the shadows of the back alley, he had started his prepared speech, "People of Lyons! Here me! I am with you, and my heart beats as France does. Lend me your strength and let us together restore France to its former glory under my father-" At that, he supposed whatever anonymity he possessed was gone. Murmurs gave way to shouts, gave way to cries. "He is here! It is him! Vive L'Emperur! Vive Napoleon!"

Though they interrupted him it mattered little.

Much to Gourgaud's horror and Deschamp's mirth, the crowd surged, and Franz half thought they were going to attack him. Instead, they lifted him up on their hands and shoulders, carrying him down the avenue as if he were on parade . Gourgaud and his associates had tried to get them to release him, but it was in vain. The crowd began to grow, and the young man doubted whether the add-ons even knew what was happening or just wanted something to celebrate. He felt as if he were on top the world on their shoulders and he did his best not to weep tears of joy at such a response; a response which had been nearly twenty years in the making. Gourgaud had informed him the various social, economic, and political issues France was facing and how the people would be ready for him, but this was not anger at the king he felt from them, but something else.

The city had certainly welcomed him as its populace partied the night of his arrival like nothing Franz had ever seen.

The next hurdle was certainly more imposing. A royal regiment under the command of a young Captain Cavaignac had arrived shortly thereafter outside the city to arrest him. This was the true test, the one that the men who plotted his escape had seemingly most feared. He did not know what took hold of him then at the sight of the soldiers, and only in looking back did he consider he was emboldened with stories of his father during the Hundred Days. Whatever it was, he had demanded to entreat with this captain personally. He, Gourgaud, and Deschamps rode out together after several protestations were allayed to meet at a neutral site with the royalists. As Franz and Cavaignac were exchanging introductions, a nearby soldier interrupted them, "Is that him? The emperor's son?"

Deschamps, the grizzled veteran that he was, spoke simply, "See for yourself! It is he!"

Whatever attempt at parlay was dead at that moment, as the soldiers flooded close, "Vive L'Emperur!"

This was not real, could not be real. Was only a month ago he not a prisoner? Now men and women flocked to him from his mere presence.

It was difficult not to ponder the situation and indeed he was still basking in that moment when Gourgaud snapped him back to the present. No more was he out with his people dancing in the streets but in a room around a table of his newly minted war council.

"Sire, we need to begin taking our next steps."

Franz nodded, leaning forward in his chair. "Agreed, of course."

"It is my belief that our main objective is two-fold: gather our full strength and take Paris," the general offered.

Deschamps nodded, "It is the opinion of this soldier we need to march out as soon as possible. The more we can spread the word and have the people see you are real and have returned to France, the better chance we have of winning without much bloodshed."

Gourgaud agreed, "Unusually astute, Colonel. If we can minimize the initial casualties, that would be best."

Captain Cavaignac, who was won over soon after his troops, chimed in, "The only forces we know that are opposing you directly would be whatever troops Marmont still controls and whatever rabble the merchants in Paris can put together."

"This is true," Gourgaud added. "We are uncertain though if news of your arrival will spur others though to action. Today, it is Marmont. Tomorrow, it could be the armies of England and Prussia. We must prepare as if we are going into a true war."

Franz was taken aback, it had not even occurred to him that the other great powers of Europe would send their armies to knock him off his throne before he had even mounted it. Would Austria march too?

"The best plan of action would be to avoid areas where royalist sentiment is strong, and take Paris at our earliest convenience. I question the loyalties of the Aquitaine, and Provence. We should begin a march north, and accumulate as many we can on a direct march to Paris." Gourgaud's suggestion made sense. After all, would it not be best to take the capital as quickly as possible?

Cavaignac shook his head, "With all due respect to the general, I disagree. We must ensure that as much of the countryside as possible is with you before we meet Marmont or the Parisians. The cities will most likely favor the revolutionaries, and some may even retain support for Charles, but the average Frenchman in the countryside knows no loyalty to either. Your name alone will rally enough support to you that will prove indispensable in case that there does need to be a greater conflict than what we currently expect."

Gourgaud looked like he was ready to fire something back, but Franz raised his hand in an effort to cut that off, "I understand both your positions, gentlemen. Tell me, is there any hope to entreat with either group? Perhaps we can end this sooner and walk peacefully to Paris?"

Deschamps snorted, "Yes, if you promised to return to Vienna and renounce your claim."

Gourgaud shook his head, "Come now Deschamps. Now, that's not a bad idea-"

"Are you mad!?" Deschamps interjected, "I was not serious!"

"No, not you. Entreating with our enemies. Charles is desperate and is clinging to the crown barely enough. Perhaps a marriage-"

Franz's brow shot up.

"-or some other arrangement could be made. A deal with the Church, perhaps? As for the Orléanists, I believe they could more easily brought into the fold if certain promises are made."

"Like?" Franz asked.

Gourgaud shrugged, "It is better we ask them directly than me hypothesize. To bring either side to the table though will most likely require a show of force. Which I suppose brings us back to our original point."

"I see." Franz leaned his head, and the room was silent as he sat there. What would father do? Was every choice he made so hard? So convuluted? Did his countrymen need to suffer and die for him just to take his throne? If earlier he had been drunk, he was most certainly now hungover.

"Gourgaud, you had mentioned a general Arrighi earlier? What of his endeavors?"

"Ah yes, Arrighi. As of our last correspondence, he has landed on Corsica and rallied the people to your cause. They proclaimed you as loudly there, if not louder, than Lyons from all reports. We thought it was important for your cause that one of our number ensure Corsica was quickly brought into the fold. Maybe not important for manpower nor material, but important nonetheless."

"A deft move, certainly." Franz responded. It would have been acutely painful to not have Corsica behind him. "Would he have enough arms and ships to make a landing? Say, at Toulon?"

Gourgaud seemed to work the question over in his mind, "Yes... yes I believe he would be able too. However, he would not be able to lay siege in any meaningful capacity."

Franz nodded, "Tell him depart immediately with whatever he can muster. Was it confirmed whether or not our numbers increase, here?"

"By the hour." Gourgaud said, a somewhat quizzical look on his face. "If we don't start turning the veterans and soldiers away soon Lyon will overflow."

"Excellent. Do your best to acomodate them appropriately. Captain Cavaignac, are you up to a task?"

The young soldier nodded, "You have but only to ask, sire. I am eager to prove myself for you."

"Good. You shall take your men you arrived with and the men Gourgaud will give you and march south immediately. I believe your plan is a good one, but so is Gourgaud's. We shall do both. You will meet General Arrighi at Toulon, and spread word of my arrival. Avoid open hostilities unless absolutely necessary. From Toulon, to Maerseille, to Montpellier, to Toulouse. When you arrive and have pacified Bordeaux, you both will wait for further instruction. I expect for you to deliver these orders to Arrighi, and share command amicably with him." The words were now flowing more easily, as the haze around his brain dissipated and he realized the monumental task before them.

Cavaignac nodded, "Of course, sire. However, I doubt the honorable general would deign to share command with a captain! I could never impose such conditions myself upon the general!"

"You won't have to." Franz stood up, and it the other three men slowly did as well after Franz gave a nod for them. Gourgaud seemed uncomfortable, but Deschamps was smiling. "Louis-Eugene Cavaignac, you are a soldier of France, are you not?"

"Sire."

"And you will defend France, will you not?"

"To my last."

"Then I believe you shall effectuate the will of the French accordingly. General Cavaignac, I pray you are successful."

"Sire, I-"

Franz raised his hand, "You were the first of hopefully many officers to see that their emperor has returned. I would want them to understand that I am as rewarding of loyalty and merit as my father once was."

Cavaignac bowed, "I am grateful for your confidence, sire."

Franz turned to Gourgaud, "See to it that the General receives a new compensation for his duties."

Gourgaud laughed, "We will first have to make sure that we are able to compensate anyone for their duties, but it shall be done."

"Let the bankers of Lyon know that I will be an excellent debtor. It is the time for action - accounts can be settled after our victory. Now," Franz started, seating himself, "What of my family, and my father's marshals?"

"We have yet to send correspondence to certain members." Gourgaud said, "As we did not trust their veracity when it came to backing your cause. Your uncle Joseph is too far away to trust a message, and your aunts' husbands were not deemed important to involve at this juncture. Your uncle Louis, the former King of Holland, has been notified and indeed is on his way. His sons, Louis and Louis-Napoleon are also en route from Italy. They are both brave fighters, and will be welcomed in our endeavors. Your uncles Jerome and Lucien have recently been notified, and we are awaiting their responses.

"Of your father's marshals, we are even more uncertain. We know Marshal Jourdan is an enemy of Charles X, but that does not necessarily make him our friend. Marmont, as you know, is actively commanding the king's forces. Oudinot, Moncey, and Grouchy," Franz winced as the man continued, "are virtual unknowns. Perrin and Mortier are currently abroad due to their obligation to Charles. The one piece of good news I can give you, is that we do know that Marshal Soult is on his way this very moment. I know it is important for them to join you, but you must realize many have already seen their glory days pass them by. They may be content to sit in retirement." Deschamps seemed to take particular offense to that as he grunted.

Franz nodded, taking it all in. "Well, it is no harm now to announce to everyone that we are here in Lyons. All of Europe surely knows. When is Soult due?"

Gourgaud shook his head, "He would not reveal his location in the correspondence, as he did not want to be intercepted on the way. He promised soon, and I believe him."

"Soult's troops were always excelently organized? Were they not?" Franz offered his question to the veteran.

Deschamps nodded, "Aye, they were."

"Soult shall stay in Lyons and deal with the influx of our supporters. I would have him distribute troops according to our needs, and drill those conscripts who wish to join our number."

"Would it not be wiser to have Soult in the field?" Gourgaud offered, not so much as a challenge, but as a suggestion.

"No, I would have excellent supply lines. I have read about the great Marshal Berthier, and how his management ensured my father was able to move more freely. I too will have that freedom for this campaign."

"It shall be done then."

"Good. Deschamps and I shall take the troops present not to be assigned to Cavaignac, and make our way north." Franz stood, and the others did as well. "Gentleman, I thank you for your sacrifices to return me, and I thank you for your sacrifices to come. We shall prevail, even if we must fight all of Europe once more to do so. I know it.
"And now, I am tired."

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

A PROCLIMATION - SPREAD THROUGHOUT FRANCE​

To the French Nation,

His Imperial Majesty, the EMPEROR NAPOLEON II has escaped from Vienna to lead the people of France against the forces of tyranny and inequality!

Men of France! To your arms! Join your EMPEROR in Lyon!

Women of France! Weave the Tricolor to be shown proudly! Feed and shelter the EMPEROR's soldiers if you are able!

Children of France! Sing songs of joy for our EMPEROR's return!

His Imperial Majesty, the EMPEROR NAPOLEON II, requests your help in defeating the enemies of France! The imperial mandate is to restore the liberty, equality, and fraternity of the empire.

There is a place for every Frenchmen in the empire, regardless of birth. FIGHT for your freedom!

VIVE LA FRANCE! VIVE L'EMPEREUR!

(Printed by La Joie and Sons)​

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

THE IRON DUKE - ARTHUR WELLSLEY​

No peace could ever hope to be achieved if a Bonaparte was a crowned head of Europe. For all the follies the French nation had committed this one was particularly egregious. Was the lesson to be learned a third time? Did this need to be repeated?

He disgustedly discarded the dispatch, turning to look out the window in order to repress his rage. He had half a mind to pick up the last page and tear up the copy of Bonaparte's 'proclamation.'

Just a deluded boy. The Austrians had done a poor job educating him and now it seemed it was up to Wellington once more to help the French act civilized.

His secretary cleared his throat, reminding the Prime Minister of his presence. He supposed he should actually be grateful to the upstart: Wellington may have been politically unyielding, but he was not blind to the reality. His government was flagging and its' popularity was in decline. A war against a Bonaparte would certainly galvanize the public sentiment better than any program or tariff.

The Prime Minister waited, choosing his words carefully, as he always did, "We will need a few letters. First, I want you to prepare something to be sent to Berlin. I will edit it of course but do try to make it readable before it is translated. We will have Prussian aid, or we will not move. Second, I want letters sent to the courts of the Kaiser and the Tsar. These too I will edit, but they can be of similar nature reminding them of their duty to march together, with us. Thirdly, prepare a letter for the Viscount Hill. I would have you specifically mention his bold and aggressive leadership in the Peninsula and Waterloo. There are others, to be sure, but I would prefer Hill lead - at least in name. Lastly, two more similar letters. One for Charles X of France, and one for this Louis Phillipe. We will extend an offer to both of them to have their representatives meet us in London. Perhaps we can bring them into some reconciliation to stand together against a mutual enemy. If not, one or the other is bound to take the offer of a helping hand. I would not have us fight in France without first having some native support."

"Of course sir. Anything for his majesty?"

"William?" Wellington asked, as if he had almost forgotten his own sovereign. He quickly regained his stoic composure after a knowing glance to his aid. "William is the King of Hannover. Do you think it would behoove Hannover to have a Bonaparte in France? No I believe a quick appointment with his majesty will suffice."

As the secretary got to work, furiously scribbling, Wellington felt a familiar itch. By God in a perfect world he would lead the boys across the channel and wallop Bonaparte himself! But alas, it was not to be. He knew when he retired that was the end of it, for better or worse. Still...

His role was architect now, not mason. He would just have to be content orchestrating Bonaparte's downfall from afar.

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

AN OFFICER OF THE RESTORATION - GENERAL DUCREVE​

This Napoleon was certainly not his father. All that time studying war-theory in Vienna seemed to leave him grossly unprepared for the real world. it was one thing to study war, another to implement it.

Ducreve, on the other hand, was a veteran of real war. He had fought for the Revolution, and he had fought for the emperor once upon a time. He could see which way the winds of fate were blowing, however and remained true to the Bourbons even through the Hundred Days. Ducreve also knew now that Europe would not tolerate a Bonaparte in France and that despite the revolutions, order would be restored one way or another.

The boy had been too aggressive - he was obviously trying to reach Dijon and seize her store warehouse for supplies - and had tried to cross La Saone at Tillenay. Ducreve's mere presence there had forced him back as the battle would have been a slaughter despite Ducreve's inferior numbers. Instead, the boy and he mirrored each other's progress up the river and it seemed destiny had determined that Auxonne would witness the death blow to the House of Bonaparte.

Whatever the boy's plans were, he had to come to Ducreve, and that alone would be his undoing. If he tried to ford the river he would be cut down; if he tried to cross Auxonne's bridge he would be cut down. Either way, he could pick his end. If the boy tried to flee they would simply let him scurry back to Lyon while the King could gatehr his full strength.

A lieutenant now approached, saluting, "General Ducreve, it appears that Napol- the rebels intend to cross here."

"I had the very thought. Good! We will meet them where they choose."

"Captain Moroban believes they will attempt a feint at the bridge and ford north of the town; our scouts say the enemy force is amassing on the north end of the town."

"Very well, let us prepare then. It is time to make war!"

"Sir!"

*​

It seems the good captain had been correct. An initial feint to the bridge, followed by a sudden dash to the north had been his foe's plan.

From atop his horse, Ducreve could see the smoke down by the river. His regiment along the river's edge was repulsing the rebels' attempt to ford. Cannon fire was being exchanged but it would matter little if the rebels were pushed back. He handed the spyglass over to his adjutant, "We need to prepare a letter. Write to his majesty and inform him that his loyal servant, General Ducreve, has foiled Bonaparte's attempt to reach Dijon. Tell him that we will give chase as soon as we are able - all the way to Lyon if need be!"

"General! General Ducreve!"

"What is it?" He turned to see a scout, dismounting his horse, out of breath. Ducreve croseed his arms, but allowed the man to catch his breath.

"We are surrounded!"

"What? What are you talking about? The enemy has not forded the river."

"Not Bonaparte, but two regiments are approaching, coming from the north! The fly the tricolor and I believe they are led by Marshal -er, general Moncey!"

"Moncey... Good God." Ducreve watched as a wall of troops crested the hill behind his lines.

*

THE GENERAL BONAPARTE​

General Ducreve was a feisty one, he would get that credit.

Franz rode on horseback with Auxonne, tipping his hat to the citizens there who met him with cheers. Deschamps was not far behind and closed on him as they approached the bridge, "Did you know Moncey was coming all along? I must know!"

Franz turned and smiled. Deschamps shook his head but smiled in return. No, in truth he hadn't known the former Marshal was arriving with the proverbial cavalry, but he wasn't going to leave the battle - his first real one - to chance. It seemed during their little dance up La Saone that Ducreve only had eyes for Franz, as the small detachments that were split from his army as he moved north did not receive a corresponding move from the royalist general. Ducreve had allowed nearly allowed a full regiment to lag behind! While the royalists had properly checked Franz' first feint to try and cross the bridge, they had not realized his second attempt at crossing was a feint as well! An entire regiment to the south of Auxonne had already crossed by the time the hostilities begun, and had orders to wait to advance until Franz was sure Ducreve had committed his full force. Moncey's arrival cut things short, however, and most likely saved more than a few lives.

When the duo had made their way to the other side of La Saone, Franz slowed down to a trot, viewing the royalist forces being rounded-up and stripped of their weapons. The mood among the defeated seemed realtively cheerful; it would make sense as the battle had not matured long enough to be too bloody due to Moncey. Franz turned to his adjutant, "Deschamps, do we have enough supplies to feed two more regiments?"

The colonel shrugged, "Dijon will provide."

"Very well." Franz spurred his horse onwards till he was upon the prisoners of battle. The defeated men stopped what they were doing, and began to move forward - clamoring for a look at him. His own men moved to form a circle around him, but Franz waved them off. "Soldiers of France! You fought well today." He started, trying to straighten up as much as possible and the saddle and project his voice, "I am proud of your effort. Now, there are two paths you may walk. The first path sees you march under guard back to Lyon, where you will be treated well but will be forced to stay until I have won back my throne. You have my word for your safety should you so choose. But," Franz made sure he had a large number of them looking at him, as he began to trot to and fro, "The second path... the second path would see you march with me to Paris! To face France's true enemies! At this very moment, the princes of Europe draw up plans for invasion because they think we are weak, but let us show them that is not the case! France will not be defeated! Who still has some fight left in them!?"

The response wasn't immediate, but once it started, it was like a dam breaking. The Chant du Depart was sung by both the victors and the defeated at Auxonne, as the distinction between the two became blurred.

Deschamps moved closer as the troops around them began to celebrate, "It seems are greatest weapon thus far, is you."

"Don't flatter too much, I'm afraid I don't have kingdoms in Europe to just hand out like my father."

The colonel and he shared a laugh at that. Franz turned to ask him about whether or not he knew Moncey personally, but Deschamps's normally jovial demeanor shifted into something more serious than Franz had seen from the man thus far. He could tell the old soldier wanted to say something, so he waited until Deschamps decided to speak, "Sire, is it true? What you said about France being invaded?"

Franz turned away from to see the liberated regain their discarded arms, "I hope not. I certainly hope not."

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

Europe after the Battle of Auxonne​

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

THE CROWN PRINCE OF PRUSSIA - FREDRICK WILLIAM​

It was a beautiful day. Then again, every day was beautiful when you were on campaign. Fifty-thousand glorious soldiers of his father, marching in unison in a show of strength across Prussia did the crown prince well. It did the people well too, a tangible show of the power their king wielded. The prince was of the opinion that the best remedy for uncertain times were absolute certainties - one of which, was the might of the Prussian army.

He recalled the day that news had reached Berlin of the escape and subsequent revolution of Napoleon's son. Most of the general staff was dismissive, saying that France was still bled dry from the first Napoleon's wars and that it would merely take a small response from the former Coalition powers to set things right. The only two who seemed concerned were the King, and the Chief of the General Staff, von Krauseneck. The prince thought it was understandable the response his father had, as Napoleon's wars had cost him a great deal. It was almost simultaneously then that word from London and the Tsar had reached them affirming an intent to march on the latest Bonaparte. It seemed so simple to the prince, but still von Krauseneck and the king seemed uneasy. Regardless, the plan was drawn up, and now Fredrick William and the General von Schellenburg were in motion.

The very officer drew near him now, as they overlooked their force's progress from a hilltop. "Your highness." von Schellenburg removed his hat. "Our progress has been swift."

"Just the man I wanted to see!" Fredrick William exclaimed. "Tell me, how far are we from the border?"

"We should be there by the evening, the men are in good spirits and not a single wishes to be the last man into the fray against Bonaparte."

"Excellent news general! Will the king of the Netherlands be meeting us personally?"

Von Schellenburg shook his head, "The king is sending his son with the Dutch army to meet us in Brussels. I believe we should expect the British army as well thereafter. Our allied army will then proceed to Paris - we could potentially meet Bonaparte before even realizes we are upon him."

The prince smiled widely, "This is most excellent. Britain shouldve sent us a prince as well, the historians would refer to this as the prince's campaign."
Von Schellenburg returned a quizzical look.

"Lighten up, general! It's in jest." The prince waited for von Schellenburg to at least feign humor, but the man was stoic. A good general, he supposed. "And what of the Tsar? and the Kaiser?"

Schellneburg shook his head, "Last correspondence from Berlin the Tsar indicated he would join our endeavors, but it takes a great deal of time and effort for the Russians to muster their strength. Vienna has been unusually slow to respond, but it seems they have at last indicated they plan on sending a force as well."

"This revolution will be short-lived I see. Though, I cannot fault this Bonaparte for the attempt. I suppose if my father lost the crown I would do everything I could to regain it as well."

Von Schellenburg seemed to be highly uncomfortable with the Prince's observation.

"Come then, general. Perhaps we will find you a sense of humor before we find the French."

*​

It was in the town of Elsen that night found the Prussians, and Prince Fredrick William had insisted on paying a family for the use of their farmhouse for his quarters. The farmer had been resolute that it was his honor to house the future king, but Fredrick William knew he was also evicting a family from their home for a night.

Finishing an excellent meal prepared by the wife of the farmer, he raved, "We must inform the matron that her cooking is the pride of Prussia." The lieutenant who received his plate nodded, just as von Schellenburg entered. Fredrick Williams's officers all exited the room, leaving their two leaders to talk.

"I have grave news to report, your highness."

The crown prince leaned back in the chair, "Then give it. At least I can hear it on a full stomach."

"It seems that the Netherlands is in revolt. Our path to meet with Hill is directly closed off - the Dutch garrison forces have retreated!"

The prince sighed, "You will have to do better explaining."

"The southern Dutch provinces are raising flags of rebellion, I believe they do intend us hostility as well, as we are allied with their rightful king. I cannot yet confirm, but we believe the Belgians have implored Bonaparte to come save their revolution."

Fredrick William nodded. He had to admit, he gave these Belgians credit for their resoluteness. Perhaps they did not know he would be on their doorstep with an army more than capable of putting them down or maybe even they knew but did not care! What a fearsome enemy they could prove to be if that were true. "What should we do then?"

The general thought for a moment, "I belive the best course of action would be to inform Chief von Krauseneck so the staff can alter our plans. I do not know if the king wishes to get involved, but we could aid the Dutch and suppress the rebels en route to Brussels. It is not, how should I say, clean, but it would be achievable."

Fredrick William nodded, "That is most certainly a good option, in part. We shall indeed inform Berlin, but I am not keen on wasting Prussian lives on Dutch rebels. Could we not march south and enter France directly?"

The general shook his head, "We would be cut off from the British - whenever they land - and the Dutch. If Bonaparte marched north we would likely have to face him alone."

The crown prince nodded again, taking it all in. "Quite a quagmire, eh, von Schellenburg? You and I both know this army I command cannot be risked. We must be sensitive to our situation." The prince rose from his table, "I have made a decision. We shall have the troops bivouac around the city, spread them out. Make sure none are two far from our supply lines from Cologne. We will request an amendment to the plan by the general staff immediately. I do not care if von Krauseneck himself needs to ride out to use, we will have a new plan within a day. I can tell you one thing, for certain, von Schellenburg."

"What's that, your highness?"

"I most certainly do not envy your tasks tonight; I look forward to a good night's sleep. Issue the orders, than write Berlin. I would also like to know of the Dutch and Hill's plans as soon as we are able. I would not have the three of us be separated once we know that Bonaparte is near."

"Yessir!"

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

THE NEPHEW OF NAPOLEON - CHARLES-LOUIS NAPOLEON BONAPARTE​

If there was one constant across all of Europe it was that every country spoke the language of Romance. Some spoke it reservedly, like the Germans; or fiercely, like the Italians, but it was the same. The young man was absolutely delighted to find in his 'research' that French women were closer to Italians, than Germans.

The woman, Isabelle? Perhaps? was apparently some petty nobles wife. It seems he was successful in converting her from the Ancien Régime, to the Bonaparte's. Drawing circles on his chest with her left hand, while she was propped up on her right elbow, she asked, "Where will you go now? To fight with your cousin?"

"Ma cherie, you would think that I wouldn't go fight for the rightful ruler of France?"

"I heard you were an absolute warrior down in Italy," she said, smiling.

"The rumors were true. We Carbonari fight for something greater than ourselves. And I believe my cousin does as well. That is why we are a good match."

"So what's he like then?"

The man scrunched his brow, "He's difficult to read. I have just met him recently, but I feel as if I have known him longer." He paused, truly considering what he thought of the young Napoleon. "He's younger than me, you know. In some moments he is imperious and yet others he seems doubting. I believe he has his father's spirit but is still finding his way. Hopefully I can rub off on him a bit."

The woman, a Cassandra maybe, laughed, "God help France if that happens." He feigned offence and she playfully crooned, "Oh no, you have feelings!"

They shared a laugh, and a little more than that. Their recreational activities had distracted him, but he found himself mentally drifting back to the woman's question.

Afterwards, he sighed, "In truth, I believe the man will make a fine emperor. These Bourbons, they don't understand France, the real France. What in common do they have with your average Frenchman? Hm? Nothing. Our young emperor may have been raised in an unorthodox style, but at least he understands pain, understands hardship. These sympathies I believe will make him into a good man, and a better ruler."

Henrietta, most definitely, pulled the sheets about her, almost defensively, "You think he will win, then?"

Charles-Louis rose out of her bed, starting the search for discarded clothing. "Madame, I have every confidence he's already won the first war. It's the next few that will decide his- no, our fate. When the people are clamoring for change in the streets and the other crowns of Europe turn a blind eye," or worse, "he will be there. And I will be there with him." The freedom fighter glanced out her bedroom's window, seeing a carriage rapidly approaching. Time to go! "France must be united first though, you are correct. We are marching on Paris soon, and the emperor will need me." Buckling his belt quickly, he made his way to the window. With one foot dangling out of it, "And with that, Marie, I must bid you adieu."

"It's Clara." Was the woman's response.

But he was already gone.

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

NAPOLEON II​

A deep breath, followed by another. If he just kept focusing on that, it would be over before he knew it.

Who was he kidding? He was nervous and rightfully so.

Marshal Marmont and whatever strength Charles X could muster was presently before him, barring the way to Paris. He was not sure if the Orélanists and Charles were somehow cooperating, but knew there was no formal agreement of the sort. Franz was almost certain the two factions were still at odds, but it seemed Marmont could no longer wait to give battle.

He knew now, with around Thirty-Five thousand troops that he had collected since Dijon and from those Soult had sent him, that he outnumbered his father's former marshal. Still, a battle at his point seemed senseless. Did these men really wish to die like this?

The confidence he could muster was thanks in large part that he had his father's general were coming to him now in force: some of the great names: Oudinot, Soult, Moncey, and the like. These gray-haired men (if they still had hair!) had fought and commanded in numerous battles and their presence alone gave him great comfort. While Soult had remained in Lyon to organize the war effort, Moncey and Oudinot helped manage the field army as it grew. Colonel Deschamps was still present on his staff, but in more of a support role as the logistics and planning became more complex. He tried to be like a sponge to these great marshals, listening intently to every detail.

Oudinot moved forwarded then, so that they were next to each other on horseback. "I have said this many times to your father, and God has granted me the opportunity to say it to you as well: it is a beautiful day for a battle, sire."

Franz nodded, "It would appear you are correct, Marshal. What of Marmont?"

Oudinot shrugged, "What of him? I am surprised he is even here now before us. I do not think he intends to fight, but if he does, it will be quick."

"Moncey's division holds the right, and will prevent Marmont from any decisive action that way. My division holds the high grounds to the left and will deny him anywhere to effectively deploy his cannon. The generals Cambronne and Lamarque hold the center. He cannot flee south, as it seems Cavaignac and Arrighi are knocking down the gates of Bordeaux as we speak, and he cannot flee north, as Paris' barricades are up and will reject him. Why Charles has not fled before now is beyond me - perhaps he was gambling on the people or some Prussian or Russian army to save him."

"He seems a pitiable figure to me, this Charles X."

"Only now, that he is so close to defeat. Not a year ago and he was one of the most powerful men in the world. C'est la vie."

Franz was silent, watching a summer breeze gently pull at the grass in the valley. A valley to run red with blood?

Oudinot saluted, "I am off to see to my men. We will wait for your word, mon emperor."

Franz nodded and turned to find Deschamps and his cousin. Charles-Louis was a welcome addition to Franz's revolt, and was one of the few family members who had ridden all the way to link up with the army. He could not fault his uncles for lagging behind, as they were older and had no place on a battlefield. In all honesty, Charles-Louis was not exactly a soldier either, but he was a sorely-needed all the same.

"Well, sire, if Marmont wants to commit suicide, far be it from us to stop him." Charles-Louis offered.

Deschamps nodded, "It is foolhardy to give battle. If he does not see their cause is over, we must show him."

Franz shook his head, "This all is unnecessary. Will he shed blood for no cause?"

"It's not for us to decide," Charles-Louis said. "Charles X and his ilk belong to the last century. They cannot see what is plain to so many. If Marmont is to cling to that then there is no saving him. It is of the highest importance that we consolidate your rule, dear cousin, and this appears to be the penultimate step."

If only it were that easy. Franz had the nagging feeling that he had far more unseen hurdles to face, but he could only focus on winning the conflict for now.

"So be it. Deschamps, I would have you lead the cavalry charge, if God so chooses to see slaughter today. Ride on the double, I want to get this over with."

"Sire!" The old colonel mounted his horse and was away.

Charles-Louis laughed, "If we had a few of his sort in Italy, I believe the whole peninsula would be united by now!"

Franz allowed a slight smile, "He has been a good friend to me, and a good soldier indeed. Cousin, I would have you stay back behind the lines."

"A Carbonari does not flee from a fight."

"I would not risk my family. I am afraid I am not asking you..."

The other Bonaparte seemed to be looking behind his emperor. "I think this may have just become a moot conversation."

The young emperor was more confused then angry, until he turned and saw a cavalryman approaching with a Bourbon flag- no, a flag of truce!

The man was flanked by two of Franz' troops, and seemed to be quite a deal older on closer inspection. He who dismounted was wearing a plain uniform, but stood with the airs of a man of some stature. "I was told that you are Napoleon's son?"

"And may I presume that you, harbinger of truce, are Marshal Marmont?"

"One and the same."

"Tell me, marshal, why challenge me if you were just going to negotiate? Did you not know the country was coming over to me?"

"Not all the country," Marmont was a quick one. "I did not want to ask for concessions from a position of weakness," he turned, gesturing to his men, "but one of strength. I have come with several requests, and I would prefer you heard them man to man, and not conqueror to conquered."

"Very well, let's have it then."

Marmont exhaled, "Good. First, Charles X and his family must be allowed safe passage out of the country."

"Done."

Charles-Louis stepped forward, but Franz shot him a look. The other Bonaparte put his hands up, and stepped backwards without speaking.

"My men must receive a pardon-"

"That will not be necessary. As I have treated all of my countrymen, so shall I treat your troops: they may return to their homes, or join me here. I will not take prisoners, there will not be executions. They have nothing to fear from me."

The look the marshal gave him seemed guarded, but he continued, "Lastly, I would request safe passage for myself as well."

"Would you not continue to fight for France, marshal?"

The man did not respond for a long moment, "Sire, my fighting days are done."

*​

Riding through the bivouac in the night air did the Emperor good. The men treated each other as if long-lost friends, drinking and making merry. They had every right to be - the day had been won yet again without great sacrifice. Part of him wished to stop, grab whatever they were drinking and hear stories of the glory days! Marching with his father across Italy! Conquering Germany! Humbling Austria...

The thought was sobering, thinking of the fear his grandfather and the court must have lived in during the wars. Would this be his life now? Balancing the Bonaparte and Hapsburg? How would that even manifest?

It so happened as he was moving, a soldier cried out, "L'Empereur! Join us! You cannot refuse Charles X's finest!"

Franz chuckled, "Who am I to say no?" In truth he was afraid too, afraid that he might say or do something that would cause them to doubt him. To be so personal was to be potentially weak. But to refuse would have been worse, for the desire to speak with his own people was too great.

The score or so of soldiers cheered, one taking his horse as he dismounted. His men surrounded him then, a few seemingly within to reach out but kept the presence of mind not to.

He was afforded an actual glass, as opposed to the men taking pulls from expensive-looking bottles. Filling his own cup half way, he rose the glass "To the brave soldiers of France!"

"To your soldiers!" One cheered, and they all took a swig.

He didn't know how much time he spent before Deschamps pulled him away. The men were jovial, speaking not of war, but plans for peace! One was to return to his farm, another wished to join a shipping partnership in Marseilles. To hear their plans for peace made him feel... uneasy for the need for more war.

The veteran understood as they conversed on their way back to the small town where they were quartered. "They know that your empire will bring great prosperity to France, after you have brought peace, as your father did. They have great expectations for you."

He couldn't tell if it was the wine or what Deschamps had just said, but the Bonaparte felt a little uneasy, "I hope that I will be able to live up to such expectations."

Deschamps was silent at that. When they arrived in town, the elder man turned to him, "You have heard the news from the Netherlands then?"

Franz nodded. "I am afraid my troops' plans for peace will have to be postponed. We cannot look too far in the future, Paris still stands against me."

"Aye." Colonel Deschamps replied. "I have a feeling though, that Paris will be a challenge yet. Get some sleep, sire, it will be a long day tomorrow." The two men departed, and as Franz lay awake in bed he could not help but shake the feeling something had been left unsaid by the colonel.

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

A CONVENIENT MAN - THE PRINCE OF TALLEYRAND​

It seemed so tiresome to him now. France was poised once again to chase the ever-elusive promises of glory from the Bonaparte's. They were Corsican, Italian, German - anything but French! Their sensibilities were of those of a man trying to overcompensate for his low birth. Born to chase some greater, unreachable goal. Napoleon had found that to forever climb the ladder meant one day falling off of it. The higher one had climbed, the harder the fall.

He had to admit to himself that they possessed a knack for inspiration wherever they went; credit where credit is due. This new version seemed no different than his father in that regard, but it was still early on. Would he trace his bootsteps or make something different of himself? Who knows?

A sip of wine settled him and redirected his thoughts inwards. He knew the accusations against him were manifold, but was he not just an embodiment of France herself? Was his loyalty to successive regimes not what the country was doing at this moment? Ah if a country could exchange it's leader for a new one, that was "patriotism" but few ever referred to Talleyrand that way.

Ah well, leave philosophy to the philosophers and public opinion to... to something, he supposed.

The wine could not make Talleyrand forget however, that felt a good deal of regret for his protégé, Thiers. The man was so close to overthrowing one dynasty in favor of his own regime - a herculean feat not at all cheapened by Charles X's unpopularity. It was one thing to overthrow a king, another to replace him. One took widespread anger that could be cultivated off something as simple as a bad harvest while the other took cunning. Talleyrand could have profited greatly for having an ally rise so far... then again, nothing was really preventing him from profiting from the sudden change of events now either.

The diplomat chuckled at the situation Paris had found herself in. Charles X had taken one last shot at the Orléanists, as everyone had thought Marmont marched out to fight the new Napoleon, whereas he had gone simply to procure Charles X's safe passage to friendlier climates. Even worse, Marmont handed over his troops! Now instead of a battle-weary enemy, he was upon them sooner and with a greater host. Those waiting at the barricades would meet a swift demise if the boy so chose.

There would be nothing to save Thiers now, other than the younger Bonaparte's beneficence. It was one thing to pardon soldiers, political conspirators were not quite so beloved nor useful. It would be a test then, to see how the new Bonaparte would rule. Talleyrand personally believed that whatever fears the revolutionaries had would probably end up unwarranted. The boy had already demonstrated some political acumen of which Talleyrand was personally aware. The emperor-to-be had apparently heard that one of his estates in Bordeaux had been used by the victorious Generals Arrighi and Cavaignac as their headquarters during the phony battle for Bordeaux. Either the emperor-apparent or someone on his staff had the presence of mind to send Talleyrand recompense for their usage- not that he accepted it, of course. Small acts of respect such as these did wonders to curry favor for both sides and Talleyrand would not miss an opportunity to strengthen his position. What those in Paris probably did not realize was that the imminent threat of an allied invasion would be far worse than the boy. That was what truly worried Talleyrand.

An uninvited guest had arrived, Talleyrand's attendant informed him. Just what he wanted. As the diplomat sat and enjoyed the wonderful vintage from Bordeaux he wondered who was acute enough to seek him out now. Which failed revolutionary other than Thiers had the mental foresight to seek him out? If he had to guess, it would be Laffitte, that little human personification of a worm. That man had "survivor" written all over him and his chosen profession did not help to dispel those thoughts.

To his surprise it was not the rotund banker that greeted him, but his compatriot, Périer. "Prince Talleyrand." The man said, with all due grace. Thiers may have been made in the mold of Talleyrand and Laffitte something lesser but this one was different, and presented an interesting challenge. Périer had thus far remained involved with their attempted coup, but had played the role of financier more than front-line soldier. His motivations weren't entirely unclear but the man was more of an unknown quantity and had probably gone to some lengths to keep it that way.

"Monsieur Périer, a pleasure. Please, this is a wine that was made to be shared."

Périer shook as head as he took a seat, "I do not drink."

"A Frenchman who does not drink? Unheard of!"

Périer smiled, but Talleyrand could tell it was forced, "I do not have a great deal of time, and wish to speak plainly with you."

The diplomat chuckled, "A businessman who cuts straight to the point. No wonder Anzin Coal delivers such profits."

The other man looked confused before it most likely dawned who he was sitting with. To think you could be a prominent member of French society and not escape Talleyrand's gaze was foolish. "Quite. I have come to visit today to inquire on mine, on Adolphe Thiers behalf, if there was a way to speak with Bonaparte, in secret?"

Talleyrand took a long sip, admiring the wine in the glass, "It seems your revolution has not gone quite as planned."

The other man did not respond, but no response was necessary.

Talleyrand continued, "It's amazing to me that such a simple process can be made so complex. To go from fruit to wine is a practice from before the Romans, and yet human error rears its head even in our day. A fine wine can be ruined by so many things when it's in it's infancy. That being said, the right combination of factors can change how the wine looks, how it tastes! Just because the winemaker has a bad cask does not mean he stops making wine, he just tries again on a new batch."

Périer was not as slow as some of his companions, and nodded, "I would try to start working on the new batch, as soon as possible. "

"Who knows, it may even prove to be better than the original." Talleyrand grinned, "Regardless the process is still incomplete. I toast to Louis-Phillipe's health!" He took a drink, "And now, to Napoleon II's health!"

He knew Périer was waiting for an ultimate response to his question, but Talleyrand did not answer right away. Instead, he nodded over to a nearby table.

The businessman's gaze fell on the table, which featured prominently a letter emblazoned with a golden eagle flanked by two bees lay.

Périer smiled then, more sincerly. "Did you know he was coming all along?"

It was Talleyrand's turn to smile, "I would be a poor vintner to tell you all my secrets."

Périer worked his jaw, clearly not satisfied with the answer. The look disappeared quickly and he resumed the stoic front he possessed when he entered Talleyrand's room, "I think I will take you up on the previous offer: I will have that glass of wine after all."

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

Europe after the *Battles of Coubert and Bordeaux
​

*Note, the term "battle" is used loosely here.

 

[Duke of Reichstadt]

FROM THE JOUNRAL OF PIERRE DU LAC, SECRETARY TO ODILON BARROT

July, 1830​

We find ourselves in conference with the forces of Napoleon II at a chateau in Melun. The events leading up to this seem more akin to a farcical drama rather than real life, but that is for another time. As to the chateau itself, the former owners were imprisoned during the reign of Louis XIV and the grounds had been upkept by a local branch of their family. Despite its' history, this chateau holds the fate of Paris in it's hands.

I shall first describe the figure of our new Emperor to be for posterity. Of his complexion he is said to have been clear - nearly translucent - but now it seems his skin has reddened since being on campaign. Golden curls, parted to the left atop his head - beneath them are pale, blue eyes. He seems to be the only Bonaparte I have seen thus far without dark hair. His features do not seem too beholden to either Hapsburg nor Bonaparte but some fusion thereof that leaves him oddly reminiscent of both without leaning too strongly either way.

He is tall, a good head or more taller than his father. He is also thin, he has more a 'natural' look of a soldier than I thin his father ever did, even in his youth.
When the emperor speak's there is a noticeably German accent that I believe causes him some concern. {In the margin: I pray that is the only thing he has taken from his education with the Hapsburgs!} He has only addressed us once, before leaving further discussions to subordinates. His address was quick and simple, laying out the need for cooperation. If he is going to be any sort of orator he must need to improve his French.

In bearing, he has already the confidence of a soldier. I was told at first he wore the white uniform of an Austrian officer when first in France. Now he has traded that for what seems to be the dress of a marshal of his father: Black boots, white pants, and a dark blue coat with minimal golden trim and golden epaulettes. No grey overcoat nor hat as of yet, but maybe soon!

Napoleon II was not long for the conference as he made it clear his intention to march north immediately to save the infantile Belgian revolution and trounce the armies that are beginning to encircle us. Many have their doubts about this cause of action but the emperor seems to have been touched by their personal cry to him. While not a politically savvy move, I believe him leaving before Paris is subdued has increased his ardent support among those gripped with the fever of nation states that Europe may be coming down with. He has taken the core of the French army with him, Sixty-Five thousand strong, re-organizing them into L'Armée du Nord. With him goes numerous commanders, many of his father's generals. Paris is now surrounded by a skeleton force- perhaps the size of Marmont's army, under the command of General d'Erlon. It is enough to keep us at the table to negotiate, however, as thoughts of repelling d'Erlon would only buy time and forestall the conclusion. General Arrighi is marching north from Bordeaux, and the combined force would have more than enough strength to besiege Paris if it came to that (!) {In the margin: Assuming the Emperor is not felled in battle...}

No, I believe the negotiations will be successful in that it seems we are already vastly approaching a conclusion. It seems the new constitution will be an updated version of his father's 1815 Charter - wiping away Charles X' regressive tyranny. The emperor's representatives (chief among them the emperor's cousin, a General Gourgaud and Marchand - two hangers-on after Waterloo) are promising to increase the franchise to those gentlemen who own landed property and pay a certain tax threshold. They also promise for reforms to the electoral process and taxes but nothing concrete yet. They are seemingly disagreeing as to the tariffs, and this may be where we have more say due to the division of the emperor's camp. We are also unable thus far to see what this new Napoleon's opinion of the press is... Even if we did not want to agree to these terms, which I believe a number of us do, Napoleon II has taken it a step farther beyond Melun. Once we ratify our agreement with the proposals, it seems the young man is bent on presenting it to the French people in a plebiscite. One would think that this referendum is also intended to legitimize his own rule, once we have finalized it here. There is also the added apprehension that if we do not come to an agreement soon, that the emperor may simply cut to the chase and sideline whatever influence we hope to preserve.

A temporary government is to be formed, with a specific focus on the defense of France from abroad until the emperor can return. Elections and appointments are to be forestalled as well. {Note in the margin: Monsieur Barrot surprisingly does agree that the British and Prussian response is of the utmost importance as there is a fear that Charles X could possibly be reinstalled should Napoleon II fail. I would have thought elections would be paramount but it is not so.}

No executions will be undertaken, as both those who rose up against and those who supported Charles X Monsieur Bourbon will all be pardoned. I know there were quite a few who were hoping for retribution against a select few of the old regime {In the margin: POLIGNAC}... Charles X Monsieur Bourbon appears bound for Russia, and Louis-Phillipe seems to be heading for London. An attempt at a marriage to seal the negotiations was rebuffed by the Bonapartists. On the contrary, Louis-Phillipe's pardon was conditional - he must on arrival petition the British government for the return of Napoleon I's remains. An almost impossible task, I fear, but it must be done according to the emperor's cousin.

Monsieur Barrot has taken a negative view of these proceedings - not for their content, but for their character. He is of the belief that all these details have been pre-ordained, and is of the suspicion that those who have led the revolt have already agreed to terms, and this is a mere sideshow meant to rally support. It is noticeable that men like Thiers, who so often have an opinion they wish to be known {In the margin: Loudly!} are noticeably silent or agreeable. Though this agreement may be far from perfect, it is this humble secretary's opinion that it preserves what we fought for in the first place... sans Louis-Phillipe. I know the plebiscite as well is causing concern, but not enough to halt the progress.

It occurs to me a certain hilarity of our current situation: France is ruled by an uncrowned emperor, who does not control his capital, and who is fighting a war in a different country. If it did not first inspire tears, one would be forced to laugh.