Challenge #7
Alternately Titled: Getting Cane-did
a/n: Nihao, kumusta, hello~! I know that I said that I’ll be posting three fics for the weekend but I think I’ll be posting four. As you all probably know- I am the worst when it comes to wrapping everything up in just 4500 words- IT’S HARD OKAY(?) lol. So this fic will have a follow up fic posted soon (maybe tomorrow..? or tonight depends if I can finish my supposed school work tonight) Anyway, yeah this fic is really about Marshall and her internal thoughts during the caning. I loved writing this fic because of the actual internal conflict and suffering that Marshall faces and well... more of that stuff here. So yeah lol. I hope you enjoy Marshall’s lowkey suffering. Also s/o to Grace and Claire for working on such bomb ass Nate and Mal fics for the caning because HOLY SHIT the drama and the dialogues were hella great. 11/10 love the drama. Okay yeah, enjoy! Do I even need to warn you guys about cursing anymore? (3570 words)
It’s been getting harder to sleep these past few nights.
My dreams were ridden with the same situation, the sound of the alarm, the chaos of the palace, the same faces. The same things that wake me up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, keeping me up for the rest of the night.
It’s been a few days since the rebel attack, but I haven’t managed to have a good night’s sleep ever since. Tonight, I wake up from the same dream- this time clutching my temple. I had dreamt that I was the one shot, not Kramer. I shake my head, reminding myself that it was only just a dream.
Going back to sleep is not an option, knowing that I’ll end up dreaming the same things. I hated how many times I’ve relived the situation. I wish it didn’t affect me as much as it did right now, but these were my ghosts. I had to live with them.
I spend the next few hours sitting on my balcony, clutching a book in my hands and waiting to see the sun rise. The lack of sleep has been taking its toll on me, the heaviness of my bones was a clear sign, the dull ache in the back of my head, the tiredness that plagued me.
Maybe it wasn’t only the attack that was plaguing my thoughts right now. I mean, Venus had been eliminated a few days ago, and my heart had hurt so much as I hugged her before she left. I lost my best friend, and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t having some separation anxiety from the beauty guru. A part of me felt like I needed her to be around me, she made me feel more confident in myself when she was around. Now, it I’ve never felt anymore lonely.
My maids comes bursting into my room a few minutes after the light starts to break over the horizon. They’re in a frenzy as they pull me back into my room.
Angelica starts giving instructions to Peggy and Eliza as they start scrambling around the room, and I blink in confusion at the frenzied pace of my maids.
“What’s happening?” I ask Angelica as she makes me take a seat at my vanity.
“They found a rebel, Miss.” Peggy informs me, brushing my bed hair.
“What?!” I yell, looking at Peggy. “Wait, then why are you all here? What’s with this?”
“There’s going to be a caning, a public caning.” Angelica says deadpan- wiping my face with a moist towelette. “We don’t have much time. We have to get ready you ready.”
A caning? Perhaps that was a better punishment than an execution… but still, a public caning?
I let my maids drag me to my closet, fussing over which of my dresses was appropriate for an event like that. How much black I had in my closet was ridiculous. My maids have always joked that I always looked like I was prepared for someone’s funeral… well, it’s not my fault that I preferred the color. I’d stop wearing the color when they invent a darker color. My maids continue doing their job, I allow them to prepare to dress me and put some minimal make up and soon enough I look like I was dressed like I was headed for a funeral.
My feet slip into my slides, my bandaged ankle still lightly throbbing every time I walked. Eliza gives my choice of foot wear a disapproving look, but there’s nothing we could do about it.
The news of the caning did bring a somber mood in everyone. A knock on my door signals that my escort had arrived, a guard assigned to assist me. Dr. Granger said that I needed someone to help me walk around, just someone for me to help me with tricky things like going down the stairs and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure that the guard served a second purpose though, to prevent me from running away again.
To my surprise, it’s Officer Gutierrez waiting by my door this morning and he offers me his arm before we start walking.
Gutierrez was Kramer’s classmate, a fellow Fort Lauper graduate too- I couldn’t imagine what went through his head when news of Kramer’s death had reached him.
Gutierrez was the first one to speak among us.
“We’re headed to the side of the palace, the part that’s closer to the east entrance.” he informs me as he starts assisting me on the stairs- holding my hand as I took one step at a time.
“The rebel… it was an inside job, wasn’t it?” I ask, recalling what I had heard from the report I had heard the day of the attack.
“It was… but,” Gutierrez shifts his eyes away, a look of doubt in them.
I raise an eyebrow as I take one last step down the staircase, “but what?”
Gutierrez shakes his head, something still troubling him. “Nothing.”
That’s suspicious, I shake my head- deciding not to push through with my questions. The two of us walk the rest of the way in silence, though I could tell that Gutierrez was obviously uncomfortable. What was so wrong about catching a rebel? Wasn’t that a win for us? A chance to give justice to those who have died during the attack? Gutierrez ushers me outside and a bolt of anxiety shoots through me as I hear the sounds of a crowd gathering behind the palace gates, as well as the sight of a good number of people allowed to enter through the gates. Gutierrez brings me to a certain area of the crowd, tells me that this was where the Selected are supposed to watch. He gives one last glance to the raised stage before bowing and leaving me standing there, unsure of what all his fuss was about.
Rebellion was wrong. The rebel was getting what he deserved. A caning sent a message to everyone, punishment. Hammurabi’s law. Eye for an eye.
The government, the military, the country’s national defense were stronger than anything, anyone who dared to threaten it. That was the message.
The sound of the crowd dulls out as a man dressed like an executioner steps up to the stage, and I could only hear his voice ring throughout the space.
“Charles Flynn!” his voice echoes menacingly, “a member of the palace kitchen staff was found attempting to bring down the monarchy with his fellow rebels.”
I nod, hanging on every word.
Charles Flynn.
That’s the name of the bastard who unleashed hell on the palace. I keep my eyes trained on the stage, feeling a sense of resentment against him already. Traitor.
“Mr. Flynn has broken his loyalty to the country and the monarchy. His disgusting actions have shown his real intentions. He is found guilty of treason against Illéa!”
The crowd seems to roar too, anger in their cries from outside the gates. The enmity of everyone clearly creating at atmosphere that was so full of hatred you could choke on it. My eyes shift to the other raised platform, where the Schreaves watched- clad in all black. The queen was beside King Spencer and I gaze upon the king’s steely expression, an unforgiving expression that reminded me so much of Nate when he had gotten angry the other night. I then see Nate standing there, looking obviously uncomfortable, eyes moving everywhere- wearing a more unsure version of King Spencer’s expression.
I wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and squeeze his hand, whisper to him how he needed to stop looking that way, tell him that things like this needed to be done- that this was the ugly side of his job. Everyone’s job had an ugly side. A future king like Nate needed to be reminded that, but most of all- I think he needed to be assured that things were necessary to be the leader I knew Nate could be.
Suddenly, the crowd’s yells grow louder as I see a figure hobbling to the stage where the masked announcer stands- and I feel my heart drop.
That was Charles Flynn?
The rebel looked like he couldn’t weigh 100 pounds soaking wet, he was nothing but a teenager, a child. How could he be a rebel?
I narrow my eyes on the kid, searching his face for something, anything that reminded me of the rebel I had faced off. There was nothing common between them, save for the blood on his shirt. Charles Flynn’s face was not the face of a rebel, heck- that kid looked like he’d apologize for burning my morning toast. The crier continued his speech, and I was suddenly understanding the look of concern Nate had on his face, why Officer Gutierrez seemed so antsy discussing about the rebel.
The mental image of a child like Charles Flynn being brutalized with canes was not a pretty picture to imagine.
I ball my hands into fists, though. I remind myself that Charles Flynn was a rebel- if he was found guilty by the king. If the king, my commander-in-chief, had found him guilty, then I, a soldier, should accept his orders.
“This is a crime punishable by death! But in his mercy, King Spencer had decided to spare this traitor’s life. Long Live King Spencer!”
The child was a traitor, I remind myself. I should not hold any sympathy for a rebel. Charles Flynn had made Kramer’s death possible. He should find himself lucky that the king had not ordered an execution, he should find himself lucky that his fate was not the same as his fellow rebels. Long Live King Spencer. I thought bitterfully.
Still, my heart was beating wildly as I watched the rebel’s hands strapped to some device- palms to the sky. This boy looked only about 15.. 16 years old? Was that the face of some kind of spy? My instincts were yelling at me to stop directing such harsh thoughts to the child.
“Charles Flynn, you are hereby stripped of your caste. You are the lowest of the low. You are an Eight and sentenced to prison for further questioning!” No wonder they’re keeping him alive.
I keep my eyes on Charles Flynn’s face, noticing his eyes trained to the direction of the stage... where the Schreaves stood. Who was he looking at?
“And to inflict upon you the shame and pain you have brought upon this proud country, you will be publicly caned with fifteen strikes. May your many scars remind you of your many sins!” The growing rage of the crowd was starting to unsettle me.
I stop myself again, stopped myself from trying to be so sympathetic to the rebel. Sympathy will get us no where with this rebel situation, sympathy did not stop people getting killed in rebel attacks.
But sympathy was what I feel when I see the canes being drawn from their buckets of water. I felt Charles Flynn’s pain as I hear his anguished cries when the canes had struck down on his hands for the first blow. I ball my fists to my sides even harder, feeling the slight pain from my nails against my palms as I clutched my fist. This was necessary, This was the verdict of King Spencer, these were his orders. I could not disagree with the king, I had to respect his decisions.
It was my duty as a soldier.
Nothing tore me apart than that thought. I look at the people bringing the canes down on the kid. My thoughts drift over to the masked men striking Charles Flynn’s hands.
They were doing their duty.
Then it hits me, makes me wonder if I could do the same thing as them if I were given orders to. I have killed a rebel, but more out of self-defense than what was ordered to me. If I had been ordered to cane someone, would I do it?
The answer is clear in my head.
I would not.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reacting to this public torture. I couldn’t agree with this, Spencer be god fucking damned. No one deserved to be treated this way.
Rebels, soldiers, guards, queens, kings.
No one in this world deserved punishment and pain like this, I realize. Then I notice a sudden movement from the stage with the Schreaves, a blur of black jumping the railings and shrieking out Charles Flynn’s name. The royals themselves were yelling things I couldn’t quite make out thanks to the deafening crowd. All I could hear was Queen Aubrey, the usually serene and calm Queen Aubrey, screaming Princes Mallory’s name. Nate was yelling something too. King Spencer seems to have broken his stoic mask, pushing a guard to chase after the figure running to Charles Flynn.
What in Elton John’s good name was happening?
I watch Princess Mal run to the stage, screaming “CHARLIE!” and the pieces seem to click together. Charles Flynn was looking at Mal a while ago.
Oh… Oh.. Well, holy shit- this was a revelation.
Just about as Mal was about to reach the stage, a guard slams her to the ground- stopping her from reaching him. The morning sunlight allowed everyone close enough to see the tears streaming down the princess’ face. She was screaming profanities I thought never existed in her vocabulary at the guard as he grabbed her. Her cries caught Charles Flynn’s attention though, sharing a look with the princess before another set of blows were dealt on his bleeding palms. Mal and Charles Flynn seemed to have something shared between them, I could tell that. There was something there, perhaps a mutual care for each other. The things you do for the people you care about.
My eyes widen when another figure jumps the railings- my heart almost fucking stops… this time it was Nate.
I watch the crown prince run to the stage and jump on it, going to his sister.
This time, it was my turn to yell his name.
“NATE!” I felt my breath catch in my throat seeing Nate on the stage, seeing him so close to those men holding those canes. Nate get off that stage. I don’t know what those men would do to him for his obvious act of protesting against this.
I wanted to scream his name, push past the crowd and fucking tackle Nate down from that stage. He needed to be away from that danger, someone needed to get him off that stage.
Fear, I felt fear overcome me as he stood on that stage. What the hell was this boy doing? I was frozen in fear of what could happen to Nate. Oh my god, what would Spencer do to him? They could hurt him, I couldn’t let that happen. Nate please get off that stage. I was choking up in fear, unknowingly tearing up as my feet drag me to the railing, pressing myself against the bars. Wasn’t Nate aware of how dangerous a situation he was in? I tried to stay close enough, just in case something happened- I’d be there.
“Stop,” I hear Nate yell and I hold my breath like everyone else in the crowd.
Everything went silent, except for the sound of Mal’s incoherent screaming and crying as she was held back from reaching Charles Flynn.
“What's the point of this? Is this what's expected of a king?” Nate’s voice echoes throughout the entire space. Everyone was listening to him now, and right there.. I saw him transform from a scared boy to a man who spoke with a conviction that commanded everyone’s attention. That didn’t stop me from still fearing for his safety, it made me even more worried. Fools who run their mouths too much could wind up dead. But I saw him, the courage he musters with every word he said.
Nate looks to the king, and the king looked pissed off. Good lord, please don’t hurt him. I silently pleaded in my thoughts and tried to think of things rationally. The king couldn’t hurt his own son. But the anger in the king’s eyes made me fear the worst, gripping the bars with my hands tightly- anticipating what the next move was going to be. If Spencer even thought of laying a hand on Nate…
“If that's the case, I don't want it.” My jaw drops when those words come out of Nate’s mouth. For Christ’s sake Nate…
But I get it, I understand where he’s coming from when I hear the sound of the canes on Charles Flynn’s palms. This was the sound of terror, it was barbaric. This was not order- this was cruelty. I understood where Nate was coming from- his eyes usually gave everything away. The prince I knew often cared deeply for everyone around him, his kindness was one of his best traits- his selflessness was admirable, but equally frustrating.
His ability to empathize with others, his sympathy- his heart- was a quality that I loved about him because by being around him, well… the warmth of his spirit melted my the walls of ice I had built to protect myself from being emotionally attached to people.
The fearlessness of his stance against the king made him shine like a beacon of hope. I understand where he’s coming from.
“Why are you encouraging this, Why are you enjoying this? You’re literally watching a boy get tortured. He’s a kid.” Nate threw questions at the crowd with such disgust.
I was born to protect other people, the need to was incessant, but a need that made me want to be in the military in the first place. However, I’d rather give up my rank, my officership, my station to protect people from being an absent minded monster who just followed orders, like the ones bringing the canes down against the limp Charles Flynn… but wait.. another realization comes to me.
There could always be more people wearing those masks and holding those canes. Those men, striking the rebel… they were just following orders- if they stopped… there’d be always be more people thinking that they were just doing their duties. This injustice would continue, torture like this… it would happen again- because they were the king’s orders.
If I left my job… If Nate would leave being prince… who’s to say that the same thing won’t happen when Quinn’s on the throne? When Brooks is on the throne?
If we wanted to change the way things were… we couldn’t run away from them- we had to make sure that we change things ourselves.
I don’t think being just a pilot in the air force could help me change things.
Later, I needed to tell Nate this later.
“End this.” Nate yells to the direction of his parents, staring off his own father. I felt fear overcome me, scared of what Spencer would do to Nate again. What if he ordered the masked men to hit Nate?
Thankfully, after a silent beat… Spencer speaks up. “That's enough.”
I breath a sigh of relief as the barbaric torture on the rebel ends, and the masked torturers drag him away. The king wears a stoic face as he commands the crowd to disperse, but I turn to Nate’s direction- keeping an eye on him. He’s safe, I remind myself as I watch him walk away with Mallory in Brooks’ arms.
After Nate goes back into the palace, I do too. I was concerned for Nate, his well-being, I knew I needed to talk to him soon. So I walk quickly back to my room, enduring the pain of brisk walking on my sprain. I reach my desk, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen to write a quick note.
Natalie, we need to talk. Meet me up at the rooftop when you're free.
- Marshall Camille
It was time to talk.