04-08-2022, 01:50 AM
Chancellor's Manor, Geminus
April 7th, 2022, 6:27 PM
Chancellor Leah Stendē sat behind the desk of the large oak desk, thoroughly exhausted. Her normal rush of meetings, duties, and work had been made difficult by her recent inability to sleep. Her trip to Fjodorova Army Base, while it provided a solid PR opportunity, had drained her. Their faces. Stoic, hopeful, nonchalant. I'm sending them into a battlefield. Who am I to force them to risk their lives?
She hadn't told anyone the reason she couldn't sleep, at least, not in entirety. She had told her husband Mikel that she was worried about the deployment's chances of success, which was true, but that was just a shallow explanation of what she was feeling. And though he tried so hard to help, his sympathy never really connected. I shouldn't have done that damn PR stunt.
She glanced over at her dinner, a half-eaten salad and a barely touched salmon filet, and mindlessly moved her fork, pushing a loose tomato back and forth across the salad plate. A knock at the door made her look up from her idle fidgeting. "Entriet." She commanded, putting the silver salad fork back on the plate.
Julius Riekstins, her Chief of Staff and longtime friend, stood in the doorway, stoicly glancing across Stendē's desk at the remains of her dinner. He cleared his throat before speaking, his eyes revealing the sympathy and pity he felt towards Stendē's situation. "Madam Chancellor. Apologies, but you have a meeting. I can send someone up for the plates while you two are speaking."
Stendē's eyebrows furrowed. "I thought I didn't have any outside meetings scheduled tonight. And I didn't think I scheduled any internal meetings or briefings, aside from the Aurian situation report. Who's the meeting with?" Riekstins stepped out of the doorway, revealing a silent William Lancaster, who stepped in to his former office quickly. Riekstins shut the door behind him, leaving the Chancellor and Minister alone to talk.
"Minister Lancaster. How are things in New Riga?" Stendē withdrew her exhausted manner into one of formal politeness, attempting to project a professional kindness. The relationship between Stendē and Lancaster, while strengthened by their long stint working together, had it's power dynamic flipped after Stendē became Chancellor, causing a bit of uncertainty over what level of formality was warranted.
"They are perfectly fine, Madam Chancellor. I really can't complain." He trailed off, seemingly considering his phrasing. At that moment, seeing her former boss's expression, Stendē made a realization. "Riekstins brought you here, didn't he? He asked you here to help me. To teach me a lesson like some struggling school kid. Well, I'll tell you what: I'm fine! You don't need to condescend or patronize me. I understand how to do my goddamn job. You don't need to tell me anything!"
Lancaster bowed his head, speaking softly. "You're right that I don't need to tell you how to do your job. You're doing amazingly on your own. I'm not here to 'teach' you anything." As Stendē's anger cooled, she sat down, meeting his gaze as he spoke. “I’m here to help you.”
“Help me? With what?” The Chancellor’s tone had cooled from angry to stoically curious. “If you don’t intend to ‘teach’ me something, how do you intend to help?”
Lancaster wordlessly pulled out a blue cloth-bound journal and set it on the desk, watching Stendē as she grabbed and examined it. “There’s a fabric bookmark in one of the pages. I’m usually not to show anyone else this, but since it’s information you’d already be able to access anyways, I doubt it’ll matter.” His tone had become distanced, filled with an unclear emotion.
Stendē read parts of the bookmarked page with confused curiosity. "Private Jacques Bernay, October third, 2020, Zapotlán. Corporal Angelē Ozola, October third… What is this?" She stared at the Minister as he stood, slowly pacing back and forth, before answering. "In the daily intelligence reports during the Xiomeran Civil War, there was always a page in the back. The very last page of every report was a list of names, ranks, dates, and locations. It's nice, huh?" He asked Stendē as the meaning of the names sunk in. "They shoved all of the dead soldiers in the back, as an afterthought. How respectful. How honorable." The spite and regret in his voice was palpable.
Stendē looked back down at the book, concerned and slightly horrified. "You… kept track of every one? Every single Eirian casualty? I get that you do courtesy calls or letters to the families, but why keep the names? How can you keep the names?"
Lancaster sighed. "It's a punishment, I suppose. A penance. I've… I've grown to depend on having the names with me. It helps me believe that I've done more for them than just…" He didn't need to finish that thought. Send them to their deaths.
The few seconds of silence felt like an eternity. "Are you trying to convince me not to send troops to Auria? Not to come to our ally's aid in their most desperate time of need, and let Aurians suffer and die in our inaction?"
Lancaster rapidly shook his head. "Of course not. That's not what I'm trying to say. It's… a warning, one that I wish someone had given me. You have to find a way to cope with it, or justify it to yourself. That's the only way you can survive."
Another beat of silence filled the room. "Does it ever go away?" Stendē asked vainly, already knowing the answer.
"No, at least, not to my knowledge. It just… changes. It takes different forms, especially after the fact. You can see every mistake you made, every misstep, every bout of indecision… And you can look back and count how many lives were potentially lost through your action alone." The Minister pursed his lips. "Don't get me wrong, it's not always on your mind. I found ways to distract myself, and to put it in the back of my mind for later. But, you have to address it eventually."
Stendē furrowed her brow, a thought crossing her mind. "If that's true… May I ask you a question? Why didn't you launch an intervention in Auria earlier? Did you not want them on your conscience? Was that it? Did you risk Aurian lives so selfishly?" Her tone grew angry once again, but this time is was cold anger, chilling and persistent. "Did you want to pass it off to the next person, just pass the burden along? Answer me. Did you?"
"I don't know! For Angel's sake, I don't know!" Lancaster shouted quickly, before breaking into a despairing silence while turned away from his boss. "I wasn't sure what would happen. I was selfish in that regard. I didn't want to add more to the burden if I could avoid it. I didn't want to recklessly add more names to the list, more families to call. I wanted the luxury of certainty." Lancaster looked back at the Chancellor, a mix of guilt and gratefulness in his eyes. "It sounds strange, but thank you for asking me this. It's been haunting me for months." He paused, his emotions returning to a more average intensity. "But would it have really been better? Would it have resulted in less casualties due to enemy entrenchment, or more deaths due to recklessness?" He mused to himself, pondering questions no one could answer.
Stendē clenched her jaw. "I don't know. But we can't wait longer to find out." She moved out from behind the desk, making eye contact with Lancaster. "We should both get back to work. Thank you, Will, for your concern. And understanding."
Lancaster gave a slight nod, before picking up the journal from the desk and starting for the door. "Does Jake know? About the book." Stendē asked as he was halfway out of the door.
"No. I never told him. I don't think I could ever do that to him, no matter how much he would want to help." He stopped in the doorway for another moment. "If you ever need me, I'm one call away. And… I'm sorry."
The door shut behind him, leaving the Chancellor alone with her thoughts.
April 7th, 2022, 6:27 PM
Chancellor Leah Stendē sat behind the desk of the large oak desk, thoroughly exhausted. Her normal rush of meetings, duties, and work had been made difficult by her recent inability to sleep. Her trip to Fjodorova Army Base, while it provided a solid PR opportunity, had drained her. Their faces. Stoic, hopeful, nonchalant. I'm sending them into a battlefield. Who am I to force them to risk their lives?
She hadn't told anyone the reason she couldn't sleep, at least, not in entirety. She had told her husband Mikel that she was worried about the deployment's chances of success, which was true, but that was just a shallow explanation of what she was feeling. And though he tried so hard to help, his sympathy never really connected. I shouldn't have done that damn PR stunt.
She glanced over at her dinner, a half-eaten salad and a barely touched salmon filet, and mindlessly moved her fork, pushing a loose tomato back and forth across the salad plate. A knock at the door made her look up from her idle fidgeting. "Entriet." She commanded, putting the silver salad fork back on the plate.
Julius Riekstins, her Chief of Staff and longtime friend, stood in the doorway, stoicly glancing across Stendē's desk at the remains of her dinner. He cleared his throat before speaking, his eyes revealing the sympathy and pity he felt towards Stendē's situation. "Madam Chancellor. Apologies, but you have a meeting. I can send someone up for the plates while you two are speaking."
Stendē's eyebrows furrowed. "I thought I didn't have any outside meetings scheduled tonight. And I didn't think I scheduled any internal meetings or briefings, aside from the Aurian situation report. Who's the meeting with?" Riekstins stepped out of the doorway, revealing a silent William Lancaster, who stepped in to his former office quickly. Riekstins shut the door behind him, leaving the Chancellor and Minister alone to talk.
"Minister Lancaster. How are things in New Riga?" Stendē withdrew her exhausted manner into one of formal politeness, attempting to project a professional kindness. The relationship between Stendē and Lancaster, while strengthened by their long stint working together, had it's power dynamic flipped after Stendē became Chancellor, causing a bit of uncertainty over what level of formality was warranted.
"They are perfectly fine, Madam Chancellor. I really can't complain." He trailed off, seemingly considering his phrasing. At that moment, seeing her former boss's expression, Stendē made a realization. "Riekstins brought you here, didn't he? He asked you here to help me. To teach me a lesson like some struggling school kid. Well, I'll tell you what: I'm fine! You don't need to condescend or patronize me. I understand how to do my goddamn job. You don't need to tell me anything!"
Lancaster bowed his head, speaking softly. "You're right that I don't need to tell you how to do your job. You're doing amazingly on your own. I'm not here to 'teach' you anything." As Stendē's anger cooled, she sat down, meeting his gaze as he spoke. “I’m here to help you.”
“Help me? With what?” The Chancellor’s tone had cooled from angry to stoically curious. “If you don’t intend to ‘teach’ me something, how do you intend to help?”
Lancaster wordlessly pulled out a blue cloth-bound journal and set it on the desk, watching Stendē as she grabbed and examined it. “There’s a fabric bookmark in one of the pages. I’m usually not to show anyone else this, but since it’s information you’d already be able to access anyways, I doubt it’ll matter.” His tone had become distanced, filled with an unclear emotion.
Stendē read parts of the bookmarked page with confused curiosity. "Private Jacques Bernay, October third, 2020, Zapotlán. Corporal Angelē Ozola, October third… What is this?" She stared at the Minister as he stood, slowly pacing back and forth, before answering. "In the daily intelligence reports during the Xiomeran Civil War, there was always a page in the back. The very last page of every report was a list of names, ranks, dates, and locations. It's nice, huh?" He asked Stendē as the meaning of the names sunk in. "They shoved all of the dead soldiers in the back, as an afterthought. How respectful. How honorable." The spite and regret in his voice was palpable.
Stendē looked back down at the book, concerned and slightly horrified. "You… kept track of every one? Every single Eirian casualty? I get that you do courtesy calls or letters to the families, but why keep the names? How can you keep the names?"
Lancaster sighed. "It's a punishment, I suppose. A penance. I've… I've grown to depend on having the names with me. It helps me believe that I've done more for them than just…" He didn't need to finish that thought. Send them to their deaths.
The few seconds of silence felt like an eternity. "Are you trying to convince me not to send troops to Auria? Not to come to our ally's aid in their most desperate time of need, and let Aurians suffer and die in our inaction?"
Lancaster rapidly shook his head. "Of course not. That's not what I'm trying to say. It's… a warning, one that I wish someone had given me. You have to find a way to cope with it, or justify it to yourself. That's the only way you can survive."
Another beat of silence filled the room. "Does it ever go away?" Stendē asked vainly, already knowing the answer.
"No, at least, not to my knowledge. It just… changes. It takes different forms, especially after the fact. You can see every mistake you made, every misstep, every bout of indecision… And you can look back and count how many lives were potentially lost through your action alone." The Minister pursed his lips. "Don't get me wrong, it's not always on your mind. I found ways to distract myself, and to put it in the back of my mind for later. But, you have to address it eventually."
Stendē furrowed her brow, a thought crossing her mind. "If that's true… May I ask you a question? Why didn't you launch an intervention in Auria earlier? Did you not want them on your conscience? Was that it? Did you risk Aurian lives so selfishly?" Her tone grew angry once again, but this time is was cold anger, chilling and persistent. "Did you want to pass it off to the next person, just pass the burden along? Answer me. Did you?"
"I don't know! For Angel's sake, I don't know!" Lancaster shouted quickly, before breaking into a despairing silence while turned away from his boss. "I wasn't sure what would happen. I was selfish in that regard. I didn't want to add more to the burden if I could avoid it. I didn't want to recklessly add more names to the list, more families to call. I wanted the luxury of certainty." Lancaster looked back at the Chancellor, a mix of guilt and gratefulness in his eyes. "It sounds strange, but thank you for asking me this. It's been haunting me for months." He paused, his emotions returning to a more average intensity. "But would it have really been better? Would it have resulted in less casualties due to enemy entrenchment, or more deaths due to recklessness?" He mused to himself, pondering questions no one could answer.
Stendē clenched her jaw. "I don't know. But we can't wait longer to find out." She moved out from behind the desk, making eye contact with Lancaster. "We should both get back to work. Thank you, Will, for your concern. And understanding."
Lancaster gave a slight nod, before picking up the journal from the desk and starting for the door. "Does Jake know? About the book." Stendē asked as he was halfway out of the door.
"No. I never told him. I don't think I could ever do that to him, no matter how much he would want to help." He stopped in the doorway for another moment. "If you ever need me, I'm one call away. And… I'm sorry."
The door shut behind him, leaving the Chancellor alone with her thoughts.
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