Chapter Text
"Non sire, ce n'est pas une révolte, c'est une révolution." -François Alexandre Frédéric de La Rochefoucauld
Davout woke up in a bush, he stared up in the sky for some minutes, then the realisation hit him, he started patting his body down, thankfully, the letters he needed to deliver to the British were still there. Suddenly, a foul oder, disgusting even. Well, of course! It was an aristocrat! Or what was left of them. "Hm, another normal day in the revolution, non?" Davout muttered under his breath, attempting to get back on his feet.
Once he got back up, he looked at his surroundings on his left, the guillotine, on his right, angry "patriots" at his left. The sight was horrific, and he felt the familiar churning of his stomach, it was always these public demonstrations where he got too queasy, so he looked away, he needed to focus on his work before anything, and he quickly started walking farther from the scene.
After walking some meters, he just couldn't escape those horrific scenes, since he needed to walk through the "Place de la Révolution" possibly the worst place in Paris, no, France, maybe even the whole world! The scenes were revolting, fitting for the name. He had finally started progressing the bloodthirsty and chaotic area, but it would take him much longer to get through it, as it was 21 acres of everything inhumane, so he started at the floor, trying to ignore the bile rising from his throat.
Well, a way to make this day better was that he didn't needed to travel too far, he usually needed to make his way from Paris all the way to Calais, the closest place to the British, where he exchanged files and information about the state of France, more specifically Paris to be taken across the English Channel, to Westminster. But this month, he was lucky. He just needed to travel a bit far from Paris, not as far as Calais, to some rich aristocrats residence, that apparently sided with the British, it had been explained to him that the young aristocrat was trying to keep his family residence away from peasants, how? Well by exchanging information with the British for his protection as the reward, but he had also been warned, the young man was Hot-Headed, and too arrogant for his own good, He looked up to the sky, and prayed to whatever or whoever was up there, he hoped he wouldn't have much struggle with this, as in Calais he always argued with everyone there who was above him, and he knew, this would get much worse, and now he needed to argue with a aristocrat! Unbelievable.
He walked some more kilometres, passing through some disturbing scenes, until finally making it to the Château de bourron. Surprisingly, it wasn't looted yet, rare after seeing the homes of aristocrats getting looted, this was a rare sight to see. The only downside is the surroundings looked too, fancy for him.
But, Even in these blood-soaked years, the Château de Bourron possessed a stillness that felt like a defiance of history. It was a masterpiece of brick and stone, the deep ochre of the masonry glowing like embers in the waning light. The white limestone quoins at every corner looked like bared teeth, sharp and pristine against the darkening woods of Fontainebleau. Yet, he was surprised it was still intact, so he just stood for some seconds, until remembering he still needed to walk some distance to get to the entrance, and so, he dragged his exhausted body to the entrance, and knocked.