Note: Hi! I will keep the author's notes to a minimum, but wanted to specify this is a re-write to improve an old story I never finished. It's always been on my bucket list to do a re-write, and now that I have time on my hands I thought I'd go for it. Light's character was originally named David, but in this version he is named Luke.

Chapter One

Luke was cleaning the blood from his sword as he surveyed the eerily quiet streets. The peasants who had not been killed had fled, wisely. A pile of uniformed corpses were the remains of the outnumbered city guards who had been left with no choice but to defend their townsfolk. The man named Waltier lay in the street, slain by Luke's own hand. This could have all been avoided, had the Archbishop not been so ready to overreact to the disobedience of a few unwashed heathens.

The knight's keen ear was picking up the now growing sounds of marching men. He watched calmly as a small regiment of guards, wearing the same clothing as Waltier, appeared from around the corner.

"Your Holiness," Luke called over his shoulder, at the Archbishop who was yowling like a kicked cat over how he had never been so egregiously misused in his whole life and so on and so forth. "Please calm yourself. The prince approaches."

This prudent advice merely spurred the Archbishop to begin screeching at the approaching royal, hurling curses and promises that God would smite him. Luke took the opportunity to command his bewildered men back into organized formation; a defensive position but with weapons sheathed. While he had absolutely no qualms about violence when necessary, Luke still harboured hope that they would be able to talk their way out of this fiasco. He risked being severely disciplined if the situation got any further out of control, and he didn't want the mark on his record.

"Archbishop," Luke hissed, his hand now gripping the upper arm of the insensible holy man. "Please calm yourself, and allow me to handle—"

"Insolent whelp!" The Archbishop snarled at Luke, breaking free. Then, to the approaching soldiers: "Halt! Halt I say! Your townspeople have committed an unforgivable offense against the Church! Approach and my guards will cut you down!"

Luke watched as the guards continued approaching anyway, before parting into a new formation and revealing one of the strangest looking men—more creature than human—Luke had ever seen. It was with incredible surprise that the knight noted the crown on top of the mess of black hair, indicating that this ghoul was likely none other than the prince himself.

The prince spoke. "What occurred here?"

xx

Earlier that day, Prince Lawliet of Strasbourg had been crouched over a multitude of maps and plans strewn upon an ornately carved desk. He was contemplating the boundaries of the Holy Roman Empire. Things had been changing in dangerous ways since King Phillip IV of France had ascended the throne, along with the naming of a new Pope, Clement V.

The prince's affiliation with the French throne offered the nominal protection of the monarchy, but Strasbourg had long been a city treated like a political plaything; its position so close to the mighty Rhine River and the shifting borders of France and Germany meant there was always tumult. When the Church in Rome had announced that it was time to install an Archbishop in the as-of-yet unfinished Strasbourg cathedral, the prince had identified that long anticipated machinations of a different kind were finally in motion.

Yes, King Phillip would step in against foreign dangers that would compromise the tax revenue from the currently French-held Strasbourg. But the interference of the Church and being forced into the smothering enfolds of its Holy Roman Empire was a different kind of threat to the freedom and diversity of Strasbourg, one that King Phillip would have little interest in dispersing. Mostly because Phillip was arrogant enough to believe that his plans to get Pope Clement in his pocket were going swimmingly, and that it would hardly be any time at all before he'd be manipulating a puppet church while looking like a godly, righteous king. Something as esoteric as protecting the freedom of a semi-independent Strasbourg would hardly be a reason for Phillip to upset his growing 'friendship' with the Pope.

And so, Prince Lawliet had watched avidly as emissaries from Rome travelled to and from the palace at Fontainebleau regularly; the only point on which new buddies Phillip and Clement were openly in conflict on was the fact that the king was outspokenly hostile regarding the Church's primary enforcer, the Knights Templar. The sentiment was spreading like wildfire amongst the common folk too, not helped by the fact that the Knights had used their conquest wealth to establish an informal banking system to which many people owed a lot of money. In short, the people were beginning to see the Order as corrupted thugs, adding yet another worry to the prince's myriad concerns. Knights would likely be escorting the Archbishop, and the citizenry, having forcibly kicked out a Templar banking officer and murdering his accomplice the year before, might cause trouble once the party from Rome arrived.

Another man in Prince Lawliet's position might have felt he was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun (if he cared enough), or a spoiled royal, content so long as his luxury wouldn't be compromised, would have been happy to let the French King scratch it out over Strasbourg with the Church. But the prince was too proud, and perhaps too childish when it came to losing, to gift his city to either the King or the Church. Even on the very day the Archbishop was scheduled to arrive, the prince was still occupied with calculating and scheming how he might be able to leverage the situation into more years of independence for Strasbourg.

"My lord?" A mild, dignified male voice came through from the other side of the heavy wooden door of the Prince's office chambers.

"Leave me Waltier, I am occupied."

"Humblest apologies my lord, but our surveillance has spotted a vanguard of Knights. I believe the arrival of the Archbishop is imminent."

The prince sat, silent and unmoving except for the twitching of his bare feet, a long-held idiosyncrasy that demonstrated the prince was especially lost in deep thought. If it was as he suspected, this Archbishop would be the wedge that cleaved open his city, rendering it ripe for plucking by the Church while Phillip stood by, prioritizing his other agendas.

Waltier prompted the prince softly, familiar with his liege-lord's habits. "My lord, shall I greet them on behalf of the Lawliet throne?"

More silence. Waltier was unperturbed and continued patiently waiting.

At length, shuffling footsteps emanated from behind the door, which soon opened to reveal a pale, hunched man. Waltier regarded the prince's chalky complexion and noted that the dark circles under his eyes were even worse than usual.

"Yes, Waltier," Prince Lawliet said finally. "Put together a welcoming party and meet them at the gates. Make sure it goes well, the city folk are restless. I suppose I will have to meet with the Archbishop personally… but, that can wait at least until tonight. I need to call a council meeting first. Perhaps we should announce a ball in the Archbishop's honour… what do you think?"

"As you suggest, my lord."

The loyal manservant turned to carry out his orders when his sleeve was caught between the pinched fingers of the prince.

"Yes, my lord?"

"…Be careful, Waltier."

"Yes, my lord."

xx

The prince was standing over the lifeless heap that had been Waltier, stone-faced and repeating his question.

"What occurred here?"

"Your Highness," Luke stepped forward, knowing the imbecilic Archbishop would bungle this mess even further, "we were forced to respond. Your citizens formed a mob and threatened the safety of the Archbishop."

Luke watched as the owl-like eyes of the frail royal slid from subject to subject, taking in the corpses of the city folk, the fist-sized rocks and rotten fruit strewn about, the tomato pulp staining the robes of the Archbishop. He seemed about to speak when the Archbishop, discomfited by the momentary silence, began shrieking anew.

"We were attacked! Attacked by your accursed heathen citizens! They started all of it! Those who have escaped must be tracked down and executed!" The Archbishop's face was coloured with rage. "Sir Luke, I command you to—"

"Stand down," the prince commanded. "Stand down, everyone."

His guards, riled and anticipating what the holy man was about to command Luke to do, nevertheless immediately obeyed and reconfigured in a passive arrangement. Luke's own confused troops were looking at him for further orders, unsure they should observe the instructions of a foreign prince.

"Yes, stand down," Luke echoed. "For now."

Some of the electricity in the air abated, but the tension was still thick.

"Archbishop," Luke tried again. "The citizens in question have been adequately punished. We are not here to incite war—"

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Luke found himself interrupted.

It had been like that all morning, the rest of their journey from Rome hardly better. Though Luke was devout in his duties as a Knight Captain, this devotion did not extend blindly to pompous, irascible morons like the Archbishop. Luke's low opinion of the holy man had plummeted in the month spent together, helped along by the fact that the Archbishop tended to be unaccountably disrespectful to Luke, whose own rank afforded considerable deference.

"They started it!" The Archbishop was screaming. "They are—"

It was the Archbishop's turn to be interrupted. Despite the incredible strangeness of his personage, the prince held an undeniable air of authority.

"Archbishop," the prince called, approaching even closer, to the distress of his guards who he'd ordered to remain as they were. "I am willing to discuss who is at fault and what shall occur next. I wish no further bloodshed in these streets this night."

The Archbishop would not be pacified. "No discussion! Our holy knights will raze your bedeviled city to the ground! Atone for these sins with your life! You, or you hand over your citizens! Or else!"

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose, trying hard to avoid his head exploding. Why did the Archbishop have to be quite so stupid? The prince was being uncommonly reasonable, and of course the Archbishop was still throwing a tantrum over his mortified pride. Luke cast a look at the tomato on the holy man's robes, the Archbishop's rage-red face a near shade. It might have been funny had it not instigated the killing of a handful of citizens and the colossal mess for which the Archbishop was trying his best to sabotage negotiations. Luke was just about to try to intercede once more when the prince spoke again.

"And if I do? If I take sole responsibility for the actions of my citizens?"

"My liege!" A royal guard could no longer hold his tongue. "Do not throw your life away!"

The prince acted as if he hadn't heard a thing and continued. "I understand you have met with resistance at my city gates. This is most unfortunate, as I intended to welcome you to your new station with respect. I do not wish to draw the ire of the Church..."

Ha, Luke thought. Easier resolved than I had worried. An obedient dog groveling in the face of its master, which should please even a fool like the Archbishop.

"…But neither is Strasbourg a society where we execute tomato throwers."

The sarcasm incensed the Archbishop. "You damnable fool! Heathen prince! I will see to it that you are—"

"I am declaring," the prince spoke as if he was trying to be heard over a crying toddler, "that I am willing to accompany you back to Rome to answer personally for the incident today. I wish for peace, and I am willing to make it with your Church."

For a moment, it seemed that the holy man had no idea how to react, especially since he was obviously dealing with someone so diametrically opposed to his own quick temper and pathetic ego. He looked on the cusp of continuing to hurl insults (his default state), but Luke saw the Archbishop's countenance change suddenly, and knew that the idiot believed he had stumbled upon a tremendous advantage.

But there was no advantage Luke could see; if they indeed took custody of the prince, all that would be accomplished was a long, pointless mission back to Rome that just delayed the inevitable full control the Church would take over Strasbourg. It wasn't as if they could kill or abduct the prince; the death of a French royal would give the King of France sound reason to demand the disbandment of the Knights Templar. All Luke could determine was that the Prince might be buying himself time. It was a smart play, considering.

"We'll happily escort you to Rome." The Archbishop was aiming a fiendish smirk at the prince, apparently unaware of what was so obvious to Luke. "Approach and we will grant you your wish."

Luke watched Prince Lawliet hesitate briefly, before continuing to walk towards the knights. His guards spent a confused moment before automatically following their liege.

"No," Luke heard the prince say. "You must stay here and protect the city. The council will rule in my place. I need two of you only… two of you ready for a long journey."

Several soldiers volunteered readily, and the prince quickly selected a couple of men. Soon, the three of them stood in front of the knights, well away from the rest of the royal guard.

"Arrest this man," the Archbishop commanded gleefully.

Luke couldn't believe it. "Your Holiness? You can't be serious. We can't arrest the prince, the King of France will never—"

"Silence!" This last interruption threatened to overcome Luke's years of rock-solid discipline. "I command you to arrest this man and take him to face his justice in front of the Church."

"With respect, Your Excellency, this is… very ill-advised…" Luke had wanted to say 'this is insane' but had managed to hold his tongue.

"Defy me one more time, I will have you demoted and removed from the Knights altogether. Do you want that? Arrest him now and I will generously forget your insubordination."

A thunderbolt of rage pierced through Luke's very core. How dare this old pig menace his reputation, and in front of his own men! And on account of such a huge mistake as the one the Archbishop was about to make, no less. When Luke was inevitably promoted to Knight Commander (no matter what this moron threatened), he would never have to follow ridiculous orders such as these again. It was only in service to his end goals that the knight chose temporary obedience.

Luke gestured to one of his men, who brought forth a clinking pair of handcuffs, which provoked another justified outburst from the royal guard.

"Your Highness, you can't possibly…! Let us defend you!"

"No," the prince called out again. "Do not concern yourselves with me. It makes no difference now. You must defend the city and keep the peace at all costs. And here, take this back to the castle."

The soldiers backed down, reluctantly, with one of them openly astonished to be holding the crown Prince Lawliet had just given him as if it were no more than excess baggage. Luke wondered what the prince was playing at, putting up so little resistance. Perhaps trying to discern some insight, he stared intently into the large eyes of the prince while he secured one bracelet of the handcuffs around a thin, royal wrist. But Lawliet's eyes offered no clarification, they were inscrutable.

"How lucky for you, prince." The Archbishop had come to stand beside the two men, taking the remaining handcuff from Luke's hands. The knight's teeth set, sensing impending shenanigans. "Do you know who your new bodyguard is?"

When Luke realized the holy man was referring to him specifically, he opened his mouth to protest. Even the Archbishop had no authority to assign a Knight Captain to a babysitting mission like this, especially when Luke was meant to be heading to Jerusalem now that the Archbishop was installed in Strasbourg.

"Only the most popular knight in all of Rome. His admirers call him the Light of God."

This was really taking it too far, and for the first time, Luke seriously suspected that beyond just being a garden variety idiot, the Archbishop might be actively attempting to ruin him. Though to what purpose, it was impossible to say.

"Enough, Your Holiness," Luke growled lowly, laying a cautioning hand on the forearm of the Archbishop. "You are behaving with impropriety. And this is not my duty. I have instructions from Pope Clement himself to oversee the fort in Jerusalem—"

A heavy metal clink. Luke looked down in horrified disbelief at the locked bracelet of the handcuffs that now connected him to his new royal prisoner.

"Choose, Light of God," the Archbishop leaned in, whispering acidly. "Would you like to end your distinguished career at this very moment? Or would you like to obey my orders?"

Purposeful sabotage. It was incontrovertible. Luke would have to get to the bottom of this, but he had even more immediate concerns, such as the French prince who had overheard everything.

The Archbishop receded, speaking now so that all present could hear.

"Sir Luke, you are personally entrusted with escorting this man to Rome. I will remain here in the city, to fill my role as Archbishop as decreed by the Church. As such, and due to the extreme danger demonstrated by the scoundrels in this city, I will need my own guard. I can spare you two men only."

It wasn't worth protesting; though these were Luke's men to command, pointing out this fact would only further provoke the Archbishop who had already proven treacherous.

Damn him! Luke cursed silently. Never in his life had he been so insulted. Even amongst the Order of the Knights Templar, and from a young age, Luke had always been recognized as exceptional and treated with proportionate dignity. The youngest man to ever earn the rank of Captain now had to swallow his considerable pride, forced to leave the humiliation unanswered. His eyes traveled from the puce, sweating face of the Archbishop to the face of Prince Lawliet. A face like an abandoned, haunted house.

Luke inhaled, mastering himself. In a calm instant, he evaluated his (few) choices, and decided that safely escorting the prince to Rome was the likeliest way through which he could maintain his rank and reputation, while sniffing out whether some conspiracy against him was in fact at play.

"As you command, your Excellency," Luke muttered.

xx