The Incorruptible, Corrupted {l'incorruptible, Corrompu}

~Chapitre Deux~

"How ironic." The larger than life form of his old friend Georges Danton sat across from him, grinning nastily. "How hilariously funny." Maximilien stared.

"You... you're supposed to be dead! We executed you!" His hands shook. "We guillotined you!" Danton laughed harshly. Maximilien had rarely been on the receiving end of Danton's condescending laugh.

"I know. You executed me. Me, a man who was once your friend. And now that's what they will do to you. Yes. You, their once-great 'Incorruptible.' A thin red cut drew itself across Danton's wide throat. He smiled grimly, the scars from his nearly fatal childhood warping his face, just as they had done during life. Slowly, with Maximilien staring in mute horror, the cut deepened. Maximilien swallowed hard and tried to look away but sat frozen in terror. Danton's head fell from his shoulders and rolled onto the floor, blood soaking his clothes and pooling beneath the head near his feet. Maximilien screamed.

"This will happen to you," Danton's deep voice said, echoing in his ears. "This is what will happen to you." Maximilien covered his ears, but it was a fruitless attempt. "You're going to die like this. Just the way I did. How ironic."

Maximilien woke up in a cold sweat, his light brown hair plastered to his forehead. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and rested his head gingerly in his hands. What a god awful dream, he thought to himself, trying to push the haunting image of his former friend's decapitated head from his mind.

The stubborn man never knew when to back down or shut up, not even when faced with his own death. Maximilien remembered the story Danton had told him from his childhood about the time he'd been trampled and nearly killed by his family's pigs. All because he wanted to prove to his sister that he wasn't a coward. Out of all the names he'd been called during his life, a coward was the only thing Danton refused to stand for.

"Georges," Maximilien had groaned in annoyance for the fourth time in the last hour. "You can't physically fight one of the other members of the Convention because they insulted you." The bigger man scowled and continued to roughly push his way through the crowd exiting the building. "And you've got to stop swearing during the meetings."

"They're accusing me of being a coward! I've put my damn life on the line for the fucking revolution countless times! And this is what I get!" He shouldered one last person out of the way, sending him sprawling, and stormed over to the carriage that he had taken that morning.

"Don't take it to heart Georges. They say it even to the best of us. What did you even say this time to get them so worked up?"

"I said it's time to stop the fucking Terror. People are afraid and it's just getting worse! You and I both-"

"No." Maximilien had cut him off sharply, his voice losing the warm tone of a friend and descending into cold detachment. "Terror is doing exactly what it needs to do. It's for the good of the people. You need to get that thick head where it needs to be and remember that you're doing this for France, not yourself. And remember that no one has forgotten about those bribes you took, regardless of how long ago you took them." A tense silence fell between them for a few seconds. Maximilien sighed and continued in a tired voice. "Go home Georges. Before you get into any more trouble today, my friend."

Danton, he told himself in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, was no longer a revolutionary when he'd been executed. Everyone who really truly cared about the revolution knew the Terror was necessary. Danton had not agreed. It was obvious that if he would not aid them with what needed to be done, then he had turned against them and needed to be eliminated.