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The Court of Fontaine: pristine, and polished, is truly nothing more than a den of forgotten and brushed-over crime. For all the ‘Justice’ that those pompous idiots at the Palais Mermonia preach, they overlook the poverty and injustices experienced by the people, by the children of Fontaine.
In the eyes of a particular follower of the law, a pursuer of justice, the infestation of diplomats from the northernmost reaches of Teyvat is only worsening the issue. This young woman brushes off non-existent dust from her shirt—pants and a dress shirt are her attire of choice, dresses were too ‘distracting.’ She scoffs silently at the thought. She refocuses her attention on the defense, consisting of a Fatui Lawyer and a Fatui Agent serving as the defendant, “Good afternoon, my name is…”
The agent is a young man, his records, which are unsurprisingly sparse, say he is 24, and a Snezhnayan National, his name being Pavel Snezhevich. The infamous surname of children that grew up in the House of the Hearth. From her investigation, he works as a courier for the Fatui and the bank, an intermediary if she ever saw one.
She walks through the steps as she has done a hundred times before, “The defendant in this matter stands accused of a most sinister crime, which has funded the malicious and intentional harm of Fontaine, and her citizens.” A gesture to the defendant, of which all eyes in the courtroom fall upon. She pauses, “The defendant is accused of laundering money through the Snezhnayan founded and operated ‘Northland Bank.’ This money was used to fund the operations of Snezhnayan Agents within Fontaine, which poses a substantial risk to Fontaine, and the stability of power within this Nation. Dear Citizens of Fontaine, let me ask you this, why do we allow this Foreign power, these outsiders from Snezhnaya to continuously trample over our laws, and get away with every single injustice they perpetuate in our land? At the conclusion of this case, after every last piece of evidence is laid bare, your Honor, I am sure you will return a guilty verdict.” Whew, those statements are always so long-winded.
Whether or not she has made a political statement, whether or not this is good for Fontaine’s diplomacy, it’s not her problem. The Chief Justice, even gods, the former Archon have utterly lacked resistance to the Fatui for too long. The eyes of the Chief Justice fall on her, the weight of them being like a pressure that threatens to drown her. His gaze holds absolute authority, absolute judgment of ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’
Continuing on, “This is a case about an Agent of the Fatui and the unlawful conduct that allows the organization to fund their crimes. This is an individual who has knowingly and intentionally broken the law, and who claims there is not enough evidence to convict him of his crime. Today I have brought forth witnesses and proof of this crime, in the hopes that justice will be done, and that those the money he has laundered through countless transactions has harmed will see him receive just punishment.”
The audience applauds, and the act is disgusting in and of itself, but she continues forward. One can only work with the system they have been given, “The prosecution will bring three different witnesses to the trial, the first being Monsieur Andre Durand who saw the defendant receive illicit funds on his way home in the Fleuve Cendre. I do admit that the funds cannot be proven illicit with just Monsieur Durand’s testimony so I will also call Miss Anaïs Simon, a resident of the Court of Fontaine who overheard a conversation between the defendant and another individual confirming the exchange of funds from the Borja family, a renowned crime family that operates in Fontaine. The third witness Monsieur Lucas Moreau will attest that he saw the defendant enter and deposit a large amount of mora to the Northland Bank just an hour after Monsieur Durand saw him accept those illicit funds.”
Taking a breath, she lets herself take a brief moment before continuing, “After subpoenaing the Northland bank, we have retrieved relevant documentation of the defendant's bank statements and transactions, which indicate that the defendant did not have the means to legally acquire the amount of Mora he deposited on that day, and reveals the truth of where those funds were dispersed in a suspicious manner.”
With that, the opening statement is nearly done, “After you have heard all the evidence, Your Honor, the prosecution would ask that you find the defendant guilty as charged on all counts. Thank you.”
The Defense gives their statement. Even now, the people of Fontaine must be entertained, such a culture cannot just be swept away by the new tide that is the Iudex. Just after the abdication of the Hydro Archon, though he was previously just the head of the Ordalice, it is not incorrect to say he is now the head of all of Fontaine. The man starts simply and to the point, “My name is Alexander Ivanov, and I will be representing…” This is a dance that has been done countless times, their names, the audience, and the crimes committed may change, but again and again will those who fight Snezhnayan expansion and the Fatui be at odds.
For all her bravado, even she was unaware that the wolves were circling as she pried into their secrets.
Over and over, the law is broken and ignored. The accused stand in front of the court that will decide their innocence or guilt, awaiting the verdict of the Chief Justice or any other judge. Yet this time, the Oratrice remains silent. It can no longer give verdicts. Perhaps even the God of Justice has completely abandoned them.
The young woman laughs at the notion. The reason behind the divine instrument ceasing to work was a philosopher's duty to understand. Her duty was to make sure this sorry excuse for a person landed his way into Meropide. To continue doing this until she died.
Who is she kidding, the God of Justice? Where has that god been for the past decades, centuries, and millennia? For a Nation of Justice, Fontaine is utterly lacking.
Ivanov, if that is even his actual last name, continues, “The defendant stands here today, wrongly accused of the crime of money laundering, a very serious offense. I bring into question the intent and bias of the prosecution with my basis being an accusation of xenophobia and her history of persecuting law-abiding Snezhnayan citizens. Your Honor, at the end of this trial, we will ask you to render a verdict of not guilty, the only appropriate verdict in this case.” So that’s how they’re playing this.
Fine.
She smiles coldly, standing to raise her disagreement, “Objection.”
The Chief Justice sighs, and he asks for the reason.
The young woman says, “Like his colleagues before him, his rhetoric is an attack on my character, and has been disproven countless times in the past. Please dismiss the last sentence of his statement.” Quick and easy.
Monsieur Neuvillette taps his cane on the ground, “Sustained. Mister Ivanov, please see that you keep your statement relevant to the defendant. The prosecution is correct, the misconduct cases have been thoroughly investigated and she has been cleared of any wrongdoing in those previous cases.”
The Fatuus just glares at her, “Yes, your honor. We would like to argue that there is too much circumstantial evidence that can easily be disproved by our case, and most pressingly, that the defendant has an alibi. I will bring forth Miss Inès Boucher to testify that the defendant was not in the Fleuve Cendre that evening. After this trial, the defense will ask that you find that our client is not guilty. The prosecution will not meet their burden of proof and a verdict of guilty would be a travesty and dereliction of your duty. Thank you.” Ivanov ends his opening with that, not as strong as some of the statements previous Fatui have used.
If that young man wasn’t guilty, if the trampling of others wasn’t so prolific, they could have had her sympathy. However, any evil organization, no matter the shades of grey its members, are still supporting the harmful behavior and evil of its highest members.
It is unforgivable.
Utterly unforgivable.
She wishes to roll her eyes but common sense dictates that would not be a good idea. To bring the Chief Justice’s character into their statement was a reach, and the Iudex didn’t respond to the provocation. Not that he ever would. The paragon of unbothered.
The trial proceeds, and she can finally begin proving that the defendant is guilty. She’ll start by presenting her written evidence, “If you would, please examine the documents that the Gardes will be providing you.” Bank statements, records of transactions, the paid salary for the past few months, and everything about the defendant’s financial situation. “These documents prove that Mister Pavel does not earn enough in his job to have access to the amount of funds that he is recorded depositing. Even more suspicious is that those funds were dispersed into other accounts held by the bank.” The Fatui say everything and anything to disprove this, that the documents are falsified, that the bank teller made an accounting error, and that the money was disbursed for fees of the bank.
Whatever Monsieur Neuvillette is thinking, he doesn’t let a single person know. He simply lets the trial continue. She takes a sip of water as the defense attorney argues everything under the sun. When dealing with Fatui you have to be prepared for anything. Every procurement of documents had to be done flawlessly, and completely clean. They could dig up dirt you didn’t even know existed. They would throw their own members under the bus to get charges dropped. They were ruthless.
The young woman allows the rest of the argument to pass by, interjecting here and there, answering questions about the procedure until finally, the defense rests. “I would like to bring forth Mister Andre Durand, as my first witness, your Honor.” The young lady, who has set her sights on the behemoth of an organization in the Nation of Justice steeled herself. Witness questioning was hard, the threats of the Fatui and those they pay off made it difficult to get people willing to testify.
Monsieur Neuvillette swears the witness in quickly, he’s done this so many times that he knows the words by heart. Taking the time to look at her witness, the man is probably in his late forties, he’s dressed nicely. She had bought him new clothes for this. He was poor, stricken in poverty like so many of Fontaine’s forgotten population.
The Fatui profits off of them, profits of the desperate, maybe not in this case, but in a thousand other situations across the seven nations. No one should have to live in the Fleuve Cendre, in the sewers of all places.
Questioning the witness goes easy, “Monsieur Durand, did you see Mister Pavel enter the Fleuve Cendre on that day?”
“Yes I did.” Durand responds truthfully, “It was an hour or so after six in the evening. As I was arriving home.” She nods, and the Fatui lawyer sneers. Thrown into the tumult of court and questioning, she squares her shoulders as the Fatui Diplomat serving as the defense scowls at her.
This is a criminal case, and for the time being, she is serving as the voice of the state, however much she detests doing so. The Fatuus doesn’t don a mask on this occasion, it took forever for the courts to rule in favor of requiring the Fatui to face the court without their damned masks. In each generation, the ruling is contested and like her predecessors before her, she defended the right of each citizen of Fontaine to see the defense’s attorney’s face.
No one should be able to hide from the law, from justice. No one.
The rest of the trial goes by smoothly, it’s not without its ups and downs but she sticks to the facts—unlike the Fatui—and it serves her well. It always has.
The Iudex approaches her after the ruling, perhaps to extend his congratulations on her latest victory as if the simple act of winning the case was what mattered.
“Miss—” The Iudex begins.
“I do not need your congratulations, Your Honor.” She states calmly, “I did my duty, as I have always done.”
“Regardless, you have always shown an understanding of justice and the law that I find admirable.” Monsieur Neuvillette says, his politeness is sickening.
She presses her lips into a fine line, “I wish I could say the same to you Monsieur, but you should be well aware of how I feel.” Is she being rude? Yes. Does she care? No. Just as the lowest levels of an organization must be held accountable, so do the highest. It matters not their morality or personal righteousness. The institution that is Fontaine is inherently corrupt, allowing for the poorest of citizens to go unnoticed, and allowing the marginalized to disappear beneath the waves. It does not matter that the man in front of her is inherently fair, as the highest judge in the land, he must be held responsible for all that goes unnoticed.
She is sorry. Sorry to be so vindictive. Sorry to be so rude. But she will not compromise her ideals for one man, not of the lowest levels nor the highest.
---
It was her first mistake.
To be so set on not compromising, to being a pain in the side of Fontaine and her systems but also to the side of the Fatui and its intelligence agency.
The threats come quickly, she has encroached upon the Fatui too far. It begins with letters being left outside her door, no sender, simply threats to take a step back, then to leave Fontaine.
She will not compromise. Not for anyone. Not even for herself.
The letters increase in hostility, she turns them in to the authorities aware that they will do nothing, that they can do nothing. The shadow that is the Fatui, and that is their House of the Hearth already have their blades raised, fangs bared dripping with venom.
Then comes the personal threats whispered in passing on the street, a woman, no older than twenty-five bumps into her and whispers words of poison in her ear, “If I were you, I would leave Fontaine while you still can.”
“Excuse me?” She says as she struggles to manage her grocery bags.
“Leave Fontaine. It would be a pity to have such a renowned lawyer be incapacitated because of an unfortunate accident.”
She reports the incident to the Gardiennage, being met with only vague reassurances that they will protect her.
When they throw rotten food at her door, they task a Garde with patrolling the area. No matter that the patrol is only for a portion of the day when she isn’t even home, or that she is most at risk coming to and from places and not in her own house.
When she finds her office vandalized, she receives condolences and a check from the Gestion and Cardinalice, the approval coming from one Iudex Neuvillette.
She marches into his office one day, ignoring Miss Sedene as the Melusine tries to stop her. “Monsieur,” she doesn’t bother smiling at him, the bags under her eyes betraying her exhaustion, “I hope this check is not insinuating that Fontaine’s authorities are suggesting I take this money and leave Fontaine.”
It is in poor taste to barge into the Chief Justice’s Office, she does not care at this moment. He just sighs, “No, please, sit.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk, “I would not ask you to leave Fontaine, the funds are simply compensation for the emotional toll this must have taken on you.” He pinches the bridge of the nose, “It was, after all, the Ordalice that requested your services in prosecuting Mister Pavel Snezhnevich.”
The scoff that leaves her lips is less than warranted, “Monsieur I took that case on my own terms, and if you want to compensate me, do so in finishing the investigation.” She closes her eyes, “We are both well aware of who is threatening me.”
Monsieur Neuvillette sighs again, “Miss—”
“Do not start,” she snaps, “The Maison Gardiennage has done nothing against the shadow organization known as the House of the Hearth for the past few decades. In your tenure as Chief Justice, how many cases of child ab—”
“That is quite enough.” Neuvillette doesn’t entertain her childish outburst, not that anyone could blame him, this is not the first conversation of its kind. His light purple eyes stare into her own, and she holds his gaze.
“How many cases would there have been if you had bothered to look?” she turns on her heel, “when you inevitably get the notice of my death. You should be well aware that it was preventable.”
It is weeks after when that notice comes across his desk. An accident. That is what the report says, an accident or a suicide, the technicalities not totally certain. The words murder or assassination are nowhere to be found in the document.
He closes his eyes, the cause of death—a great fall from a cliffside in the Liffey Region.
Then a few days later, a letter.
---
“To whom it may concern,
Should this letter come across the desk of the renowned Chief Justice, one Monsieur Neuvillette, I should consider myself lucky. After all, it is with my death that I will expose one injustice upon the next—”
He sits straighter, a frown on his face as he continues to read.
“The injustice of which I speak, aimed solely upon those unfortunate to have dug into the organization known as ‘The House of the Hearth,’ of which I have dedicated my adult life into exposing and dismantling. As you can see, I did not get very far, as I am, unfortunately, of a young age when I am writing this.
However, one instance of the injustices that are perpetrated by this organization sticks out to me—”
The rest of the ink is smudged. Blotted out. Intentionally or not, he wouldn’t ever get confirmation.
“Sincerely,
The Unfortunate Victim of Circumstance”
“You know this will be your last act in this life,” the woman, whose webs the arrogant lawyer has found herself trapped in, says. She holds a letter in her hand, she would look it over before sending it.
“Yes, I am well aware,” the lawyer responds, “I never would have expected that you would come in person though.” The lawyer is sure that most of the contents will not be released to their intended audience.
That woman does not smile, for she is not sadistic, “Your sense of justice is admirable, you were told to leave Fontaine, I will give you one last chance to do so. If you were to take—”
“No.” The answer is given. I will not compromise, not for the highest power, nor the lowest, nor myself.
The reply to that answer is, “Then I am afraid that this is the end.” The woman does not seem remorseful, her pupils that form red x’s betray no sense of guilt or shame, “No outsider that knows our secrets can be left to live with their memories intact.”
“So be it.” The last words of one who wished to right the wrongs of the world, and failed.
---
It is like an incessant whisper, the injustice of the world. It is why since a young age, she had attempted to write the smallest wrongs, yet—what has that gained her?
An early grave?
A fantastic eulogy?
An erasure of her last act.
Yes, it gained her nothing and cost her everything.
And she would not even be remembered for it. Not by Fontaine, not by that woman, and not by the Chief Justice. No one would remember what she attempted to do, nor would they ever discover what she had uncovered.
It was never about the prosecution of Pavel Sneznevich, it was about—