"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.

And it wasn't as if it had hurt to kill a friend, much less two in a single day. He remembered that he had eaten nothing the day they condemned Danton and Desmoulins nor the day they had been executed, ignoring the fact that he skipped most meals he could get away with anyway. But despite their friendship, Danton and Desmoulins had still needed to die. If they had executed people based on raw emotions rather than the needs of the people the revolution wouldn't have lasted so long. If only they'd all been a bit more careful.

After all, the people were the reason for everything. People like his sisters and brother who had lived their whole lives off of chance opportunities and his own hard work to provide for them. People like the young boy who had begged him for spare change every morning back in Arras. People like them made up the entirety of the third estate, which in turn made up the majority of France itself. They were the reason things needed to change.

There were other people of course. The members of the second estate, the clergy. The men with positions of power that they claimed were 'for the glory of God.' Yet each of them had their own dark secrets. There were the priests who embezzled their church's money instead of helping those in need. There were the ones with the bastard sons and daughters that they hid from the scathing public eye. All of them leading lives of deception only to turn around and claim to be better than the rest.

And of course the worst of all, people like the late Roi and Reine and their court, whose lavish spendings and poor decisions had ruined the country.

Maximilien closed his eyes and sat in silence for a moment. Something Danton had said in the dream nagged at his mind. How ironic. Danton's voice filled his mind again. Maximilien had to admit that in this aspect, Danton was right.

His life had always been full of cruel irony. Those he cared about had been executed for the good of France, and he now awaited the same fate for a supposed same reason. For the past several months he'd seen conspiracies to overthrow him everywhere. While some were true, most were not and the people who were fed up with him had eventually done the thing he had feared. He'd saved France from the corruption that was the monarchy by creating the new French Republic in which everyone could be free. Now those who had once cheered his actions called him a tyrant, a man concerned only with his power-grabbing self-interests, and imprisoned him. And, he told himself with a painful sneer, the most glaring of them all. The time I read a speech as a schoolboy in honor of the king, the very man I helped overthrow.

"Maximilien please see me after class. I need to speak to you about something." Maximilien's heart had nearly stopped. It was rarely a good sign for someone to stay after class.

"Yes, Monsieur Dubois" he'd breathed. The rest of the lesson had gone slowly as if purposely causing him more anxiety than needed. It wasn't as if I've done something wrong, he reasoned with himself. And my marks aren't low enough to cause any concern. In fact, they're better than most of my peer's marks. His gaze had to have wandered because a sharp, "Eyes up front de Robespierre," had resounded from the front of the room. Many of the other young men snickered. It was a small but rare pleasure to laugh at someone who never misbehaved. He'd sat up straighter then, heat and a light blush creeping up his pale cheeks, across his ears, and down his neck. "Pardon Monsieur," he'd muttered, shepherding his thoughts back to the lecture. When the lecture had finally ended, Maximilien had slowly made his way to the front of the room.

"You... you wanted to see me monsieur," he'd said anxiously, the note of panic evident in his voice. His fingers fidgeted with the gleaming buttons on his coat.

"Yes, I did. As I'm sure you know, their royal majesties the Roi and Reine will be visiting us here in a couple of days." Silently he had nodded, wondering what this had to do with him. "We have been asked to have a student read a speech, of my composition, in Latin for them on that day. The headmaster and I have both agreed that you will be the one to read the speech and represent all of the students here." It had left Maximilien stunned. He blinked several times and found his voice with a shake of his head.

"I'm sorry Monsieur, but I thought I just heard you say that I was to read the speech before the King and Queen." Monsieur Dubois had laughed good-naturedly and put a hand on Maximilien's thin shoulder.

"That is exactly what I said, dear boy. You are one of the best orators that we have here. It would be unthinkable to have any of our other fine young men perform such an honorable task." Maximilien grinned, his feelings for the monarchy temporarily absent and replaced with pride.

He had practiced daily for his speech, he remembered fondly. It has been the highest honor at the time. How he wished he could go back to that day. Back in the days before all of France watched anything he did. No matter, he told himself bitterly. It will all be over soon. Oh God, he thought, realization sweeping over him. It will all be over soon.

Maximilien's heart raced. His breathing became shallow and ragged, the stale air barely reaching his lungs. Terrified, his green eyes darted around the dimly lit cell. This can't be happening, he thought wildly. This can't be the end. Tears filled his eyes. Non, he screamed internally. No, no, no! This can't be happening! Shhhhh, a quieter voice in his mind said. Think of something else. Think of anything else but this.

Maximilien's hand had shaken as he held the piece of parchment with his speech written on it. There was no room for error. The speech's execution had to be perfect. He had paced in the corner of the crowded courtyard muttering the speech over and over for over an hour. The carriage had arrived in a fanfare of trumpets from the school band. Maximilien had watched awestruck, as a well-dressed man in light blue livery opened the ornate door to the carriage.

"We welcome you with honor your majesties," the headmaster said with a deep bow in the direction of the carriage. Maximilien had tried to push his way farther to the front, but to no avail. Oh no, he'd thought in despair. It's almost my cue and... A hand had closed around his wrist and pulled him through the throng of students. "I have the utmost honor to present to you, one of our aspiring lawyers and greatest orators, Maximilien de Robespierre." On his cue, Maximilien had found himself at the front of the crowd, the hand no longer tight around his wrist. Monsieur Dubois had gently pushed the young man forward and positioned him in front of the open door.

The king didn't even get out. He's just sitting there amongst his finery and paying me no mind, Maximilien had thought angrily. He's sitting there with all of his riches, not having a care in the world, while I struggled to even afford my f*cking schooling! He had pushed the anger aside, mentally chided himself for swearing and reminded himself of what he had been chosen to do.

"Honorable majesties," Maximilien had said with a deep bow, his voice carrying no trace of his resentment. "Thank you for gracing us here at College Louis la Grande with your noble presence." And with that, he had looked up into the round face of the man he would later help condemn to death.