Ashes of the Sun

Disclaimer: I do not own Code Geass or any of the respective characters.

A/N: Another update to the Code Geass AU universe created by Val-Creative and I. Sadly, 'tis not the sequel to For Me, It's You. Instead, we have a one-shot for Milly Ashford based on the events of Val's story Thirst. One note that I must add now at the beginning is that I've removed Shirley and Nina from their place in For Me, It's You and instead included them in an earlier time so that they are - or were - Lelouch's classmates when he was a student at Ashford. It's not a terribly confusing change, but I felt (after reading back on the previous work) that they were better suited to be with our dear prince instead of being Nunnally's friends.

For those feeling confused about the stories in general, I'll be adding a timeline on my profile page which will tell you exactly in what order to read these AU stories.

The word that had dominated her life, her childhood, was the word disgrace. Milly Ashford had been born with a tarnished silver spoon in her mouth, and the bitterness of the mottled metal on her tongue was a familiar taste. She sought sweetness in life to banish the acrid flavour that grew to permeate even the foods that she ate. Milly learnt to lie, and it was easy to lie even with a mouth filled with the metallic disillusionment of her 'fortune'.

Disgrace has coloured her existence. She could remember visiting the Brittanian court as a child, in the years when the name of Ashford still commandeered respect and admiration within the Empire (even when their business fortunes were failing), and other girls looked at her with envy, and the young men appraised what she promised to become, and lent her their own silent promises with appreciative eyes. Milly drank in the envy and awe, and the girl of only eleven years whirled in dizzy circles that night, drunk on the tastes of courtly life. By the time she was fifteen, however, the heir to the Ashford family debuted amidst rumours of scandal and family shame. She turned her back, and her ears burned when the whispering began. Milly feigned deafness, pretended to be content with smoothing her gown with white-gloved hands, but the disgrace was a chain reaction. Determined not to shame the little pride she has left, Milly glided through the crowd, swallowing disappointment as once eager eyes slid over her as if she was a ghost.

She heard scandalised whispers–

I heard it was an Eleven woman that he got with child

How disgraceful…Lady Ashford wished so to give him a son, and he gets one on an Eleven whore. That poor woman, only a daughter to comfort her, not a single male heir to call her own

He committed suicide after it was discovered, you know. The shame was too much. The daughter found him hanging, and poor child, it drove her mother mad…no one –the decent families, at least – want to have anything to do with the Ashfords anymore

A gasp is quickly stifled as Milly passes, but a sneer grew behind the hand covering the woman's mouth. She could feel their disdain covering her, slimy and disgusting. The crowd grew around her, expressions that uttered pity, but the eyes were mocking. She walked as fast as her heels would allow, praying that she could make it to an empty balcony before she tripped or burst into tears.

Japan –Area 11– was where she escaped the lingering shadow of her parents' disgrace. Her grandfather, the patriarch of the Ashford family, was a kindly old man and the Academy established in the family name is a place where she could begin afresh. Those living within the heart of the Empire considered the nobles here 'backwater', and so no one would know about the scandals that had dogged her steps for so many months. Grandfather encompassed the name 'Ashford' in Area 11, he was well-liked here, no, loved, and she was satisfied with that, leaving the poisonous glamour of the court behind her.

The first time she met Lelouch, she was fourteen, visiting her grandfather for the summer before she would debut at court.

Her mother was sick and they said it would 'do Milly good' to spend some time abroad on holiday. She sulked about going to what many considered the 'provinces' of the empire, but she went, if only to get away from Mother and her empty stare. That night was hot, sultry. Summer heat, lying thick over her limbs like she was immersed in a bath of warm honey. She lay staring at the ceiling, bare legs tangled in the sheets and unable to sleep. The air was hot and heavy, suffocating even at the late hour. With a sigh, Milly rolled out of bed, gathering damp hair at the nape of her neck. I need air, she thought drowsily. Her bedroom windows were open, but nothing flowed in, and she padded over to the balcony doors. The balcony opened over the gardens and Milly leaned her arms on the stone railing, letting air that was only marginally cooler than the air indoors drift over her skin. She was content to rest that way for several moments, listening to the quiet plop of the water fountain that permeated the stillness. Here and there was the rustle of grass as something scuttled through the brush, the croak of a frog mingling with the sound of… voices? Milly frowned, eyes flickering open. The hour was far too late for visitors, her grandfather usually retired to his rooms by ten. In the stillness, she heard the front door to the manor creaking open, and her eyes spied two figures huddled furtively between the pillars at the entrance, their every motion oozing guilt. Curiosity made her shrug a gown over her shoulders, and she made her way to the top of the stairs, pausing to listen. Hushed voices, low and urgent, and footsteps hurried to the parlour. Worry gnawed at her stomach, for her grandfather to be roused this late, it had to be very urgent. She bit her finger, staring at the closed doors. Her consciousness told her return to bed, you foolish girl, this is none of your business, but Milly needed reassurance. She pushed on the door slightly, peering through the gap.

Two strangers. There was a woman, young –she couldn't have been more than eighteen – golden-eyed and swathed in black, gloved arms encircling a blanket-wrapped bundle beside her. A man, pacing back and forth across the carpet, and raking one hand agitatedly through cobalt hair. He was Brittanian, young with the sculpted, refined features of nobility. His uniform was streaked with soot, the collar and sleeves charred. The faintest scent of burning permeated the room. Caught mid-conversation, she heard him say, "–complete anarchy in the capital, we could save the children and even then only just– dammit, there was no time…!"

"Marianne?"

The man drew in a sharp breath, a spasm contorting his face. "Dead," he said shortly. "They burned her alive, Ashford."

Her grandfather, seated before a rekindled fire, lowered his head. "Good god," he murmured. "I had hoped there would have been a chance, that they might spare her… I am sorry, Sir Jeremiah. Truly sorry." His gaze flickered to the woman seated on the divan. "What of His Imperial Majesty?"

She only sneered, hands leaving the bundle to tighten on her knees. "Charles is where he deserves to be," she said in a voice smeared with contempt. "Rotting in hell."

The Empress Marianne and the Emperor… dead!

Milly was only thirteen but the semblance of patriotism instilled in her twisted and made its grief known. As the child of a noble family, not properly debuted, she had only ever seen the monarchs from a distance, never exchanged a word or a glance, but as a Brittanian they had been hers. She clasped a hand over her mouth, trapping the whimper behind her teeth. The girl edged closer, straining to see every detail of the scene unfolding before her as a distraction.

"If Charles is dead, then the Knights of the Round–"

The cobalt-haired man seated himself, fists clenched in his lap. "Traitors. Dead. Fled. I don't know." His face was pinched with misery, and his voice was hollow when he spoke again. "The summer palace is gone, too. Burned. Just like her. And I could do nothing. Nothing to save her!"

The blanketed mound beside the woman twitched, and she made a soothing noise in her throat. Milly was distracted from the man and her gaze flickered to his companion – even with disdain twisting her face, the woman was beautiful. Milly was entranced by the thick mass of green hair that flowed down her back, the lustre of her tawny eyes in the firelight. The man –'Jeremiah', Milly recalls– called her 'Cee-Cee'.

Cee-Cee. What a strange name.

Milly inched closer still. There was someone beside Cee-Cee, someone small wrapped in a blanket. A low cry cut the heavy silence in the parlour, a cry of "m-mother."

"Is that–?" Her grandfather's tone was one of hushed reverence.

Cee-Cee nodded, unfurling the blanket away to reveal the sleeping child twitching from the dreams ensnaring his mind. Streaks of soot marred his pale little face, the golden buttons of his blue suit warped from heat. She hugged him close on her lap, and he pressed his face into her chest with another cry. Thirteen, but so slender and pale, he looked more like a boy of only ten.

"Lelouch," Milly whispered, remembering reciting them by rote in her etiquette lessons. "Lelouch vi Brittania. First-born son of the Empress Marianne. Eleventh in line to the imperial throne."

But what was the thirteen-year old prince doing in Area 11?

Mother dead, father dead. Poor little lamb.

"Thank god you were able to save him before they got their hands on him…and Marianne's other child, Nunnally?"

Jeremiah stared into the fire, Cee-Cee's tawny gaze remained fixed on the child cuddled in her lap.

"She's not–"

"No. But close. She was caught in the crossfire when they came for the empress. We think–" Jeremiah's voice grew hoarse at the memory of what Marianne's little girl has been reduced to. "–that she may be paralyzed from the waist down, and also… she may lose her sight. Nothing has been confirmed yet." The confirmation was written all over the knight's stricken face. Ashford was silent for several moments.

"Where is the princess now?"

"Safe. We won't be able to move her for quite some time. A least until she's… healed."

"What do you intend to do now?"

"Hide. What choice do we have? Cee-Cee will take Lelouch into the country for now, as deep as we can go. The mountains, possibly. I will join her with Nunnally as soon as I can."

The old man was nodding, already rising. "My son had a château in the countryside, in one of the old Japanese prefectures. It's deep in the rural area, removed from any main roads. The farms are isolated, even the peasants there would only notice your presence after months. Few others remember the estate anymore; it hasn't been used in years. I can send supplies in secret, ensure that you can remain there…" –for however many years we need to hide Lelouch and Nunnally were the unspoken words.

Jeremiah's shoulders relaxed. "We are indebted to you, Lord Ashford." "This is for Marianne's memory, Sir Jeremiah. Her children… should not suffer any more than they have. They need time, space to heal. We must at least give them that–"

"Miss, what are you doing out of bed?"

Milly jumped, whirling around with a guilty start. Caught. The housekeeper's accusing stare pinned her in place, and Milly knew she had no excuse for spying on her grandfather.

The housekeeper, an elderly woman, loomed out of the darkness, bearing down on her. The woman looked tired; no doubt she'd been roused from her bed because of the importance of their guests. Milly cringed, knowing that there was no hope that her grandfather hadn't heard. The drawing room doors flew open, and then he was peering down at his granddaughter, Jeremiah's tense face rising above his shoulder.

"Who–" he began angrily, but Ashford held up a hand to stop him.

"My granddaughter. What are you doing out of bed at this hour, Milly?"

"I… heard voices," she said lamely, shame pricking her cheeks hot. Silence stretched the small gap between them before the words burst out of her.

"Grandfather, I'm sorry–"

"No. It's all right. How much did you hear?" He sighed, wrinkled face troubled when he saw the guilty, stricken look on her face. "Too much, I'd warrant. You'd best come in then, my dear."

Jeremiah opened his mouth to protest, but Lord Ashford shook his head. Cee-Cee raised a brow when the blonde teenager was ushered into the room.

"I didn't realise this was a party, Ashford," she drawled. "And here I am dressed like this. You should have told us."

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. She's heard far more than what I would have wanted," he frowned, motioning for Milly to sit beside him. Jeremiah remained standing, glowering at her. Uncomfortable with the knight's stare and equally uncomfortable with Cee-Cee's penetrating gaze, Milly kept her eyes on Lelouch.

"Unfortunately, things being as they are, we must move quickly. You should be gone as soon possible, before daybreak. I'll arrange for supplies to be waiting–"

Milly continued to stare at Lelouch, fascinated by the prince. As if bidden by her gaze, violet eyes fluttered open, regarding her with a drowsy stare. A deep, fathomless stare of power – something vibrated in her, acknowledging with awe the royal blood in this dirty, pale boy-child– and spurred by years of formal training, Milly rose and gathered her thin cotton nightdress in both hands, sweeping down into a curtsey. "Your high–"

"No." Her grandfather's hand fell on her shoulder. "His name is Lelouch Lamperouge, my dear. It is coincidence, nothing more, that he shares the name with a dead prince."

"But he's–"

"Do you understand, Milly?"

"Yes, grandfather," she whispered, eyes darting to the divan.

There, the prince, Lelouch vi Brittan –no, Lelouch Lamperouge– was struggling to his feet, eyes glazed with a feverish glint. "Where is Mother?"

"Lelouch, please–"

"I demand that you take me to my mother at once!"

Jeremiah's mouth twisted, and he reached out one hand to touch the boy's straining shoulder. "Lelouch–" he began again, almost pleading.

"Where is she? Where is my mother?"

Cee-Cee looked at him with hooded eyes tinted with her own grief. "Your mother is dead, Lelouch."

He stopped, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Mother is alive. She can't die. She can't–" he paused then, lifting his sleeve slowly, sniffing the charred ends. Burned. Burning. Renewed screams echoed in his ears and he sank suddenly to the floor, a howl ripping from his throat.

"No! She promised!"

Jeremiah threw the green-haired woman a reproachful glare and knelt to pick the boy up. But Lelouch writhed in his grip, limbs flailing.

"Where's Nunnally? Where's Euphie?"

At the name 'Euphie', Cee-Cee shuddered. Milly clung to her grandfather, barely holding back her own whimpers. Lelouch's shrieks escalated.

"Euphie! Euphie! You promised you wouldn't leave me! You promised!"

"Jeremiah," Cee-Cee held out her hand. Silently, the knight rose from beside the boy and rummaged in the pockets of her cloak, taking out a sleek black case. He opened it, removing a vial of clear fluid and a delicate silver needle.

"Hold him down."

He obeyed, pinning the struggling limbs to the carpet.

"Let me go! Mother! Euphie!"

Milly squeezed her eyes shut when the silver point punched into the veins in Lelouch's arm. He let out a hoarse shriek, body contracting in a spasm, and his scream was echoed by Milly's own cry of distress. Her grandfather quickly turned her over to the housekeeper waiting hesitantly in the background, instructing the elderly woman to take her back to her room and ensure that she didn't return downstairs. As she was led away, Milly craned her head back over her shoulder, eyes locked on violet pools of despair and unspeakable grief staring back at her from the floor.

The sedative worked quickly on his small form. He collapsed into Cee-Cee's arms, the woman mouthing "I'm sorry" into sweat-dampened hair.

A piteous moan of "Euphie" was the last Milly Ashford would hear of Lelouch Lamperouge until he would arrive at the Academy three years later.

Lelouch didn't remember that night. But she did – and she wished she could forget as easily as he had.

For Lelouch, the first time he met Milly Ashford was at the induction ceremony for Ashford's new students. He was sixteen, taller now, and she was seventeen, pretty, blonde as the sun with a smile that threatened to blind him. She was Head of the Student Life Committee and she greeted him personally, like a long-lost friend. He didn't know why, but he was grateful for it. When he moved in later that day to a private apartment with Nunnally and Cee-Cee within the Ashford grounds, he understood why when Lord Ashford introduced them to his granddaughter.

Three months later, no one was surprised when the freshman Lelouch Lamperouge was voted –unanimously, of course – as her Vice-President.

"You must have lost your mind!"

Milly gave her friend a lofty look. "I have all the authority of the Student Council, Vice-President Lamperouge." At the exasperated frown on his face, she broke into a grin, saying, "must you be so uptight, Lulu?"

"If only to prevent you from pulling another of your idiotic stunts," he pointed out grumpily. "And I told you to stop calling me Lulu. My name is Lelouch."

"But it suits you so, my dear Lulu."

The brunette girl beside her giggled, and even Nina looked up from her computer to volunteer a smile.

Milly grinned triumphantly. "See, even Shirley agrees with me."

The former prince turned wounded eyes on Shirley Fenette, and she blushed fiercely, but joined in with the joke and she countered shyly with "you have to admit that it's cute, Lulu."

All three girls burst out laughing, and Lelouch gave up, rolling his eyes despairingly. "All right then, President Ashford, have your way like you always do. The–" and he winced visibly as he said it, "kiss-catch tournament will be added to the event calendar."

She gave him a sly look. "With a special prize given to the lucky girl or guy who catches and kisses Lelouch Lamperouge."

"What? No!"

"What better way to get the entire student body involved, Lulu? At least half of them are dying to kiss you."

"Then I refuse to participate!"

"According to clause 163 of the Student Council amendment, all council members are obliged by Ashford Academy law to participate in all school events, unless severely physically or mentally incapacitated, or by the judgment of the council president, whose decision is final and binding unless in extreme circumstances…"

"Nina!"

The green-haired girl blinked. "Sorry. Force of habit."

Lelouch snorted. "Sure."

"…And I have judged that you are mentally and physically fit for the kiss-catch tournament. All in favour say 'aye'!"

Both Nina and Shirley voiced "aye", and Lelouch sighed, his "nay" lost among the chorus of giggles. If he had known he would be so hopelessly outnumbered, he would have refused all offers to join the council. Of course, Milly – darling Milly, who he owed so much – could not, and would not, be refused. And in the three years they had known each other, Lelouch had become accustomed to indulging most of her whims.

A rush of the scent of vanilla, and Milly was beside him, pressed soft against his side.

"This event is perfect for Valentine's Day, don't you think?"

Lelouch sighed. "I suppose," he agreed with a disgruntled look on his pale face. "Although, I don't see why–"

"It'll be distracting, won't it? Everyone's been so worried lately… the riots are escalating. They tried to bomb the governor's office just two days ago. It won't be long before something even worse happens. Even here, people are scared. It… would be nice to forget it, even for one day."

His eyes softened. "So you're going to wave your magic wand and make everything bad disappear?"

"Of course I will, Lu."

The answer was confident, the lie plain on her smiling face, but Lelouch –just this once– wanted to believe it, and it was a welcome blessing to suspend his cynicism for these brief school hours with Milly Ashford.

She doesn't remember who it was to give her Refrain the first time. All she knows is that the sour tinge of the clear fluid seared her tongue with liquid fire, and for a second of pain, she was allowed an infinite glimpse of heaven. She relives it all, over months of addiction – a childhood spent playing in sculpted gardens, of graceful nobles spinning in endless circles while she watches with a child's wonder…of learning how proper ladies curtseyed, and proudly showing her father what she had learned. He picked her up in his arms then, swinging her round and round while she shrieks her delight…

Mother is so beautiful here, hair spreading in golden threads in a halo around her head, and she only has eyes for Milly, her lovely, perfect little girl. Mother isn't sick. Mother couldn't possibly be sick; she's too perfect here…

And here, she doesn't have to see her grandfather's worried face peering over accounts, watching the family fortune dwindle to nothing… "It's worth it" he tells her, to make others happy. But it isn't. Of course, she would smile and agree, but that was a lie too.

Milly Ashford, you see, was a very good liar.

She gives Refrain to Lelouch. Perhaps it was because he didn't choose her, because he wanted Suzaku, or perhaps it was because she would never be anyone's princess. Maybe it was because someone as wretched as she was deserved the same fate. She didn't know. Now, she didn't care. Her entire existence had been whittled down to a dirty apartment, and Lelouch, the fallen prince, too drugged to even know what day it is, let alone care.

Milly Ashford was tired of producing miracles. She was sick of people thinking that she could. The performance was old, faded. Only twenty-one, and already carrying the disillusionment and cynicism of an old woman, the magic had gone to dust.

The only magic Milly had left is a lie. A lie covered in the illusion of wealth that she simply traded in for the lie of Refrain. She had tried to transcend the disgrace of her parents' downfall, and ended even lower.

Milly drifted on the floor, head lolling back as a dreamy smile twisted her lips. "Lelouch," she slurred, fingers grasping at his leg. He mumbled something unintelligible, words that could have been a name.

"Euphie…"

Nails digging into his leg –Lelouch only moaned, caught in a place somewhere between memory and fantasy– and Milly dragged herself onto the couch beside him, leaden arms falling into his lap. She groped for his face, clumsy fingers clambering over lips beaded with sweat. She whispered his name again as the trembling started. Her heart throbbed when their mouths touched, and she tasted blood in her mouth from where she has bitten him because the trembling won't stop. The warm coppery taste of his blood eased the bitterness in her mouth, and she sucked eagerly, cradling his prone form in her arms.

"Euphie…" the moan was agonised this time, but Milly ignored his pain – she allowed herself to be selfish. Tears dripped from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks slowly, at the same pace that Refrain trickled down the used needle beside them. Her lips left his, and she rested her head on his chest, allowing herself, for the first time in years, to cry like a child. Ten years of grief boil to the surface, and in the midst of her sobbing, she felt a hand descend on her head, stroking so gently. Through swollen eyes, she saw Lelouch –oh, Lelouch– smiling at her, but then he said–

"Why are you crying, Euphie?"

On the verge of breaking completely, Milly –or rather, Refrain– decided she would prefer the illusion. So she gripped his hand tightly, and whispered, "Do you love me, Lelouch?" and she so badly needed to hear someone say it… just once…

He laughed, a colourless rendition of what it usually was. "Euphie," he said with hazy delight, the drug seeping through his veins. "I remember. I'll never forget. I love you. We can be together forever, just like I said we would."

Milly closed her eyes as Lelouch's voice captured her in the delusion.

"We can play in the palace gardens again… with 'Nelia and Nunnally, I promised we could go on a picnic together, just the four of us… would you like that, Euphie? I know you would. I'll even let you braid flowers in my hair, and I won't get mad, I promise… just don't… please don't leave me…"

The tremor in his hands began, but the blonde –Refrain whispers to him pink– head he was stroking was curiously still, and Lelouch was oblivious. "And mother… mother will come back… you see, Euphie, she promised she wouldn't leave me. Mother keeps her promises…" he whimpered, the scent of burning taunting his nostrils. His arms tightened on Milly, and her cry was muffled against his chest. He looked down at the girl on the verge of unconsciousness and smiled.

"You must be tired, Euphie… you need to rest."

She nodded in slow agreement, and he gathered her in his arms –somehow the delusion allows him the strength to carry what he believes to be a nine-year-old Euphemia– and carried her to the bed. Her dress dragged on the floor, sweeping broken bits of glass in their wake.

He lay her down, dropping a tender kiss on her brow, and murmured, "Sleep tight, Euphie. Don't let the bed bugs bite." And he could hear her indignant squeal that dirty bed bugs wouldn't be in a princess's bed. Milly threw out her arm as Lelouch shuffled back to the couch, and she grasped another vial of the precious drug. Sluggishly, she jabbed the needle into her arm, and smiled as familiar euphoria fills her body.

Her mother and father hold out their hands to Milly and she runs to them. They dance, laugh, and clap their hands as their darling, perfect Milly spins in circles around them, singing

Ring around the roses

A pocket full of posies

Ashes, ashes

We all fall down

The steady thrum of running footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond her room, a panicking male voice shouting "Lelouch!", but Milly heard none of it. She held her parents hands, basking in the warmth of their smiles. Her heartbeat slowed, pulsing weakly. All that mattered – my happiness, mine – she reached out blindly as she heard a shocked female voice exclaim, "Milly!"

She ignored the call of her name, reaching even further–

Ashes, ashes–

Her head dropped to the pillow with a muffled thud, lying still amidst empty vials and crushed pills.