Code Geass: The Last Heir of Bonaparte
(I do not own Code Geass, Total War or any references to Assassin's Creed. All franchises are the property of their respective owners.)
Prologue: Ancient Memories and Bloody Nightmares
On the shores of England a man stood solemn before his troops, his eyes shut softly as he listened to the raging storm that enveloped the British coast. The man's face was like a child's but with his once full hair now beginning to recede. He was dressed in an old blue military coat, white military pants and black leather military boots with an old black bicorn clutched firmly in his left hand. This man was Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French Empire and all of Europe. He opened his eyes as he heard one of his Marshals' approach from behind.
"Mon Emperor, the troops have apprehended Admiral Nelson," he said slowly, as if not wanting to disturb his leader.
The Emperor inclined his head slightly before turning around, his grey-blue eyes surveying the mangled corpse of the HMS Victory, the British flagship, as he did so, and said with a polite voice. "Excellent work, Marshal Ney," he paused, looking over at the near anorexic form of Admiral Horatio Nelson, specifically his missing right arm. "Bring him here."
Michel Ney, one of the twenty-six Marshals of France, turned to the Admiral's guards, members of the Emperor's Imperial Guard, before promptly ordering them to bring Admiral Nelson forward. When the soldiers had carried out their orders, Marshal Ney turned back to the Emperor. "Emperor Bonaparte, he has been brought forward as ordered, Sir."
Emperor Bonaparte, first Emperor of the French, gave a stiff nod of his head.
Taking this as their cue to leave, the Marshal gave a stiff bow before turning around and marching back down the hill to the beach. The Imperial Guardsmen follow shortly afterwards.
Napoleon turned back to Admiral Nelson, regarding the tired man with an apathetic eye, before say with a slightly regretful voice. "There is no chance of convincing you then," he said, a melancholy smile playing at his lips.
Horatio Nelson, perhaps the only man in the entire world who could match the French Emperor, gave Bonaparte a look of utter and absolute defiance. "You should know and understand my answer perfectly well by now, you damned Corsican Crocodile," the snarl that marred the Admiral's face gave the man an appearance like an old wolf on its last legs, tired and broken, yet still just as fierce as ever when threatened.
Napoleon frowned slightly, his disappointment evident, before walking forward and lifting the Admiral to his feet. The Emperor made sure to remove Nelson's concealed pistol, before walking him over to the rocky outcrop where he'd once stood. Bonaparte made sure to holster the Admiral's pistol on his belt while doing so.
When they reached the shoreline, the HMS Victory's corpse resting before them, Napoleon let Nelson down gently, the man's legs no longer being able to hold his weight, however meagre it might have been, until he was sitting on his knees to Bonaparte's right. The Emperor then turned towards his troops on the beach below, an ocean of blue uniforms standing on a river of sand.
"My enemies are many," he declared loudly, his voice evoking absolute quiet from his troops. "My equals," Napoleon cast a look at Nelson, his voice gaining a mocking edge. "Are none."
"Do you not remember that, while in the shade of olive trees," he continued, his voice returning to normal as he swept his right arm across the crowd. "They would say the Italy could never be conquered." Bonaparte cast a long glance across the ranks of his soldiers, his typically steel-blue eyes a dark shade of green, though his subordinates took no notice.
"Do you not remember," he continued on, his voice enthralling all around him, even Admiral Nelson, although the man would never admit it. "When in the land of Pharaohs and Kings," Emperor Napoleon took perverse pleasure in the way his troops worshiped him like a god, but nevertheless kept his features relatively neutral. "They would say that Egypt could never be humbled."
"Do you all not remember," Bonaparte declared with a strong voice, his miscoloured eyes looking out over the crowd. "While we marched through the realm of forest and snow," he cast a look at his Marshals, standing in line at parade rest before him, locking eyes with Marshal Soult who, much the same as always, remained unaffected by the Emperor's uncanny ability. "They would say that Russia could never be tamed."
Bonaparte removed Nelson's pistol from his belt. "I say now, my brother's in arms," he levelled the pistol to Nelson's head before casting a weary glance at Soult, then the Victory, and finally his troops. "That I am Napoleon Bonaparte, heir to Julius Caesar," the Emperor pulled the trigger, and the Admiral's body fell lifelessly to the ground, before lifting his bicorn and placing it on his head. "And I am Emperor!" Napoleon's declaration was met with a booming chorus of 'Vive L'Empereur' and 'Vive la France'.
Marshal Soult didn't even bat an eyelash, he just stood there at parade rest.
Then suddenly everything went dark, only Emperor Napoleon being visible. The Emperor's voice grew far more sinister, as he said to the impassable darkness that surrounded him. "And you, my young friend, are my progeny." A sickeningly evil smile spread across Bonaparte's face, his eyes still dark green, a crane-like symbol visible in each eye, before he pulled the other pistol on his belt free and fired.
The boy awoke with a start, a silent scream dying on his lips. He gazed at his surrounding, the boy's deep, frightened, lavender eyes—a rare genetic trait most common amongst the nobility—darting through every nook and cranny. As his eyes bore into the room before him, he ran a delicate, porcelain-like hand through his long and thick raven hair, his fingers moist from the oily, grime-like sweat that coated it. The boy was thin, some might even say anorexic, for his age but more than made up for it in height being just a little under four feet. The child's name was Lelouch vi Britannia, Eleventh Prince and Seventeenth Heir to the Imperial Throne of the Holy Britannian Empire.
When he was certain that he was alone, the young child lifted himself up from his sticky, sweat-soaked sheets and began to peel them away from his bed. Lelouch would hardly hasten to admit it, but the constant nightmares that had plagued him of late were causing him great worry, alongside no small amount of fear—a fact which still irked him to no end, given his position and standing within the empire. Every time the nightmares surfaced he'd have to peel away his sheets and replace them before anyone became suspicious. The prince was just thankful that he was well past the bed-wetting stage of his development.
He was so engrossed in his activity, however, that he'd failed to notice the other occupant that had entered his room. It was only after they coughed softly that they drew his attention, his head darting to them with an expression not entirely dissimilar to a deer caught in headlights.
"Lelouch?" The tall, regal figure—his mother, Empress Marianne vi Britannia—asked carefully, her voice measured and calm, despite the hour. Her son refused to meet her eyes, his gaze focused on the floor, away from her aquiline features and lavender eyes. "Whatever are you doing up at this hour?"
Her son swallowed audibly, his hesitance clear. He didn't need or, for that matter, want anyone—least of all his mother—finding out about this.
"I was..." He paused, trying and failing to find the right words. In the end, however, he didn't need to; his mother answered for him.
"You had another nightmare, didn't you?"
Lelouch recoiled in shock, almost as if he'd been punched hard in his gut. It never ceased to amaze the small boy with regard to what his mother was capable of understanding, often even when he never desired her to. Slowly, after regaining his bearings, he inclined his head the barest inch in acknowledgement.
Marianne sighed heavily, before slowly approaching her son. "Was it old Boney again?" She asked, kneeling down to the young prince's level.
Even though he didn't reply, the Empress of Britannia had her answer. She hefted the thin boy up, much to his surprise and chagrin, and carried him over to the high-backed red leather chair in the far corner. As she sat, Marianne angled her son towards the window by the chair, its massive girth overlooking a crystalline lake that shimmered in the moonlight just beyond the grounds of the Aries Villa—the Empress's personal lodgings within the empire. The lake would always calm the young prince, especially on nights like this one.
As she slowly began to rock him back and forth, her arms enveloping him in a gentle and motherly embrace, Lelouch felt himself begin doze. The soft lullaby that Marianne hummed to her child of seven years only accelerated his fatigue. And there, in his high-backed chair held safe in his mother's embrace, Prince Lelouch vi Britannia slept soundly and without fear of the old Corsican Boney—instead dreaming of the lights which glinted off the lake like a tiger's eye.
He wished that moment could have lasted forever. Sadly, however, wishes rarely ever come true.
Yes, I fully realize and apologize for how long it has been. I would have uploaded something sooner, if schoolwork wasn't harrowing away my schedule. This only got completed because of the fact that I had some spare time before I went to sleep last night... It's very hard to find time to write when you don't have English as a subject for the next year due to pathways.
Anyway, here's a different story. Hopefully it hasn't already been done before.
I'll try to publish stuff more frequently, but with how poorly my year has been going so far I very much doubt they'll be any quicker. No doubt, much to my continued dismay and chagrin, it will most likely be slower.
But enough of that, and I hope you enjoy this story!