Chapter One: Anya's Engima
From her hidden, secluded nook, a petite, young woman sat in the cool shadows of the tree she was in, safely shielded from the glaring sun and prying eyes. Her own irises, the same hue as ripe raspberries in color, carefully followed the source of the cacophonous bickering resounding throughout the farm she lived on.
The 17 year old girl wondered what it was that sparked such violent verbal eruptions. It occurred on a daily basis; ever since they had arrived at the wooden gates of the estate, there had never once been a single day that passed without them quarreling. Did the two hate each other? But if they did, why did they just not part ways? Or perhaps they simply enjoyed fighting. But why would they enjoy insulting each other? What was making them-
"Anya, what are you doing up there? You'll get hurt. Please come down."
She tore her curious scrutiny from the people who so graciously (and rather unintentionally) bestowed her with so much to wonder about, to her (unofficial) foster mother. Sayoko smiled kindly up at her and added, "It's nearly lunchtime. You must be hungry after working so hard all morning. Why don't you come down, and we can go eat lunch?"
She merely shrugged her shoulders before sliding off of the thick branch of the sturdy orange tree she had been neatly perched upon. Her mother inhaled sharply, as she witnessed her small daughter fall from such a great height. When Anya rose and dusted off her overalls, the former maid gently scolded, "You shouldn't do that, dear. Your father nearly uprooted the entire plantation the last time he saw you do something like that. You should keep him more in mind… And only do it when he's not watching."
She winked, and the girl with the rose-colored ponytail smiled, appreciative of her mother's humor and forgiving nature.
"Well, we better hurry along, or all of the ice in the pitchers will melt. And we wouldn't want watery iced tea, would we? Master Lelouch would become apoplectic."
An ephemeral, tinkling laugh escaped Anya's lips, as she giggled over the thought of the raven-haired man's usually composed face turning from its normal shade of pale to a furious red before his head exploded (much like the cartoons she had recently discovered on television).
As mother and daughter walked briskly through the organized and well-tended rows of orange trees, she couldn't help but notice Sayoko looking every which way with worried eyes every few steps or so, as if searching for a needle in a haystack.
"… Anya dear?"
"Yes?" she quietly replied. Her mother, still searching for something (or maybe it was someone), questioned, "… Have you seen your father anywhere? I tried searching for him, but the farm's grown to be so large under Master Lelouch's guidance that I just can't seem to- Ah, there he is."
The pair stopped in their tracks as they stared at the horizon, where they could see birds screeching and taking to the air in a frenzy, panicked into flying high above the emerald tree tops.
"That certainly is your father. Always making quite the entrance. Let's hurry along, Anya, so that we can all take a moment to breathe before your dear father arrives."
. . .
"Jeremiah Gottwald has returned, having fulfilled my assigned task of delivering the weekly quota of orange juice to the village."
"Welcome home," smiled Sayoko. She took her husband's wide-brimmed straw hat as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink and immediately asked upon the whereabouts of his beloved Master Lelouch.
"Master Lelouch is currently in plot A. There was an issue with the irrigation system, and… Oh my…"
The small family heard the undeniable sound of squelching, repeatedly and rhythmically, almost as if someone caked in mud were making their way towards the house.
And that they were.
Lelouch vi Britannia, formerly crowned as the 99th Emperor of the Holy Empire of Britannia, dejectedly, and rather angrily, stormed towards the charming two-story cottage that he had helped paint a nice four coats of pure, innocent whitewash. C2 trailed behind him, the skirt of her dress swishing with her every step. She was obviously trying (and pathetically failing) to conceal her smug smirk and satisfied giggles.
Jeremiah, horrified by the disgraceful appearance his customarily elegant, well-dressed, and clean master had been magicked into, froze. Closing his mouth with some difficulty, he, overwhelmed with distress, stumbled over his words.
"M-master… Master Lelouch, w-what-"
"I don't wish to discuss how I ended up in this disgusting state, Jeremiah, so I will turn a deaf ear upon any inquiries you may harbor."
And with that, the former 99th Emperor of Britannia marched by the family and their home, to the clear, cleansing river behind the building in all of his muddy glory.
. . .
Lelouch was beyond angry. Vehement fury was coursing through his veins, directed towards various people and things. He was fuming from his short sightedness and overestimation of the situation, which was partially responsible for the embarrassing mess he had made of himself, he was seething at the witch, for simply sitting in that goddamn orange tree and just watching him with that infuriating sneer of superiority, the witch that he just sometimes wanted to tie to a stake and start a bonfire, just to see if she really were a sorceress. Because the only rational reason and way she was able to get on his nerves with the speed and ease she did could only be explained with magic.
Tearing off his straw hat, he stood at the bank of the silvery stream, assessing the situation. Should he remove his clothes and go into the river? Or should he just wade in and rinse off the surface mud? Or perhaps it would be best if he-
He gasped as he felt a rough shove. As his face came closer to the cold water than he was prepared for, he internally cursed at the woman's insatiable need to torment him.
Accidentally swallowing water, he surfaced with an unbecoming sputter and cough. His dress shirt and pants stuck to his wiry frame as he involuntarily shivered from the surprisingly frigid temperature of the rushing brook. His feet thankfully touching the bottom with the help of his tall height, the Britannian wiped water and his clingy hair away from his eyes before shouting towards the bane of his existence.
"What the hell was that for, witch?"
"You were acting like a girl, Lelouch. Too afraid to go in, fearful of what would happen to your clothes, frightened by-"
She reflexively let out a high-pitched shriek as his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her ankle. With strength earned from performing manual labor on a farm for over two years, the raven-haired man pulled the self-satisfied immortal in with him. Smirking at the way karma had (sort of) bit back, the wave of anger roiling within him settled, pleased by his revenge, as petty as it was.
But what happened next, even Lelouch, with his highly intellectual and cunning mind, couldn't have predicted.
C2, her dress dreadfully weighing her down, continued to sink to the bottom of the river. Her fingers reached to undo the knots and buttons of her dress and accessories, but her fingers were already too clumsy with cold to properly undo them. She could feel her heart racing, and a voice, her voice, telling her to calm down. That screaming, although an instinct, wouldn't help her escape from her deadly situation.
Golden irises glanced up at the surface, the watery sun shimmering brilliantly, as her chest felt like bursting from the lack of irreplaceable oxygen. Her vision began to darken, and she wryly thought, 'At least it won't be the first time dying like this…'
Suddenly, nearly unconsciously, as she had but the weakest of grasps on life, she could feel something tighten around her wrist and then the strangest sensation of… Of being pulled up?
C2 coughed, heaving the water out of her lungs. Gasping for breath, she closed her eyes and heavily leaned on her savior's chest, focusing on the erratic beating of the warlock's heart, as he waded to the bank, the witch shaking in his arms. Memories of past drownings from accusations of witchcraft flooded her, and despite the blistering summer heat, she trembled.
He gently set her down on the soft, warm grass, her golden eyes fluttered from the abrupt onslaught of brightness. She cringed, pain shooting behind her eyelids, when she found reprieve as a large and familiar straw hat blocked the sun's strong summer rays from her face.
She turned her head to confirm that the boy was, in fact, holding his hat for her, to protect her. The immortal searched her partner's face for the reason for such a sudden act of kindness towards her, especially since she had been the cause of the entire fiasco in the first place; some mockery, some anger, irritation, contempt, something. But nothing.
She had forgotten how well he could veil his emotions. At times, though exceptionally rare, even from her.
"It seems that you're disappointingly not a witch, as you sunk to the bottom of the river," he finally broke the unbearably awkward silence (it was awkward for him; probably not her though).
"That's where you're wrong. I survived the drowning," she said, weakly smiling. He stare at her, studying her, looking for any signs of emotional torment inspired by the incident, and she in turn was granted an excuse to scrutinize his face.
He truly was handsome. If anything, she had to give him that. The boy possessed a face that belonged on television screens besides other celebrities and the glossy covers of global magazines. Not one that deserved to be hidden on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps, she mused, when enough time has passed and Lelouch vi Britannia the Demon Emperor was forgotten, perhaps he'd be interested in the modeling business. He would do well, she decided, with his high cheekbones, tall nose, glimmering amethyst eyes and contrasting raven locks. In fact, with his height and slim build, combined with a face that had so much feminine beauty (was that a good thing or a bad thing?) that the boy could easily pass off as a woman (in fact, that's what he had had to do during the journey from his mausoleum to Jeremiah's farm), he would swiftly rise to fame. And this time, he would (hopefully) keep the love and adoration earned by his work.
"… Are you alright?" he cautiously inquired. C2's lips had lost their usual rosy color, and he couldn't help but notice the way she was shivering, despite the fact that her clothes were nearly dry (with the help of the summer heat). Concern for her drew his brows together and his lips to curl downwards; he had never asked, but could immortals fall ill? Just because they couldn't die didn't mean they couldn't catch a cold or influenza… Could it?
"Worried over me, boy? How cute," she managed to say. Lelouch relaxed slightly, some tension leaving him, his worst suspicions dissipated. So C2 hadn't locked herself in her head again, deserting him. For a moment, he had nearly thought… He had nearly thought that he was alone, that the witch had been replaced by the slave girl; fear stole his breath away at the remembrance of how dark and heavy it felt to be truly alone, to be wholly and totally understood by no one. Memories of his temporary loss of her overcoming him, he reached out to gently brush her hair away from her eyes, so as to better look into them, when he remembered who he was and who this woman was.
They were merely partners. Equals. Accomplices, confidantes in some cases, rivals in others, friends at the most intimate, but never… Never, no matter how much the desire burned in the darkest corner of his heart that he had cowardly shoved into, they had never been, they weren't, and would most likely never be…. Never be… Never be what? What was it that he wanted to be to her? What did he want her to be to him? What was it?
No matter how much time he mulled over the enigma, no matter how many times he had searched through a goddamn dictionary to find the right word, no matter how often he paced, frowned, and contemplated over the riddle, the solution refused to reveal itself.
But he was certain of one thing, and that was that the witch had, in no way, the same issue he was facing. And he, as her accomplice, partner, equal, and actual friend, respected her for that. There was no need to immaturely press the distressing matter on her.
And so, Lelouch drew his hand back as if he had been burned by the Sun itself. With a strange smile that even she couldn't quite make heads or tails of, he gently placed his hat on her chest in an attempt to decently cover part of her body (which had been exposed by her spontaneous dip in the brook and the fact that the dress turned see-through when wet), and climbed out of the river. Without even so much as a backwards glance, the warlock briskly walked away (or was it ran away?) from the witch, who trailed after him, not in body, but with the curiosity ablaze in her eyes.
When he had strode into the recesses of the cottage and slammed the door behind him rather forcefully, as if he were trying to drown out the intolerable sounds of complex truths and muddled thoughts, she sighed.
"Foolish boy. I didn't even thank you."
. . .
"C-" Sayoko and Jeremiah immediately rose from their seats again as they saw the drenched woman walk in with a… With an expression that could only be described with the word, 'queer'. Just like their master's face had been when he had stepped inside, only to return to the outside on the other side of the house. Concerned over her well-being, Sayoko made to find out what was bothering her so much, when the woman in question sighed, "I won't be eating lunch today."
"… Shall I at least bring you a slice of pizza?" the Japanese woman queried.
"… No. It's fine."
An awkward silence ensued, as the family wondered what to say to the emerald-haired woman. She was obviously in turmoil, but if she didn't wish to discuss it with them, then they had no right to probe into her business. All the same… They worried. What had happened in the back? They had seen her follow after Lelouch once she had regained her composure and had giggled all she wanted, and then heard a splash, promptly followed by another, but then nothing more. Despite their constant quarreling and daily disagreements, C2 and Lelouch were never… Were never like this, never so… Never so estranged from each other. It weighed on Sayoko and Jeremiah heavily; they liked to see the immortal man and woman as their responsibilities, if not an extension of their family. Seeing how the pair, that had been nearly inseparable even during one of their rows, had fallen apart like this was clearly something that had to be investigated for the good of the two and their deteriorating relationship. Even if it meant breaching their privacy. Even if it meant risking rousing the ire of the witch and the warlock.
Even then.
And so, as soon as they heard the door to C2's bedroom close heavily, as if she had leaned on it and slowly slid to the floor, the married couple conferenced together.
"What do you think happened, Jeremiah?"
His wife sat down, her brow creased as her mind worked to invent a plausible explanation. Her spouse, refusing to be still with a tense situation such as this before them, paced around the neatly set table, which had yet to be touched.
"I believe C2 and Master Lelouch had an argument," eventually concluded he.
"But it's not as if it's the first time. Even in the palace, they would often-"
"This one wasn't of words. It was of something… Something more delicate. More fragile. More easier to misunderstand."
"Are you saying that they're arguing with their emotions?" Baffled chocolate brown eyes looked up at the half-cyborg, who finally took a seat.
"… Not exactly. But the more important thing is that Master Lelouch, while also 'arguing' with C2, is also fighting with himself. As is C2."
"… How do you propose we fix this?"
"Well, there are several paths we could take."
"We should take the one that requires the least amount of tampering. It would be best if Master Lelouch and Miss C2 were to resolve it on their own, within their own terms and means."
Her husband nodded in agreement, and the two adults sat in silence, their minds churning to create the perfect solution for the less-than-perfect state the witch and the warlock's relationship was in, when the former maid questioned, "Where's Anya?"
. . .
Lelouch slumped against a large bale of musty, golden hay. Behind him proudly stood an enormous wall of packaged grass that he and Jeremiah had worked to organize all throughout the summer. They were nearly completed and ready for the autumn, which, he now realized, wasn't that too far away in the future.
Brooding, he rose from his seat atop the small mound of hay left and tread over the wooden floorboards repeatedly, his steps providing him company with an incessant squelching sound. When his anguish, blended with impatience with himself and frustration as to why he couldn't be able to answer any of the questions swirling in his head, climaxed, the raven-haired man seemed to lose all control on his temper. Without even thinking of the consequences, he swung his foot, the tip coming in contact with a crimson bucket.
The metallic clanging of the impact echoed throughout the enormous barn until it was muffled by the hay. He watched as it neatly arced through the beautifully clear blue sky, right before…
Right before Anya Alstreim-Gottwald, the former Knight of Six, caught it.
"Orange isn't going to like you kicking his buckets," she remarked. Ignoring his surprised expression, she otherwise silently walked into the quiet shade of the vast wooden structure.
"What is it that you want, Anya?" he queried tiredly. He had nothing against the young girl; in fact, he found her endearing at times, as she sometimes reminded him of his dear younger sister.
"Lelouch."
"Yes?"
She stepped closer to him, and he realized how much she had grown from her days as a Knight of Rounds and ultimately, his enemy. Her scarlet tattoo gleamed softly as she tilted her head to look up at him. Her piercing cerise irises peered at him, for so long that he was about to ask if there was something the matter, when she finally spoke for the fourth time.
"I've watched you for a long time. For three years, two of which have been on this farm."
He kept his silence, wordlessly urging her to continue voicing whatever was on her mind that caused for her to eye him so strangely.
"… And all throughout those two years, I've been trying to figure something out. And I can't. So I want you to tell me the answer."
"What is it?"
"Do you like C2?"
He quickly tamped down his surprise, although it was only until some time had passed when he replied, "… She was always the one who was by my side and understood everything. Accepted everything. Accepted me."
"Then do you love her, Lelouch?"
His amethyst irises, which had been wandering about on the landscape behind the younger girl, snapped to her, shock clearly written on his face. Anya, stoic, merely pressed on.
"Do you love C2?"
A/N: Reviews are much appreciated. Thank you very much!