Yeah, I would have had this up yesterday but the computer wouldn't let me so here you go. This takes place between Turn 19 and the end of Turn 22. I own nothing.

"We're nearly there; just another hall."

"Alright."

Sometimes what seems to be true and the actual reality are two different things entirely and Nunnally is starting to wonder just how many contradictions she's run into without ever even noticing. You get enough of those and you start to wonder just how well your sense of judgment works.

After all, if a year ago someone had told Nunnally that Zero was her sweet brother Lelouch, Nunnally wouldn't have believed it. But then came that time when he was right in front of her and she heard him, and in person Nunnally could not deny it anymore. That voice was the same. It was always the same, and as much as she didn't want to believe it she couldn't keep herself from realizing the truth in front of her. Schneizel and Cornelia's assertions were only the final nail in the coffin.

There are other contradictions too of course, and one of them is walking alongside her as Nunnally approaches the newly erected memorial.

Nunnally's memories of Cornelia from childhood were of one that she had never quite believed could be her sister. Cornelia was so much older—she seemed almost as old as Mummy, though Nunnally knows better now and knows that there was ten years age difference between Cornelia and Marianne. At that age, everyone who was bigger than her seemed so old and so far apart.

Cornelia was for the most part distant around Nunnally, a little reserved. Nunnally watched the way Cornelia completely melted around Euphemia and wondered why she couldn't do the same for her, but Cornelia was nice enough. Dignified, nice but standoffish.

Well, there was that one time. Nunnally smiles a little as she remembers the day Euphemia decided everyone needed nicknames. Euphemia herself had already had one, sort of—Nunnally had dubbed her Euphie in her toddler years since Euphemia was too hard to pronounce. The then four-year-old Nunnally was re-christened Nunny and Lelouch ended up with Lulu. Cornelia, then in her late teens, had, to her great ire been immediately pegged as "Cora" by Euphemia since that was what she'd called her when she was little anyway. Marianne had laughed at Cornelia's scarlet face as the teenager stalked out of the room. For the life of her Euphemia couldn't figure out why.

Nunnally's slight smile turns to a frown as she tries to remember what Cornelia and everyone else looked like. It gets harder with every passing day to remember faces or smiles or the way Euphemia would wave her arms around like a bird or how she'd latch onto her sister's leg and Cornelia would have to tickle her into oblivion to make her stop. Just like it gets harder to remember colors every day, Nunnally can't remember what her loved ones look like anymore.

After being banished and the invasion, Nunnally tried as best she could to keep track of her family. Sayoko had been Milly's attendant before she was Nunnally's caretaker and, knowing who her new charge really was, Sayoko indulged her. She would bring newspaper clippings or print out web articles and read them out to Nunnally, record the news on television whenever it touched on the subject of a member of the royal family.

Odysseus remained a lover of peace and quiet; he was still and always would be the only one in the family to recognize the worth of a simple life and the value of staying under the radar. Schneizel became a generous patron of the sciences; from what Nunnally remembered of the quiet, bookish brother who was the only one who could beat Lelouch at chess, this didn't surprise her. Clovis seemed to fancy himself something of a Casanova; Nunnally giggled whenever she heard about his latest exploits. There was little to be said about Euphemia, but that wasn't surprising; the royal children were usually kept in seclusion until after they had finished school, and Euphemia wasn't much older than Nunnally herself. If she had died there would have been reports (Just as there were when she really did die).

As for Cornelia…

Cornelia distinguished herself in other areas.

On the television there was a voice as hard as diamond, something so strong and so unyielding that it barely sounded human. At first, Nunnally didn't recognize this as Cornelia's voice; surely that couldn't be her sister? But then, she recognized the inflection, some of the word choice and realized that yes, this was Cornelia she was hearing.

"The Witch of Britannia" and Nunnally's older sister were one in the same. Cornelia had become an undeniably brilliant and widely feared military leader, and the tales of her bloody campaigns weren't something that Nunnally could quiet connect with the girl who had willingly played in the garden with Euphemia so many years ago. The idea of what Cornelia was now frightened Nunnally herself, just a little bit.

She's changed, Nunnally told herself. Everyone does. Just look at Suzaku; when Lelouch and I first came to stay with him he couldn't stand us but within three weeks we were his best friends. It's the same for Cornelia. People change, and she would have to be a harder person to do what she does.

People change, but perhaps not as much as Nunnally thought.

"Nunnally, there's someone here who wants to see you." Schneizel's voice is as calm and mild as it has ever been and Nunnally wonders, deep down if he ever took a class on hypnosis. There's something mesmerizing in that instantly soothing voice.

"Who is it?" Nunnally asks politely, framing the hint of a smile and tilting her chin upwards, thinking she might be staring into Schneizel's face now if she could see.

Something like a small, gentle laugh jars in Nunnally's ears. "It's a surprise. I think you'll like it. Alright, you can come in now," Schneizel calls to someone apparently waiting outside.

'Surprise.' The young girl fights back a shiver. Lelouch had said the same thing when Suzaku first came to Ashford Academy; she wonders if Schneizel knows.

No time to worry about that; Nunnally can hear footsteps, lighter than Schneizel's approaching.

Nunnally's smile is uncertain as she holds out a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm sorry; Brother wouldn't tell me your name." There's no response; instead, the newcomer takes Nunnally's hand in a firm grip.

It's a woman, she's fairly sure; the hand is too slim and small to be a man's, and the fact that Nunnally can feel long nails only confirms this belief. The palm is slightly callused; one of the fingernails is chipped. There's something so very familiar about this hand, but Nunnally can't fathom what. "Have we met before?"

"You could say that," comes the answer in a low voice, a wry note tingeing the words, and Nunnally's heart jolts.

"Cornelia?" she asks incredulously.

"Yes it's me," she confirms. Cornelia pauses; Nunnally can hear her drawing a deep breath. "I am very glad to see you're alive, Nunnally," she goes on, quiet with a quality in her voice that isn't quite calmness, and, still gripping her hand, Nunnally can tell she's not lying.

There was no hugging or kissing or any of the things people expect two sisters, long-separated and now reunited, to do. Nunnally understood. Cornelia just isn't like that; the only person she was warm enough towards to hug or kiss is dead. It was Euphemia who hugged or kissed her siblings, not Cornelia. They talked for a little while, Cornelia as terse but kind as she had ever been towards her in childhood.

After a few minutes Schneizel came back.

Cornelia squeezes Nunnally's hand briefly. "I'm sorry, Nunnally." The apologetic note in her voice is jarring—Cornelia's never been much of one for apologizing. "I have to go. I'll come back later."

That was two days ago, and now, Nunnally can feel the slight heat of candles and can smell the scent of water and this, this is just like the Fuji memorial after Euphemia… after Euphemia… after she died (Nunnally can't quite bring herself to think about what happened before Euphemia died; Brother didn't really do that, did he?).

It feels so much the same.

"Here Nunnally; give me the candle." As it had been after Euphemia died, Nunnally can't help but worry about whether she's gotten the letters right or if they're even legible. She tried her best to spell out "Euphie" and Lelouch assured her it looked fine, but Nunnally suspected then and still does now that he was only saying that to make her feel better. Nunnally could ask Cornelia if the letters inscribed on the side of the candle are right but won't. Cornelia is not Lelouch. Nunnally doesn't feel comfortable asking.

Worrying at her lip a little, Nunnally holds out the candle, waiting for Cornelia to take it. She feels the bite of hard fingernails against her skin for just a second as the candle is lifted out of her hands. A sharp click splits the air and after it Cornelia's explanation. "You have no idea how long it took to find someone with a lighter I could borrow. I never thought I would wish for a day when more people smoked." Nunnally nods, remembering well the irrational hatred of cigarettes Cornelia has harbored since childhood.

Much about Cornelia is exactly as Nunnally remembers. Those rare but noticeable flashes of humor are just as sharp and sardonic as ever. Cornelia is perhaps even more awkward around Nunnally than she was in childhood but this can be easily chalked up to the fact that they've been apart for several years and that while Nunnally is still a child, Cornelia is a grown woman. Even her footsteps are the same; they have the familiar rhythm that Nunnally could always tell was hers back when they both still lived in the capital. It could just be that Cornelia's in a good mood. That could always be it.

Perhaps the reason Nunnally likes to think that her sister hasn't changed as much as she initially thought is because she's here with her at all. Nunnally would have been happy to have a guard or a worker or anyone come here with her but Cornelia insisted, citing both boredom (there's been literally nothing for her to do; Schneizel's insisted on handling all the arrangements for Damocles) and the fact that she doesn't trust anyone else to watch over Nunnally properly. That's more like the Cornelia from Nunnally's early childhood than any other behavior Cornelia's shown thus far.

Of course, not everything's the same. That pervasive hardness seeps into Cornelia's speech even when she's at her most relaxed and Nunnally can sense something… tired about her.

There's the clink of something heavy against the ground, a sword maybe, and the sound that follows is what Nunnally assumes is Cornelia placing the candle on the water.

"Rohmeyer… Who was she?" Cornelia asks curiously.

Nunnally frowns momentarily. Miss Rohmeyer was many things but what is appropriate to say? "Miss Rohmeyer… was my aide," she explains, hoping that she's managing to keep her tone and face perfectly even. Nunnally honestly doesn't want to give herself away.

"You didn't like her very much, did you?" There's something of an amused note in Cornelia's voice and Nunnally feels her cheeks grow warm.

"It's improper to speak ill of the dead," Nunnally responds, tilting her chin downwards.

What could possibly be the hollow echo of a laugh follows. "If you say so. Alicia Rohmeyer… From what I understand, she took one look at the assignment of being the aide of a blind, crippled young girl, got the impression that she was going to be ruling Area Eleven through you and couldn't quite take it when she found out that wasn't going to be the case. I have my sources," Cornelia adds by way of explaining her intimate knowledge of Nunnally's aide.

She already knew? "Sister, if you already knew Miss Rohmeyer's personality and who she was, why did you ask?"

Nunnally can almost imagine Cornelia shrugging disinterestedly as she gives her answer. "I don't really have a reason. I was just trying to find out whether or not you'd noticed her resentment of you." There's something else that goes unsaid, Cornelia wondering why Nunnally would prepare a candle for a woman she doesn't particularly like, but she doesn't give voice to that question and for that Nunnally is grateful.

Cornelia falls silent and Nunnally is left to wonder. She had never asked Lelouch how many candles there were at the Fuji memorial—she'd been a little afraid to ask, if anything, not wanting to know how just many people Euphemia had killed. She still avoids reports of the first SAZ even now. After the massacre at the first SAZ, Nunnally hadn't wanted to know, but now she can't deny the tug of morbid curiosity on her mind. "Sister, how many candles are there?"

If Cornelia is surprised by this she doesn't voice it and perhaps she's used to ghoulish inquiries like this, having been in the military as long as she has been. "About… I'd say roughly a hundred," she affirms after a moment presumably devoted to taking a quick head count of the candles. "Less than I thought there would be," Cornelia remarks flatly, "considering how many casualties there ended up being."

"Well…" Nunnally fights back the urge to cringe as she remembers being told the actual figure of the casualties caused by the firing of F.L.E.I.J.A. over Tokyo "…There might not be too many people left alive who know people who died. F.L.E.I.J.A. wiped out whole families and communities—"

"I know," her sister interjects, something strange clinging to her words. "I saw the blast."

"You did?" Nunnally swallows hard, her fingernails digging into her palms. "What… What did it look like?" she whispers, and Nunnally is immediately horrified with herself for even asking something like that.

For a moment Cornelia says nothing. The air, which had previously been slightly warm thanks to all the candles is now cool and clammy on Nunnally's face and she wishes beyond words that she hadn't said anything. If Cornelia never answers that question Nunnally doesn't think she could be more relieved, but at the same time she wants to know more than anything else.

"It was like death." Cornelia's description is cold and damning. "Like something beyond human comprehension was screaming. And it was pink," she includes perplexedly, sounding for all the world as though this is something beyond her ability to understand.

Nunnally lets out a high-pitched, hysterical giggle and a dull thud indicates that Cornelia has clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from doing the same. When she's recovered, Cornelia goes on to say, "There's not much point in bringing candles anyway. Lighting a candle and putting it on water isn't going to bring anyone back." Nunnally flinches at the intensely bitter note in her half-sister's voice.

She's so angry. Is this what losing Euphie did to her?

"You're right," Nunnally concedes, admittedly a mite timidly; Cornelia can be and is plenty intimidating to her sister. "Lighting a candle with someone's name on it and setting it out on the water won't bring them back to life; that's beyond our capacity. It does serve a purpose, though. Doing this brings comfort, however small, to those who have lost loved ones in a tragedy; it's a tradition, and we all like traditions, don't we?" An uncertain smile adheres to Nunnally's lips, entirely unsure of how Cornelia will react.

"Nunnally…" The young girl's back relinquishes its tenseness at the oddly tender way Cornelia says her name "…you've grown up, haven't you?"

Her smile grows, lips twitching. "I like to think so. I… umm…"

"Yes?"

I suppose it wouldn't do too much harm to tell her. "I made a candle for Euphie." Almost the second the words leave her mouth Nunnally realizes that this may not have been as good an idea as she originally thought, but it's too late to backtrack and she presses right on. "It seemed like the right thing to do."

"Ah…" Nunnally can hear Cornelia swallowing "…thank you, Nunnally."

For a moment, perhaps absurdly and perhaps not, Nunnally wonders if this is how Cornelia sees her, as a replacement or a poor man's substitute for Euphemia. Ever since Nunnally was re-instated into the royal family she's been hearing people draw comparisons between her and Euphemia. They talk about the relative innocence of both Euphemia and Nunnally despite the environments they grew up in. They highlight how idealistic both are/were. It's even brought to light (though Nunnally can't be sure about this one, for obvious reasons) that Nunnally and Euphemia bear some resemblance to each other, if you can get past the point that Nunnally's hair is brown and Euphemia's a rather bright shade of pink.

All the time that she was the governor of Area Eleven (or Japan, as Nunnally prefers to refer to it in her mind), Nunnally couldn't help but think that everyone around her, from Miss Rohmeyer to Guilford even to Suzaku were looking at her and thinking of Euphemia. It was inevitable but it still hurt and it still made Nunnally constantly on edge, wondering if they were holding her against Euphemia and finding her lacking.

Cornelia would have more reason to do that than anyone alive.

Nunnally's throat tightens as she thinks of Euphemia and the massacre at the first SAZ. "Cornelia…" This is not a good idea; don't say any more; but she does anyway "…Brother didn't really make Euphie…" Nunnally pauses as her voice catches "…He didn't really do that, did he?"

Immediately the atmosphere of the whole room darkens and the air feels thick. "Just leave it," Cornelia replies curtly.

"Sister…"

"Leave it, Nunnally."

Twisting her skirt in her hands, Nunnally bites her lip until she can taste blood and Cornelia says nothing; Nunnally can only imagine what expression Cornelia is wearing and doesn't really want to want to. Whatever impression Cornelia gave of being in a good mood before is unambiguously dead. I shouldn't have brought it up. I should have known better; Sister's anger has always been formidable. "Maybe we should go on back?" Nunnally suggests in the hope that Cornelia's mood will lighten, even if only slightly. "We've done what we came here to do; I don't see why we—"

"Just a moment, Nunnally," Cornelia interrupts her tiredly. "I've got one too."

At this Nunnally tilts her head and frowns perplexedly. "A candle? But you said—"

"Call me a hypocrite; call me whatever you like." Nunnally doesn't know if she's ever heard Cornelia sound quite so tired, or quite so weary. "But it's… It's all I can do right now. Just consider this a maudlin gesture and leave it at that." There comes again the sharp click of the lighter and the dull clink of a sword hitting stone as Cornelia leans down, and then the telltale splashing sound of the surface of the water being disrupted.

For herself, Nunnally keeps silent as she waits for her sister to set the candle on the water and be done. All the while, the air is growing even thicker and Cornelia gives no indication of being ready to leave.

Then, maybe after ten seconds, after thirty, after an hour or an eternity, there's the rustling of cloth and Nunnally feels a hand with slightly callused skin and a chipped fingernail rest on her shoulder. "We can go now, Nunnally." A drained acceptance threatens to drown the words.

As they leave, Nunnally cranes her head backwards, thinking she might be staring up into her sister's face. "I'm sorry. Was the candle for…" she breaks off helplessly.

Cornelia reaches to grip her shoulder again. "It's alright Nunnally." Her voice is still tired, drained, flat. This is Cornelia when she's given up, whether a little bit or entirely; Nunnally's known that voice from childhood and it still makes her sad to the core of her bones to hear it. "The dead don't come back, no matter how much we wish they would. I've always known that."

So have they both.