This was an idea that came to me last night that refused to leave. Hopefully though, this will be the first and ONLY Fem!Lelouch fic I will ever write, as it is something that I honestly never find myself that comfortable with.

Anyways, on to the story.

An Unbroken Oath

Chapter 1

Reunion

"Lord Jeremiah—Lord Jeremiah!"

Orange eyes opened, slowly focusing as their owner slowly reverted back to reality. A dream of raven hair, laughter, and memories of a happier time fading into nothingness, bringing him back to a cold, bleak, existence that had been his life for years now.

Releasing a deep, shuddering breath, he buried his sorrow and misgivings behind a carefully crafted mask of professionalism that he had to perfect over the years. It was a survival trait that had served him well over the years, allowing him to survive a black stain upon his honor that had consumed others.

"What is it, Villetta," he asked, acknowledging his subordinate, silently chastising himself for how raw his voice remained.

"We're about five minutes out," Villetta quietly noted, averting her gaze in deference for the man responsible for her rise in the Purist Faction. If it wasn't for Jeremiah's more egalitarianistic stance in regards to personal capability, it was likely she would never have risen to where she was. As a result, she was perfectly willing to look the other way in Jeremiah Gottwald's more vulnerable moments.

Like on certain days that were of importance to the Margrave, days that happened to coincide with things like birthdays of his former charges.

"Thank you, Villetta," he responded after a moment, choosing to close his eyes again, centering himself and grasping the small kernel of hope that rested in his breast that had refused to be extinguished.

Had it really been six years?

He still remembered those halcyon days, being assigned to guard the Aries Palace, home of Empress Marianne vi Britannia and her children. It had been the highlight of his career up until that point, hell, it had been the highlight of his life. The Empress had been an accessible woman who had shown an interest in all of her guards, personally acknowledging each and every one of them, establishing a rapport that she honestly did not have to.

And her children, Princesses Luciana and Nunnally, they had been a light in his life that he hadn't even realized he needed.

Then it had been extinguished in one night of mindless violence.

He didn't even need to close his eyes to visualize the scene. It was like a waking nightmare for him even now. The sight of Empress Marianne, perforated by so many bullets, strewn over a Princess Nunnally, while Princess Luciana stood at the top of the stairs, her expression of horror just before she screamed.

He closed his eyes, fighting away the image for just a brief moment, as he tensed and twisted his head, the dueling sensations of pain and relief bringing a clarity that was needed now.

For six years, he had searched for any sign that the Princesses had survived the brutal invasion of Area 11, hoping that he could fulfill an oath he had made in blood at the late Empress Marianne's grave. And for each of those hellish six years, he had lived with the knowledge that it was more than likely that his blood oath had been made in vain.

At least, that had been until this morning, on what would have been the thirteenth birthday of Princess Nunnally. It had been an anonymous tip left simply for him, using the old channels he had set up back in his search for the Princesses when he had first arrived in Area 11, simply providing a time and a place.

The time had been this evening, but more worrisome, was the location in question. If it hadn't been through that old channel, he would have simply dismissed it: a 'resort' for those with money and influence to have their indiscretions catered to without the pesky limelight being shone upon them. It wasn't that it was unbelievable, not in the least, it was because it was one of the places that were normally off-limits to any interference by Britannian personnel. Too much money went in and out of that place, as a large proportion of the clientele were nobility, nobility that had the ear of Prince Clovis.

If it wasn't for the channel that the tip came through, he wouldn't have anything to do with this. It wasn't that he used the service, it was because he at least had cultivated a survival instinct to know not to intervene. But the off-hand knowledge of what went on in that place was enough for him to stay his reservations and organize a raid of the place, simply in the hope that his source was credible. Hell, it had been his only tip he had in years now.

The car coming to a stop as Villetta parked it was enough to pull him from his thoughts, as he took a minute to organize himself, but also gird himself for what he was likely to see. That done, he opened the door and stepped out, Villetta taking his lead and falling in behind him as he strode towards the van contained the rest of the strike team he had put together.

"Margrave," the leader saluted, and the other men with him snapped to attention.

"Sergeant," he greeted non-committedly, before casting a quick discerning eye over the rest of the team. This was a leap of faith that could set off a lot of political mines, the last thing he needed was someone going off half-cocked here, "you've briefed your men."

"Of course, my lord. We're ready for whatever you need of us."

He nodded, before unholstering his sidearm, taking a moment to check that a round had been chambered, before holstering it again, "Then let's get this done."

—Unbroken Oath—

It was a credit to the designers that the 'resort's appearance almost made him forget that he was entering what was an illegal facility. From the atmosphere, to the staff who milled about, if you didn't know what you were in, you would have easily been fooled. You would have also been helpfully 'guided' out of the facility by a smiling and cheerful staff as well—until you caused problems, of course.

And he was hell-bent on causing problems, as the pinched expression of the receptionist as she took in both himself, but also kitted and armed soldiers behind him, indicated that he was not amused.

"Margrave Gottwald," the man greeted, plastering a fake smile on his face, "what brings you to our humble business. What may I interest you in?"

Casting his most imperious glare upon the man, giving the man a good indication of what he thought of scum like him, he reached into his pocket and took out a pair of pictures and held the up.

"I have been informed that you may have one of these people here," he declared, holding up pictures of both Princesses, age-adjusted to what they may look like today, "I want you to take me to them."

The fake smile grew more strained, "Margrave Gottwald, our clientele come to us for our discretion, if anyone can come-"

"I don't care," he growled, replacing the photos and choosing to lean forward just slightly, "what I care about is that I have been informed that you are harboring these individuals. If you do not take me to them, then I will tear this place apart, brick by brick, until I find them. Have I made my interest clear?"

The receptionist's throat bobbed, their pallor becoming pasty, "Crystal."

"Then take me to them."

There was a moment's hesitation, obviously the receptionist looking for anyway to eject them, before finally accessing their computer and looking it over.

"Fumiko will take you to who you are looking for," the receptionist stated, not even working up the will to smile in his face, before turning his head and nodding to an Eleven who had stood to the side, watching and waiting for her orders, "Please take the Margrave to Room 3 of The Retreat."

The Eleven nodded, before motioning towards him.

"Villetta, with me," he commanded, "Sergeant, if we are not back in fifteen minutes, and I do not contact you otherwise, I want you to call in back-up and tear this place to the ground."

"Yes, My Lord."

With that done, he followed the Eleven, though he had drawn his sidearm, keeping it hidden under the cloak he wore, even as his heart was racing. The acknowledgement of the receptionist had rekindled a fire of hope into a roaring inferno, because the man had recognized the Princesses. Finally, after six years, his hunt was ending, and he would be able to fulfill the oath that he had made.

It was only the knowledge that he was so close now kept him from losing himself in his thoughts as they crossed the campus of the facility, finally coming to entering another building. After a few more minutes, they arrived at a door, and the Eleven to the side.

"She is in here," Fumiko stated, bowing her head in subservience.

If Jeremiah had not been preparing himself, he would have heard the usage of the singular term. But it was for naught, as he simply girded himself, knowing that it was here, at this time, that he could begin his redemption: he could once agains serve the vi Britannia line.

Opening the door, he stepped inside, coming to a stop almost immediately inside the door, frozen as his mind attempted to process exactly what he was seeing. When he had been informed about this place, he honestly expected something that wasn't-so plain.

Yet that was what he was seeing as he stood in what was obviously a recreation of an apartment studio.

He was still standing there, trying to explain in his mind why his Princess would go for something a commoner would live in, when the sound of singing caught his ears. It was soft, melodious, and something that brought him back to his days in the Aries Palace. Unbidden, he slowly moved forward, like a sailor drawn to a siren, unmindful of the rocks that were in his path.

And rocks they were, as he rounded the corner, and came to a living room, and froze at the sight before him, his breath catching in his throat.

Even now, six years later, there was no way he would be able to mistake the vision before him. While she had certainly grown into a young woman from the child that she was, the features that shared so much with her materfamilias was indisputable, as were the raven tresses that, while now cut short into a pixie cut, were like midnight.

But it was what the entire vision before him, that caused him to forget to breathe, because of both the joy in the knowledge that he had finally found them, but it was also the sense of loss that came with it in the knowledge that he was also far too late.

For sitting there, singing 'Happy Birthday' with a cake festooned with thirteen candles to a picture frame sitting in a wheelchair, her eyes glazed in the telltale sign of Refrain usage: Was Princess Luciana vi Britannia

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