This Oneshot is of course based on the fairy tale of Snow White, first written down by the brothers Grimm sometime in the early 19th century.
Anyone else found the fairy tale surprisingly creepy? No? Well, read Neil Gaiman's "Snow, Glass, Apples". You'll never look at it the same way.
Includes incest, necrophilia, cursing and unadultered crack to my favourite pairing, LelouchxNunnally (SPREAD THE LAMPEROUGECEST~).
The title means "Of Anachronisms, Fantasies and Crack - Because everything is more awesome in bad Latin."
Code Geass obviously is not mine.
De Anachronismorum Phantasiarumque Absurditatumque.
Quoniam Latinam malam omnia magnificior est.
Once upon a time there was a kingdom widely known as the Holy Britannian Not-Quite-Empire. It was generally an okay place to be, though not bigger than your average Holy Roman principality. Health insurance was anachronistically free and obligatory, witches were burned only occasionally, famines were rare. The (mighty) king's army – for some reason lost in the flux of time nicknamed "Legions of Terror" – protected the kingdom against its enemies.
The king however, a large, impressive and powerful man called Charles, was very vain (and mighty). He had gained the throne completely legally by killing all other competitors and could not permit himself to be seen any less than all-mighty, lest his nobles depose of him.
He had married many times and had a great many children, but one of his wifes had been special: a beautiful and valiant knight, Marianne. However then she had died a completely natural death his little brother had absolutely nothing to do with.
Yet her dowry had included a magical mirror, a heirloom of Marianne's family, once given to them by a wicked witch. The mirror was all-knowing, and magical, and therefore Charles had had it hung on the wall of his throne room and now mightily stood before it.
He cleared his throat.
"MIRRRRRORRRRR," he roared in a booming, commanding and most mighty voice, the 'r's rolling, and then he said it again because he liked to hear his own voice: "MIRRRRRORRRRR ON THE WARU. WHO IS THE MIGHTIEST OF THEM ARU?"
In the mirror, his mighty image vanished. Instead, a slender figure appeared. The woman had long, flowing hair the colour of emeralds; and great round orbs the shade of amber for eyes, and most importantly a pair of nice boobs, even if – for all his might – he could not touch them through the mirror.
The mirror girl winced and covered her ears, giving him a nice view of her rack. "Owww …," she complained, immediately becoming less sexy, "don't be so fucking loud, you magnificent bastard."
King Charles frowned, put on his mighty no-nonsense face and repeated his question. The mirror girl winced, then posed seductively.
"Why, obviously the mightiest, hottest, smartest, greatestand so forth being in the worldis ME, but I suppose you're okay too, pretty boy~"
A large and heavy object found its way to King Charles' hand and from his hand to the mirror. The girl dodged it, but the glass cracked.
"Okay okay okay!," she yelled as King Charles mightily grabbed another object to throw at her, "I'll tell you!"
She regained her composure and put her fingertips to her brow, thinking for a long time. "You are the mightiest man in your realm," she finally spoke, and King Charles was proudly beaming. "But …"
The mirror girl frowned. "There's that one girl, I think she's one of your many daughters, this Nunnally … she may not look like much, but she's too cute to resist. Nobody could ever disobey her, except for a bastard like you, of course … sorry, please don't throw that sword at me! … s-so, in a way, she's mightier than you."
She was interrupted by said sword mightily being thrown her way and an angry roar. The green-haired girl fled the mirror, vanishing again.
"JERRRRREMIAH!," bellowed the king. A knight entered the throne room, his back perfectly straight, a sword by his side. "Yes, Your Mightiness?"
Grimly the king turned to Sir Jeremiah. "Find me the girl to cute to disobey; find me the girl called Nunnally …"
"That should pose no problems, Sire, her apartments are on the keep's third floor," Jeremiah interrupted.
"Find me this Nunnally … and then dispose of her," the king closed grimly. And, to make himself clear, he added: "I feel like having her lungs and liver for dinner today."
Jeremiah cleared his throat. "Isn't that a little strong, milord?" – "Dismissed!"
Princess Nunnally of the Holy Britannian Not-Quite-Empire lived a happy life. She had all she could wish for, was in perfect health (though there were these strange recurring dreams in which she was crippled and blind), could for some reason occasionally talk to colourful, cute little animals and to love and be loved by she had her big brother, Lelouch, her sister, Euphemia, and a Bunch of Other Siblings She Barely Knew™. The only thing that bothered her was that, at 16 years, she still was a virgin, which according to her friend Alice was somewhat weird, but she and Lelouch were working on it. Read: she was working on Lelouch to make him recognise his lust and longing for her and give her something more than a chaste kiss on the brow.
On that day the beautiful young princess was idly lying in her bed, hugging the fluffy pillows, day-dreaming of her wedding to Lelouch and reasoning if she should get up, have breakfast with big brother, feed some starving peasants with bread from the palace kitchen, sing stupidly cheerful songs with a choir of birdies and squirrel-ies … but she might just stay in bed till lunchtime and then continue trying to seduce Lelouch (with frustratingly little success so far) or meet with Euphie and Alice. After all, you couldn't be a Magical Princess™ all the time.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Groaning she turned in her bed, drew the duvet over her head. Unless it was big brother – sleep time now.
The intruder to her peaceful morning knocked again and, without awaiting an answer, Sir Jeremiah strode in. "Good morning, madam!," he greeted cheerfully. "I hope you had a good night's sleep?"
Nunnally mumbled something non-committal and drew the duvet closer. Sir Jeremiah frowned, then smirked knowingly. "My, my. If Master Lelouch knew you're still asleep, he'd be sooo disappointed. Did you know that he's been up since sunrise?"
Immediately Nunnally was awake, up and dressed. "Okay, you've got me," she mumbled, still sleepily. "What's going on, by the way?"
Jeremiah gave a slight cough. "Well, let's get to that when we come to it, okay? For now, milady will merely have to follow us to the Dark, Mysterious Forest Far From All Civilisation Where Political Opponents of the King Are Executed, okay?"
Nunnally merely shrugged, feeling a lot like breaking the fourth wall. "You forgot the '™' behind the forest's name," she told the dumbfounded knight and linked arms with him. "Well then, I trust my mom's knight notto kill me at dad's command, not that that'd ever be necessary. Shall we?"
Dragging the confused knight with her, Nunnally left her room. They passed big brother's apartments, then entered the bailey, where the knight got himself a horse.
Once they were mounted, Nunnally wrapped her arms about the knight's waist. "How long until we arrive at the forest?," she asked, ignoring the biographical paradoxes this question posed.
Jeremiah cleared his throat. "Considering that the author is one lazy bastard of a writer and wants to get back to his other works as soon as possible, I will probably break off mid-sentence so as to
They reached a clearance in the Dark, Mysterious Forest Far From All Civilisation Where Political Opponents of the King Are Executed™ and dismounted.
Nunnally forgot to pick flowers, talk to animals and do all kinds of other things Magical Princesses™ were supposed to do as Jeremiah's visage turned grim and he drew his sword.
"Sir … Sir Jeremiah …," she began, "what are you doing?"
"His Grace the King has ordered me to dispose of milady," the knight deadpanned. "For he is envious of the might that comes with milady's irresistible cuteness. I am to present your lungs and liver to him for dinner."
Nunnally teared up as she started at Sir Jeremiah in great agony. "Who … would've thought that?," she cried as cheesy memories of Lelouch shot through her mind. "I thought daddy loved me …"
Jeremiah stealthily wiped away a tear and got on his knees before the crying princess. "Why, why …," he said, patting her head. "It's not the end of the world if even his loyal vassals cannot deny that your dad is a cold, manipulative bastard, now is it?"
Nunnally nodded. "Yes it is."
Jeremiah frowned. "No it isn't."
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is … this is turning silly."
"Agreed, Your Highness."
The knight cleared his throat and rose. "I was just trying to be fatherly … you know, seeing that His Grace the King apparently lacks any sort of human emotions and is a cold, manipulative bastard that would easily have his cute young daughter executed – sorry."
Nunnally dried her eyes. "It's okay," she sniffed. "Now, where were we?"
"I was just about to brutally slay you," spoke the knight, perfectly calm, "However I shall now experience a great shift in character … oh, here it comes." Jeremiah dropped his sword, nervously looked around the clearing. "Milady, I shan't kill you. That I owe to late Queen Marianne. I cannot kill a human just to satisfy His Majesty's vanity. The king shall have a boar's lungs and liver for dinner today … now, run, sweet princess! Run for your life, deep into the woods, and hide from your father's wrath! With some luck you will be taken in by a commune of rebels with complexes about their height."
Nunnally gave the knight a short hug. "Thank you. Though, what about big brother?"
Jeremiah quickly ended the embrace. "This is not the time to be a brocon, young lady," he strictly said. "Now, run!"
Exhaustedly, Nunnally halted, resting her back against a tree, gasping for breath. She had been running through the deep, dark woods for hours, always keeping in mind Sir Jeremiah's warning that the Legions of Terror would be after her once her dad questioned the mirror the next time.
She thought of Lelouch – he had to be so worried for her by now …
Through the branches of a tree she saw something light and decided to investigate.
On the clearing was a tiny wooden cottage with a thatched roof and an even tinier stable; with flower boxes under the windows, an old bench next to the door and a giant steel tank beside the stable.
Nunnally hesitatingly approached the cottage and knocked on the door. "Hello?," she asked.
No answer; she knocked again.
No answer; she pressed down the doorknob – it was unlocked, and she entered, slightly fearfully. "Anybody there?"
There was no entrance hall, so she immediately stood in a room that looked like a mix between a kitchen, parlour and hell. Dirty pots and plates were everywhere, and where there weren't, there were whimsical political manifestos in the absurdest of places, from the sink filled with the remains of someone horribly failing at cooking (there was a smell of burnt water in the air) to the open closet filled with more weapons than would ever fit inside.
"Well," Nunnally concluded ingeniously, "this house is in need of some work."
And so she got out her awesome Magical Princess™ skills to transform a loaf of mouldy bread, a can of ravioli and some weird plants she had found on the windowsill into the finest duck à l'orange she had ever had. After dinner she explored the other rooms – the other room, to be exact.
It was a bedroom of seven short beds, lined up at one wall. The floor was full of dirty clothes, the bedsheets dirty as well, as were the magazines she found under one of them. She tried to keep a straight face browsing through them whilst the dirty mind behind her cute façade explored the possibilities this new knowledge would open to her and big brother.
The sun was already setting, and Nunnally was tired from running and trying to avoid thinking of her father all day, which was quite hard if you were on the run from him. So she compared the beds, choosing the least dirtied, changed into a scarlet pyjama she found somewhere. It was tiny, a child's one if not for the fact that it was clearly indicated for someone of a relatively huge bust size, and it barely fit the petite princess, but it would have to do.
Nunnally fell asleep with the clear resolution to dream of big brother.
Lelouch burst into Suzaku's room. His knight dumbly watched his cat solving quadratic equations by scratching them onto the floor with its claws.
"Suzaku!," he cried in utter agony, "They …"
He broke off to examine Arthur's equation, then got down to the floor to correct a mistake of calculation. "You do know that this is a mathematical model to simulate the trajectory Arthur needs to take to poke your eyes out, do you?"
Suzaku gulped. "I'm sure he just wants to play …"
Lelouch shook his head in pity. "Poor guy. If he were human, he'd be a better knight than you. Now, back to topic." He cleared his throat. Then in utter agony he cried: "Suzaku! They've got Nunnally!"
"Huh?," Suzaku ingeniously responded. "Who's 'they'?"
"Why, they of course! I don't really care who theyare, but they've kidnapped my Nunnally andtheywillpayforthat.Oh, and you're gonna help me find her."
Suzaku sprang to his feet. "Yesu, Yuua Hainessu!" He called out.
Lelouch shot him a glance. "What's up with the accent?," he asked his knight. "Japan won't be discovered by westerners for another three centuries."
Suzaku shrugged. "I just felt like it. So, let's search for Nunnally. Where'd she hide?"
The prince girlishly slapped his unimpressed knight. "This is not some game of hide and seek!," he shrieked, "Nunnally's been kidnappedby some cowardly monsters! Come with me, Sir Kururugi!"
And as fast as he could he ran out of his knight's room. Suzaku followed him, hands in pocket. "You need to work out," he remarked as he effortlessly outran his prince.
"Shut the fuck up."
"Where are we going again?"
"Stables."
"But I thought …"
"Liar, you didn't."
They reached the stables and Lelouch was close to passing out. "You really need to …"
"Fuck off." Grumpily the prince led his knight between the boxes to the very back of the stables. There, two awe-inspiring mares awaited their masters: a beautiful grey one that could only be bred by extensive use of either magic or steroids, aptly named 'Lancelot', and an unbroken (because he barely rode it) black steed with slightly girly curves, whom Suzaku had in a fit of madness given the ridiculous and utterly unpronounceable name of 'Shinkirou', something Lelouch still hated his knight for. He liked to think that the mare's name was his main reason for only rarely riding out. Of course, there was another one –
"Er, Lelouch," frowned Suzaku after elegantly mounting Lancelot, "should I perhaps get you … a stool or a ladder or something …?"
Again the prince successlessly tried to lift himself onto Shinkirou's back. The horse uneasily pranced around. "Fuck off!," Lelouch repeated and again failed at mounting. Suzaku on the other hand dismounted, holding Lancelot by the reins and staring dumbly at his prince.
"Sure you don't need help?"
"Never!"
Suzaku coughed, watching three further successless efforts. Then he turned. "Er, I'm gonna get me a coffee …"
"Coffee won't be known to Europeans for another three-hundred years, dumbass!," Lelouch yelled after him as Suzaku left. Then he stared at Shinkirou again. The mare seemed to mock him.
"The author of this story reallyneeds to be expelled from my fan-club," he mumbled to himself. "Now then, let's try again … for Nunnally's sake!"
Two mugs of coffee and twenty attempts later they majestically rode out of the stables.
"You really, really need to work out," Suzaku interrupted Lelouch interrupting him. "You want to become king after all, don't you?"
"Yes," Lelouch snorted, "Thought what the hell does that have to do with horseback riding?"
"What if Britannia is attacked, Lelouch? You'd have to lead your troops."
Lelouch gave a slight cough. "I am an advocate of expanding the economic model of ever further specialisation in the workforce to the military. Why would the commander on the strategic level have to be involved in real-time tactics far beneath his intellectual level? All tactical tasks at hands may be solved by a group G of highly specialised individuals working to the best of their ability against an enemy E, who is necessarily less organised (as leader e ≠ leader g and leader g = me is valid in the great majority of cases) and thus tactically inferior. The only thing that matters is that leader g, who is the magnificent I, can confide into his chessmen Σ (G) to obey his orders to the letter."
"Er …," Suzaku intelligently commented.
They silenced. The prince and his knight and especially the prince rode through the small capital city of the Holy Britannian Not-Quite-Empire, at the centre of which was the royal castle. They rode past a blacksmith chatting with a blackfriar, a pair of experts in German studies discussing their latest fairytale and Sir Jeremiah bringing some meats to the castle. "Your Highness, if I may have a word …"
Lelouch snorted. This was about Nunnally. "Not now, Jeremy, can't you see we're busy here?"
"But milord, it's of utmost importance and urgency …"
"So is it? Well, this is as well."
"But Sir, it's about …"
"Not.Now!"
– and thus they rode away, leaving a stunned and frustrated Jeremiah behind them.
The pair of them entered the Dark, Mysterious … entered the aforementioned forest, carefully observing their surroundings with their hands on the pommels of their swords, for there were wicked zombie witches out there.
"What will you do once we found Nunnally?," Suzaku asked.
Without a mediaeval proto-second of hesitating, Lelouch began fantasising. "Why, first I will hug her, then kiss her, then chain her to my wrist. After that, I'll hunt down the people that took her from me and have them hanged, drawn, quartered and again hanged. Oh, and perhaps burned at the stake for sake of variation. After torturing them, of course. Then, I'll overthrow my father out of general teenage angst, take the throne, build me a huge harem consisting of your cousin, my favourite sisters, a bunch of female terrorists, the mirror girl and the prettier girls of Britannia, then conquer some of our neighbours to get that stupid "Not-Quite" before the "Empire" out of our countries name …"
Suzaku groaned. "Sure you'll get all of this done before you die?"
Lelouch shot him an angry glance. "I was just going to continue with my plans for next year."
"... oh. Should have thought that."
"Yeah, you should have."
"Did I ever tell you that I'd rather be Euphie's knight?"
The prince frowned. "You did, several times. Even if I will never release you from my service, if you dare touch her, I'll kill you. My sisters are so out of your league."
A disproportionately large drop of sweat ran down Suzaku's brow.
There were seven of them, five men and two women, all of a perfectly normal height, if you would ask them, at least.
They had with them pikes that looked pretty deadly and swords you wouldn't want to run into and bagpipes whose sound could scare armies away. Actually it was only one bagpipe, accompanied by one drum and six gruff voices singing a beautiful little song about family life, hard work, the beauty of nature and then a beautiful little song about sports, romance and the systematic murder of all Britannians taller than 5'7''.
However they were generally a jolly and likeable party, even if somewhat scruffy.
The seven of them were marching in perfect military precision, adorned in somewhat fascistoid black uniforms, approaching the tiny cottage.
Suddenly, the frontman stopped, "Squadron, halt!"
"What the hell's going on?," the woman asked their leader.
Without responding, the frontman slowly approached the cottage, then hid behind a tree and drew his sword.
"Did any of you guys leave the door open?"
A choir of "No, comrade Corporal!," was the definite answer.
"Prepare for combat!," he commanded and then: "Charge!"
Their tiny squadron stealthily ran to the door, swords and pikes at hands, then entered through the open door with a random battle-cry the author is unwilling to spent much thought on.
While there was no one in the … first room, they immediately noticed that some things were off.
"Comrade Corporal, someone did the dishes!"
"Comrade Corporal, someone ordered our library alphabetically!"
"Comrade Corporal, someone prepared dinner for seven!"
"Comrade Corporal, someone read my porn!" – "TAMAKI, you misogynistic bastard, I'll fuckin' –"
She broke off. "Comrade Corporal, there's someone sleeping in my bed."
At once, everyone silenced. (Except for comrade Tamaki making a stupid comment on just how hot two girls sharing a bed was.)
The beautiful prince intensely took his sister's hands. "Oh, my dearest darling, my dearest sister Snowwhite!"
The beautiful princess intensely stared into her brother's eyes. "Oh, my dearest prince, my dearest brother Charming!"
And the prince cried out "I cannot believe I mistook you for someone else!"
And the princess cried out "I cannot believe you'd sodomise my dead body, that's the ultimate proof of your love for me!"
"Oh sister!"
"Oh brother!"
And their lips met and then they got a room and the beautiful prince began gently covering his sister's body with kisses. But Snowwhite blushed and spoke: "Ah, fair brother, I know not of things between men and women, you will have to teach me about it!"
And Charming gently smiled and said: "Get the hell out of my bed or I'll cut open your fucking Britannian throat with this badass mother of a sword."
Nunnally felt that something about this lovely dream had just turned even creepier than her lovely (read, wet) dreams tended to be and, when she felt something sharp and cold cutting her skin, she figured it was best to open her eyes.
She slowly sat up in bed against the pressure of the blade. However, looking around she could see no one. "H... hello? Where are you?"
From the invisible voice came a disgusted groan. "Baka ni shiyagatte nandei …," she mumbled, then wildly fidgeted with her sword. "Just fuckin' get outta my bed."
Fearfully Nunnally complied, slowly rising. She moved her legs out of the bed and – promptly met some … resistance, hairy resistance, that let out a surprised and hurt howl.
Confusedly Nunnally looked around, but there was nobody … she looked downwards and saw seven people not reaching her knees.
The woman fiercely glanced at her, again holding her sword to Nunnally's throat.
"I am Kozuki fuckin' Kallen of the Great Socialist People's Liberation Front of Japanese Miners With Curse-Inflicted Microsomia, abbreviated GreSoPeLiFroJapaMiCuInMicros. If you call me 'shorty', I'll kill you."
Nunnally blinked. "That's a mouthful," she finally managed to say. "Does your group have a nickname?"
Kozuki fuckin' Kallen of the Great Socialist and so on smirked. "We are The Most Honourable Military Order of the Black Knights."
Nunnally gasped. The Black Knights were well-known throughout Britannia and its neighbours for executing in-executable terrorist attacks on targets with good security and little to no strategic importance under their mysterious masked leader "Zero". No one was quite sure what their demands were, nor what they were fighting for – but every Britannian knew that they were angry.
Still – something was weird …
"I … I always thought the Black Knights were … you know, taller …," she dared to ask.
With a cry of rage the tiny woman dropped her sword and threw herself at Nunnally, however was held back by two of her comrades. "Don'tyou call us …," Kallen uttered.
"I'm so sorry!," Nunnally flushed red, "I didn't mean to offend you!"
"It's okay, it's okay," one of the men quickly said. He wore a bright red headband, had impressive sideburns and kind eyes. "I'm Ohgi," he said, and quickly pointing to the others added, "and those are Sugiyama, Yoshida, Inoue, Minami, Kallen of course and … Tamaki, now is not the time to look at porn."
She cutely smiled at them and they collectively aww'd. "Pleased to meet you!," she cheerfully said, "I'm Princess Nun... um …" Suddenly, Nunnally remembered Kallen's comment on her "fucking Britannian throat" and reasoned that it would be better not to tell them her realm name. Then she remembered her dream and smiled. "I'm Princess Snowwhite," she said. "And, um, I'd be really, really glad if you could help me because … well … I'm on the run from the Britannian government and …"
Immediately she was led to the comfiest comfy chair in the dwarves – that is of course, knights' living room and offered tea and cookies, neither of which they actually had, as Nunnally had seen earlier. She could almost see the relief in Sugiyama's eyes when she politely declined.
Eventually Ohgi sternly looked into her eyes. "We don't care who you are," he said, "nor why the Brits want you, er, apart from the obvious reason, of course. The question is: do you loyally adhere to the principles of the Great Socialist People's Liberation Front of Japanese Miners With Curse-Inflicted Microsomia?"
Nunnally cutely smiled at him and the rebel leader found it hard to resist this smile. "Nope," she openly admitted, "but I can cook and keep a house …"
Without a moment of hesitation, without even blinking, Ohgi interrupted her. "You're in," he deadpanned. The other dwarves nodded in agreement, but Kallen objected.
"Letting a woman join for the sole purpose of housekeeping and menial services," she snarked, "is just goddamn misogynistic. I have nothing against her, but we need her on the front-lines of our just fight for freedom, equality and the collective genocide of all Britannians taller than 5'7''."
Nunnally gulped. Her brother was definitely taller than that. As was she, for that matter. And just about everyone she knew. "But why are you fighting?," she confusedly interrupted the fiery redhead.
"We're fighting because we're angry," was Kallen's answer.
"Very angry," Yoshida added.
"We're so goddamn angry, we could blow up the entire forest," Inoue affirmed.
"I'm, like, so angry I could burn my porn," Tamaki boasted.
"Then, by all means, please do so, comrade Tamaki," Kallen, Inoue and Ohgi deadpanned.
Nunnally frowned. Now that she was with the Black Knights, she had thought, why not try and get some information to help big brother in his quest to dethrone dad or at least stop the terrorists from … terrorist-ing? However those dwarves were proving … uncooperative.
"But why?," she thus inquired, "Why are you angry?"
Everyone blankly stared at her.
Someone blinked.
A disproportionately large drop of sweat – I think we've had that phrase before.
"Well," Ohgi finally slowly said, "I thought that'd be obvious …"
"Yeah," Yoshida agreed, just as slowly, "after all, we're the Great Socialist People's Liberation Front of Japanese Miners With Curse-Inflicted Microsomia …"
"So you're angry because you're socialists striving to liberate the people and because the Japanese (whatever Japan is supposed to be), miners and microsomics are discriminated in Britannia?," Nunnally connected the drops.
The dwarves stared at each other.
"Well, actually we're angry because Lord Zero used to say we were, but … yeah, actually … that doessort of make sense …"
Again Nunnally frowned, then stopped frowning. It would give her wrinkles if she kept doing it, and big brother certainly would not take her if she had a wrinkly brow.
"Who of you is this legendary Zero, then?," she asked.
Suddenly all of the dwarves put on sad-face masks. "Zero," spoke Ohgi, "is our," he spoke with great solemnity, "late leader."
"He disappeared," added Kallen, "when that wicked witch," beneath her mask she had tears in her eyes, "cursed us to turn us into …," she gulped, "midgets."
"He," said Yoshida, "was," he too was very solemn, "a," Sugiyama determinedly nodded, "great," Kallen dried her eyes, "leader."
"He was my best mate!," Tamaki boasted.
His other mates collectively gave a slight cough.
Suddenly, Kallen approached Nunnally, squinting her eyes. She jumped up to her chair's seat, landing her muddy boots on Nunnally's favourite dress and intensely stared at the young princess, who confusedly leaned back. "Sorry, I don't swing that way …," she mumbled.
"You look as if the costume might fit you," Kallen said, carefully examining her bust.
"What costume?," Nunnally managed to ask before the dwarves took her hands and dragged her away.
With an audible burp, King Charles the Mighty ended an otherwise perfectly civil meal of human liver and lungs.
He got up first, thus further alienating the ambassadors of the Holy Roman Emperor and the King of France (he was just that mighty) and hushed his guests to leave. They hastily did so after he shot them a mighty glance.
Today had been a splendid day. After breakfast, he had invaded a neighbouring principality and mightily taken its lord (and most of the people) captive. Then, he had looked into his magic mirror and had Jeremiah execute that traitorous girl that believed she was mightier than His Royal Mightiness. While he had missed lunch, he had used the time well to knock the stuffing out of his failure of a crown prince. Begetting another bastard had taken up most of the afternoon. And now he had had dinner with the ambassadors of the Holy Roman Emperor and the King of France, completely alienated them by calling their masters powerless and unimportant (oh the glorious day either of them would declare war on him … he had wanted to add France or the Habsburg domains to his mighty realm for quite some time).
And having eaten bodily food, it was time to feed his bloated Ego (so mighty you had to capitalise it) its dinner.
And thus King Charles went up to the mirror in the throne room and roared: "MIRRRRRORRRRR, MIRRRRRORRRRR ON THE WARU! WHO IS THE MIGHTIEST OF THEM ARU?"
Nothing happened.
He repeated his inquiry.
After a long pause the flustered mirror girl appeared, hardly covering herself with some quickly grabbed clothes. "Didn't your mommy teach you better than to walk in on a lady?," she snapped.
King Charles the Mighty put on his mighty no-nonsense face again. He slowly swayed a random rock in his large hand. The green-haired mirror girl winced.
"Didn't you boost you ego enough already for today?," she added, visibly annoyed.
"I do not feel like repeating my question again," King Charles warned.
The mirror girl made her best disgusted face. "Just look at me," she complained, "an immortal witch am I, and close to omniscient, and locked forever in this cursed mirror with no company but Rosie Palms … and this magnificent bastard bothering me all the time with ever the same que..."
King Charles felt that he should not throw this many things at the magical mirror lest it break, but he just could not help himself.
The mirror girl dodged the stone, dropping her clothes in the progress, again exposing herself.
She shot him an angry glance, yet made no attempts to retrieve them.
"Yes, yes, yes, okay. You, my lord, are indeed the mightiest in this realm, but, er … did no one ever teach you to do the dirty stuff yourself?"
King Charles blinked. "What?"
"You know, if you want something done, do it yourself? … sorry, I'll be quiet, just don't …"
Crack.
"I … I might be a magical mirror, but I can still be broken! Stop that! … okay, where was I?"
He frowned. This was getting increasingly ridiculous, like a third-rate parody fan fiction.
"You were just about to tell me that I am the mightiest person of this realm."
The mirror girl giggled and Charles found himself tempted to ask what exactly she had been doing all day – could one actually breed weed inside a magical mirror?
"No, not exactly," she giggled. "You are the mightiest in this realm, but over the hills, where the Black Knights dwell, Nunnally is still alive and well, and none is so mighty as she."
King Charles kept silences for a long moment. Foreboding ill, the mirror girl disappeared again, then appeared to get her clothes, then vanished again. He called for the guard.
"Yes, Your Mightiness?," the soldier entering asked. Without looking at the man, Charles ordered: "Get Sir Jeremiah and dungeon him. Then get me Sir Gino and Lady Anya here. NOW!"
They stealthily, yet swiftly moved between the tents.
The guard commander long since sounded the alarm … that is, would have if he were not currently lying in a puddle of his own blood. As were the rest of his men. And the cook. And some officers. And a bunch of footmen thrown in for good measure.
Two of the intruders, one tall, one somewhat tiny, approached each other. The tiny one saluted. "My Lord Comrade!," he greeted. "Everything is going according to plan. We have successfully taken out Count This-And-That of Random-Subjugated-Vassal and his aide, the company captains, half of the noble knights, the regiment's cook, musicians, whores, chaplains, equerry and some random footmen thrown in for good measure. What shall we do now, my Lord Comrade?"
His commander took his time in responding. "Burn the tents," the dark figure then ordered. "Then kill anyone that survives the fire."
The short soldier saluted again, then ran away to carry out his superior's commands.
Nunnally took of the heavy mask, looking around the Legion of Terror's camp. It had been three weeks since she almost been executed at the orders of her father, three weeks since the dwa... since the Black Knights took her in and had begun leading them as the new Zero.
She had taken to killing surprisingly easily – eventually the thought that motivated her, the thought that suppressed all nightmares, the thought the author would like to give another angsty attribute to pay homage to the Rule of Three, but cannot.
Her greatest fear, however, was that one day she would be told by some traveller that valiant Prince Lelouch had been felled, killed in field for sake of king and country by the Black Knights.
Nunnally was certain she would die too if big brother did, much more by her own, much-tainted hands.
Then again that could just be the result of reading too many teenage romance novels, so perhaps she would have to help her death along.
One of the tents burst into flames, then another one, and soon the entire camp was burning. Soldiers ran out, screaming, as her little allies stealthily moved amidst them, killing all they could get their hands on.
Nunnally observed the scene without so much as blinking, but behind her cool and cute façade she was shaking. … well, shaking in homicidal laughter, but shaking nonetheless.
Kufufufufu … those filthy Britannian soldiers that stand between me and big brother will all die … kufufufufu …
Er, yeah, let's move on.
Suddenly, two horses burst through the ring of fire. One was great and its fur bright white, while the other one was black with … an abundance of pink ribbons. Oh, and on the horses were riders of course, a man and a girl in full armour. Both sported arms on their shields – the man's was Britannia impaled with Argent, the girl's Britannia impaled with a shade of Purpure that was very close to … pink.
Nunnally gasped and put on her mask again. She knew the arms – those were her fathers most valiant knights, Gino and Anya of the Round Table!
The two knights halted and removed their helmets. Gino looked around the inferno excitedly, Anya boredly looked at Gino looking around.
One of her Black Knights – Nunnally recognised his voice as Tamaki's – charged at Gino and was promptly trampled down by his mount.
And again.
And again.
And again. Because the author of this wacky oneshot enjoys Tamaki bashing almost as much as Suzaku bashing.
Gino frowned. "Um," he cheerfully noted, "I don't think the princess is here…"
Anya shook her head. Then she boredly drew her sword and rode on Zero.
As she saw the mounted knight (or rather, her horse) storming towards her, sword in hand, Zero merely frowned. That, thought a rather frightened Nunnally, was the best about the mask of Zero – just like some magic relic in a third-rate anime (whatever an anime was supposed to be), it gave her confidence, ruthlessness and recklessness bordering on a death wish.
"Fear the might of Britannia's pink knight," Anya deadpanned the lamest battle-cry of the entire Middle Ages, "... fear me … er … you filthy terrorist." Then she boredly raised her sword to cut of Nunnally's cute head.
"Over my cold, dead body!," she suddenly was interrupted by a girl even more … er, petite than her, wielding a long, sharp and fancy pike.
"What the …," Anya tried out one of the weird expressions she had heard Gino say in such a situation, however unable to get the look of surprise on her face right. "What a bother …," she mumbled and parried a stab directed at her groin.
With a cry of outrage Kallen threw herself at Anya. This time, the girl was somewhatsurprised to have a dwarf clinging to her face with sword, pike and sharp fingernails.
"It is you who shall fear our motherfucking might, fear the goddamn Black Knights!," Kallen cried out in an attempt to deprive the author of his T rating.
To make a long story short and get to the smex as soon as possible, the fight ended in Kallen mightily striking Anya on the back of her head with her sword's broadside. Anya lost her consciousness and fell from the back of her horse. Kallen laughed triumphing, but then Sir Gino let go of Ohgi and cried out in random EME: "Thou fool! thou that risest against thy sovereign lord in arms, hast now even slain my dear buddy the Lady Anya? Woe and trouble I render unto thee! Have at thee!" – and charged at Kallen, his lance underarm-couched.
However he was felled by a randomly, yet for both Black Knights and author conveniently placed stone over which his horse tripped.
Really!
Gino was thrown out of his saddle, thus proving wrong the historical theory at the centre of the Great Stirrup Controversy, namely that the emerge of feudalism in Carolingian Europe was largely due to the introduction of stirrups and the ensuing preference of mounted cavalry in Charlemagne's army. Harshly falling to the ground, Gino rubbed his butt. "Shit," he mumbled, "that was random …"
He tumbled in Anya's direction, throwing Kallen an interested glance before lifting up his fellow knight. "Let's go, buddy," he told the unconscious girl, "let's hope King Chuck won't kill us …"
For they had failed twice, and every reader familiar with the concept of Rule of Three should be worried now. Hopefully. Better would be if you laughed, but – hey, a guy can dream, can he not?
"See you!," Nunnally cheerfully called after the knights as they left for their daily work of terrorism, "Oh, we're out of bread, eggs and TNT, so please bring some!"
Once her little allies were out of sight, Nunnally looked at the mountain of dirty dishes. Then she looked at her new book (she owned three books at home!) on a steamy brother/sister-relationship. Then she looked at the dishes again. Then she shrugged and sat in a comfy chair with the book.
The story was most interesting, she noticed as she idly skimmed through the pages to find her bookmark, it was about a beautiful prince, a beautiful princess and had a very shallow, yet appealing story. Nunnally was certain that one day, when books were commonplace, such stories would be either despised by the intelligentsia or loved by the rabble … or rather both. Then they would be about vampires instead of princes and flat, hollow figures instead of princesses, but in the meantime she could always enjoy the wincest (a word she had just ingeniously made up, but which she would certainly spread).
Prince Edward froze as he looked at the shameful display in the gardens. There stood his beloved, his dearest sister (aptly named Princess Bella) … deeply embraced in the arms of the Duke of That-One and Place, his friend Jacob.
He broke his freeze and ragingly stomped into the gardens, pulling them apart, striking Jacob in his face and then asked: "What in the name of my sister fetish is going on here?" Bella came up to him, tears in her eyes. She said, "knock, knock" and …
Nunnally closed the book again and jumped up. Had she just heard someone knocking on the door? She quickly ran to the entry and opened it.
Before her stood a frail, old lady, almost twice as big as her. Looking up to her, Nunnally saw that she was dressed in random rags that looked a lot like the remains of a dozen-men tent. Her face was hidden by her cloak's hood, and in her hand she carried a crate of round, red apples, each of them with a tiny sticker reading a brand name and the assertion "nothing ever was less poisonous".
"Good morning, fair maiden," the lady greeted in a booming false falsetto, "Would you like a sweet, juicy, certainly not poisoned, red apple?"
Nunnally blinked at her.
"Is that you, dad?," she then asked. The vendor winced (mightily).
"Er … why would you even think that …?"
"I once had to promise big brother that I would never buy fruit from a sole vendor in a place so tiny it could not support a full-time merchant," Nunnally said, "Oh, and I saw the royal carriage this morning."
The vendor gulped mightily. This was not how it had been supposed to work.
"Er, well then … don't you want to lead me inside? Offer me a tea, a mug of coffee perhaps? Or another anachronism?"
Nunnally smiled cutely. "Of course," she said, "Please, come in, dad. I'm afraid I don't yet know what coffee or tea are, but I can offer you a cup of hot water with milk and sugar."
Charles came inside, his head bumping against the ceiling several times. He sat. "This is one tiny chair you've got here," he boomed. "Why is it that your Black Knights are unable to buy bigger ones?"
Nunnally patiently prepared the hot water. "Dad … you're sitting on the table."
"Then it's a damn tiny table, dear."
"Could it be that that lousy excuse for an author is running out of jokes?"
He got up again and approached her, then strongly embraced her from behind. Nunnally coughed. "D... dad, I don't feel like being glomped … I … stop, dad, I can barely breathe …"
Without responding, King Charles took one of the tiny pieces of apple he had prepared and forced Nunnally's mouth open. The girl struggled and cried, but there was no escape.
Once she had swallowed the apple, she sank to the floor – dead.
"MIRRRRRORRRRR, MIRRRRRORRRRR ON THE WARU! WHO IS THE MIGHTIEST OF THEM ARU?"
The mirror girl frowned at him. "So, you came again …?" Deeply grieved, she shook her head. "Oh my. That means you did something to that girl, your daughter, did you not?"
Impatiently King Charles fiddled the pommel of his sword. "You truly need some training, do you not?," he whispered. "You are to obey me. I shall not repeat my question."
With a sigh the girl in the mirror put her fingertips to her brow. "My Lord … you indeed are the mightiest of them all."
He gave a chuckle. A sinister, fear-inspiring chuckle that slowly grew into full-fledged laughter.
The witch quietly sank to her knees.
They steadily rode through the forest.
It had been an entire month since Lelouch had last seen his sister, last held her in his arms. And still there was not the slightest trace – and, to add to his despair, Zero and his Black Knights were out for Britannian blood again.
The nightmares of a blood-stained, mutilated body on the stairs had returned, but now it was Nunnally, not his mother, brutally slain by one of the shady creatures of the woods for sake of some coins, a cloak or … her virginity.
Suzaku was, of course, no help. Always quick to trust people, he had proposed asking the Legions of Terror for help several time – surely, he had argued, Lelouch could use his royal authority and Nunnally would be found in a matter of days?
But Suzaku knew not of what had happened, knew not that he could never trust anyone else with Nunnally's safety or well-being.
He knew not who had killed their mother.
Suzaku halted Lancelot, signifying Lelouch to do the same. The prince let Shinkirou close up to the other mount, then he complied. "Why are we resting?," he angrily asked his knight. "We cannot waste time …"
The knight pointed to the distance. "Do you see that house on the clearing?"
Lelouch narrowed his eyes. Indeed, there was … something, a light spot within the profound darkness of the woods. Still, he would not be so presumptuous to call it a house.
Without a word he dismounted and took Shinkirou by the reins. Suzaku followed suit, and quietly they led their horses towards the perceived clearing, swords in hand.
It was indeed a house or at least a hut, Lelouch had to admit, a tiny wooden cottage with a thatched roof and an even tinier stable; with flower boxes under the windows, an old bench next to the door and a giant steel tank beside the stable.
One out of these five things came unexpected. Which could it be, house, stable, flowers, bench, giant steel tank?
Making full use of his royal standing, Lelouch hid behind a tree and ordered Suzaku to examine the tank. He just couldn'tputhisfingeronit, but something about it was odd.
Suzaku signified him to come and see for himself, but Lelouch ignored him, rested against the tree, so that eventually the knight came to him.
"There's a window on that tank," Suzaku reported, "And, I don't know, I think there's a corpse inside … the corpse of a young girl …"
"What does she look like?," Lelouch interrupted him. "Hair? Complexion? Height? Bust size?"
Suzaku went back to the tank to check up on those things again, then returned.
"Er, well," he began, "she's got – she had – long light brown hair and fair skin. Not much taller than Nunnally, around her age I'd say. Bust size … what the hell, Lelouch?"
The prince smirked, picking a lily from the forest ground. "You are in no position to question me, my fair knight," he coolly said. "Bust size?"
Suzaku's face flushed red. "Um, pretty small, I'd guess … gosh, why do you make me feel like a pedo..."
"Very well," Lelouch interrupted him. "Get her for me, will you?"
Suzaku noted that regardless from what kind of dark magic he wanted to use that poor maiden's mortal remains for, he would first have to ask for permission by the residents of the house.
Lelouch told him to fuck off, but got up and marched straight for the door.
"You will see," he told him, "that this house has been abandoned. It is common myth amongst the forestfolk that a house will be tainted by death for many years. If the corpse is as fresh as you said, I would not be surprised if the girl's kinsmen had …" He opened the door, staring into the faces of seven scruffy dwarves clad in black "… moved away."
The dwarves jumped up from their chairs, suddenly holding weapons.
"What do you want?," their apparent leader bellowed, "Are you a Britannian?"
Lelouch chuckled. This was going to be so fun. "My nationality aside," he avoided an answer, "Greetings to the lot of you." And then, because this was important – "How much for that corpse outside?"
The dwarves let out a cry of outrage. "How fucking dare you!," a red-headed female yelled, "As if we'd sell …"
Lelouch interrupted her, turning to the leader. "I'll give you her weight in gold."
"... you filthy Brit bastard our late friend …"
"Deal. Here's the key."
Flabbergasted the redhead stared at the leader. "You're fuckin' kiddin' me …," she mumbled, then she followed Lelouch outside, the other dwarves soon following suit.
"What … what was her name?," Suzaku politely inquired.
"Princess Snowwhite," one of them responded, tears in his eyes. "She was our dear leader."
Suzaku lowered his gaze. How sad!, such a young girl, and already so great a responsibility. He tried to imagine what kind of person the girl had been – she had looked very kind, yet strong. He wished he would have been able to see her eyes …
"Yo, Suzaku!," Lelouch cheerfully called out, "Here's the key, open the tank and get her out."
"WHAT?"
"You heard me, now get going."
With a horrified glance Suzaku silenced and complied. Lelouch had already turned and stepped away from them, twisting the lily between his fingers.
Suzaku opened the tank and stared at the girl. She looked remarkably familiar, though he could not remember why … gulping, he took her out of the tank.
The corpse was somewhat warm. He had heard somewhere that tended to happen during … decay. It also was very pale, paler even than Lelouch.
The maiden had been dressed in a white, wide-sleeved, very fine dress. In her hair there was some kind of diadem.
Carefully Suzaku carried the corpse bridal style (try not to puke try not to puke try not to).
"Where … where shall I put her, Your Highness?," he demanded to know, his complexion not so different from the corpse anymore.
"Here," Lelouch dreamily answered, "Lay her to rest here, on the damp grass of the sinister forest. directly before me, facing the ground. I do not wish to see her face."
"You … you are not seriously planning to do what I think you are planning to do, are you?"
"Stop forming such complicated sentences, my dear Suzaku, they don't befit you."
"Lelouch! You want to … defile this poor corpse? That is … dear lord, that is fuel for nightmares!"
"If my father can have 108 wifes, why should I not be entitled to indulge in my personal preferential stress relief?," the prince sharply asked. "Now, put her here. … that is an order, Sir Kururugi."
Suzaku complied quietly. The dwarves watched on without a work, looks of horror on their faces.
Gently Lelouch stroke the dead maiden's silky, flowing hair. Gently he covered her neck in kisses; gently he embraced the corpse lying on the ground, hastily he removed her dress. She wore nothing underneath.
Suzaku averted his gaze in horror. "Lelouch …," he whispered, "You … vile creature … you … devil! How can you dare …"
The prince ignored him, silently removing his belts and getting out his member. One last kiss on the corpse's neck, then he violently thrust in and –
In perfect unison Suzaku and the dwarves cried out; "Don't! You're depriving the author of his T rating!"
But suddenly, something within the girl's throat was moved by Lelouch's strong, er, movements.
She disgorged a piece of poisoned apple. Lelouch climaxed. The girl asked if he had a death wish.
Suzaku puked. Lelouch did not even have the decency to blush!
Instead he intensely stared at the ex-corpse, chivalrously helping her adjust her dress and up. Then finally he took the unsettled girl's hand, kissed it gallantly. "My sincere apologies, Milady," and then their eyes met.
They froze.
And then, because it was the first thing to come to her mind, she quoted that Snowwhite girl from her dreams – "I cannot believe you'd sodomise my dead body, that's the ultimate proof of your love for me!"
Nunnally put her arms around her brother's neck, hungrily kissing him on the lips.
When they finally parted, Suzaku had helped the dwarves to overcome the curse that had made them short (of course, there were some … side effects to his cure, namely that weird, intense blue complexion and harsh depressions following therefrom).
Nunnally smiled at Lelouch and Lelouch smiled at Nunnally. She said "Now that we finally did it, we'll have to marry! Isn't that exciting!"
Lelouch suggested that they should perhaps assure there was a need to marry, as to avoid the possibility that they had not yet begot a spawn of hell.
Two young gentlemen came up to them. "Excuse me, sir," one of them said with a stark German accent, "I am Jacob Grimm, and this is my brother Wilhelm. We are … how do you say … experts in German studies and currently working on an anthology of folk tales. Might you have a moment for an interview?"
Lelouch took his sister's hand, dragging her with him. "Not now," he said. "Can't you see we're busy?"
The men uneasily looked at each other. "But it's important, sir!," Jacob insisted. "Your names could live on forever if only you answered a few simple questions of ours! For example, what exactly was your relationship with the princess before the tale started? Were you childhood friends or always lovers?"
"Fuck off."
He put his arm around Nunnally and whispered something to her ear. His sister giggled.
The Germans looked at each other. "Well," the younger one finally said, "love at first sight, then. We've got so many of those already."
"RRRRRURRRRRUSHU!"
Failing to make up more jokes, the author of this oneshot has decided to end it slightly sooner than originally planned.
Just this much: according to the cliché, EVERYONE got married. Meaning of course Lelouch and Nunnally, Euphemia and Suzaku, Lancelot and Shinkirou, Kallen and Gino, Anya and the mirror girl, Inoue and Yoshida, Minami and Ogi, Sugiyama and Tianzi (randomly thrown in for a bad, bad joke), the Grimms to each other, Jeremiah and LOYALTY – pardon, Sayoko.
Tamaki had to stick with porn.
Lelouch and Nunnally single-handedly overthrew their father by the power of Sibling Love™ and continued to rule as joint monarchs. They conquered a little, got rid of that "Not-Quite" in their country's name and then decided to go the whole hog and proclaim the rebirth of the Roman Empire.
Which sort of made sense considering that they had with the help of some cheatcodes conquered half of Europe.
The brothers Grimm ended up using a few parts of Nunnally's diary in which she described her dreams as the primary source for their new fairy tale. It became a great success, though they always had this weird feeling that they had kinda missed the point …
Suzaku was put on a boat, discovered Japan, found that he could understand the language and stayed there. FOREVER.
… and everyone lived happily ever after.
Well, except for Tamaki.
Please review :)