This is an AU ficlet of a total of five chapters. There also is potential for a sequel.

The premise: Lelouch, Nunnally and Euphemia Lamperouge, and Suzaku Kururugi are all rising young opera singers. C.C. is the conductor.

Contrary to popular opinion, opera doesn't bite. It also isn't dead. In fact, it can be quite hilarious. If you disagree, just focus on the offstage plot.

Also, try it out! The Marriage of Figaro is not the first opera I would give a complete newcomer (that'd be the Zauberflöte), but it is the second. Perhaps you will have heard that opera is boring business for old people, an artform that is long dead - that is not true. As there are bad animes, there are boring operas, but as there are great, sparkling masterpieces in anime and all other media, so are there great, hilarious or dramatic, operas. In the heyday of opera, before World War One, opera was mass entertainment. Figaro caused an uproar in Vienna at the premier because it was critical of the nobility. On opening night of a new Rossini opera, the audience would be full of copists and by the time the opera was over, the copied scores would already be printed and sold out. The country of Belgium got independent from Austria in 1830 mainly because of a revolutionary opera that sparked an uprising. Verdi had to rehearse Rigoletto in absolute secrecy, because the aria La donna e mobile was so catchy, the day after the premier every gondoliere of Venice was singing it. People would go to the opera like one would go to the movies today (presuming they didn't starve in some workers' quarter. But even for those there was opera, for example Bertold Brecht's and Kurt Eisner's Three-Penny Opera), and they expected - and received - good entertainment.

In other words, give it a try. You can't condemn something you have never plunged into and perhaps you would even like it? Starting from the next chapter, I will give you (hopefully working) links to Youtube of the relevant parts of The Marriage of Figaro, complete with subtitles. Just listen to the music for a bit and pay attention to the plot, which is on par with any modern-day romantic comedy. Give it a try, and if you like it, PM me.

Warning ahead: In this fic, two plotlines will collide. For one the plot revolving around the Lamperouge siblings and Suzaku, for another the plot onstage revolving around Figaro, Susanna, Count and Countess Almaviva and "One Mad Day". I will take care to make it clear whenever characters are on stage and when they are off stage. If you think you can't handle it, just read it. You will see you can.

Disclaimer: Code Geass is not mine, neither are the works quoted faithfully from the librettos given at opera-guide .ch.

Pairings: SuzakuxEuphemia, Lelouch/Nunnally non-romantically, slight LelouchxSuzaku and C.C. x Nunnally. Also, selfcest!Lelouch.

Characters: Lelouch, Nunnally, Euphemia, Suzaku, C.C. ("Dame Ceciniah")

For the time being, italics denotes everything sung accompagnato, i.e., arias, duets etc. accompanied by the orchestra.

Enough with the rant. (If you have skipped it, HERE is where you should continue reading) Let there be ... GEASS!


Figaro


L'Ouverture


They say that, to produce divine theatre, an actor must be more than just that – an actor. He must become one with the character, live his role. Only then can he convince his critical audience that all play and act is real and overcome reality.

That is true.

Similarly, a singer of opera must become one with his role in order to make his listeners fear, rejoice, worry and love with him and create truly divine music. It has been told that some opera singers could never let go of the roles once performed, absorbing them as a part of their selves. Some went mad from blurring the line between act and reality.

Very few singers ever make it to the grand stages of the world and even fewer of those manage to achieve the proficiency to genuinely live their acts without losing their minds.

Lelouch Lamperouge was one of those singers.

A bass-baritone by voice type, Lelouch had seriously started singing at the age of fifteen, joined the Royal Opera two years later and had sung his first lead role at eighteen. With that evening's curtain call he had become the acclaimed rising star on London's operatic sky. For the next four years, whenever his name appeared on the programme, the Royal Opera House was sure to be packed.

It had been an offer to participate in a production ofGounod's Faust as Méphistophélès with a cast of world-famous stars at the Opera Australia that had drawn him to Sydney – not to mention that Sydney's opera house's capacity was more twice as high as that of the Royal Opera.

And now here he was, singing the last lines of Wagner's Meistersinger von Nürnberg in front of thousands of enthralled listeners in one of the world's most famous halls at the mere age of 23. And he was loving it, loved how all eyes were on him and him alone.

"... Ehrt eure deuschen Meister!," he – that is, Hans Sachs – finally sang. Solemnly he took the golden collar from another Meistersinger and slowly put it around the knight's shoulders as the chorus took up his line, dozens as one.

"Ehrt eure deutschen Meister! Heil Sachs, heil Nürnbergs geliebtem Sachs!"

A laurel wreath was placed on his head, and once more the chorus hailed him. With a pompous flourish, the last notes of four hours of Wagner passed away, Lelouch stepped to the edge of the stage and, as the audience one by own rose to their feet, clapping their hands in ear-deafening applause, took a long, elaborate bow. For a long moment he revelled in the crowd's reverence, then the curtain fell, muffling the applause. Oh, I love you guys. I love your breathless adoration, I love your gifts and flowers, and oh how I love your applause.

As he made his way through a large crowd of both soloists and members of the chorus congratulating him, wanting to shake his hand, once more the boy who had sung the antagonist Beckmesser caught his glance. He stood somewhat aside the crowd, a slight blush adorned his handsome face. The boy didn't seem to notice him.

Once Lelouch had finally gotten rid of the crowd of felicitators and fans, he went over to the other singer. He was humming one of his arias.

"Hey," Lelouch greeted him. The boy winced surprised. "You're Suzaku, right?"

Slowly and wide-eyed, Suzaku nodded. "And … you're Lelouch Lamperouge …"

"I know that." The boy was quite handsome. Distinctly Asian features, Japanese, judging by the name. Wild brown hair – how typical of the Opera Australia not to adapt the actors' hairstyles to the setting (not that he would complain – he liked his hair, very much so, and far too much to have it cut off).

"I … I've got your album …," Suzaku lamely went on.

Lelouch rolled his eyes. Of course he had, everyone had. "Really? That's sweet of you." Then he drew him aside. "Listen. Have you ever sung in the Figaro?"

Suzaku blinked. "The Rossini one?"

"The Mozart one. Have you?"

"Er, no." He lowered his eyes. "I … I have covered Bartolo two years ago, though!"

"Hm," Lelouch made, frowning. "You don't have much experience, have you?"

The boy blushed even harder. "I … er. I only joined the Company last year. Beckmesser is my first major role."

Lelouch took him even further aside. "Well, it'll do …," he murmured. "I do like your voice," he then admitted. "I really do. You've got talent, Suzaku. Say … I'll be singing Count Almaviva in The Marriage of Figaro next month. We still need a Figaro, though."

Expectantly he looked at Suzaku, whose eyes widened. "Wait … you're … you're not proposing I should sing Figaro? He's the lead of the opera!"

"Precisely. Do you accept?"

When a hesitant smile crept onto Suzaku's face, Lelouch already knew he had won. "Well … I guess it's going to be fun. It'll be here in Sydney?"

He told him where it was to be. Lelouch's triumphant grin widened as he observed Suzaku's face fall.


"Well, I guess that's it …," she said. The girl was eagerly scribbling in her notebook. "Do you have any other questions, dear?"

Quickly, the girl went through her notes. "Hmmm … nope," she said. "I think that's it. Thanks a lot, miss!"

Euphemia Lamperouge smiled back. The girl was adorable, she thought once more. She couldn't remember ever having been like this, though her sister had come close. "You're welcome," she said. "I'm sure your speech will be great. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

The schoolgirl's eyes brightened. "Um … if it's fine with you, I've heard you sing the Queen of the Night's aria from The Magic Flute on the internet … could you perhaps … sing it for me?"

Euphemia gulped. Then she looked into the girl's bright eyes … "I'll do my best," she then agreed and stood up from the sofa. She tried to relax her throat. It took her a moment to remember the first notes, then it went all right. It was a demanding aria, but she had sung it at the Metropolitan Opera only six months or so before, so it should be okay.

"Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen, Tod und Verzweiflung – Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her!," she sang, high-pitched, fast and menacing. Her pronounciation of the German was a little sloppy, she had only sung Italian and French for months.

"Fühlt nicht durch dich Sarastro Todesschmerzen, Sarastro Todesschmerzen!, so bist du meine – meine Tochter nimmermehr. Aha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! Aha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! Aha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a, a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! meine Tochter nimmermehr! Aha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! Aha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! Aha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a, a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! So bist du meine Tochter nimmermehr!"

The girl watched with glossy eyes. Well, that had been the hardest part, now it was pure fun –

"Verstoßen sei auf ewig, verlassen sei auf ewig, zertrümmert sei'n auf ewig alle Bande der Natur! Verstoßen, verlassen, und zertrümmert alle Bande der Natur, alle Bande der Natur, alle Bande der Natur! wenn nicht durch dich Sarastro wird erblassen! Hört, hört, hört! Rachegötter, hört der Mutter Schwur!"

Heavily breathing, she ended. The girl was enthusiastically clapping. "That was awesome!," she exclaimed. "I didn't believe even you could strike such a … high note until now! Thank you so much, miss!"

It was rather surreal, she had to admit. The girl couldn't be fifteen.

Euphemia grinned. "You're welcome. It was nice to speak to you. Glad to know some kids these days still care for opera." Euphemia led the girl out and wished her good luck for her presentation.

The call from her manager had come as a surprise. It had been the first time she had done something like this – she really hadn't expected there to be even a single teen with any interest in opera in New York City, excepting the apprentices at the Met, of course. Still – it had been nice to talk with such a young fan. She had already proposed some more children-oriented programmes to the planning committee of the Company, but it would take time to implement them. Hopefully she could interest some children and teens into opera this way, though –

She went over to the kitchen and brew up a mug. Then she got out her mobile and turned it back on – there was a new message from her manager telling her to ring her back. Nothing else. Euphemia took a sip of coffee (too hot), then rang her up. She was greeted with a hearty, "Ah, there you are. I've been waiting for you to call".

Euphemia smiled warmly. "Good morning, Julia. At work already?" She threw a glance at her watch, it was about half past 9 in the morning.

"Sure am," the woman on the other end chuntered. "How was the girl?"

"Adorable, really. It was fun talking with her. Thanks for that."

"Listen, Euphie, there's been a new offer for you. It's on pretty short notice and only a single performance. As your manager, I would not even consider it, but as a friend, I reckoned it would interest you nonetheless."

Euphemia raised a brow. A single performance wouldn't be worth the hassle, usually, unless the Met gathered they could make a lot of money with it. "What is it? Some kind of gala?"

"I think you'll like it better. You want to know who the call was from?"

She moaned. "Stop tantalising me, will you! Who was it?"

Euphemia could almost hear Julia grinning through the line. "Dame Ceciniah Cadbury. You know, the conductor of the Royal Opera, London."

"I know her," she noted. Now that was a surprise. She took another sip of coffee (about right). "She was a good friend of big brother."

"Still is, apparently. She wants to stage Figaro's Marriage at the Royal Opera House next month, and she specifically requested you and your siblings for three of the lead roles."

Euphemia's smile brightened. "Really? That's wonderful! Big brother is behind this, I'm certain. Oh please, can I do it?"

"Well, I'm not sure about this," Julia objected. "Of course it's a nice opportunity for you, but you must not forget your obligations to the Met. The week in question you happen not to have any performances or important rehearsals, but you'll have to fly across the pond to rehearse before that. Actually I still can't believe your brother got Dame Ceciniah and the Company to stage Figaro on such short notice – it seems she will just recycle last year's Royal Opera production with different actors. Now, you simply can't leave New York to rehearse. In the four weeks leading up to the show, you've got 21 performances, nearly all of them as one of the leads, each preceded by roughly six hours of rehearsal. You've volunteered to supervise that high school project in Jersey at the end of the month, so that's another five days you'll have no time to even practise at home. Also, you've got German lessons. So, I don't see any way for you to participate, no matter how sorry I am."

Frantically, Euphemia searched for words. She hadn't thought of this. "But … I promise I'll find the time to do both! I'll just practice on the tube … I'll practice whenever I have a few moments! It'll be the Countess, right? I've sung her before, I'll just ask for Dame Ceciniah's wishes per e-mail … and … and then just take my notes from back then! I could start right now! I … listen, I've got an idea. I'll just cancel those German lessons …"

"Don't you dare," Julia hissed. "Do you know what trouble I went through to get you a German teacher in NYC who also knows his way around music?" Then her voice softened. "You said you wanted to understand what you sing, so you got to learn German."

"But it's hard!," she whined. Then she had to giggle. "Anyway, I guess it's gonna be all right if I do it? I promise I won't miss anything or fall behind, okay?"

Julia sighed. "On your responsibility, young lady. Very well then, I'll inform Dame Ceciniah. If there's a recording, send me one, okay? Oh, and don't forget about the premier of the Rigoletto tonight …"

Euphemia giggled as she tried to remember just where she had put her notes from the Figaro.


"Lassù in cielo, vicino alla madre …," she quietly sang as she looked up at the older man kneeling above her from weary eyes.

The man was near tears. "Non morir! Mia figlia!," he begged, trembling.

"In eterno per voi pregherò," she added, pianossimo now.

"Lasciarmi non dei …," he whispered.

Even for her, who had sung it before, it was heartbreaking to see this man – already rudely stamped by Life – this desperate. Nonetheless she added one last line with broken voice: "Non più... Addio!"

Then Nunnally Lamperouge slowly closed her eyes. The man's hand tightly holding hers was warm. She slumped in his lap and died.

In utter anguish the hunchbacked man put his hands to her cheeks, still hoping for her to open her eyes again – "Gilda! Mia Gilda! … è morte! Ah, la maledizioooone!"

With one last, baleful hit from the orchestra, the man collapsed over her frail body and for a moment the stage was completely dark.

Then, as the lights in the hall were turned back on, the audience erupted in applause.

The other singer helped Nunnally up, and they took a long bow.

Nunnally blushed heavily as the first audience members rose to their feet, and she was glad when the other singers came on stage to take their bows and she could stand in the back.

Once more she was called forth to bow, then finally the curtain fell and she no longer had to see the audience.

She quickly bid the other singers a good night, then hastened backstage.

Nunnally carefully closed her dressing room's door behind her, then dropped herself into the comfy chair in the centre of the narrow room, observing herself in the mirror. There she was – young and beautiful, the rising star and lead soprano of the Royal Opera after her siblings had left to pursue their own careers. This last performance, Rigoletto, would certainly make her even more famous. The first offers to produce an album had already come and only weeks ago she had been offered a place and a choral scholarship at Cambridge, which she intended to take up once the next season was over.

And still she found herself dissatisfied, disappointed, even depressed.

She still tended to awake from nightmares at times – not screaming, but drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, and crying. With the dark images still on her mind, she would then wander about the spooky old house that was far too big for a single tenant.

Invariably, she would end up in big brother's room somehow: then, Nunnally would throw her onto his bed, let out all her tears and absorb what little remained of big brother's scent.

And then she would sing: try to, at least, for her voice tended to break and be muffled by tears, but whenever she came to her brother's deserted (unchanged) room, she would sing, a recent aria of hers, perhaps – offer his resident heart a glimpse of how far she had come from merely being his less talented satellite.

She knew that his heart would recognise her, if not the rest of him.

Nunnally winced as the door to her artist's dressing room was jerked open. It was Dame Ceciniah, the conductor. She looked back at the mirror.

"What is it?," she inquired. Wordlessly Ceciniah stepped behind her and began to unlace her dress.

"First of all, we're gonna get you out of that bloody gown," the conductor said as she quickly helped her out of her costume. "And then I'll take you out for dinner." With the stern look she tended to have on her face when conducting, Dame Ceciniah threw Nunnally her casual clothes.

"Dinner" proved to be the local Pizza Hut at Henrietta Street.

Really, she should have expected it. Dame Ceciniah Cadbury was known for several things – amongst others, her exceptional skill wielding the baton, being the first female conductor to be knighted, generally being an eccentric and, most notably, her extreme love for pizza. Allegedly she had eaten twelve pizzas on her own while on a tour to conduct Madama Butterfly in Tokyo and had won a rather cheesy plushy by it which had since been an avid observer in the orchestra pit.

"Are you still going to eat that?," the conductor asked munching, pointing at Nunnally's plate. She was still wearing White Tie.

She blinked, looked at the empty plates already in front of Dame Ceciniah and shook her head. "You can have it. I'm not really hungry." The other woman had already taken it.

"You were wonderful tonight," Ceciniah said with her mouth full. "Really, one of the best Gildas I have ever seen."

Nunnally gave her a patient smile. "Why did you invite me here?"

The two of them must have given a weird image – the female conductor in White Tie and the singer in sweater and jeans dining at Pizza Hut at midnight, the former having eaten three entire pizzas while the latter didn't even make the first one.

Without haste Dame Ceciniah finished her current slice. "Your brother called," she then said and Nunnally stiffened. "I told you he'd taken the bait."

Her voice seemed to an octave higher than usual. "Well … what did he want?"

And, drawing the answer out like a thread of cheese, the conductor answered: "Le nozze di Figaro. I have to admit, that was a good move of him."

Slowly, Nunnally nodded. She tried to keep a straight face as, within seconds, various implications of big brother's choice shot through her head. Figaro had been the last opera the two of them had sung together, more than a year ago at the Glyndebourne Festival – big brother as the Count, herself as the Countess Rosina Almaviva. It had been a wonderful performance of a wonderful opera, but her memories of the moments off-stage were far more vivid than those of arias and recitatives – big brother's smile, his praise and his hot lips on hers in the finales of acts two and four were the images burned into her mind. It had been the last time they had been this close –

That big brother would choose this opera had complicated the issue and threatened to spoil the slight pride she had felt for her plan to work – have Ceciniah supply to big brother the idea of an operatic family reunion and make him think it was his own.

She could think of three distinct implications, each of which grimmer than the others.

The first one – by far the most pleasant of the bunch, but also the unlikeliest: big brother remembered that glorious evening and her joy and excitement and wished to work the wonder again. Oh, how she would have loved that! To know that big brother still cared … she would have been overjoyed. But, alas – in more than a year she had never seen any evidence that big brother did, or even had something akin to a heart.

The second one – far more likely. Big brother had chosen the Figaro simply because he liked the opera. That he certainly did, but could it be the only reason for his choice? If it was, it would greatly despair her – the thought alone was enough to make her tremble in misery and cry for all she had lost. To think that big brother had not even thought of her and that experience at Glyndebourne that had been so wonderful to her … and yet it was nowhere near as gruesome as the third possibility Nunnally could think of, the one she feared the most:

That he had chosen the Figaro because he didn't trust her to learn a new opera within a month.

Oh, that had to be her greatest fear indeed – that big brother thought of her as nothing more than a little girl that just happened to have taken a few singing lessons. Thinking of it filled her with nothing but cold rage, gone all the love. She was a Lamperouge – no, she was Nunnally. She was London's brightest young star and the Royal Opera's guarantee to a full house for years to come. Even without the surname she nowadays tried to avoid, she was a brilliant singer in her own right and –

And the truth was that she did not really belief in the first two implications.

And the truth was that she just wanted to make big brother listen to her when she was at her best, and be proud of her for all she had accomplished on her own. Perhaps … probably just that had been the true reason for plotting with Dame Ceciniah to bring her broken family back together, even if it was for but a night.

"I see," she soundlessly said. "I will be the Countess, right?"

"Yeah. Your brother will be the Count, Euphie will be Susannah and Lulu called earlier today to tell me he got some Australian newcomer he was deeply impressed by for Figaro."

Nunnally shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't really wanted any outsiders to participate – this was for her, for their family, and she couldn't help but think of that Australian as an intruder. She would have been fine with one of the boys from the Company taking the lead, all of whom knew the three siblings well enough not to be offended if told to leave them their space.

"I see," she repeated. Dame Ceciniah finished her last slice of pizza, quaffed her coke and gave the empty plates in front of her a longing look. Then she looked up at Nunnally, giving her an intense stare.

"I know what you went through, dear," the conductor then said. "I know what he did to you. But he is going to come back to London next month, and you better be prepared for it – musically and mentally. It was your idea, after all. Eventually, you will have to face him."

Slowly, Nunnally nodded. "I know that," she whispered. "I know that …"


It was rather cold.

She drew her coat and scarf tighter, got out her phone from her handbag and threw a glance at the time displayed in the header, compared it to the time displayed by the large clock on the wall and to the time flight BA355 from New York had landed according to the arrival board. It had arrived about 20 minutes earlier and most passengers had already made their way to the arrival lounge. Nunnally was pretty sure her sister would come from the exit she was observing, so why did it take her so long?

She took another sip of coffee (rather, a Caffé Mocha Grande with soy milk – she would never understand why they were all called "tall" when they had different sizes) from her paper cup, then looked back at the clock.

"Excuse me?"

Nunnally looked up to find a young man standing by her table, himself holding a cup in his hand. "Would you mind if I sit here?," he asked in a broad Aussie accent, pointing to the free chair.

Slightly irritated, she looked around the tiny café. It was packed. Then she smiled at the young man. "Of course not. Have a seat."

Placing his backpack on the floor, the man sat and Nunnally continued to observe the exit. There was an awkward silence, each of them feeling like they really should start a conversation, but none of them actually wanted to –

"So, er, who're you waiting for?," the young man finally broke the silence. He was quite handsome – Asian features, though brown-haired and green-eyed, somewhat rugged. A black hoodie with the phrase "i pwn noobs".

"My sister," Nunnally eventually replied. "The flight from New York. She's a bit late, though. What about you?"

"A friend … well, more of a colleague. We've just arrived from Sydney. He's seen something interesting at the bookshop over there …"

Nunnally had to laugh – she could certainly emphasise. "So, you're here for work, then?"

He smiled uneasily, as if the topic was slightly embarrassing to him. "Well, I guess you could say so … I'm …"

"Nunna!"

She looked up and found a flurry of pink running towards her, she rose, surprised, and almost immediately found herself in a tight hug.

"Eu...Euphie …," she realised and fought to free herself from the hug. The young man was looking on, amused. Breathlessly Nunnally added: "That … you surprised me …"

Euphemia giggled and picked the suitcase she had dropped back up. "Sorry 'bout that, sis," she cheerfully apologised. She was still giggling. "So good to see you," Euphemia then added.

Nunnally smiled. "You too. Welcome home." She gave a slight cough. "A-anyway, this is my sister, Euphemia. Euphie, this is Mr … er …?"

The young man stared at them, wide-eyed. "You're Euphemia Lamperouge," he quietly stated. Euphie looked at Nunnally. "Then you must be … Nunnally Lamperouge …"

As they silently looked on, the young man unfroze and began to frantically search for something in his backpack.

"Is … is something wrong?," Euphemia asked, worried.

The young man looked up, blinked. "Er … you wouldn't happen to have a pen?"

Then he regained his composure, jumped to his feet. He flushed red. "I … I'm sorry, I probably just made a fool of myself … I … I'm Suzaku Kururugi, and … I guess I'll be in the Figaro with you this week …"

Awkward pause.

Then, Euphemia giggled. "Wow, what a coincidence," she laughed. "You're too cute, Suzaku. Is this your first time in London?"

As the boy affirmed, Nunnally paled.

"How about I show you around the city, then?," Euphemia cheerfully offered. "You can't stay holed up in the …"

Nunnally interrupted her. "Where did you say is your colleague?," she soundlessly inquired. Her face was pale as chalk, her hands were trembling.

And before Suzaku could answer, she heard that dreaded, beautiful voice behind her – "Euphie … Euphie, is that you?"

It felt like someone had stabbed her in the heart with a rusty dagger and then twisted it when Euphie squealed and drew big brother into a tight hug. She wanted to run, run away as far as possible – but her feet wouldn't move.

Nunnally tried to remember Dame Ceciniah's advice, tried to face big brother and tell him about her feelings straight to his face, but it proved impossible. There just was no way she could ask him to his face if he still felt anything – the words just wouldn't come out.

Slowly, she turned.

Big brother was as beautiful as ever, a beautiful, feminine face commending his voice.

Finally, he and Euphemia parted and he noticed Nunnally. His smile widened.

"And Nunnally, too … you're looking ravishing." Big brother spread out his arms to embrace her. She stayed where she was.

Her voice was breaking and far higher than usual when she finally replied. "Hello … Lelouch."


Dame Ceciniah stepped on the stage as the applause swelled on. A spotlight illuminated her. One of the violins handed her a microphone, the audience kept clapping.

Quickly, she rose her arm and snapped her baton, and within seconds it was quiet. Then, laughter. She smiled.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," she spoke into the microphone when the noise had died down. "I am Dame Ceciniah Cadbury, DBE, and I shall be your conductor tonight."

She took a short bow as there was another round of applause.

"Le nozze di Figaro – The Marriage of Figaro. One of the world's most famous operas, it is also the prime example of the style of opera buffa, and is also remarkable for being a superb mix of drama and comedy. Composed by Mozart in 1786 based on a libretto by Lorenzo Da Ponte, who also wrote the libretti for Don Giovanni and Cosi fan tutte, it was first performed in Vienna on 1 May 1786, conducted by the composer, and was well-received – and that is despite the libretto being based on the eponymous play by Beaumarchais which had been banned for its revolutionary propaganda. However, Da Ponte removed all of the politics, leaving only the bare dramatic structure on which he and Mozart greatly expanded to produce a sublime example of drama that Mozart with his natural genius set to music …"


It was not like Suzaku had expected.

On one hand, London was surprisingly beautiful, from the doorknobs over the palaces and churches to the opera house at Covent Garden. It was not as bright and the colours not as radiant as he was used to, but there was some understated, rainy and very British beauty to the city. The rehearsals had been great fun – the atmosphere was completely different than at the Opera Australia, more serious and studious, but also smoother and friendlier. There was not one untalented singer in the chorus and the voices of the soloists were both astonishing and (to him) intimidating.

On the other hand, there was something deeply unsettling about the tense atmosphere between Lelouch and his sisters, especially Nunnally. The two of them never spoke more than was absolutely necessary and went out of their ways to avoid each other, and even during rehearsals, while making beautiful music together, Suzaku would always feel as if they had to force themselves to act as close as their roles demanded. It was not as if they hated each other – from what little Lelouch had told him, they certainly didn't. But there obviously were a lot of unresolved tension and words remaining unspoken between them.

Euphie, however, was a bright spot in all of this. Although put even more at unease by her siblings, she had taken the time to show him around the city on his first day and things had been going uphill with her since then.

She was an angel. Beautiful, kind, caring, humorous – all those were words that tended to come to his mind whenever he spoke to her, and he had come to love singing with her. With many little gestures and looks from bright eyes she would inspire him to give his best, and indeed he had begun to think that perhaps their duets would eclipse those of quarrelling Lelouch and Nunnally.

He had become infatuated with her.

Slightly nervous, Suzaku looked around the waiting room backstage. Euphie had left for her dressing room a bit earlier with one of the tailors for some last-minute adjustments of her dress. Lelouch and his youngest sister were sitting as far apart as possible, both of them fiercely staring at the flat screen television in the corner on which the first bars of the overture were being broadcast from a camera in the hall. Kaguya, the young trousers soprano singing Cherubino, was skimming through a magazine. Sayoko and Jeremiah, Marcellina and Bartolo, respectively, were in a bordering room going through the third scene of the first act once more. The other soloists were probably going through their lines or reading in the other waiting room.

The door opened and Euphie stepped in. Immediately he sprung to his feet.

"Are you coming, Suzaku? I think that was our cue."

Suzaku smiled. It would happen, it occurred to him – it was going to be real. He would be singing in an opera with Euphemia Lamperouge – and that as the lead.

They stepped out of the waiting room. The area directly behind and beside the stage was now almost completely deserted.

"You … you're looking great," Suzaku managed to say and blushed a little. She was looking great indeed. Her costume was rather simple, as befitting a servant, but the dress nonetheless commended her. She wore neither make-up nor jewellery, but her hair was still flowing and her deep purple eyes were bright with excitement.

"Thanks …," she replied, herself blushing. They passed the prompter and the propman and moved on stage. "Good luck!," she wished him, then she moved to her position by the side of the set. High shelves on the sides, to the left filled with various cloths and textiles, to the right with wigged mannequin heads. An easy chair slightly off-centre with a large white cloth thrown over the backrest and a door in the back. It was rather dark; no light was supposed to pass under the curtain.

Suzaku silently moved to the right side, got down on his knee and took the long wooden ruler laid out for him. Then he drew a deep breath and looked up, his face going expressionless.

The lively overture ended. For a moment the orchestra in the pit paused, then started again, quieter and calmer this time. Slowly the curtain rose and the lights on stage went on.

Suzaku waited the few bars until his cue, then he put his ruler to the floor, looked from one end to the other and back and opened his mouth … "Cinque!"


Operas quoted (I recommend the video links. All of them are highly worthy of watching. Remove all spaces from the links, of course):

1) Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg / The Master-singers of Nuremberg, finale, by Wagner. Singing are Hans Sachs and the chorus. ww w. youtube watch ?v=u61XvPYyaE0

2) Die Zauberflöte / The Magic Flute, second aria of the Queen of the Night "Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen" by Mozart (you might know it ...) ww w. youtube watch ?v=JzFi-7H9TKs

3) Rigoletto, finale, by Verdi. Singing are hunchbacked court jester Rigoletto and his dying daughter Gilda. ww w. youtube watch ?v=RdqAfXZyQ-Q

4) Le nozze di Figaro / The Marriage of Figaro, first word, by Mozart. It means "five". Link to the overture and the first act will be provided later.


Please tell me if I should continue / if there is interest in this. Also, has anyone got an idea what to do about the Italian lyrics? I thought about providing the English ones in the text without the Italian ones and about providing the Italian ones and the English translation in footnotes, but the translations will be plot-relevant ... :/

Reviews, please :3