AN: After long years of reading fiction in English, which by the way is not my first language, I've finally gathered the courage to publish something here. Possibly not my best but hey, what can I say?.
I accept constructive criticism, and I'd love- really, really love if some kind soul could betaed any grammatical mistakes or whatever, okay?.
Also, this is a one-shot. Or at least, it should. As it's my damn brain is already plotting for a long, long sequel with a lot of characters and dialogues and- sigh. I can't promise anything but knowing myself as I do I'm pretty sure this won't be my last attempt to write Lelouch and company... Yeah, I suck.
Finally, just to say this contains spoilers for the end of the series so you've been warned.
Thank you, beforehand and- Enjoy, people!
The Path of the Unrepentant
Evil, be thou my good - John Mill.
1.
Lelouch wakes up wrapped in darkness. There's a hard wooden plank digging on his sore back, on his sides, stifling any movement he should make.
He wriggles his numb legs and feet, feeling the painful return of the blood to his lower extremities.
He doesn't know where he is, nor does he remember when exactly he fell sleep- Or where.
Surely, this is just other of Milly's punishments for have been dozing during their tedious meetings. He almost can hear her mocking reproaches and Rivalz's love-struck giggles.
He sighs, or he tries, but he just achieves to let a rough cough out. His chest hurts as he attempts to inhale some of the stagnant air there. He frowns, wetting his chapped lips- Exactly how long he's slept? .
He opens his dry mouth, ready to give up and let Milly and Shirley and Waltz know that, yes, he have fallen sleep again in one of their interesting reunions and yes, they have won; when his right knee jerks involuntarily and it bumps against something hard above him. Immediately, some grainy substance lands on his face.
Lelouch gasps, pressing the flat of his hand against the wooden surface meres inches over his nose. He can smell the dirty humid substance from there. He knows that scent. He knows what it is. He-.
Inside a wood coffin, twenty feet under soil, mud and cursed earth, Lelouch vi Britannia screams.
2.
If someone, long long centuries ago, had said her what she was about witnessing, she probably would have laughed on its face.
Or maybe not, she muses with a bored expression- Who knows?.
As it is, she just seat down in a hollow log with a tired sigh and waits.
She hates waiting. Or at least she did. Before him, and him, and HIM. Before everything turned upside down. Before…
She halts the turn of her thoughts as she notes the land under her feet stirring. The tips of four nimble long fingers, then a full hand comes out from the muddy earth and she can't suppress the smile that graces her sentient lips.
She is pleased -she can't lie to herself- with this sudden turn of events. She doesn't know how it'll end. But that's a good thing. She loves surprises, after all.
She grips the fumbling hand and chuckles amusedly as it freezes between her long fingers. The skin under her fingertips is rough and there're dirt and soil under his nails but his old strength is still there too, between them, in their entwined fingers- in her.
She pulls the hand out until a familiar mop of black hair appears in sight, and sighs contentedly as she hears him gasp.
"… Ah. You're finally here, Lelouch".
Above them, the sky cries.
3.
"You should do something with your hair" she says, suddenly and Lelouch turns around with a frown. There's still dirt and mud smeared over his handsome face, under his left eye and on the tip of his pointy nose. He has done his best to clean himself out, but C.C supposes there is not a lot you can do with just your ragged shirtsleeve and rainwater.
They are in the middle of nowhere though, so it'll have to serve.
"What's wrong with my hair?" he asked, scrubbing fiercely the dirty smudges on his collarbone.
"It's a little conspicuous, don't you think?".
"Conspicuous?. Why-?" he stops himself with sudden realization "Oh".
"Indeed" she drawls out, darting a bored glance to his surroundings. The small town where she's staying is only a few miles from there, but by the way Lelouch's knees shake, C.C doesn't think they'll be able to make it before night comes.
Unless…
A devilish smile appears on her lips as she hears that convenient noise of hooves approaching them.
"Lelouch?".
"Huh?" he blinks, obviously still a little out of his game- she can understand that. It's not every day what you resurrect from your own planned, painful and dramatic death.
"Come with me" she hauls him up, ignoring his protest and stumbling steps "You'll love this".
4.
He doesn't love it. In fact, he possibly would hate it unless for one simple reason- it serves to his purposes.
He is weak, his strength wanes with each stumbling step and he knows he won't be long before his knees finally give out. He doesn't want end dragging C.C to the muddy ground with him again- She doesn't deserve that.
So he sighs and stares for a long eternal second at the inconspicuous beast in front of him, before giving in.
"… Okay".
The mule brays in response.
5.
It is raining.
The light drizzle which had started minutes ago strengthens as they make their slow trudge to the town and soon both are drenched to their bones.
C.C is fine with a little of water- she always has liked rain. Rain washes away your sins. Or at least it was what Mother Mary always said.
The mule doesn't look greatly bothered for the weather, either. She pats the animal fondly, before returning her attention to the shivering form of her companion.
Lelouch's skin is cold at touch. He's thin and pale under the sodden white shirt, his voice a rough whisper from disuse, his lips chapped and broken.
"Here" she puts her yellow hat over his head "Cover your head with it".
He twists his head to his right, sending her a deadpanned glare over his shoulder.
"What?" she asks, mockingly "It doesn't suit your fine tastes?".
Lelouch blinks slowly, wets his already wet lips but not utter a single word of protest. On his head, C.C yellow hat seats ominously.
You look stupid, she wants to say but she doesn't. Instead, she just tightens her grip on his thin waist as he slumps against her, his bony back pressed against her breasts.
He must be exhausted, his muscles trembling like lead within her embrace.
They don't speak- there's no need for it.
And for when they reached the town, Lelouch is deeply asleep.
The end