After a request to create a sort of Epilogue, I decided to run something from Schneizel's POV in the events following his recovery. I apologise, but for all that Schneizel can be honest and nice, my personal belief is always that he is a dark man from an internal perspective, very like Lelouch though- if possible- far more manipulative. I do believe he has a genuine fondness bordering on love for Kanon, but at this point in time it is not his highest priority.
Jeremiah had been called in, and Kanon's request eventually fulfilled. The hold of Geass was lost on the Second Prince, Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Holy Britannian Empire. Upon discussing the matter with Kanon, he made his aide aware of two very important things- that he had been debriefed of how the world had changed, and that he remembered nothing of these two years passed.
Despite being the Empress, and a little older now, Nunnally was still naïve. Her knowledge of her brother's acts just prior to his existence under Geass were vague, and uninformed. And, for a brief time, it was this ignorance that saved them, and kept Schneizel in the position he had rightfully earned.
It had not lasted long. The vicious testament of Cornelia had ensured that. The Prince's sister had informed their ruling younger sibling of the plan Schneizel had held back then in the fight against Zerp, and how he had been willing to sacrifice innocent lives to see it done. And so it was that Schneizel's power was taken from him, his position in politics removed, and his status as a Prince employed in name alone. Kanon had been called upon to do as he had offered, and take his master out into the corners of the globe, away from offices of influence. Exiled.
Domestic life, as it turned out, suited Schneizel very little. This, he had not anticipated.
Though he now wore civilian clothes, slept in their mediocre bed, and bathed in a crude plastic tub, his endurance of the life they lived together here was that of a tiger surviving its cage. He could not work, and even if he could, he refused to. The notion of a Britannian Prince performing manual labour was something he abhorred; even the opportunity to live like a normal couple didn't act as the balm that Kanon had hoped it might.
"This tea is….fowl." Oh yes, and Schneizel's tolerance seemed to have worn dangerously thin. "What's in it?"
Kanon's patience was equally sparce: "What do you think's in it? Tea, water, milk, sugar. Hardly takes a genius to work that out, does it?"
A snarl was all he gave in response to that, as he swallowed more tea with distaste. It was the same tea that Kanon had made him every day since they'd been here. But it was not top-quality loose leaves direct from their manufacturers. It wasn't enhanced by experts, and steeped in boiled mineral water. The milk was not the same in flavour. The sugar was worse in sweetness and texture, despite the fact that he barely had any in there. It came in a simple mug that said 'I DON'T DO MONDAYS' with a displeasingly comical cartoon of a highly depressed man. The rim wasn't gold- it was chipped! And the teapot was second-hand, washed out by Kanon in their small, menial kitchen sink.
Disgusting.
"You're being rude."
"And you're being ungrateful."
The violet-blue gaze crisped up, and Schneizel moved his bishop up to take Kanon's queen.
For all his years of service, his aide was a poor match for this game; Schneizel's loss of dignity at stooping to such an easy daily conquest was only outweighed by the horror of playing the game itself with plastic pieces. But here, in the middle of nowhere, they really couldn't afford to be picky (apparently).
"You never used to speak to me in this way, Kanon…even when you disagreed with me you voiced it as little more than concern."
The Earl (yes, he maintained his station too, though was relieved of any duty except serving the exiled Prince) gave a quiet sigh, looking at his dishpan hands, how his skin puckered revoltingly in the dirtying water as he continued to scrub the remnants of food away. Schneizel always refused to have those hands near him when they were in such an old-looking way.
"In your worst moments as a humanitarian, you were still a dedicated leader…you still deserved to be obeyed and trusted."
"And, now, what? Did I lose that right along with everything else?" He placed spectacles up on the bridge of his nose, and thumbed through the book he'd been reading. This was how he filled his time now, chess and reading. If nothing, they kept him occupied whilst he figured out a plan on how to reinstate himself. Occasionally, he would kid himself into believing that it was for Kanon's benefit too, but in all honesty that was merely a positive by-product of a best possible outcome.
"Not that I'm not grateful for your intervention on my behalf, but it was precisely that which brought us to our current state of living, so you can stop placing the blame entirely with me. I don't understand you anymore- once I cracked a whiptail across your face and you understood; now, I can't even show a mite of displeasure without you taking it personally. Of course, I see your plight: my frustration at being stuck here is causing you to feel that you can no longer please me. Please, I ask of you, don't see it that way. It's not remotely true. You please me very much. I just feel…that I can no longer fulfil my full potential. My efforts for this world have been lost, and now I can't even seem to-"
"Stop it!" Kanon, annoyed, slammed the final plate into the drying rack. Taking in a deep breath, he added what was owed: "Please….my Lord."
The prince smirked inwardly, though for the sake of the act remained completely innocent in features. Some who knew the truth of Lelouch's actions would have called him the greatest actor in history…naturally, Schneizel preferred to think of himself as an adequate rival for that position.
"Stop what?"
"Treating me like I'm one of your…your obstacles. I'm not some attacking nation, or rebellious band of civilians. I won't be so easily soothed." Although he loved and served his Prince dearly, the ability to accept his disgrace was not in Kanon's nature. The aide had attempted to create some shadow of the life they had lived as noblemen- scrabbling together a mismatched tea set, still serving as though they were not equal in their suffering here, still insisting on calling Schneizel all the airs and graces of a title he could barely call his own. It was rather sweet, really. So very loyal. Like a spaniel, except with far more intelligent levels of training, for which any man should be grateful. One could not train a spaniel to care for itself. One could not teach it how to make tea adequately. One could not fuck a dog...legally, anyway.
Schneizel pulled the spectacles off again, folding their wings in and setting them delicately on the edge of the thing that dared to dub itself a chess board. A slight smile coiled in the corner of his mouth, tilting it…
Kanon had once called him self-sacrificing. More so than any other man. It was true in some senses, and highly false in others. Or, at least, true in a very unconventional and radical sense. He was self-sacrificing with his life, his reputation, his ethics. But he was also a man willing to sacrifice others; some would call him dangerous. Kururugi had. Cornelia had. And his sister Nunnally had come to believe it, enough to send him away.
Few had such a silver tongue as he, though. Decisions like this could be unmade. And, if not, there were other methods he had been considering.
"Kanon…come here." Yes, come on. With your unpleasant pruney fingers, and your shirt splashed with dirty dish water, and your long hair that looks in need of a decent wash. You're suffering here. Don't deny it. I feel it. When we're in bed…you think your body doesn't give you away? You think you can bury your face in my neck or the pillow and I won't see how you've changed? But you'll come back to me, Kanon. Just as I came back to you. "Come." Two fingers crooked and beckoned.
When the slight young man moved forward, he pulled him into his lap, ignoring the slight struggle and muttered protests.
"Kanon…" He murmured it into his friend's ear, hot breath casting over the sensitive skin. "Don't you want our old life back?"
He didn't require a firm answer, or a mewl in response to a touch, or a pathetically romantic notion of locking gazes and silent understandings. The man behind the mask of Second Prince was a manipulative one, who knew not only his opponents but his friends all too well, could predict their next twelve moves, spy their false openings and sly closes, their mistakes and their flukes of genius. And Kanon was just the Queen to his King- he need only make one move at a time and the aide would be there, flying around, watching his back, doing his bidding. Yes…he was a queen piece…but not a very good one. More like a pawn who had accidentally inherited the crown. But memories of military times spent together meant that Schneizel had faith in his young, kind lover to act far more darkly than he at first appeared to be. I know you…I know what you want.
"I could do it you know…" A palm rubbed the scratchy denim fabric at Kanon's groin, "I could make it all right again…and you'd never have to wash dishes, or drink cheap filth, or lie in starchy sheets…you could wear your old uniform, and we'd have our quarters back." The word 'our' there was an important one. The rooms that Schneizel had owned and lived in had by no means been intended for sharing. Kanon had his own modest wing away elsewhere. But for the convincer, he must present the illusion of a life shared.
The long slightly greasy head of hair tilted back against his shoulder, breath hitching. And he knew- Schneizel knew- that he had won.
"Peace does not suit everyone so well, Kanon…" The Earl's groan made him smirk, "….and we shall build our allies from there."
I may choose to continue this into the next set of events.