Goodbye Gawain

He couldn't deny it any longer.

Some external entity guided this event. Nothing happens without reason. There was no such thing as coincidence. Happenings that would be described as such were simply too complicated to be easily understood. Schneizel added to his list a goal to become powerful enough to rationalize such occurrences. The world around him was beginning to become completely baffling.

"What are you going to do?" Kanon whispered, leaning over the commander's chair. The careful, and yet firm grip of that noir gloved hand was felt through the pompous amounts of padding on Schneizel's shoulder. "Schneizel?"

"Fire the weapons." He responded.

The words sounded grotesque, like it was someone else speaking them, and from a far off location. Externally he appeared cool and collected, the epitome of composure. Based on the small, reassuring, circles Kanon was drawing on the fabric with his thumb, he could tell. Of course he could tell. Schneizel stood; ignoring the silent plea to stay once the damage was done.

All that remained of the Lancelot and that Japanese made Knightmare was his own memory. The contents, including the two persons in question, appeared to be vaporized. All that remained of that area was a crater. He didn't want to look at the screen any longer. What Schneizel needed was a good, stiff drink. Scotch. More than a few glasses of the alcohol were required too.

"Take over command, Kanon. Give me the report when it comes in."

"Yes, sir."

His proverbial mask wasn't shed until he reached his personal quarters. That fell to the floor with his jacket, under robes, and ascot. The delicate piece of silk was strangling the life out of him. Even dressed only in his eggshell button down shirt and slacks, he felt heated. Stripping down to his boxers afforded no extra comfort. What was wrong with him? His heart was pounding in his ears; there was a strange sensation that he was drowning. The breath leaving his lungs was uncontrollable, becoming too quick and shallow. It was making him lightheaded.

The Dalmore Single Malt Scotch was drank directly from the container. Schneizel's hands were shaking too much for him to pour the $60,000 liquid into a Swarovski crystal whiskey glass. He uncorked the contents, taking a long, unceremonious gulp, before slowing down to slightly more refined swigs. With a deep sigh he slouched against the unlit fireplace, pressing his flushed forehead against the cool marble of the mantle.

Nothing made sense anymore.

He lost track of how many "Lulus" he killed somewhere around 2011. The year following the real one's death was a blur. The amount of blood dripping off his hands was astounding. Their death was brought from his own hands too. It wasn't so impersonal. He closed his manic pastel purple eyes, finding comfort by remembering his victims' screams.

Asphyxia was his first love. The 3rd year student's name escaped him. She had the ugliest grey eyes naturally. The irises were amethyst when she ceased to breath, however. His actions were crude. He wrapped his large hands around her small neck, and choked the life out of her in one instance.

Since then he made it more of an art form.

During 2010-2011, he developed a habit of slowly depleting the brain of oxygen, causing the girls to hallucinate, and actually believe themselves to be Lulu. For a fleeting moment he forgot also, and it was no longer playing pretend. Each one of them would cry crocodile tears. He made it all better with a flick of his wrists. Sometimes he choked. It was a subconscious attempt to pay homage to the grey-eyed girl. Mostly he slashed their throats with his Anders Högström Snake Eye Gambler [4], watching the lifeblood drip off the mosaic damascus blade. The gore drained on to his hands, and lastly the tile. The cheap flooring was easier to clean, not he did so himself. It was his philanthropy, giving the poor out of work criminals a job to do. With each murder a part of him hoped he could ultimately lay her to rest.

It made no sense for him to be affected by another fantasy. That's what Zero was: a fantasy. He and Kanon had too many conversations regarding the logistics for his desires to be anything but that. The Lulu behind the mask was the same as all the others. Was it because he didn't see her die this time? Was it too much like seven years ago? The lack of a body, somehow, made it too real. Without the corpse, it was too close to the truth. He needed to feel the warm sticky red substance on his fingers, and see the dullness in her eyes.

It was a paradox.

Schneizel turned, and slid down the smooth surface. The shallow groves of the design were felt on his hypersensitive skin. A chill caused his frame to tremble when he was seated on the bare wood. "I should get a rug," he mumbled, before taking another drink. Perhaps he had a fever. That would explain the temperature changes and his body's reaction to Zero's death. He held the back of his hand to his neck. Where was Kanon when he needed him? Oh yes. His one and only friend was commanding the Avalon in his absence.

It was more likely that he was managing damage control with Euphie, considering her Knight of Honor was sacrificed also.

"It's for the best, Little Sister." He said to the chess piece situated towards the edge of one of his many boards. The pink sapphires were a little too telling for his liking. Still, the carvings were beautiful. His artist truly outdid himself with the sub-Vicereine inspired bishop. "It's better to love and lost than to never have loved at all. Honestly, I'm not sure if I agree. It's all just a fantasy. Do I even believe in love? [1]

"The Old English lofian meant 'to praise, exalt, appraise, value.' This came from the Proto-Germanic word, lubōną, 'to praise, vow', from lubą, 'praise'. The Proto-Indo-European 'leub' described a sensation like, love, desire." Running his pointer finger around the rim of the bottleneck, he appraised semantics. "The definition hasn't changed much. It doesn't do justice though, does it?

"It's for the best." He reassured himself this time. "With the prime terrorist of Area 11 disposed of, we can work toward bringing peace back to the settlement. Subsequently, my plans will be put into motion with much more ease. I can't think a better way, not that it matters much... "

Kanon stood at the doorway. Schneizel startled at the intrusion, making a vain attempt to stand before giving up. "I don't count as a person," was always Kanon's argument as to why he was the only human allowed to witness the second Prince in any sort of disarray. He quirked an eyebrow when the other man knelt down, prying the alcohol from his frigid hands.

"They escaped." He said plainly, running his fingers through Schneizel's short disheveled blond hair.

"Oh?" Schneizel's bored response didn't match the flutter of his heart.

"It has to be geass. Kururugi sent out a transmission immediately before we started firing. Something about needing 'to live.' He piloted the Lancelot out of harm's way... That was why nothing was left in the area but a massive crater."

"Does he still have Zero detained?"

"I don't know. They just disappeared."

"Disappeared." Schneizel repeated.

"Yes. Your sister -" Kanon paused, watching Schneizel's eyes go wide. "Euphemia. Your half-sister, Euphemia, has gone missing as well." The dejected prince nodded, pushing his head deeper into the consoling caress. "It's too much of a coincidence."

"I thought you said my coincidence was meaningless."

"I still think so. At least, the one you were fixated on is meaningless. However..."

"It's fate, Kanon."

"You don't believe in fate."

"I do now. We will go to Kamine Island tonight to investigate those ruins. That's the reason we came here, after all. Until then spare no resources in searching for Zero, and, of course Euphie." His assistant nodded and moved to leave the room. "Wait." Schneizel continued, picking up the thoughts that were swirling around his head like cartoon birdies. "I didn't eat lunch. That's beside the point. Was there any other voice on the transmission?"

Kanon looked like he wanted to hide something. He wouldn't meet eye contact and quickly exhaled. "There might have been. I thought I heard female voice in the background saying something about an 'idiot.' I will enhance the audio and send you up a copy shortly."

Schneizel nodded again, positively beaming.

Zero was female. He had evidence of something pointing towards her identity.

She was alive.

It had to be fate.

He hid his hangover from the Earl well. No, not Kanon; The Earl of Montreal [2] was well aware of Schneizel's situation. He showed his sadistic side by holding the second Prince to his word to meet with another person of the same rank, Lloyd Asplund, that evening. It's probable that Schneizel was still intoxicated, given his actions. The distinction was nebulous. It matched his emotional state, which was another thing only Kanon was privy to. This was made clear by his reaction to the others, particularly one nicknamed "pudding." Unfortunately, that shrill voice did not penetrate the pounding in Schneizel's head like a sweet dessert. It was more like a splinter: painful, and yet not enough to remedy without appearing uncouth.

"Oh my! Who would have imagined a floating aircraft carrier!" Lloyd shouted, spinning around in a circle when entering the lower hangar deck. The vast room was empty sans parts of the recovered Lancelot, and the equipment used to transport the Knightmare. The scientist's voice echoed off the gunmetal grey steel walls. "Didn't you say we should wait for practical application?"

The juvenile enthusiasm made the hairline fractures in the mask Schneizel spent a lifetime sculpting less noticeable. Or perhaps it was that energy that caused such unnoticeable imperfections: slightly tense shoulders; fingers twitching like clockwork, and a too pronounced smile that contrasted impassive features. It was of little consequence. His role of a casual, and yet remarkably august prince was still played to near perfection. Any silent critique would have to wait until his pounding headache subsided.

Anapana meditation was his usual tactic to maintain composure. Breath was an ideal occurrence, existing as a conscious and unconscious action, able to captivate one's focus when done right. It aided him in with interactions when he wanted nothing more than to be rid of annoyances by any means necessary. The slight distraction scattered Schneizel's thoughts enough to prevent him from becoming hyper attentive on one thing, namely obsessions and desires to commit ethically unacceptable crimes.

"Because I am very interested in all the things you have been making." Schneizel responded. Truth be told, at that moment he was more interested in not vomiting on the floor. "I simply had to create one."

"And the Hadron Cannon?"

"I had to try." Schneizel's fingers spasmed, remembering the way the red beams shot out, appearing to destroy everything in sight. "I've always wanted to meet you, Ms. Cecil Croomey. I'm -" He changed the subject. A genuine smirk spread across his lips when she interrupted surprised by his presence.

"Prince Schneizel!"

"How dare you sit higher than the Prince?!" General Bartley scolded the busty blue haired woman, seated on the top of the ladder that led into the cockpit.

The accusation caught her off balance, both literally in addition to the figure of speech. Cecile stuttered through what he gathered would have been an apology, except she found herself tumbling to the floor instead. Not even he was delusional enough to deem a slight spread of her legs, the hand on her arched back, or the pained expression while she whined intentional. Still, he secretly appreciated the event. "Are you all right? My name is Schneizel El Britiannia." He asked, bending at the waist and reaching a hand out. Introductions were pointless; the benefit lied in creating a character possessing both esteem and relatable qualities. Approachable. His father already played the opposite role. "Now, take my hand."

Her unease was felt through the thin material of a white silk glove. With two trembling hands, she held on, allowing him to bear more of her weight when giving aid than necessary. Cecile was by far leaps and bounds ahead of her direct superior in terms of decorum. Due to this, the action caught him off guard. His hangover could also be a contributing factor to the strain. Schneizel abhorred the thought that it could be a weakened state that caused him to come to his conclusion. The way her eyes shine at their proximity, and his chivalrous gesture, did little to ease the complex.

"Think nothing of it," he turned, feigning humility by disregarding Bartley's praise. An ability to follow conversations while not paying attention was also perfected long ago. "You helped me out before, as well as taking care of Clovis. I should be thanking you."

Indeed Schneizel did rescue the other man from a moldy dungeon and restore rank. Nothing was given freely. It was a small price to pay for the knowledge of Code-R that Clovis attempted to hide from him, and the cascading effect his consistency ensued. Schemes and subjugation were his forte. This didn't make the acquisition of more pieces less labor intensive. Without a geass, his plans were forced to be slow moving. After the actions of Kururugi, it the reason behind Zero's rash behavior was doubtlessly that power.

The black rook he commissioned seemed to be obsolete already. Given the new information, it seemed hardly fair to score the terrorist as a 3.5. A queen. Perhaps. The only conflict was which side the witch had the vigilante playing for, if she gave away any details at all. Schneizel's boards were not accurate to the official chess rules. He could have two queens, especially after hearing an unadulterated voice.

His heart skipped a beat as he fought the urge to enter a series of "what-ifs." Only Cecile's hand, still gripping his own, kept the second prince grounded. There was too much to be done this day for him to slip into a fantasy. Whether or not the masked terrorist was a phantom, a ghost of his beloved sister, was outside of his control. Logically speaking, there was no reason to overthink the situation. "It is what it is," or so the saying goes. A more applicable phrase could be "putting the cart before the horse." If Lulu possessed a geass of absolute control, well then...

"Well then, Ms. Cecile, if you'll excuse me." He cut himself off from that trail of thoughts, fearing that a continuation would cause his face to become as flushed as Cecile's when he kissed the back of her hand. Her eyes sparkled. The blue was too dark to be easily covered; the violet would be several shades past perfection. Besides, the notion that a brilliant woman would keep his attention longer was not ready to be tested.

Her embarrassment subsided just in time to question his motives before departure. Cecile composed herself to articulate the words without hesitation. Schneizel stared at the nearby exit sign. His fingers twitched again. A scarcely comparable memory of Lelouch flooded his mind before a gate could be put into place.

2005:

Seemingly endless "why trails" are common for young children; Lelouch was eccentric. Not in the sense that her questions out measured her sisters' in volume. Euphemia, who was one year younger, would ask him about the silliest things. Dressed like one of Cornelia's dolls, the pink haired princess would continuously ask "why, why, why," without meaning, or presumably even understanding the conceptions in which she was questioning. The answers didn't matter either. She seemed incapable or unwilling draw connections.

Lelouch was antithetical. The raven-haired one would watch, eyes darting, collecting data, with a devotion well beyond her years. It wasn't until the two of them were alone, seated in their unspoken assigned seats, playing chess in the study, that she would vocalize her findings.

Schneizel smiled and listened to her analysis, waiting for her to finish. It was only recently that he broke her disgraceful habit of chewing on her hair while musing. Twirling pens or tapping her fingers on the table during pauses replaced it. It was a step in the right direction, surely, and more acceptable means of fidgeting than his own.

"So why, then, did Odysseus act in such a manner? I don't get it."

"Because he has the mentality of a churl."

He openly laughed at the way she chewed on her lower lip. Her expression was far too serious for a five year old. Perhaps it was the perceived paradox in her personality that put him at ease enough to feel open, unguarded, and, most importantly, candid. "Why do you describe him like that?"

"It means peasant."

"That's not what I asked!" She screeched, kicking him in the knee out of embarrassment. How the lethargic child managed to pull her legs out from under her bottom, and swing before he could react was winsome.

Schneizel caught the tiny foot on the second attempt, holding the flailing extremity in a gentle grip. "Don't kick." His scolding only made her more unruly. "Lelouch. Stop." He could feel the remnants of caked on mud, caught in her stockings. So that was the reason she sat in such a way today, to keep the evidence of her chasing frogs with Clovis from catching his attention.

"You're mean! You always look down on me!"

"Of course. You are a child."

"Maybe that's why Big Brother Odysseus ignores you!"

"I've never kicked him." Schneizel smirked. Despite his reprimands, he couldn't help adding fodder to her fire.

Her eyes narrowed into slits and she ceased moving. After he released her leg she leaned forward and flicked his white king off the board. The urge to take hold of her protruding tongue with his teeth, instead of his fingers was disturbing, to say the least. He made a note to play this game later with Lulu, lest dwell on this situation for decades. A need for her was becoming too frequent for his liking. The tiny squeal of protest was nearly too much to endure. He let go like her saliva was scalding.

"No. It's because he doesn't care. He's the oldest. You said he doesn't think like you and me. He doesn't think he should be scareded of you."

"Scareded?" He raised an eyebrow. "You're too keen, given your ignorance. That's a compliment, by the way; I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you for coming to that conclusion. So don't kick me again. [3]"

"It was indeed me, Ms. Cecile, as was the hadron burst." Schneizel's features hardened and his lax stance became rigid. The imposing air was not dichotomous to his father's aura, sans the dead look in his eyes. "In such situations, one must decide on one's priorities. If something unexpected happened, we may have been able to save him. I gambled that Euphie's knight and special dispatch pilot Kururugi Suzaku could make it out of there."

"R-right, I understand." Cecile straightened, casting her vision to the floor in shame. "I apologize. I was rude, as the general said."

"Not at all." He lied. The bit of genuine emotion shown was only the tip of the iceberg. "I am at fault, for not protecting my subordinate." He turned, anxious that too much was being revealed. "I'm sorry."

He neglected to mention that his apology had little to do with the knight. Often times vague answers were superior to specifics. Let them infer what they want. The search for Euphemia and Suzuka was more in hopes that the opposition was stranded in the same location.

He didn't miss pulling all nighters. Even in the height of his academic career, Schneizel never found the habit of his peers, cramming before finals, necessary. In spite of, or possibly because of his issues, and superior intelligence; he found free time for extracurricular activities. The time Kannon spent studying, he experimented with various means of avoiding and living out his delusions. Sometimes both acts were played at once. The inability of his partner(s) to participate in the same level didn't bother him on most days.

No one suspected his bloodshot eyes had nothing to do with his sparkling transcripts.

The sun was rising by the time Lloyd finished connected the prototype Knightmare, Gawain, up to the artifacts found in the cave. Schneizel maintained a cool air, contradicting the rage the burnt within him at the delay. Leave it to Clovis to provide such shitty directions to the location. His alarm went off twice before Schneizel decided to silence his mobile. The reminder texts from Kannon were without reply.

He prioritized scotch over Thorazine[4] the afternoon before. Dinner was neglected, and so was that dose. At this point neat little bells or vibrations did little to sway his actions. The withdrawals should have been prompt enough. It explained his behavior more than a hangover. Given the severity, another something else must have captivated him enough to neglect schedule too. Twenty-four hours shouldn't be this intense.

An interest in the architecture of the area was used to conceal his jitters. Kamine Island was chock full of little details begging to be examined. It was unfortunate the single chamber contained nothing at the entry. There was little room to pace, not that he would do such a thing in public. The Thought Disturbing System, security system, and decorations were all near the entrance to the Thought Elevator. The farthest he could wander without suspicion was the second pillar, at the end of the platform, which contained scripts left by the ancients.

Schneizel pretended to read the glyphs as he ran the palm of his right hand over the etchings written into the reef limestone. The meaning of the delicately carved symbols slipped through his wavering digits. The involuntary gesture was subtle. It was likely he could have read them at some point, if he was in the right state of mind. The carvings definitely had meaning to his sire. The man had, obviously, more than his lifetime to research. Schneizel knew there were more than recent discoveries. This fascination wasn't recent, dating back to before succession. Regardless, whatever lay behind the pitchfork marked door would be analyzed by the Gawain. His father paving the way made it easy for him to catch up. The Emperor lived in the past, not the present. He could have the old temple as long as Schneizel has enough data imported into his projects.

Lloyd and Bartley didn't know.

They wouldn't know.

They would know even less if he took the medication. It would only take an hour to kick in, and he could easily handle himself that long. Schneizel was well versed at keeping up appearances. But what if they saw? He fought the urge to reach into his breast pocket and remove the small round orange pill. His other hand twitched, more pronounced than usual.

Twitch might not be the right description. It was slower, and recognizable to someone fervent as he. As fervent as he was at a young age, would be a better account. The act of using prayer beads was similar in the major religious traditions such as Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, and Sikhism. Sliding the mala stones over the middle finger with the thumb, specifically using the left, or non-dominant hand was the tradition of Buddhism. Rosaries, what he used most as a child, were often clutched with both hands. He couldn't remember when he abandoned that habit in favor of the former.

Schneizel's hand was empty, and yet the slightly scratchy texture of his worn amethyst beads was still keenly felt. Of course they were amethyst, what other gem would he have chosen? Even though he was in high school last time he touched the necklace, muscle memory was exemplary. He mimicked the movements with each inhale, not feeling far gone enough to resort to anything demeaning.

Besides, to whom would he pray?

As a teenager, the serenity prayer was his favorite. "God, grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." He would recite those words over and over, sometimes going over the seven decades more than once. [5] They were favorable to creeds, or devotions. Simpler. It was the first step towards taking responsibility. After locking himself in his room, reciting religious poetry for hours to quell the episodes with no avail, he became jaded.

It's fascinating how humans revert to archaic beliefs when distressed.

The stone surface became too much, and the second prince paced back to the duo with casual precision. The wires appeared to slither like snakes. Blue and black cords glittered in a way that was reminiscing of movement. Dear Lord, he hated snakes. One of the reasons he clung to the remnants of his faith in Christianity during episodes was due to the advisory, an interpretation of the darkness within God herself, was reptilian. Some irony existed in this recurring hallucination and his affinity towards technology. He shifted his gaze before scales began to form in his mind's eye. Bartley and Lloyd didn't even bother to look up when he approached. His paranoia of being found out was for naught.

Besides his mother, there was only one who knew of Schneizel's situation.

He could sense the weight of Kannon's elbow on his shoulder. How his friend was capable of leaning on him as he walked was beyond the prince's comprehension. The population of the entire world rested on the padding. All but a select few were numbers. Not in the sense of racism. They were general bodies to be counted. Britannian or not was of little value. Everyone, even he, it seemed, shared the same insecurities at the end, or in this case, middle of the day.

It was a game of schemes and subjugation in a grand scale. The whole idea of such shining ideology was built upon fear. The Emperor rejected such teachings, or rather applied it to his own convictions, using the phrase "all men are not created equal," to his advantage. All that seemed to exist in this world was fear; Schneizel's hands were clammy from the effect of the dreadful feeling. His ingrained desire to reach for something outside of himself for solitude only heightened his trepidation, considering he knew the Creator he prayed to in his youth was not present.

Perhaps this was why the decline of religion was present mostly in technologically advanced countries. As humans became more self-sufficient, the need for a responsive God declined. The rituals that remained were lukewarm, at best. On the contrary, the first example was most evident when looking at situations that drove Sixes to perpetual piety. Starvation and poverty was part of their daily lives. A political system, built with the notion that their lot in life was to be subservient to their masters, brought no comfort.

Instead it was an unforeseen master, unless taking the crucifix into account, which provided solace. Their practices were leaps and bounds away from lukewarm. It was the coffers of the elite that kept the Vatican in business, and yet the downdraught and degenerates of society were Catholicism's loyal customers by volume. Schneizel did not fit into either of those molds. If one were to side with the often disputed studies that as higher education increased, religion decreased, he became even more of an enigma. He also refused to tithe. God had little, if anything, to do with church.

As always, it would appear that the answer lies in the middle way. That is not to say that Schneizel followed the Eightfold Path, and he certainly committed his fair share of sexual indiscretions, along with having the verification of his affairs removed. His ideology was a combination of the extremes taught by his father and mother with some independent research mixed in the proverbial stew. The only difference between him and Kannon was a dispute of definitions.

Even knowing about 'that place,' Kannon denied the existence of God, finding the collective unconscious outside the meaning of the title. What his majesty aimed to destroy was nothing more than a byproduct of humanity. She was hardly anything to be considered Holy. His lover believed contact with magical beings could be attributed to a vivid imagination.

Schneizel had enough experience with delusions.

"A Thought Elevator?" Lloyd's grumbling brought him back to reality. The scientist finally finished hooking up a multitude of lines to the Gawain. "I'm no archaeologist, and I don't really know anything about super-humans…"

"Hold your impudent tongue!" General Bartley scolded.

"I'm just not my specialty. You should have asked Ms. Cecile to do this."

"Don't be so stubborn." Schneizel finally declared, speaking faster than usual. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back to avoid squirming. "My father's taken a liking to this little discoveries. Hasn't he, Bartley?"

"Indeed. Several more like this have been found around the world. Other than this one, which I discovered myself, they have all been placed under imperial control. I'm just speculating here, but I believe our recent invasion have been centered around areas known to contain these devices."

"The Gawain's Druid system, that beautiful prototype begging for optimization, was built based on the analysis of this occult data?"

"That's why I called you, of course."

"Aha!"

Schneizel's eyes widened when the center stone, shaped like a pyramid, became semi opaque and shot out a beam of light. The abstract pitchfork began to glow red so bright it altered the whole room. With barely leashed concern, he looked over to Lloyd, hoping the turn of events was a shared experience. "What's going on?" The scientist asked, frantically pushing on the keyboard.

What he originally assumed to be an earthquake was a matter of fate. Some external entity guided this event. Nothing happens without reason. There was no such thing as coincidence. Happenings that would be described as such were simply too complicated to be easily understood.

Seeing Euphemia, Suzaku, Zero, and some random teenage girl (probably the attendant of Zero) fall through the ceiling on a platform made it obvious that his convictions were not wrong. By the way the others were responding the addition wasn't an illusion either. He was not alone in this experience.

The four seemed to be in some sort of stand-off, separated by sides. Zero stood with a pistol drawn with the attendant flanked, ready to pounce. Euphemia and Major Kururugi were on the opposite end, looking worse for wear. His half-sister was rightly disheveled; her Knight appeared to be in some sort of trace. The teen's behavior was strange, considering whom the Thought Disturbing system was meant to ensnare. It couldn't be. In order for him to be caught in such a trap, it would mean… but then… Schneizel was too ensnared in a web of jumbled up sentiments to make sense of anything.

So this is Zero in the flesh, He thought. The news reports didn't do the phantom justice. That form was more sylphlike in person; those slender legs seemed unearthly elongated. Despite the black and purple hues, there was something ethereal about her. Her. According to Kanon the enemy of the state was a woman. He watched as she effortlessly jumped from the platform to the Gawain, crawling inside the cockpit.

As he watched his prototype Knightmare glide and then fly away, Schneizel questioned his choice. He looked just as haggard as Kururugi, with dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep and withdrawls. There was no guarantee he could have detained Zero if he ordered the guards to neglect Euphemia. That would have gone against his character mold, so he couldn't do that even if he wanted. Besides, then he would have his answer. Zero's identity. He wasn't ready to know yet. What if the person was not Lulu? What if it was? Arrangements needed to be made for either event. He needed to mentally prepare.

Patience was a virtue.

"The Gawain…. Our Gawain!"

"Don't worry, it's just a prototype." He said, smiling at Euphemia and Major Kururugi. "I'm glad to see you both safe."

A/N:

Footnotes:

[1] Theme of the Series right here :)

[2] Kannon's title.

[3] This scene reminds me of what Schneizel says to Lulu in the first chapter of this story: "You are every bit the woman I imagined you would become. The only difference is I hoped we would play on the same side."

[4] anti psychotic medicine

[5] rosaries are counted as "decades," for ten beads.

Put part of the last chapter in this one because really it just fits and my formatting was stupid before.

Revised 8/23/15