In my defence, I have spent the last two weeks well - I have travelled to Venice for (ahem) research, read A Song of Ice and Fire books 1 to 5 (Jaime x Cersei FTW), and played lots and lots of Crusader Kings II. It's amazing when castrating and blinding prisoners is the kindest way to maintain power.

In this chapter, I have bootchered t' Yorkshire dialect t' stand in for Tamaki's Catalan dialect. You should get the gist. If there are any Yorkshiremen on the internet, feel free to correct me in that hilarious accent of yours. (I should have gone for Scots, which is even funnier). And no, this is not going to be Todo x Nunnally.

A word on names. When I have CG characters with inappropriate (that is, Japanese or ridiculous Britannian ones) names, I still retain them. Immortals - C.C. and V.V. - get proper names, Cecilia Cuzzoni and Victor Valery, respectively. It is harder for Japanese names. The highwaymen use no surnames, and the first names they use are properly noms de guerre (think Lenin, Stalin, etc) and not necessarily their own. I have adopted transliterations which might seem unusual (Todo and Ogi instead of Tohdoh and Ohgi or Toudou and Ougi), but are just as correct in representing the Japanese long o vowel and seem more Spanish than the others.

The Mountains

Catalonia, March 1792

The soft rocking movements of her mount soothed her. A sweet lure – to sleep. She wished she could. Just for a moment. A minute. Not long. Just … sleep. She did not dare.

She could barely see the rest of the party through the curtain of her own hair. Long, dirty and dull strains hand loosely down in front of her lowered eyes, tinting all she could see light brown. There was no need to hide her hair under a hat any more, nor would she. Her brother had used to send away her servants to brush her hair himself, and had told her that she should wear it openly. That he loved her hair too much to see it hidden under a fashionable wig. She had done him the favour.

Neither, though, did she dare lift her head. She was too afraid one of the riders would notice her if she did. She was too afraid of what might be the consequences.

Instead, she looked down at her mount's neck. Sturdy and without any particular breeding, the bay gelding was closer to a plowhorse than to her Nemo, lacking all grace or glamour. It did its job, though.

She did not hold the reins herself. The man in the greatcoat had given her his horse and now was riding silently beside her, holding Nemo's reins with one hand and his own horse's with the other. Nunnally's arms were crossed in front of her, as if to hug herself.

Finally, the gelding came to a halt. A rough hand closed around her wrist, another around her shoulder and helped her down. Seated her on what appeared to be a slab of stone. A cold breeze made her shiver.

"Stay here," Todo – the man in the greatcoat – told her, briefly resting his large hand on her shoulder, then turned and bellowed a command. Not that it was necessary – even if she could, she wouldn't have left. It would have been pointless to do so …

Slowly, cautiously, as if someone would attack her were she noticed, she raised her head and looked around.

The first thing she noted were the mountaintops. If there was anything else around her, she barely noticed them. White they were, so pure and bright it hurt her eyes, then – below – a light grey spotted dark, then finally at their bases a dark green, all before a cloudless sky of brilliant blue. Also, they were huge. She had seen the mountains on the way north, of course, but they had travelled along the Mediterranean coast, where the Pyrenees were gentler. If those had been sleeping giants, the mountains she saw here were gods. Every single one of them seemed to her the scarred and rugged backs of titans, crawling back to Gaia's motherly bosom after their fall.

Then, she took note of her direct surroundings. She was seated on a mossy stone slab the size of her soft bed at home. Her feet dangled above the ground. The slab was located at the very edge of a clearing, or more a tiny valley, with deep pine woods on two sides, a rough, jagged cliff just behind her and a small emerald mountain lake to the fourth. Birdsong and the sound of the wind in the trees filled the air.

Some of Todo's men had begun to set up a large campfire in the centre of the valley. Others had erected half a dozen simple tents in a semi-circle around the fire, barely more than rectangular plains of heavy, oiled cloth spanned over two poles and fixed with four wooden stakes.

There were about two dozen men, though she knew some of them had gone deeper into the forest to fetch firewood. All of them were large, scruffy, and probably the most disreputable-looking people she had ever seen, with the sole exception of some criminals she had seen garotted in Cadiz. Many of them sported unkempt beards and their own long hair. Their faces had something harsh and dogged to them. Their clothes were dirty, but robust, and most wore dusters. All were armed.

And not merely the smallswords any gentleman would wear on a daily basis. Rather, they wore bandoleers with an assortment of daggers and pistols. Nunnally held her breath.

Compared to his men, Todo looked a fine gentleman. His greying black hair was trimmed short, his chin clean-shaven. She supposed he was in his late forties. He was still scowling, but Nunnally was beginning to think that he had no other expression.. Everything about him seemed harsh and hard, from his sharp cheek- and jawbones to his thick, slanted eyebrows. He wore what appeared to be the remains of an old military uniform – a dark blue coat with red facings and silver lining, buff waistcoat and trousers, black buckskin boots and a light grey greatcoat. He carried an old cavalry sabre and no further weapons.

It was obvious that he was the leader. Whatever he told them, they would do. When he spoke to them, they respectfully heeded his words. He didn't have to shout or threaten.

And he was approaching her. She quickly lowered her gaze as Todo knelt before her, still scowling. There was a long moment of silence. She supposed she should say something, but what? It would have been pointless. All she could say seemed trivial.

"What is your name, señora?," Todo asked.

She gulped and unsuccessfully tried to look up at him. Last time someone had asked for their names … but what did it matter now? She was prepared to die, even willing. Go on, her brother told her, whispering softly in her ear. You have naught to fear. And she had naught to fear, and would go on. Still, the first time she told Todo her name came out too quiet, and she had to repeat it. "Nunnally de Lamperouge," she whispered again, this time a little louder.

She noted that neither her nor, before, her brother had used their father's name. By right, she should have called herself Nunnally Zapata de San Luis y de Lamperouge, but where was the sense in that? Knowing their father, he had disowned them the moment they had run away. They had always been more their mother's children than their father's. It would only befit them to break with that past.

Breaking with the past. It sounded far simpler than it was. For that was the very same past she had shared with her brother, when he had lived, and not just as a tender memory inside of her. Omitting her father's surname was nothing, not truly, she told herself.

Todo grimly nodded. "Your accent … Andalusian, right?" She nodded. There was a long pause, but Nunnally didn't feel the need to expand on that issue. Finally, Todo said, "You are far from home. Will you tell me what ill fortunes you encountered on your journey and where you were bound, señora?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "I'd … I'd rather not," she whispered. "It doesn't matter, anyway …"

Todo's scowl deepened. "Well … I suppose you have family in Andalusia, then? Your father?"

Nunnally looked up at the man kneeling before her and blankly stared at him. "I … I do have a father," she then said, adding, quieter: "I guess."

There was yet another pause. She could feel that Todo was dissatisfied with her response. Blankly she stared at him, watching him sigh and rub his temples. "I don't suppose he'll pay, then …," he murmured, then rose to his feet. "Tell me true," he said. "Will your father ransom you?"

Nunnally looked up at him, then shook her head.

And then Todo explained to her just who exactly he and his men were. She wasn't surprised, not particularly. If she still had it in her to be surprised. It should have been obvious from the men's looks and behaviour. She was not afraid, either – she had naught to fear.

They were men of the road. Their trades were robbery and demands for ransom. They hid in the inaccessible valleys of the Pyrenees, moving to another place every day, and watched the passes for wealthy targets. Nunnally almost had to laugh. Look at me, brother, she thought, you are barely gone and I am already keeping company with highwaymen. If only she cared. She could hear Lelouch inside of her, chuckling lightly.

"I believe you," Todo declared. "If your father will not ransom you, you are of no use to us. Neither, though, can we let you go just now. We found you on one of our hidden passes, not on the road. Your horse had wandered off, I suppose. If we set you free, there's always a chance you reveal it to the authorities. That is a risk I am not willing to take. You will have to stay with us until we are in Andalusia again. And that could take some time."

Without hesitation, she nodded. He frowned. "You take this rather lightly."

"I was begging you for the gift of mercy moments ago," she finally whispered. "It does not matter to me."

Scowling, Todo turned to leave, but in a fit of curiosity she grasped for his greatcoat's folds. She blushed when he looked back at her. "Are … are you a gentleman, señor?," she quietly asked. "I mean … you're much kinder than I expected a highwayman to be …"

Todo's scowl seemed to deepen still. "A man needs not be gently born to know his manners," he said. "A man needs not be raised in a palace and bear arms to have a heart." Then he left.

The highwayman reminded her of her brother, in a way. He was much sterner than him, much more dangerous, as well, she supposed. But he had the same protective air around him, the same sort of begrudging kindness.

She spent the rest of the day watching the highwaymen. Though it was rather chilly, it was still midday and the sun was burning down on the tiny valley, so some of the men had withdrawn into the shadows of their tents. Most had stayed outside, though, sitting by the campfires or tending to their horses. She suspected they would have ridden all day if not for her, and she was grateful for Todo's decision to make camp this early.

The men's discussions seemed never to stray far from her, judging from the curious and suspicious glances they gave her. They love you not, Lelouch noted. They fear you will betray them and, if not, make them violable. She saw Todo walking between the campfires, quietly talking to each of his men. She wondered what he was saying. He's trying to convince them to take you on, Lelouch suggested. It made a lot of sense. She would be a load for the highwaymen, she figured, and quite probably a threat.

Nunnally would have to dissuade their doubts, which would remain even with Todo's help. She would have to rely on these men to get home, so she he had better ease their trouble if she would return to Cadiz …

Have you forgotten already?, her brother scolded her. She flinched at his reminder and lowered her gaze, blushing. She had not … she had sworn an oath to avenge her brother, protect the weak and destroy the strong.

Then keep it.

I cannot, she thought. It was a stupid oath. She was just a little girl who couldn't even help herself – how, then, was she supposed to keep her oath?

Her brother had no answer to that question. Keep it, he repeated.

Nunnally could feel tears running down her cheeks. She would, of course she would. She had sworn it over her brother's warm corpse and sealed it with a kiss. There would be a way, somewhere. Somehow.

She spent the rest of the day watching the highwaymen. There was not much to see. They sat around their fires, drank cheap brandywine from dirty bottles, let their water against one of the trees and returned to their fires to drink. Soon they were telling bawdy tales and laughing loudly at their own jokes. Todo was sitting separately with another man, apparently still talking about her, though the other man's glances to her had become infrequent. The man had a solemn look on his face, which in turn looked so normal that she would be hard-pressed to further describe it. Full dark hair and sideburns, brown eyes. From the way the others had behaved around him, his word seemed to be well-respected, though less so than Todo's. That would also explain why Todo was taking his time to talk with him.

When the sun set, bathing the vale in radiant orange light, the two men finally seemed to have come to an agreement and rose. Todo went to saddle his horse and the plain, solemn man approached her. She stared at him and he startled. For a moment she was confused, then she blushed and averted her gaze.

"Ah …," he began, rubbing his neck, "I'm Ogi." Pause. "How about you'll join us by the fire? You must be freezing … and, er, you should eat a bite."

She was wary about joining the men. Too well she remembered the night before. Trust no one, her brother told her. Be careful. In truth, she would have preferred to remain where she was – seated on her mossy slab of stone, beyond the light of the fires. She was afraid – there was a dark premonition clutching her heart and lungs. But perhaps it was just a shadow still lingering, and she could not deny her stomach was growling. Hence, she nodded at Ogi and rose.

He led her to one of the campfires and bid the other men move to make room for her to sit. She murmured a word of thanks and did her best not to be noticed by the men. Someone handed her a greasy botifarra sausage and some bread. She gorged it, starved, licked the grease off her fingers, then drank a few hesitant mouthfuls of the men's brandywine and almost threw up. It was fire in her mouth and throat, burning her up from the inside, tasted like a dead rat and left her dizzy and disorientated. The men laughed at her.

She felt like puking, but she was not about to give the men more reason for laughter. There were a good dozen seated on the ground around the fire. Ogi sat across from her. Most of the men seemed to be drunk, the one to her very left most of all. A tall man with shaggy chestnut hair, chin-beard and stubbles, there was a wolfish quality to him. He jeered the loudest at every jape his companions made, made the bawdiest jests, and leered at her more often than the other men combined.

Nunnally drew her coat closer, shivering even in the fire's warmth. She remembered well the deep blue pupil of the bloodshot eye that had stared at her. She eyed the man's hip: he had removed his sword and guns, but still had the knife he had cut his meat with. Whom was she fooling? She had no hopes of overwhelming him, no more than she had had last night.

Perhaps all she could do was endure it.

She wanted to cry, but no tears would come as she stared into the fire. I can't, brother, she thought, I'm sorry, I can't keep my oath … there came no reply.

She would return to Cadiz, should Todo stay true to his word. She would beg her father for his forgiveness and be a good, obedient daughter for once. Marry a the son of an acquaintance of his, if any would still take her.

And her oath? To guard the weak and fight the strong, to keep brothers' lifes and sisters' honour … to destroy these colours and all who bore them … a mad fever dream, no more.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the man next to her put the bottle of brandywine in his hand down. Staring at her from dark eyes dull with drunkenness, he wiped his mouth with his dirty coat's sleeve. "And tha'?," he scoffed at her, his words slurring. Nunnally winced and tried to ignore him. "Tha' ain't not drinking," the man said, then repeated it louder. There was a pause. "They say," he carefully pronounced, or at least attempted to do so, "tha're some 'ighborn lady … tha' too good to drink wi' oos, reet?" Someone chuckled.

Nunnally continued to stare into the fire, trying to ignore him. Beneath her unfazed façade, however, she was struggling even to breathe – there seemed to be a cold hand around her throat, slowly tightening its iron grip –

"Won't even answer oos questions, eh?," he continued. He spoke Catalan dialect, thickened still by the brandywine, she noticed, and so did the other men. The reason she had not noticed until now was that Todo had spoken accent-free Castilian, far closer to her own dialect. The strange pronunciations frightened her.

The man spat, then turned back at her. "Tha' can act all cold," he snarled, "boot I guess when tha're naked thi' twat look joost like any other bitch's! 'ow 'boot tha' show oos some? Tha've nowt to 'ide, reet?"

"Stop it, Tamaki," said one of the others; she couldn't see who it was. His speech was Catalan as well, though not slurred by drink. "You see 'ow frightened t' girl is."

But it was too late. The man had already pushed her roughly to the ground and was now struggling with the buttons of her waistcoat.

Nunnally screamed.

The ground beneath her was earthy and hard. The man was breathing hardly, grunting gibberish all the while. His breath stank of alcohol.

She screamed and screamed for what seemed like an eternity, but was less than a second. Her left hand reached for the rapier at her side, but the man's fumbling hand grabbed her wrist. She saw something flash up in the corner of her right eye and reached for it. Before she knew what had happened, she held the man's knife in hand.

She roared.

From the ground, she threw herself against the men over her, throwing him to the ground. At once she was straddling him. She roared. She raised the knife high above her head. She roared.

A rough hand closed around her wrist. "Enough," one of the men said, "I think he's leaned his lesson."

Tamaki was staring up at her from frightened, but now clear eyes. The short fight had washed away his drunkenness like a bucket of ice water.

"Let go of me," she whispered without averting her eyes from the craven creature below her. The man clutching her wrist hesitated, but let go when she repeated her demand, louder. She lowered the knife's point to Tamaki's left cheek, staring into his eyes. Her hand around the weapon's hilt tightened. Then, she quickly drew the sharp point over his cheek, from nose to ear, just enough to draw blood and leave a scar. "Don't forget it," she whispered.

The men behind her drew her to her feet. Her hand closed around the reassuring hilt of her rapier. She still held the knife in her other hand.

Tamaki rolled over on his side and retched. She took a few steps back from him as the others broke into truly Homeric laughter.

Well done, said her brother. Todo stood behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Well done," he echoed, whispering into her ear. "That was long overdue." She smiled.

No, she thought. She was not as helpless as she had thought. There was a world between overwhelming a drunken man and destroying a revolution, but for once, she felt as if it was indeed possible, as if everything was possible. I will keep my oath, brother, she swore, I will keep it. Our oath. For whence had that new-found strength come, if not her brother? They were one, one body, one mind. If she lived, so did her brother; and if Lelouch was dead, why, so was she. But whatever was dead may never die, and what may not die would rise again, stronger.

She would not go to Cadiz, never again. She would stay and fight. She would watch, and learn, and when the time was ripe, she would lead these men against the Revolution and watch cockades burn and flags drenched in blood.

Only when Tamaki staggered to his feet, his face flushed red, now in embarrassment, with his companions still laughing at him and blood dripping from the cut on his cheek, and glared at her from cold, furious eyes, did she realise that she had made an enemy.

Please review.