A/N: This length… Didn't expect it. Because this was supposed to be a flashback set at the beginning of the installment with the lovers' spat. It got too prose-happy, and I realized too late that the supposed flashback was bordering on 8.5k+ words.

So I said 'Fuck it.' The details and word count itself deemed it worthy enough to receive an installment all its own. But since it's a flashback, I guess you can say it's an interlude(?). I dunno.

Thank you Freudentraene, Akira-Hayama, Euryphaessa Gray, The221, Admiral T. DeVanto, wootanin, and Celline The Sleeping Beauty for leaving their thoughts on the previous installment. Thank you for each new favorite and new follow, you guys. I really appreciate it. And I know how frustrating that last one was. But you need not worry too much. I promise you.

Whatever tears Lelouch and C.C. apart won't really last. Because I'm a biased CLuCLu shipper, so they'll always find their way back to each other ;) I may write some heavy and angsty stuff in the future (or I may have one already on the works), but I don't think this will be one of them.

The lovers' quarrel, I'll put up as soon as I finish writing that. It's coming next I swear. For now, I hope this one-shot (with violence & fluffy romance combined) would tide a shipper's heart.

Happy reading ;)


The Will of the Gods

7 months before Lelouch vi Britannia's Rebellion…

Absurd. Preposterous… Ludicrous. Abominable. Wretched. Abhorrent…

He was in the midst of running through the worst adjectives he could find in his vocabulary, and he was quickly running out of words to describe this sham of a trial. The world they lived in was an unjust place, he knew that from the beginning. But to accuse a woman of murder when her actions were clearly done in self-defense was just—

The Prince resisted the urge to draw his own sword and put it through the accuser's heart. Obviously, the Crown was more interested in protecting its interests shared with the great nobles of Westeros. It cared little for justice and for defending the weak. Although, Lelouch vi Britannia could hardly call the accused 'weak.'

She was far from it, his faceless woman…

Circe Caraverre of Braavos stood in trial, accused of the murder of Lord Upson's son and heir, along with four of his friends. The lecherous and depraved fools who so much as dared to lay a hand on her — try to rape her — as she navigated through the busy streets of King's Landing near nightfall.

When news of the incident broke, upstart Upson demanded a trial. And because the Lord and his resources were assets to the Crown, how could his father refuse? And Odysseus had the gall to beg the gods for justice and punish the accused?

If anyone was more deserving of an execution, it was Upson's own dead son. Twice killed would be good for him.

The Emperor's court was a nest of vipers and every poisonous creature imaginable. Small surprise that most of his father's peers detested him, and thought this trial was a worthy sort of revenge for all the times he had opposed one suggestion to favor the next in a Council meeting. They would strip him of his lady-soldier — his paramour, they said. This unworthy foreigner serving a Prince of the Empire.

Maybe then the little Prince would know his place…

But as he watched this trial unfold, and caught CC's alert yet dreadfully bored gaze drifting across the room, Lelouch could do little to stop himself from being smug. Oh, how they severely underestimated her.

Upson's party of witnesses had each stepped up to the stand and had given their account. And to testify CC's innocence were Lelouch's own men, and a blacksmith from Flea Bottom who had been a first account witness to the assault and the sexual harassment of CC. (Lelouch, himself, would have wanted to vouch for CC's innocence, but his mother cautioned against it. Instead, she entreated him to choose CC's line of witnesses carefully.)

And in spite of it all, the grand hall filled with noblemen and women clucked and heckled, and some protested the honest claims of a peasant from the lowliest district of the Capital.

Justice was a foreign word in this Court.

"How could they accuse her of something as heavy as murder when Lord Upson's son was the perpetrator of the crime?" Nunnally murmured quietly beside him, lavender eyes trained worriedly upon the young woman standing before them all, under scrutiny by more than just one vain nobleman.

"It's what we believe, Nunnally. The others aren't so convinced in her innocence. If only there were visual records of the crime." He muttered under his breath.

"But the witnesses…"

Lelouch sighed through his nose. "And Upson has witnesses too. A conflicting case with strong arguments on each side."

"They can just stop this trial right? If evidence isn't conclusive?"

"They could. But I doubt the Emperor would. To do so would mean breaking unsaid promises to a powerful ally."

"Promises?"

"And nobody wants a mess that big to clean up."

The siblings looked on and half-listened as one of Upson's witnesses was called to take the stand again and repeat his testimony.

"She will be tried guilty."

"But, brother—" Nunnally started, anxious and desperate.

"It's the simple truth, Nunnally. No one in this Court acknowledges her. She is a foreigner. And who is she, but another soldier I admitted into my service? In fact, I daresay they're all bored. The only fact that keeps this trial intriguing is her connection to me. Surely, you've heard the rumors spreading?"

Her brother's face was a mask — near impenetratable. But not to Nunnally. Never to Nunnally. She, who knew her brother like the back of her own hand, as well as he did her. He was worried about CC. Whether the rumors surrounding her brother and the young woman were true, Nunnally cared little. All she knew was that CC was not guilty of the crime they were accusing her of, and her brother was carefully deliberating.

"They want to see your reaction to the verdict."

Murmurs and shrieks of horror arose from the crowd of spectating aristocrats, presumably from the words spilling from Upson's witness' mouth. Lelouch saw CC sigh exasperatedly. Emperor Charles sat upon the throne with a severe face, the same violet eyes as his, glowering at the accused murderer standing before him. Sitting as second judge to the Emperor's right, Crown Prince Odysseus was murmuring words — presumably a prayer of sorts to the Seven for guidance; the pious and spineless man that he was. The Hand, Lord Bismarck, sat to the left with a calculating expression, scrutinizing the woman.

And above the din of the crowd, the voice that Lelouch knew so well rang loud and true.

"Your Grace, I wish to confess…"

Beside Lelouch, Nunnally gasped quietly. The Prince, however, had little to say as he couldn't believe his own ears. What was there to confess? She was innocent!

"You wish to confess?" Emperor Charles raise a brow, faint traces of a smug smile curling across his lips.

CC, the fetters around her wrist jangling from the movement, turned and faced the crowd of spectating aristocrats, hungry for any shred of entertainment.

"Yes, Sire. I wish to confess."

"You admit to being guilty of murder?" Waldstein's voice rang loud and clear amid the ever-growing murmurs of a restless gathering. "Silence!"

"Yes. I am guilty. That's what you all want to hear, right? But I'm not guilty of murder, oh no. I am guilty of being a woman who knows how to defend herself." She snarled, brown eyes alight with challenge as she fixed her unnerving gaze on Lord Upson — the man responsible for her current predicament. "I am guilty of stopping your son and his friends from taking pleasures they were going to force out of me. I am guilty for halting my own rape!"

"Is this your way of defending yourself?" Bismarck Waldstein asked callously.

"It's justifying her crime!"

Someone in the crowd shouted, and from his seat, Lelouch resisted the urge to stomp over to the clueless fool and wallop him until he saw sense.

"Silence!" The Emperor bellowed.

"How dare I, a lowly woman, deny your son something he craved? How dare I refuse to being raped?"

The viciousness of her own statement had the crowd whipped into a frenzy. It rose until chaos reigned and one side was screaming about the abuse of young women and how it was unjust and immoral, while another shouted at her for being a whore and a witch — to have enticed their beloved lord and kill him in cold blood. Lord Bismarck called for order once more, and commanded the Knights of the Round to placate the irritated crowd.

"I will not give my life for the death of five men who so clearly deserved it! I will not lay down my life to pay for crimes I never committed. I am not pleading guilty for defending my honor as a woman.I will get no justice in this farce of a trial. So I want your seven gods to decide my fate."

Lelouch knew the her demands before she could even say them. It was the only option available. But it was the best… To his right, he felt Nunnally tremble, and even if he knew, his own mouth still ran dry.

"I demand a trial by combat."

vVvVv

Ring the bell an hour from then, they said, as the Emperor called for a recess. No doubt, they would take this as a chance to let Upson decide if he wanted to hold the trial now or give him and his Champion a few days to prepare. Snacks were given out, and nobles and knights did their business. In the thick of the throng, Lelouch caught the careful eye of Cornelia, standing with her personal guard, watching him warily.

"A trial by combat. I figured you would." Lelouch spoke quietly as he approached her platform, eyes darting around the hall and taking note of everyone who so much as dared to stare.

"It's the only chance I have, Lelouch. Do you believe your father and the two other judges would null this trial?" CC half-smiled, and blew a stray curl away from her face.

He scoffed. "Of course not. Odysseus would… But he bends to the whims of the Emperor. This is a chance to punish me."

CC shook her head. As outlandish as it sounded, they both knew it wasn't a lie. She'd been in his service for a year, and Lelouch was quite popular for doing things his way most of the time. The Crown's orders be damned. "Yes it is. They think I'm so important to you."

"Well, they aren't wrong to think that." He conceded with a melancholic sigh.

"But we both know your father never liked me too anyway." CC offered in consolation. "They don't know who I am or where I came from, or why you even keep me around."

But her words did little to erase the grimace on his face. "I'm sorry for dragging you into my problems, CC."

"Don't apologize, Lelouch. It was bound to happen eventually."

"So your Champion…"

"Do you need to ask?" Cocking an eyebrow, she stared at him pointedly.

And she had a point…

One by one, the men and women present for the first half of the trial began filtering in again as the bells rung. Lelouch bid his ally and secret lover temporary goodbye as he returned to his place beside his sister. Odysseus climbed the dais, piously clasping his hands in mockery of a prayer to the gods that barely listened. Lord Bismarck was right behind the Emperor, giving off the impression that they had just come from a private conversation. In all likelihood, they probably had.

When everyone was seated and the room was in a semblance of order, the Emperor's eyes roved over every head before entreating Odysseus to preside.

"The Realm acknowledges the accused's right to demand judgment from the divine."

At the Crown Prince's words, the 'spectators' shifted in their seats and murmuring began to rise once more.

"The accused has the right to demand for this trial, and in the same line, the Realm has determined that the trial by combat be held here and now." Bismarck swept his arm out to gesture to the obscenely wide open space in the middle of the grand throne room.

"As the Seven are not bound by the laws of men, and we are praying for favors. This is for the best." Odysseus added, his sugary words doing nothing to ease the permanent frown etched on his Imperial Majesty's face. "Lord Upson, please name a champion from within the hall."

From the stands, this man called Upson stood, arrogantly stroked his beard as he gestured to one of the Knights of the Round. No doubt, the agreement had been made during the short recess, and it was all a ploy to set her up for losing. A grand execution masquerading as divine judgment.

How unfortunate that she didn't serve their Seven. Would she be accused of blasphemy if she claimed that there was only one god and his name was Death? Would they call her a madwoman on top of being a murderer if she told them she'd danced with Death many times and had avoided his grasp all these years?

"I name the 11th Knight of His Majesty's Round Table, Schestaal Forgnar. My gratitude to you, good Ser."

Rich knightly robes whispering across the floor, Schestaal knelt before the man on the Iron Throne, before the judges, and before Upson who looked smug as all the seven hells. Thunderous applause echoed through the high ceiling as the comely Knight rose and dramatically beat a fist over his armor-clad chest. In a voice laced with pride, he spoke.

"It is my honor to be Lord Upson's Champion, and be a vessel of the gods' justice."

During the speeches and quite the unnecessary pleasantries, members of the royal guard ushered her off of her meager platform and roughly directed her to stand before the throne and gaze upon the smug faces of the judges and her accuser. Now they fixed their intimidating eyes on her.

"You may name your Champion from within the hall, Lady." Bismarck said gruffly.

CC would have laughed at herself. Here she stood in naught but the clothes she wore underneath her lithe and padded armor, no protection whatsoever, with her entire person devoid of the weapons she usually had underneath her clothes — and even in her hair. Perhaps to some, what she was about to do would be absurd. But if she wasn't going to, then who? She wouldn't dare name her Prince as her Champion or any of his men. Not when she knew she was more than capable of taking on Forgnar herself.

"I shall champion myself, Your Grace."

From across the room, CC turned her head just the tiniest bit and caught Lelouch's intense stare out of her peripheral vision. Discontent among the gathered lords started to grow, and amid the noise of the murmurs, she could already hear the heckling. One about her cunt and several others saying she should just give herself to Upson to settle the matter.

Odysseus gawked at her in disbelief, and if one looked close enough, perhaps they would see him gripping the arms of his chair a little too harshly. "CC, there are soldiers and knights in this hall. You have the right to entreat any one of them to Champion you."

"How kind of you, Your Highness. But I trust no one better than myself to see this through."

"But isn't—"

"If the girl wants to take her chances against a Knight from my Round Table, let her be." The Emperor interrupted his eldest son. "Someone give the girl a weapon and free her hands so we can be done with this!"

The insults and the derogatory names went over her head as the guards did as the Emperor bid, unlocking her fetters to set her wrists free. She was deaf to it all. Deaf to the men who taunted her for being a lack-wit; for being naive and how that ridiculous pride was going to be her downfall. Deaf to the obscene suggestions of offering up her body to compensate and plead for innocence.

Some didn't know, or they simply and conveniently had forgotten that before this farce had taken place, she publicly served Lelouch vi Britannia in his personal army. And in secret, she was the assassin responsible for the deaths of many of the Realm's enemies across the continent.

She was far from being a defenseless woman. She knew that, and Lelouch did too as she caught his eye in the midst of the wild crowd again. A soldier whose face she recognized materialized out of the writhing mass of nobles and ladies, and immediately approached her. The notable thing about him was that he had a considerable number of weapons visible on his person. The implications were clear. 'Choose your weapon,' his eyes said.

And choose she did… Gaze drawn to the recognizable pommel, CC immediately reached for it, wordlessly asking for the whole ensemble — sword belt and all. If her Prince was going to offer up his own weapon for her use, she might as well use all of it. Not just the sword and its prized blade. Lelouch's soldier hastily undid the sword belt and it clacked and clattered as CC fastened it securely around her own hips; all that commotion silenced by the whine of Schestaal's own sword as he released the blade from its sheathe.

It was a cue of sorts…

The many-faced god will have a life today. But it wasn't going to be her.

Joining Schestaal in the middle of the makeshift ring, the two stood at considerable distance from each other. Both equally confident, and both only half-listening to the pleasantries that Odysseus had to spew.

"In the sight of the gods, we will now ascertain the innocence of one and the crimes of the other. May the father judge them justly, may the mother pour out her mercy. And may the warrior guide the hand of the Champion of the truly innocent."

Within that little speech, she had very little time. But all the same, CC couldn't stop herself from looking over to where she knew her Prince was, where his sister sat beside him, anxious. The Empress Consorts had the look of utter boredom on their faces, but from that meager gaggle of stuffy ladies, CC met Marianne's gaze. She didn't have time to think about what Marianne was trying to convey with her face, so she settled for giving her current opponent one final once-over.

Clad in armor, but not quite… Forgnar didn't have a helmet.

Terrible choice.

It was all she had before a singular yet booming clap from the man on the Iron Throne signaled the start of a fight that would only herald one winner

Like lightning, Schestaal Forgnar lunged with a loud battle cry…

vVvVv

Lelouch could swear he could see the gears turning inside her head. As she and Schestaal stood on opposite sides of the arena, waiting for Odysseus to finish speaking — waiting for the final signal to start from his father.

He didn't know if anyone noticed that he'd sent one of his men to approach her with an assortment of weapons to choose from. Not that he cared if anyone made note. It was only natural, wasn't it? He wasn't one of the judges, nor was he in the list of witnesses. He could do whatever he pleased. And if his actions pointed to him favoring her, then so be it.

At least this crowd could see that the real victim for the perpetrated crime had an ally…

Her favored rapier and her dagger were included in the collection strapped around the soldier. So it was a pleasant surprise when she opted for his sword instead. He didn't have the luxury to ruminate further on the endless implications of her actions alone, because his father gave the signal.

And Schestaal had the first swing…

It was all the famed Knight had to give though. Because in a movement that was too swift to properly comprehend in one breath, Schestaal was reeling back from the force of a well-aimed jab to the arm, the sword that had once been in his hand clattered noisily across the floor.

Later, Lelouch would look back on this and listen to others retell the tale and piece together a more complete picture of CC (with a sheathed sword at her waist) striking first, catching Schestaal's sword-hand before he could place a blow. In the same breath, her palm hit his other arm, knocking it aside so he staggered and reeled back.

But for now, even the Prince with his extensive military career couldn't help but grimace when they all watched her leg come up. Too fast… It was too fast. Movements as smooth as water and quick as a deadly mamba. He barely caught Schestaal's face and how his eyes bulged when her foot slammed into his steel-clad chest. A kick so forceful, anyone paying attention could hear the impact. If the Knight hadn't worn a breastplate, it would have been a kick that would send him flying.

Forgnar fell on his back instead. To his credit, he scrambled to get up and collect himself after having his behind handed to him, barely a minute in. But he was stopped mid-rise as an anguished cry carried across the wide space. CC had not wanted to give him a break, and had promptly shoved her foot between his legs.

As quickly as it began, it also ended. The whine of an unsheathed blade. The sickening squelch of a sword piercing flesh. The vile crunch of splintered bone. Steel struck the marble floor as the sword ran through a fleshy throat. Howling turned to gurgling, and then silence. A deafening silence across the hall — so stark and almost vulgar.

Red stained the once pristine marble — crawling ever so slowly across the floor as rivers of red poured from the fallen Knight's mutilated throat. Eyes still wide, furious and tormented. The mouth was frozen into a silent scream…

It made for a strangely fascinating yet grotesque picture…

There one of the Emperor's most-prized Knights lay, stuck to the throne room's floor with Lelouch's sword sprouting from his rapidly cooling corpse.

Less than a minute…

She'd ended it in less than a minute. He knew. He'd been counting. Approximately 56 seconds. And it was barely a fight. There she stood, taking shallow breaths and splattered in Forgnar's blood, but she was unscathed from the ordeal. If he were a simple outsider with no knowledge of what was actually happening, he could have easily mistook that for public murder.

Lelouch always knew what CC was capable of. He knew she was well-versed in killing using a variety of ways. Hell, he'd seen her fight before. But clearly, her sparring sessions and life-or-death fights were leagues apart from each other. No one had the right to accuse her of holding back during training. She needed to hold back if the opponent must survive.

She'd told him before, hadn't she?

"I was not trained to fight in tournaments and win games. The Order can call it however they want. But it's plain and clear as day. I was trained to kill."

Anarchy followed the eerie silence as some insulted nobleman in the crowd shouted.

"You don't fight with honor!"

"That was barely even a fight!"

"It was murder!"

"You Witch!"

Beside him, Nunnally with her ashen face stared at the carnage. Lelouch wanted to hit himself. He should have insisted on Nunnally leaving the hall before the fight began. But his sister had been adamant about seeing the ordeal through. And the comments from the unreasonable noblemen and women were not helping. For one, how could they call it murder when it was clearly a trial by combat?

Nunnally's wide lavender eyes flitted to his face when she felt a gentle squeeze on her cold hand.

"She did that." Nunnally uttered. And to Lelouch it seemed like only his touch on her hand was keeping his sister anchored to their horrible reality. "I— May I speak to her, brother?"

Lelouch shook his head as he squeezed Nunnally's hand in reassurance one last time. In the balcony above, he caught pink hair fluttering in the breeze through the open windows as his other sister, Euphemia left the premises. "I can arrange for you to speak to CC soon, I promise. But not now, Nunnally."

A single look at his sister's two personal guards clued them in to what her older brother wanted.

"Euphemia is leaving the hall. Join her, Nunnally. I'll come and see you later."

Nunnally glanced at what remained of the once glorious Knight, at CC standing in judgment under the spectators, at her father, her eldest half-brother, and the Hand of the ruler. She'd had quite enough, suffice to say.

"Thank you, big brother."

Lelouch waited and kept his eye on Nunnally's discreetly retreating back behind the crowd. When she and her guards disappeared through a side door, Lelouch sighed and left his place, mindful of the way his mother was staring at him.

"Silence!" The Emperor bellowed, fuming at the sight of his dead Knight. No doubt, thinking about how Schestaal's father, Lord Bolvona Forgnar would react to the news of his son being killed during a murder trial.

"The gods have made their will known." Lelouch exclaimed, his bold declaration carried in the air, and as if it were a pacifier, silenced the crowd talking over each other. With sure steps, the Prince came to stand beside CC, violet eyes burning with challenge as they drilled through the man sitting on the Iron Throne.

"You do not speak for the gods—" Lord Upson, red with rage, started but paused, remembering his place and whom he was addressing. The arrogant Prince could do without that smug smirk though. Nonetheless, Upson sheepishly knelt before his Emperor and asked for His Grace's mercy and forgiveness for deigning to speak insolently to one of His Grace's offspring.

"No, I do not. But the results of the trial do."

Everyone looked to the glorious Emperor for the formal verdict. It took too long — so long that Lelouch seriously considered they would still pass the unjustly guilty verdict. CC was innocent through and through. Even without a trial by combat… His lover was innocent from the moment they arrested her until this trial began. But he knew as well as everyone that it was useless if their father—

"The gods have indeed made their will known." Charles zi Britannia's glower never left his son's imposing form beside the woman he dared to call a member of his army. "The girl is innocent."

vVvVv

It was a relief to remove the other face and settle into the one she held at birth. Her real face. It was a dead giveaway — a telltale mark — of the young girl that had grown up within the stone walls of her father's massive seaside home. Not that anyone alive in Volantis would know who she was now anyway. Her family name had disappeared. Stripped of all its finery and honor.

In her mind's eye, she was still squinting underneath the harsh rays of the midday sun, still absorbed in the music of the waves as they crashed against the many boulders dotting the shoreline. Twas the music that drowned out the wailing of a new widow — masked the uproar happening in her old home as one of her mother's servants had whisked her away to someplace safe. Her father's last request.

CC sighed heavily as she brought herself out of the reverie. There was no point in dwelling in the past too much. Because it was the past… And there was no changing it. She chose to focus on her present instead. And at the moment, that involved tying her hair up into a knot so the bathwater wouldn't soak it.

She was in the middle of undoing the laces that held the robe together when the door to the Prince's bathing chamber opened. And since there was only one other person allowed to enter the Prince's suite at this hour, it was without shame or hesitation that she let the flimsy cloth fall away from her shoulders.

Silence blanketed the room, only interrupted with the sound of movement and the rippling of water. Dozens of flickering candles sheltered in sconces filled the en-suite washroom with warm light. Entranced by the atmosphere and the view before him, Lelouch found himself watching the robe and how it whispered against her skin as it fell. It gracelessly pooled around her feet before she stepped out of it and lowered herself into the waters within his spacious and luxuriously cut marble bathtub.

The sight of her nudity and her womanly curves did little to faze him though. No… What held his attention were the faint outline of scars across her back. He'd seen them before. He'd even touched them more than a dozen times now. But seeing her scars again after how arduous the day had been (with the trial and all) was a stark reminder to Lelouch all over again.

She could have died today… But as she always did, Circe fought to live.

"You caused quite the stir, CC. And quite the show too." He commented, making himself comfortable on one plush ottoman pushed up against the wall.

Opening her eyes at the sound of his voice, CC lifted her head off of the edge of the tub to stare at Lelouch's far-from-regal profile — just bare feet, cropped pants, and white undershirt. "Was it that big a deal? I don't see anything special about fighting for oneself and defeating a man."

Lelouch pulled a face. "To you, probably not. Schestaal was an anointed Knight of the Round. And being one of the Knights of the Round isn't exactly a title to be taken lightly."

And then he saw the skepticism shadow her countenance; her golden eyes narrowed and plainly contemplative.

"You're not convinced of his prowess." Was the assumption that first came to mind, as opposed to the many others.

She picked up a washcloth folded perfectly next to a line of fragrant bath salts, dipped it in water, wrung it out, and set to work on cleansing herself from the day's sweat and whatever remained of the splattered blood. "Suzaku would easily trounce him. And if a woman could defeat him quickly, then I suppose he wasn't very good or suitable for protecting the Emperor at all."

"Not everyone is as skilled in swordplay as you." Lelouch's voice sounded exhausted as he sighed deeply and ran a hand through his tousled hair.

His words made her pause. The washcloth hovered above her opposite arm, and with quiet frankness, she replied, "I wouldn't call it a skill."

"No? What would you call it then?"

"A way of life."

For her, of course it was. Lelouch sighed, and inwardly scolded himself because he should have seen that answer coming.

"For survival. You do it quite a lot with every mission I send you on. And before you met me, you must have…" The Prince trailed off; his mind too tired and stressed to think of the proper word to describe the tribulations she'd been through.

At his hesitance, CC let her lips curl up into a weak smile, abandoning the task of rubbing her skin with a washcloth in favor of watching her Prince and the varied expressions flying across his face. "I've been living this way for most of my life now. 11 years and counting."

11 years since she was taken from her home…

Heaving a resigned sigh, Lelouch stood up and made for the looking glass situated above a vanity across the room. "Before I forget, Nunnally wishes to speak to you."

"When I finish my bath, I'll head for her chambers at once."

Shaking his head, Lelouch rifled through a drawer to find new pairs of linen cloth and freshly folded robe. "Not tonight. Tomorrow morning would be best. It's getting late, and we wouldn't want to disrupt my sister's rest, would we?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you dote on her too much?"

"More than I care to hear, truth be told."

"What happens when she falls in love?" She questioned with a raised eyebrow, waiting for the explosive reaction she was sure to receive after such a question.

With mirth, CC smirked as he quite literally dropped whatever he was holding in favor of gesticulating wildly to her 'absurd notions.'

"Falls in lo— What?! I—"

"I don't find it difficult to imagine you following her and her future beau around just to make sure he doesn't try anything."

"There's nothing wrong about a brother protecting his sister!"

And there was the outburst she had expected to hear all this time. But for all his entertaining reactions, CC couldn't stop herself from sobering and reflecting more deeply than she should on the last defensive statement he made.

"No, there isn't." CC wholeheartedly agreed.

The way Lelouch vi Britannia cared for his sister was remarkable. In a world wrought with suffering and so much despair, it was truly a sight to behold and a phenomenon to experience. For it was that unconditional familial love for his sister that erased the majority of his sins, and made some people see that he wasn't as heartless as they first thought.

"When I first met her, Princess Nunnally vi Britannia, and saw the two of you together, I couldn't help thinking about how fortunate she was to have been given a brother as protective and doting as you."

Honest words from a woman who had nothing to hide in the moment. With a careful eye, she watched him as he carried on with his self-assigned tasks.

"Cornelia and Euphemia too," CC continued. "And it amazes me. Because I've seen siblings who murder each other in the name of gold or power or for lust. Sometimes all three. It was always one of the reasons why I felt I was right not to put my trust in anyone. If you can't trust your own blood, why trust others?"

"And now?"

A wry smile greeted him as he turned to her. "Well, I trust you, so that's a good start."

The answer earned her a chuckle.

"What are you doing?" She found herself asking, and then inwardly berated herself for voicing the silly question.

She wasn't blind or stupid. Of course she knew what he was doing. With mirth glittering in his eyes, he appeared to have noticed her self-deprecation as he shook his head and continued the trivial task of undressing himself. Not that he did it for long.

"Joining you." He answered, folding his dirty breeches and undershirt neatly before he placed them on top of the others in the laundry hamper. Body in full display, he shamelessly approached the tub, dipping one leg and then the other. "Shift over."

Who was she deny the wishes of her Prince?

Or at least, that was the courtly way to put it. In all truth, she really didn't mind them taking a bath together anyway. They were past shy now. The water sloshed around, disturbed by the motion of Lelouch settling in behind her. When all was still and notably quiet again, she softly sighed as streaks of water poured from his cupped hands and onto her bare shoulders.

Pleased with her reaction, he continued and did the same to her other shoulder before gently pressing his palms on her shoulder blades. His thumbs kneaded the muscles with an expertise akin to the palace's employed masseuse. To say it felt good would be understating it. It was relaxing and distracting enough to encourage her mind to wander.

Both weren't sure how long they were engaged in this particular sort of activity, but soon enough, the Prince reached for the washcloth she had abandoned earlier. With extraordinary care, he gently rubbed the back of her neck, clearing the skin and the pores of invisible dirt.

CC seriously considered commenting about how well he was doing this, but chose not to. Something about the tranquil silence begged to not be disturbed. And so she bent to its wish and held her tongue; focusing on how gentle and careful he was being as he cupped water in his hands again and let it trickle onto her back.

Absorbed in their new and private ritual, she was understandably startled when he broke the silence.

"It ended quickly…" Glancing at him over her shoulder, she caught the far-off gaze and reached for his hand, squeezing his digits gently to bring him back to their present. "Too quickly."

And brutally, went unsaid. Judging by the tone of his voice, she wasn't quite sure if that bothered him or if he was simply voicing his observations.

"What happens to Upson now?" She asked instead, refusing to dwell on Schestaal's broken body and the congealing blood on the floor when Lelouch had marched her defiantly out of the throne room.

He shook his head, wrapping the cloth around his finger as he cleaned the backs of her ears — an action that tickled her more than she cared to admit. "I don't know yet. And that remains to be seen. Father could very well just drop the matter all together and never bring it up. Even in a small Council meeting."

Lelouch wrung the washcloth out and chucked the fabric into a waiting bin — which one of the servants would come and collect in the morning for washing. CC made a sound of agreement as she settled back into his body, curling up against him and his warmth.

"If I hadn't demanded a trial by combat, I would have been beheaded by now."

Sensing the inflection in her quiet voice, his arms closed around her, pressing her closer — if that were possible — until all manner of space between them was nonexistent. "Unfortunately true. Not that I'd allow it in the first place."

"Careful. You sound remarkably fond of me."

"I think this proves that I already am." He returned her joke and merely snuggled closer to her.

Her titters and her teasing sounded forced tonight. Her smooth and ageless voice filled with wariness that seeped into her bones, the Prince wished he could do more. For everything she went through and did for him, he felt inadequate. What actions of significant value had he contributed to her? It was one of the reasons why he showered her with affection and favors, but was that enough? Everything he did for her always seemed to pale in comparison to what she always gave to him.

He liked it when she wore her hair down, but there were times — just like this — when he appreciated her tying and putting it up. It was being given free access to usually guarded skin. He nuzzled her jaw affectionately and peppered kisses along the back of her neck and her ears as he resumed massaging the base of her nape and her back, smoothing his palms over the glistening skin. Taking pleasure in the way she subtly melted at his touch.

He kept at it until he found himself repeating his hands' route, familiarizing himself with her skin yet again — memorizing all the curves and dips, the pads of his fingers tracing over scar tissues and coarse marks of old and deep wounds.

Some of them shown red in the candlelight, presenting him with a vague image of what they might have looked like when they had been fresh — open and bleeding. This sight coupled with what he had witnessed in the throne room today prompted him to ask the questions he normally wouldn't, out of respect for her privacy and her past.

Distracted and calmed by his ministrations and his careful studying, CC was brought out of her own reflections when he asked, "What was it like?"

"You're going to have to be more specific." She murmured, taking his right hand to intertwine their fingers. She pressed their clasped hands above her beating heart, for no complicated reason other than to continue basking in the intimacy of the moment.

"Training with the Faceless Men." He supplied, hot breath ghosting over her nape, inviting some raised hairs.

"It was spiritual. Very religious." She answered, losing herself in memories of days gone by — of days spent caring for the bodies of the departed, peeling off their faces, before laying them in their final resting place. "Methodical. But the fight training was brutal."

Her answer didn't surprise him. "How brutal?" He still asked, hungry for details in his quest to understand her more — to know her better.

She made note of the way he was mapping out the scars on her body with his fingers, and simply said, "Brutal enough to leave deep scars."

She told him of the time they bound her head-to-toe and left her in the same place for days, covered in her own excrement — to teach her how to release herself from a full bind, until she figured out how to release herself; until no form of restraint would be enough to hold her captive. She told him how she'd broken her right hand on purpose once, so she could practice swordplay with her left hand until she could hold any weapon and wield it as masterfully as she did with her right.

She told him about the time they'd stripped her of the privilege to see with her own eyes. Blind as a newborn. It was done for half a year until she was capable of fighting in utter blackness; until she was capable of seeing just as well with her other senses.

It was without shame or fear that she laid out her truth. Told him about every 'horror' she'd endured, and how she'd emerged afterward. Told him about the experiences that made her the woman she was today.

She hated the Order for their ways, and admired them at the same time. Stuck between loathing them for expelling her and being grateful for everything they'd taught her at the same time.

When she'd finished, she was overcome with a sense of being unsure. She sincerely hoped he wasn't looking at her with pity. She didn't want to hear him say that he felt sorry for her. She was beyond that now, and she didn't want it.

So when she turned her body around to straddle him and see his face fully, she was glad. For it wasn't pity she saw in his eyes. It was admiration and awe. Respect. Something she never received for a long time. Whenever she'd told anyone during her previous travels, she'd been coddled and comforted — as if their sympathy could erase what she'd been through.

Because she saw herself as a survivor and not a victim… And she felt humbled and glad that he could see that as well as she did.

It was her only solace — her one source of dignity and pride after every despicable thing she'd done.

She'd done it all to survive…

"I've snuffed out hundreds of lives. Not even stopping to consider why I did it. And why I still do. But just because I do it, doesn't mean I take pleasure in it."

Of course she didn't. Circe wasn't a madwoman. Nor was she a monster. She was just another human being trying to survive in a cruel and unjust world.

"You hate it… Ironic, isn't it? It's what you do for a living. And it's part of what I do to stake my claim to the throne. However unlikely that may be."

"Don't take me for a naive woman." She insisted firmly, stunning eyes hardening to flinty chips of gold. "I know its necessity, especially in times of conflict. Sometimes the life of one person isn't worth the life of thousands — even millions. It's just—"

"I've killed as many as you have. Probably more if we account for the lives that ended at my command." He offered solemnly, brushing his knuckles against the corner of her mouth while his other hand gently rubbed her arm. "Nevertheless, I want you to know I understand. I may not have gone through every single hardship you have. But in some ways, we are one and the same."

Yes… Yes, they were.

Close to sobbing with relief, she barely managed to rein her emotions in. It still didn't stop her from letting the tiniest bit show. Touching their foreheads together, she nuzzled his nose and refused to tear her eyes away from those enthralling violet irises that communicated so much.

Forged by violence and stained in blood. Forced to take lives to accomplish something greater. And something told him this path of theirs was just the beginning — that there were still many more to overcome. Still more sacrifices to make — others and theirs.

"I really don't express my gratitude enough. But for what it's worth, I'm really grateful to you, Lelouch…"

Because he'd given her a chance when she'd been at the brink of giving up completely. Because he'd outstretched a hand when others wouldn't. And from the moment she realized she cared for him more than a servant should care for her master, she'd made a vow. To stand beside him and fight for him and protect him.

Oblivious to the sentiments flying around in her own head, Lelouch smiled and leaned into her touch as she lightly cupped his face and brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones. "As am I to you."

Even more so, perhaps…

He was in awe of her. He marveled at her strength — at her iron-will. Others would have caved or have given up entirely. And he didn't blame anyone if they sought the relief that only Death could provide. But it was admirable to come across people who didn't lose that will to live.

He held a living and breathing weapon. And it was beautiful.

She was beautiful.

"I don't repulse you?" CC caressed his sensual lips with her fingertips, counting each and every dark eyelash framing those gorgeous eyes. "You don't think I'm a witch?"

His fingernails lightly dragged across her abdomen, the back of his hand brushing the underside of a scarred breast. Holding her chin gently, he brought their faces closer as heavy breaths fanned against her full and peach lips. Her body vibrated with anticipation that made him smile.

"I wouldn't mind. Never will I find another woman like you."

Their lips brushed and her breath seized. But what he said next tore down the last of her doubts and her own secret insecurities.

"If you're a witch, then I shall be your warlock."

Lips fuse together into a kiss that's both lustful and wholesome, relishing every sweet sentiment, eradicating the doubts and the self-deprecation. What was there left, but to savor this heady concoction of affection, devotion, and adoration? A kiss so profound that both inwardly acknowledged it would be difficult to pinpoint one in the future that could match this.

Because all that mattered in this single moment in time was the witch and her warlock, willingly falling over the precipice of unbridled passion as they surrendered to one another.