Chapter 3: Entwined Ends

Was this really necessary?

Gino lay on his back on his mattress in his cell. He had been stripped of his uniform and was now only clad in his underwear. A coarse blanket had been provided for him so he wouldn't completely freeze to death in this dank, inhumane environment. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised by this treatment, even if it was supposed to be an act.

Yeah, right.

It was so blatantly obvious how much Lelouch was being motivated by pure revenge. He was so lost inside his own head that he had convinced himself that he had to make the entire world feel the pain he had been through for an entire decade, compressing it all into the span of a few short months. He couldn't sympathize with such a selfish monster.

He curled up into a ball and used his body heat to warm himself as best as he could. He tried to keep his thoughts from growing desperate and focused them on all that would come after this when they could rebuild Britannia once Lelouch's reign had ended. But all he could think of was the immediate future. Millions more were going to die by the hand of this psychopath. And Lelouch was expecting them to help him do it. It was inevitable that he was going to Geass him so he would have yet another extremely effective pawn at his disposal.

"Good afternoon, Sir Weinberg."

Gino smiled in irony and looked at the emperor from the inside of his relatively warm cocoon. "Come to make my allegiance unquestioning? Should have done that from the start, LeDouche."

Lelouch chuckled at the juvenile insult. "As sharp as ever. But don't worry, I'm not planning on letting you lose that silver, serrated tongue of yours. I would have done it by now if it suited my purposes. But . . . hm . . ." He ran his hand over his mouth in contemplation. "You're a curious case, Gino. Maybe even more so than Monica. She joined the military to protect Britannia's citizens from terrorists. You did because you had the same idea as Suzaku. Yet you were unquestionably one of Charles's most loyal knights despite your disdain for his racist fundamentalism. You're a good man—but so confusingly hypocritical."

"Look who's talking. You'd have to be a complete moron to actually think you can cure such deep-rooted social ills like this."

Lelouch shook his head and quickly wagged a finger in denial. "No, no, no. I'm not stupid—just scarred. Pain is the greatest equalizer, after all."

"You actually think the world will feel the exact same pain you did? God, you are selfish. Let's look at it from the people's perspective: The object of their hate is gone and they all have lost friends and loved ones possibly by the dozens. Britannia is a husk of its former self, the aristocracy is gone, and the country is being ravaged on all sides by its enemies. The pain we are going to suffer is going to be far greater than anything you have ever faced, Lelouch. Being abandoned by your parents? That's child's play compared to a Britannain starving alongside a Number whom he may be inclined to cannibalize because he's so desperate for food. I'm asking you now: Be the emperor your father wasn't and do what would be so easy for you now! Grant Numbers official citizenship and end these centuries of tyranny! It would be as simple as signing on a dotted line on an edict!"

Lelouch stared at him craftily and shook his head. "It's too late for any revisions in the plan now, Gino. It's all or nothing. You will understand when this is all over. But for now, I have an important task for you that I need you to complete."

The hairs on the back of Gino's neck stood on end, and he was compelled to ask the obvious question. "What is it?"

Lelouch didn't respond until after he had removed his contact lens to reveal his Geass sigil, explaining every necessary detail that would allow him to complete the pertinent mission.

She was hailed as the most beautiful woman in the world, the leader of a country so inhospitable and arid that the only commodity of value that her people had were themselves. They were a proud warrior race, strong and hardy, who offered their services as mercenaries for those who needed either protection or a leg up on their enemies. And fortunately for this country of Zilkhistan, they had been having a huge uptick in business thanks to the exploits of a very bitter and violent new emperor of Britannia.

Queen Shamna had made absolutely certain that she had bathed herself and brushed her hair so it was smooth and silky before this particular visitor arrived. She was a woman of genuinely astounding beauty, with long, blonde hair and a curvaceous body which she was known to use to get even more money from her customers. And, from the extremely classified intel she had on the masked client who she had so carefully prepared for, she was looking forward to using it to its fullest tonight.

She licked her lips lustfully as she thought of the young, handsome face she had seen in the man's file the previous day. It hadn't been cheap to get that information, so she was going to get her money's worth for it—and more.

Shamna lay gracefully on her side on her bed in her audience chamber, as usual. Her six guards—who were more ceremonial than anything else since they were all young and beautiful bikinied women with only spears for defense—stood stoically in two rows on either side of her bedspread, with reflective pools of water around a bridge that led to the larger chamber of her dim yet imposingly regal throne room. Their visitor would be here any minute now. Oh, how she couldn't wait to see his true face in person. . . .

A quartet of soldiers entered the room, led by a captain who bowed to her using the traditional Zilkhistan hand sign. "Milady, I am pleased to present Oz of Peace Mark." He gestured toward the shrouded man who exited his imprisonment between the soldiers, and the guest bowed to her respectfully.

"Greetings, Queen Shamna," Oz said to her as he rose. "I hope this can be a profitable transaction for the both of us."

"And I, as well," the queen agreed as she rose from her bed, a natural flirtatious affectation to her voice. "I do prefer to discuss business in private. Please follow me to my chambers. I have a quality bottle of traditional Zilkhistan mead I am eager to open. The rare flowers of this desert produce the most exquisite honey only available to a select few."

"I am afraid I will not be able to accept the drink, Milady. But we can retreat to your chambers for such a sensitive matter as this."

"Indeed. Follow me, please."

Oz was impressed by the graceful architectural design of Zilkhistan, consisting of sandstone blocks and hand-cut arches that hearkened back to ancient times. And Queen Shamna was certainly a sight for travel-weary eyes. He had to remind himself that he had to be wary of her intentions. She was known to be promiscuous and underhanded, so his main goal was to just load what he and his men needed and get out of there as fast as they could.

Finally coming to the queen's private sleeping chamber, Shamna led the way in and immediately headed for the obviously placed bottle on her bedside table. Of course this room was even more opulent and romantic than the audience chamber, with tapestries and curtains decorating every wall and actual gems decorating reliefs and sculptures which jutted out above their heads.

As if sensing her customer's admiration of her people's tastes, Shamna smiled and nodded at a figurine she had displayed on a corner. "I see you are a most cultured man, Oz. That Fire Opal statue over there was carved by the masterful artisan Trili Marmah four centuries ago. The goddess it depicts is supposed to bless the bond between man and woman—even heightening libido and the intensity of climax."

"A worthwhile investment for husband and wife," Oz agreed while simultaneously refusing her subtle offer. "You will have to show me more of Zilkhistan's history sometime in the future. Now, to business."

Shamna trembled with a small chuckle as she finished pouring her guest's drink. "You are not escaping my hospitality so easily, Oz. A guest as formidable as you should know you deserve such admiration and honor."

Oz regarded the glass suspiciously. "Milady, you do know that I never remove this mask in public. I cannot risk my identity being exposed to the world, even for so gracious of a gesture."

Shamna paused while she held both glasses, which were now full of rare Zilkhistan mead, in her hands. Throwing a flirtatious simper over her shoulder, she didn't hide her intentions for him with the hungry look in her eyes. "There is no need for secrecy in this closed chamber, Orpheus Zevon. Your identity is safe with me."

Oz stared at her, secretly horrified beneath its white fabric that obscured every inch of his head. "I . . . suppose I should not be surprised, Highness. Well, there is no need to keep this on, then."

Yanking from the top of his crown, Orpheus pulled the obstruction from around his head and revealed his handsome countenance, which sported smoldering green eyes and a tousled mop of thick, blonde hair. Shamna was taken instantly, and she actually thought she might swoon and drop a glass at seeing such a beautiful young man in person. But she remained composed and approached him, swinging her wide hips ever-so-slightly. "I greatly look forward to this transaction, Orpheus," she declared with a victorious affectation to her voice as she offered a glass to him. "This is going to be a thrilling experience for both of us."

Orpheus gazed at the mead in front of him doubtfully before he finally relented and took it from her. He sipped at the sweet alcoholic beverage and was delighted by how truly marvelous it was. Maybe he was just being paranoid. He had made it clear that he wasn't interested in selling his body for more weapons or recruits, and he had to trust that Shamna was at least honorable enough to accept that. Still, her reputation couldn't be dismissed. Hopefully she wouldn't try to pull anything to sweeten the deal for herself one way or another.

Besides, he was having trouble getting his mind off of another certain girl at the moment.

"I am curious, Zevon," Shamna finally got to the business at hand, "why would you be doing something so drastic by purchasing my people's services to aid Peace Mark? Judging by your reputation, you do not seem to be the type to use such underhanded means."

Orpheus took another long sip of his drink, growing more and more enamored by the flavor and how much it was relaxing him. "The exact same reason why other resistance cells are requesting your services, Milady. Emperor Lelouch's campaign to win Britannia's civil war is taking a heavy toll on surrounding countries, as well as our forces. He's wildly unstable and doesn't care who gets in his way. Quite hypocritical considering his previous sympathies for the oppressed. Apparently it was all a farce from the beginning so he could worm his way to the throne."

"Hm-hm. He sounds like my type of man," Shamna half-joked with a swooning hand on her cheek. "But he would probably just mind control me and make me hand over my kingdom to him. Not that I would mind being his plaything. . . . O-Orpheus, are you all right?"

Orpheus felt himself stagger a little, and for some reason he couldn't stop sipping the mead. It was so addictive. . . . "Sorry, I don't drink very often," he chuckled, realizing that he had only an ounce of it left. "This will be my only glass, I am afraid." He finished off the last remaining fraction feeling far more euphoric than he knew he should. He blinked and realized that the queen was looking steadily more blurry with each passing second.

Finally, it dawned on him what she had done, and he stumbled forward as he grew more and more sleepy. Much to his embarrassment, his face collided with her ample chest, and she took the opportunity to hold him close to her so she could tenderly run her fingers through his hair. "Not . . . interested . . . in money . . . huh . . . ?" he managed to croak out with a cheeky smile, though he was truly loathing her at the moment. Alternatively, he could feel himself growing more and more . . . excited. Was this a natural hormonal response, or was the glass spiked with something even more duplicitous than a simple sleeping drug? He could smell her mild perfume, which only heightened his elation as she stroked his cheek lovingly with her hand.

"Oh, I certainly want the money, my darling Orpheus," Shamna cooed lustfully. "But I am going to get it from a particular Demon Emperor. You're just a bonus for me." Just before Orpheus lost consciousness, he felt her soft lips press against his and her tongue slinking around inside his mouth passionately. "Dream of me, my love," she whispered before everything faded to darkness.

Monica was still being confined to her cell until she saw things Lelouch's way. By which he meant compromise every belief she held dear for this absurd plan. How could he be so self-centered to not see the folly in his views? Maybe he was just too consumed by pain to see matters another person's way.

Lelouch had provided her with a simple nightgown for her to shiver through the night in along with her uncomfortable blanket and mattress. She wondered how the others were holding up. Would any of them give in to the emperor's plot just to survive the civil war? She sincerely hoped not. She suspected that Lelouch would make an example of them all somehow. In her case, she had seen the obvious attraction he felt toward her, and she didn't know whether she should feel relieved or terrified of that prospect. He was definitely going to preserve her for the future . . . but only for his own benefit.

More specifically, his pleasure.

Monica tried to push the idea out of her mind but couldn't think of anything else. For a long while, she could only imagine his seductive eyes peering from beneath his dark locks with his fingers gripping her chin possessively while she cried in fear. What kind of knight was she?

Really, what had she been thinking accepting such a position at her young and vulnerable age?

Suddenly, as if her mind was sensing that it was dragging itself into too deep of a pit, it reminded her of another face whom she hoped she could one day see again. Those deep, green eyes that were so sad while retaining a soulful kindness. That blonde hair which fell around his face so perfectly.

Regret took over, and she thought she might cry. "Lyre . . . I'm so sorry we never got the chance to meet again."

"Got some regrets you're sorting through?"

"Huh?" Monica looked up to see Dorothea standing at her cell bars, with one hand gripping them as she peered inside. Overjoyed upon seeing her friend after nearly two full days of incarceration, Monica almost leaped out of bed but was dead-set on keeping as much body heat in as possible while inside this drafty cell in the late-autumn temperatures. "Dorthy," she contented herself with greeting her with a smile. "How are you guys doing?"

Dorothea leaned against the bars on her elbow, peering sadly at her surrogate younger sister. "Monica . . . you need to relent to Lelouch's authority."

Monica stared in shock at the suggestion. This was so unlike her strong-willed best friend. "Dorthy," she said with a fearful tremble, "did he threaten you?"

Dorothea's gaze flicked to the floor, and she seemed to retreat into herself a little more. "Look at it this way, Monica: We've already lost. There's no point in suffering because we're so headstrong about our beliefs."

Monica was stunned. Stunned and disappointed that the most hard-headed person she knew was giving up so easily. "What are you saying!?" she demanded, her tone gaining an uncharacteristic sharpness to it. "What is it that is making you surrender so easily? This isn't the Dorothea I know!"

"Maybe she died during that 'battle,'" Dorothea reasoned with her, now resting her head against the bars to quell her growing headache. "We have no power in this situation, Monica. Charles wasn't so concerned with us sticking to our ethics because we were honestly just representatives to Britannia. Tokens and trophies. But Lelouch . . ." She met the girl's fearful gaze with a flaming resolution in her eyes. "We're key weapons that are at his disposal whether we want to be or not. One way or another, he'll get us to concede. Your cell is directly next to the torture chamber. With all he has done, do you really think he won't hesitate to use it to convince you?"

Monica nodded tentatively, knowing full well the consequences of her determination. "I'm a Knight of the Round, Dorothea," she reminded her. "My duty is to uphold truth and justice and law and order. I don't care what he does to me as long as my resolution is firm."

Characteristic of the excitable Knight of Four, Dorothea slammed her fist against the bars and grit her teeth. "Dammit, Monica! There is no law right now! Hell, it's hard to say if there was even law before Lelouch took over, what with the massacres and all. This world is going to burn and unless you give yourself up, you're either going to go with it or get horribly hurt. I don't want to see you go through that. None of us do!"

Monica fidgeted with her fingers as she considered her friend's words. But she still couldn't let go of her beliefs. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she ever did. "It's okay, Dorthy," she sighed with a shameful smile as her eyes began tearing up. "I think . . . Lelouch is already planning on me getting through this. One way or another. You said it yourself—he wants me to give myself up."

Dorothea recoiled at the suggestion, and she was loathe to accept the idea. "You can't be serious! Are you sure he . . . well . . ." She could feel herself blushing intensely. But then she remembered the feeling of the emperor's eyes on her earlier that day. It was sensible for him to be searching for a consort to establish his reign even more solidly. And taking someone as famous as Monica for a bride would be an extreme insult to the old regime he was tearing down.

"I can already see the pieces falling into place, Dorthy," the prisoner explained as she closed her eyes as if she was only further accepting her fate. "In truth, I think he wants me to keep resisting. He's putting up a pretense of wanting to cooperate, but his mind is too scarred to keep his act up for long. Any time I put up enough of a fight, it's like an entirely different personality takes over his body." Sighing tremulously, she slumped a little, wanting to flop back down onto her face and go to sleep. "I know that you and Gino want us all to get through this, but I couldn't live with myself if I gave in. So I'll just have to bear whatever horrors he has in store for me to the best of my abilities."

"Monica!" She looked up in shock to behold Dorothea pressed up against the bars, legitimately beginning to tear up as she thought of her young friend screaming in agony just because she was too idealistic to have some sense. "You'll break! I know you will! It's not that you aren't brave. You're just a kid! But, knowing how he operates with his oppression of Britannia itself, it won't matter if you finally agree! He'll keep on torturing you until you're nothing but a broken toy to do with as he pleases! Then he'll put you on display to be shamed as a naïve follower of the old system who had to learn her lesson the hard way. Is that how you want to be remembered? A mascot for his amusement and the people's pain?"

Monica had to think about the prospect for a few seconds. It was a terrifying idea, yet she would still feel like a coward if she gave in. "I'm sorry, Dorthy," she addressed her as she looked at her earnestly. "But I'd rather be remembered as the emperor's ultimate victim than one of his underlings. It will be humiliating and painful now, but years down the line I'll be able to smile at myself in the mirror because I knew that I stood up for justice."

At long last, Dorothea released all of the tension in her body. That was it. That word was the true signal that Monica was absolutely never going to back down—no matter how much she was going to be hurt for it. Resigning herself to defeat, she backed away from the cell bars and released all of her tension in a long, shuddering sigh. "Have it your way, Monica. I can respect your moral stance. But don't expect yourself to be the same person when this is all over."

Monica couldn't make eye contact with her friend anymore. She didn't know whether she should be disappointed in Dorothea or defer to her plea. There was a key factor that Dorothea wasn't considering, though. "None of us are going to be the same after this, Dorthy," she reminded her, finally finding the strength to look at her again. "What kind of person would you rather be once this is over?"

Dorothea was transfixed by Monica's sad, desperate eyes. She had to admit that she was right. But at this point, there was nothing she could do to keep her own self-respect. Ironically, by agreeing to go along with the emperor's plan for an opposing reason, she had locked herself into a cycle of regret that she had absolutely no control over.

She wished she could be supporting Monica inside of that cell. But it was too late to take that risk anymore.

"I'll remain the same person I've been since my dad took me in, Monica," Dorothea assured her after a long, uneasy pause. "I'm not doing this because I want to."

Monica quickly picked up on her implication, and she actually reached out to her friend as she turned on her heel to leave. She watched Dorothea until she was out of sight, then she finally gave in to her tiredness and crushing sadness and curled up in her bed.

Lelouch sat at his desk, his fingers interlaced and his brow knitted with worry. The call should be coming in any minute now. A part of him couldn't believe the lengths he was going to for this. He often wondered how long he could keep up his mistreatment of his own people. But then all he needed to do was tap into his darkness, and any moral qualms he had were subdued.

Somehow, though, his conscience was continuously pestering him about this. Maybe it was because he once directly sympathized with the people he was going to ruin with this plan. How deep would his hypocrisy run before he could grow numb to it?

At long last, his computer chimed and he brought up the window for the video call. The ravishing countenance of Queen Shamna of Zilkhistan filled his vision, and he could feel himself growing a little flustered just by the sight of her. "Your Majesty," he greeted her with a small nod. "By your expression, I can tell that things went well."

The queen smiled and tossed her hair haughtily, mostly just as a show to get his attention. "The information was accurate to the letter, Lelouch. Oz is indeed Orpheus Zevon—a displaced noble thrown out of his own home by a mere family tradition. Now, while I am eager to collect my payment for taking him out of the picture and furthering your war effort, I am curious what your ultimate goal is regarding Peace Mark. They would have been very good customers—but, at the moment, I do prefer to be on the side that is more of a threat to us."

Lelouch smiled and divulged the information quite bluntly. "Peace Mark is another stepping stone to my ultimate victory, Milady. With their Ace pilot in chains, their resolve will quickly shatter. And I am counting on them staging a rescue operation. That is why I have already sent forth a saboteur to keep an eye on their inner workings. Yes—they will try something. But when they are so sure of their victory, at that moment, I will dash any hopes they have of success. Their defeat will be humiliating and they will need to band with other factions just to make a final stand."

Shamna couldn't decide if she should be swooning over his confident smirk or be concerned by its maliciousness. He was altogether the perfect match for her, she thought to herself—intelligent, resourceful, crafty—but there was a subtle wickedness beneath almost every word he spoke that sent shivers down her spine. Not even the most underhanded merchants of her land were so conniving. Such scheming for business was one thing; doing it for the enjoyment of it was entirely different. She vaguely wondered if he was going to double-cross her at some point during this venture. It always paid to remain on one's toes.

"I . . . hope we can continue our business relationship in the future, Your Majesty," Shamna said to hide her growing unease over the situation. "If Britannia remains the dominant super power with no enemies to oppose you, Zilkhistan would go bankrupt quite soon. Unless you would make us your dominant supplier."

Lelouch seemed to be thinking it over. It wouldn't have made sense for Shamna to agree to this transaction unless she thought she could benefit from it in the future. Little did she know, he had other plans for her country. And for her.

"Krushevsky Industries is already my top supplier for state-of-the-art weaponry, My Queen," Lelouch informed her with a mildly flirtatious affectation. "But I will consider it. An absolute ruler can never have too much tribute, after all. A relationship between the two of us would be extremely beneficial. Good evening, Your Highness. And . . . enjoy your guest. I hope you go easy on him."

"He will be treated as a prisoner should," Shamna informed him with a nonchalant shrug. "But . . . Sigh, it can get lonely without a consort. I may be tempted to make him mine to fill that hole in my heart."

"Whatever you wish, it is not my concern. Good night, Your Highness. May fortune favor your ambitions."

"And yours, as well, Lelouch. Take care."

Shamna cut the transmission and Lelouch looked at his pocket watch. It was almost seven o'clock and he was eager to get to dinner. Passing Sir Waldstein, who he had made his personal guard for the time being, he made his way through the darkening palace corridors until he had reached the dining hall. Yet again, there was a relatively small table filled with food among the cavernous space. This time, though, Monica had arrived before him, and his breath was once again stolen clean away from him. Tonight she was wearing a ruby red dress and flat-bottomed shoes. Her hair was braided into an elegant, immaculate lattice before tapering off into a thin ponytail. He swore that if she ever looked any more stunning, he would completely fall for her.

Tonight, though, he had also invited Dorothea to eat with them since she was his reluctant ally. He hoped that, despite her contradictory reasons for siding with him, she could help Monica to see that there was no other option for her. The Knight of Four had selected her own attire for the night, choosing to keep her voluminous, raven hair loose instead of in her usual constricting braid. To Lelouch's surprise, the white dress she wore was extremely revealing, displaying just how ample the curvature of her body was with an outrageously plunging neckline and tight, clinging fabric to show off her hourglass figure.

Her tastes certainly reflected her strong and brash personality. He found that quality quite admirable in a woman.

"Good evening, Ladies," he greeted them with a bow. "You are looking as radiant as ever tonight."

"And you are still looking as conceited as always," Monica quipped, prompting a harsh glare from Dorothea.

Lelouch hid his annoyance and smiled. "Thank you, Miss Krushevsky," he deflected the remark with a sarcastic chuckle. "I am pleased you are evidently beginning to see my brilliance."

"Are we going to throw shade or actually talk this out?" Dorothea cut into the sparking argument. "I'm here for one reason and I'm not going to have it squandered by a couple of kids throwing a tantrum."

Amused that Dorothea had unintentionally thrown more fuel on the fire all thanks to her slightly coarse disposition, Lelouch decided to stamp it out before it encouraged the blaze to grow. "A wise decision, Lady Ernst," he agreed, though he was secretly a little disappointed he could not prod any more. "Please sit and we can begin our negotiations."

Once all three of them were settled in and being served by the waiters, Lelouch began his line of questioning that he had so carefully prepared. "Monica, what is the one thing that all people value the most in this world?"

"Freedom, of course," she was quick to catch on to his logic. "So it is a quandary why you would expect me to willingly relent to your rule. I happen to know that you Geassed Dorothea and she will do whatever you tell her without thinking. Why not just do the same to me and have my unquestioning loyalty without any trouble from me?"

"Because you're a very special case, Monica. I see a potential within you unlike Dorothea or even Gino. Your desire to change the world through good is powerful. I can help you realize that potential."

Monica scoffed and made a point of snootily picking up her wine before gazing at him with rising contempt. "'Good'? I believe you have forgotten the meaning of the word, Lelouch."

Lelouch smiled beneath his interlaced fingers, which he was resting in front of his mouth with his elbows on the table. Exactly as he had expected her to say. "You believe that I am compromising some sort of great moral boundary with my actions, Monica," he put to her, hoping that this would get her to think about her reasons for her beliefs. "Every one of us has held true to our morals throughout the war, yet we all have our differing ethics. In war, good people are sacrificed for the ideals of selfish politicians. The ones at the top are those who are truly without morality, generally speaking. The question is, Miss Krushevsky, not how far you are willing to test your sense of morality, but your ethics."

Monica thought about his words with a pensive frown. Just what was he getting at? "I fail to see the difference in the two concepts, Emperor. Seeing as you are so wise, enlighten me."

Lelouch cut into the slice of fine pork on his plate as he spoke, keeping his eyes firmly locked on hers. "Ethics are used to keep immoral acts within the boundaries of decency if they are necessary. War is a morally wrong act, yet the ethics behind it are sound. Evil and inequality must be subdued before it can gain the upper hand. On a more personal level, it was morally wrong for me to use Sir Kururugi to exterminate the attack fleet, yet it was ethically correct for us to preserve the four of you since you all have sympathy for the lowly despite your noble positions within the aristocracy. Not to mention Suzaku is close to all of you. He was quite relieved by my order to ensure your survival." He chewed his morsel of meat before continuing his speech. "Look at it this way, Lady Krushevsky: You owe me your life. I genuinely want to change the world for the better. So I am pleading with you: Join my cause and help me build a better world."

Monica stewed in mildly stunned silence. He had a point that, in a weird way, they really did owe him a life debt. Yet he couldn't comprehend how hypocritical his actions were in relation to his words.

Monica finally sighed as she released her pent-up stress and leaned back, setting her fork on her plate. "You speak of ethics like you are so sure you are following a strict code, Lelouch," she reminded him in an intentionally patronizing voice, "yet you have to remember how often you broke that code in the past. When you began your rebellion, you were respectable despite being our enemy. But, eventually, something changed within you. I see—I feel—your pain. It caused you to commit atrocious acts on the same level as Britannia. And now, in some ludicrous attempt at showing your people the error of their ways, you persecute civilians. When Charles was in charge, at least there was a semblance of law and order. Now, there is perhaps more order than there has been in decades, but all law has been discarded. Could I support such an administration in good conscience? I believe that justice is given equally. Who would I be if I contradicted such an ideal? A mere puppet of a bitter young emperor who became too arrogant to consider the other side's point of view. I think that Schneizel would be willing to negotiate a cease-fire if you gave him the chance. Please—don't let Britannia be consumed by your own hatred because of your forefathers' sins."

Lelouch seemed to be contemplating her words, though his disdain for them was evident. But before he could share his thoughts on Monica's beliefs, Dorothea cut in to remind her of a very important factor of current events. "Monica," she caught her attention, turning so she could speak to her face-to-face, "remember what this war is about: Who truly owns the claim to the throne. It isn't going to be solved over a pot of tea and a dividing of territory. One side will need to come out on top. The one that loses isn't going to end up in a favorable position."

Monica was stunned that her friend actually seemed to be agreeing with their enemy. "Dorthy . . . Don't tell me you're-"

Dorothea shook her head. "I'm not saying I agree with him, Monica. I just want the bloodshed to end, and that's it. We can sort out any moral qualms we may have once the war is over. But for now, I want to see my best friend make it to the other side of the madness. That is my ethical prerogative—for the ones I care about most to survive. I know I'll hate myself in the future to an extent, but at least I'll have you guys to get me through the pain."

Monica glanced from one conversant to the other—one who was acting on mere fear and the other from his misplaced sense of justice. What was the world coming to? She thought that maybe she should feel grateful to Dorothea for wanting to protect her. But, deep down, she saw her as a coward. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Finally, she made her decision and faced Lelouch with a determined look in her eye. "I will not join you, Lelouch. You'll have to Geass me to get me to follow you."

Lelouch looked at both women in turn. Monica appeared to be burning with rage, but Dorothea was exuding more fear than ever before. She knew that her friend's determination could not be swayed by this point. This was beginning to spiral, and he couldn't have them fulfilling their true roles until the war was over.

It was time for Plan B, Lelouch decided. Monica would not be swayed by moral posturing, so it was time he used his secondary talent to gain her trust. Actually . . . her admiration.

"That is a shame, Monica," he dropped the subject far too pleasantly. "I hoped we could become friends, but fate has given me a somewhat less desirable hand to work with. However . . . I do enjoy a good wager. Are you much of a gambler, Lady Ernst?"

Dorothea had naturally sprung for her wine as soon as the opportunity had presented itself, and she looked up from her drink in confusion. "Um . . . yeah, I play a mean game of blackjack and poker. What, you want a game between the three of us after this?"

Lelouch looked across the table at Monica again, who was now busying herself with eating her meal so she didn't need to look at their captor for the time being. "Between the five of us, actually, tomorrow night. You, myself, Monica, Suzaku, and my accomplice C.C. I am willing to bet that I can make the two of you see my point of view wholeheartedly given enough time. I don't want to see you as soldiers. I would much rather get to know you personally—two young women with unique histories to tell of that can help us bridge our differences. I admit that this . . . stuffy environment restricts the opportunity to see the true human beneath the suave suit or aureate dress. Tomorrow night, let us all dress for the game—no frills or pomp, just five human beings enjoying each others' company. I will even give Monica a proper room to sleep in with an entire wardrobe at her disposal."

Dorothea set her empty wine glass down and stabbed a miniature quiche with her fork without bothering to cut it. "You really think I'll get in the same room with that traitor, Lelouch?" she quietly hissed before popping the entire egg pastry in her mouth. She really was as gamine and crass as rumored.

Lelouch smiled and tilted his head coaxingly. "You owe him as much as you owe me, Lady Ernst," he reminded her cheekily. "He believes in the two of you. Can't you get past your bitterness for just one night? Maybe it will be what you need to finally see eye-to-eye with us."

Dorothea stopped chewing and sighed through her nose. Yet another good point on their enemy's part. Suzaku's naïve optimism just couldn't be depreciated, even if he had broken their bond of trust. "Yeah, fine," she mumbled once she had swallowed her giant mouthful. "But there's one thing you have to promise me," she requested as she looked down and began digging around for something. . . .

Monica froze when she saw where Dorothea had pulled out the small bottle of booze from her person, and Lelouch's expression had locked into a stupefied grin of delectation. Finally, he released his stifled laugh of hysteria in a lilting chortle. "Lady Ernst, you really are full of surprises, aren't you?" he laughed as he slapped his hand on the table, genuinely amused by her solution to keep such a 'necessity' so discreet.

Dorothea scowled when she realized that even Monica had begun laughing. Dorothea ordinarily didn't care what people thought of her proclivities, but now that she thought of it, it greatly embarrassed her for Lelouch to see something so personal. "Come off it!" she bellowed to hide her rising humiliation as she poured the brandy to replace her wine. "Where else was I supposed to put it with this thing on?"

Lelouch shrugged good-naturedly, steadily growing more fond of this strangely crude yet altogether refined woman. She actually reminded him of someone else he knew—if far more intelligent than her. "I think we will get along fine, Dorothea," he complimented her as she stuck the empty bottle back between its 'storage space' in her dress. "I appreciate women of your caliber. You aren't rare, yet I do not think I have ever seen one with your particular traits."

Dorothea could feel herself blushing a fraction. Why did he have to be so genial despite his insane, selfish plan? Perhaps it was because he genuinely believed in its legitimacy. Something that remains of your school days? she thought to herself. Too bad you couldn't stay there. This little bit of goodness I see—It's all gonna be swallowed up by your other half.

For the rest of the night, Dorothea was surprised by how much she was getting along with the emperor. She still didn't agree with him, but now that she had seen him laugh, she could see glimmers of that troubled young boy who had originally set out to free people like her from oppression.

Now that she had seen that side of him and was slowly learning more about his painful life, she figured that she had misjudged his cruelty and was actually somewhat sad that he was going to be dead by the end of this. Maybe . . . they could talk some sense into him eventually. That boy who still existed as a spark of light within his heart could be saved.

But Monica, on the other hand, was still dead-set on making it clear they would always be enemies. Throughout the rest of the night, all she could think about was formulating an escape plan for the future. She was not going to be used as his puppet, even if he gave her a life far grander than she had ever known.

So she kept her mind focused on Lyre. She hoped that seeing him again could be her reward for seeing this through and sticking to what made her herself.

Dorothea was falling for his lie of fellowship, but Monica knew better and was ashamed of her friend. Following the current was only going to delay the inevitable. And it would be so much more humiliating once the false trust was shattered between the two sides.