The hum of the descending elevator, couple with the musical humming from princess Euphemia, was the only sound filled the metal box as the trio made their way down to the lower levels of the Viceroy's Palace.
"So," The pink girl asked, "What's the surprise?"
The scarred general merely shook his head. "Princess, you know that it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you."
Ciaran chuckled as Euphemia pulled off an overly aggressive pout at the general's reply.
"Oh, by the way," Darlton said, reaching into a pocket, "The Viceroy told me to give you these."
Withdrawing his hand, he held up four bits of metal: two pairs of pips in the shape of a stylized star.
"Myself and the Viceroy agreed that it's a good rank to start with," the general said, attaching the first pair to the right shoulder of Ciaran's jacket. "Plus, it means we can keep a better eye on you and no-one will ask questions."
The young man stared at the pips on his shoulder for a moment before gingerly taking the second pair.
"T-thank you, sir." He looked at the pair of pips which rested in the palm of his hand.
"I take it you're not excited?" Euphemia asked, taking the metal adornments and attaching them his other shoulder.
"N-no, I'm happy. I really am." Ciaran said, looking quickly at the pink princess. "It's just... I always thought I'd get to tell my parents about it." His eyes were beginning to water.
The two Britannians exchanged a look before Euphemia wrapped her arms around the young man's neck, pulling him into a hug.
"Well, I guess we'll be your family then." The young woman said, a large smile on her face. Looking at her, Ciaran was sure her eyes seemed to shine.
Wiping his eye as best he could to avoid the bruise, Ciaran chuckled again.
"Now that's not a bad plan, Euphemia."
The pink girl grinned and gave Ciaran a tighter hug, accidentally pushing her head into Ciaran's bruised left cheek, causing him to yelp out in pain.
The exchange made Darlton laugh, the deep sound filling the box as they descended to their destination.
The elevator door opened with a 'ding' as the trio made their way out of the door, Ciaran gingerly rubbing his cheek as he followed Darlton and Euphemia down the corridor before them. Euphemia walked forward with downcast eyes while Darlton merely smiled.
"I'll admit something," Ciaran said, removing his hand from his cheek, "I always wondered what it would be like to have a younger sister. And now I think I was right."
This did not help Euphemia's mood as her head sunk lower. Seeing that, Ciaran reached forward and placed a hand on her head. This caused the girl to raise her head and look at him.
"Hey. I never said it was a bad thing." He coupled that with a wide smile, which in turn made the young girl smile brightly.
"When you two are quite finished," Darlton called out, standing beside a metal door built into the wall.
Admonished, the duo picked up their pace as Darlton punched in a code followed by the door opening with a pneumatic hiss. On the side, the door revealed a large hangar of bustling men in drab dungarees and overalls scurrying across the floor or gangways, carrying a myriad of tools or cables as they tended to a variety of vehicles, some squat armoured vehicles.
But the vehicles that caught Ciaran's eyes were tall, bipedal mechs, standing nearly five metres tall. It's squared armour was painted a deep purple colour, with the chest and legs painted black. It's head was nearly spherical with a pair of 'horns' that sprouted from the back.
"What. Is that?" Ciaran asked, his eye nearly bugging out of it's socket.
"That, is a Humanoid Autonomous Armoured Knight, or the Knightmare Frame," Darlton gave the answer, sound pleased at the young man's awe. "That particular unit is one of the latest models. A Sutherland."
The trio approached one of the closest units, the engineers parting aside as they advanced. Ciaran ducked underneath the knightmare's crotch, then ascending the ladder to the rear of the units torso. Looking over and under it, wonder was plain on his face as he searched for a way to open it up.
"Can I have a look inside?" He asked, the question not directed at anyone in particular. Darlton smiled then nodded at a nearby technician.
"You might want to stand back, Ciaran." Darlton cautioned. As the young man stood back, the technician activated an override command and the rear of the cockpit slid back, revealing the interior of the machine. Leaning forward over the chair, Ciaran peered at the myriad of screens, controls and other controls.
"It's not as complicated as you think," the general said as he climbed up to stand the other side of the operator's chair, peering into the cockpit too.
"You'll forgive me if I say I don't believe you." Ciaran said with a chuckle. "Is this what replaced tanks?"
The general nodded. "Still want to join the armoured corps?"
"If anything else," Ciaran said, raising himself out of the cockpit, "This makes me want to join it more."
"Are you two finished?" Euphemia called out from below, her hands on her hips. "It's time for lunch, you know."
"Sorry, your highness."
"Sorry, Euphemia."
The uniformed pair apologised, then climbed down from the gangplank to join the princess, as the tech crews went back to work on the Sutherland.
After that, the following days fell into an easy semblance of order. Ciaran spent much of his time alternating between working with Euphemia in her duties as sub-viceroy and being tutored by Darlton on how to operate the knightmare frame. The scarred general was correct in his claim that operating a knightmare was a lot less complicated then it first seemed. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to try and actually operate a knightmare until he had regained full use of his depth perception. Ciaran always ate his meals in company, either with the group of four or, as was more common, Euphemia and Darlton. The trio always had something to discuss, usually about Ciaran's previous life or some aspect of Britannian life.
His free time, however, was spent in the palace's extensive library looking through various texts. He never looked at anything in particular, switching from history books to poetry to whatever else.
It was in one of those times that Guilford found him sitting out on the balcony, Ciaran sitting at one of the small tables, a small pile of history texts on the surface, accompanied by an empty glass and a small writing pad and pen.
Walking closer, Guilford saw that the bandages on his forehead had been removed, along with the appliances to help mend his broken nose. The bandage over his right eye had been replaced by a slightly less noticeable eye-patch and the bruising on his face had certainly gone down. His facial hair however had grown a bit more wild, nearly becoming a full beard, if it stopped a bit short.
"Enjoying yourself?" Guilford asked as he circled the table to stand in front of him. Ciaran seemed to have been pretty engrossed in his books, for he nearly jumped at the knight's voice.
"Ah, lord Guilford. Good day to you." He said, rising out of the chair.
Guilford waved him down as he pulled a chair to sit with him.
"The Viceroy let you of your leash, it seems?" The young man joked, pulling a cocky smile at the comment. Guilford only chuckled in reply, before reaching over and lifting up the notepad to read it.
At the top, in large block letters read the words:
Similarities between my world and new
"What's this about, if I may ask?"
"If I'm honest,," Ciaran said, taking the pad back, "I'm not fully sure. I came in here one day and I picked up a copy of Shakespeare and I thought to myself 'Oh, they've got him here too'. So I started pouring through several books to see what else you had and... it kind of went from there." He reinforced the last part of his sentence by striking the pad with his pen.
Guilford nodded. "Understandable. The human mind seeks similarities in many things in life. And I imagine with your circumstances, it would be taken to quite an extreme."
Ciaran nodded in understanding. "Indeed. And I'll be honest," the young man said, leaning back in his chair, interlocking his fingers. "I think I might as well stop. The similarities are enough to make the experience more than bearable. Although the company doesn't hurt."
Guilford said nothing, giving a small chuckle in reply. Admittedly, he hadn't had many interactions with the young man, being that his duties as the Viceroy's aide and personal knight kept him preoccupied, but he would often find Ciaran and Princess Euphemia chatting amicably during their time together or find him in rapt attention when general Darlton was giving a lecture on the operation of a Sutherland. Even though he was still admittedly a little wary of the man, if the princesses and the general could stand him, then so could he.
"Well, I'd love to stay and carry on chatting," Ciaran said, he looked at his watch before rising from his chair, "Since we really don't know that much about each other, my lord, but I'm afraid I must get back to work."
"Of course, Mr Forsyth." Guilford replied, standing too as the young man made his way to the exit of the library. Soon, a maid entered and began clearing the table of books.
"My lord," the young woman asked, "what should I do with this?"
Looking down, Guilford saw what she was referring to: the pad and pen held in a white gloved hand.
"I'll take that." He said, taking the pad from her hands before he left the library. Turning the pad over and over in his hands, curiosity got the better of him as he opened the pad to see what the young man had written.
The first page however startled him. Instead of long lists of various things, the page was blank, save for one single line written in clear, black block letters:
NEVER FORGET INVICTUS
Guilford stopped walking, his mind focusing on the page as he read the line over and over again, trying his best to make any sense of the sentence.
The ringing tone of his phone pulled him back to the real world as he answered the personal line to princess Cornelia.
"Well now," the smiling doctor said, "It's nearly two weeks. Let's take a look at that eye."
Ciaran was sitting in his personal room on the bed, stripped down to his t-shirt and trousers, princess Cornelia standing a ways to the side of the bed as the princesses personal doctor sat in front of him, a small collection of small medical sitting next to him on the floor. The doctor was a nondescript man in his late fifties, with a balding head and a puffy face, with a pair of half-moon glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
"You don't really need to be here, your highness." Ciaran said, turning to look at the purple-haired woman.
"I just want to make sure everything is okay." Cornelia simply stated. Ciaran quickly turned to face the doctor as the man produced a small bottle of disinfectant and a cotton ball.
Lifting the patch, the doctor gave an appreciative nod. "Looks like my estimate was right, your highness," The doctor said, smiling at the young man on the bed as he put the bottle and cotton ball away. "No further treatment is required."
Walking over, Cornelia gave a small smile at the sight before her. Where once was a deep purple and black bruise had now become the same pink colour as the rest of his skin.
"If that will be all, your highness?" the doctor started, before the princess simply gave a shake of her head. The man bowed before bending down to retrieve his bag, then he left the two in silence.
"Time really is a good healer." Cornelia said, as she watched the young man replace his jacket.
"Indeed." The young man said simply.
The pair stood in silence for a few moments before princess Cornelia spoke up again. "Since you're eye has mended, then Darlton will begin your combat training in two days time."
At that, the older woman reached into one of her pockets and pulled a thick, black case and placed it on the bed. Reaching over, Ciaran opened the case to reveal an electric razor. The young man couldn't help but chuckle a little.
"I didn't say anything about your looks up to now, but since your injuries have healed, you're to present yourself as a member of my Royal Guard."
The princess stood silently as Ciaran straightened his back, then bowed.
"Yes, your highness."
Darlton's booming laugh echoed down the hall as he and Ciaran made their way down one of the palace's many hallways. Ciaran, for his part, simply kept his head down, his hand covering his head as he shook it from side to side.
"Please stop, general." The young man said quietly.
The general kept laughing, seeming to ignore the man's comment. "I had no idea you had such a case of baby-face!" Darlton roared, slapping the young man between his shoulder blades with enough force to knock Ciaran off his stride. This caused Ciaran to turn and glare at the general, which caused the general's laughing fit to double in severity.
The general was telling the truth though, much to Ciaran's disdain. Without his facial hair, the man had a serious case of baby-face, making him appear much younger then he was.
"Do you think I can convince the princess to let me grow it out? Just a little bit?" The young Briton said hopefully, rubbing his chin to try and reinforce his point.
Laughing less harshly now, Darlton wiped a tear from his eye.
"He-he. Maybe, son. Maybe." The older man then coughed as he cleared his throat. "But in all seriousness, are you ready for this?"
Puffing out his chest, Ciaran nodded. "I am sir."
Darlton smiled broadly at the young man, putting a large hand on his shoulder. The smile faded as the generals' face took on a serious look.
"So have you ever fired a gun before?"
Ciaran shook his head. "Only single-shot air-rifles and some gas-powered rifles when I did a regimental insight course with the British army."
Darlton nodded as the duo came to a large metal door with the words 'warning' written in large yellow letters with a large red bulb placed next to the door, which was currently unlit. Punching in a set of numbers into a keypad, the door slid to the side revealing a large metal room. The room was split with five avenues. Th closest ends of the avenues were made into booths, with tall metal walls dividing each booth, while at the furthest end stood five targets standing before a bullet riddled wall.
Walking into a room, Darlton opened a locker and pulled a rifle out of it's alcove. It was rectangular, built in the bullpup configuration, with the gun-sight and the carrying handle built as one. Opening the guns chamber, the general let it snap closed before letting it sit in his hands.
"This, is the M15 Assault Rifle, standard issue to all Britannian military personnel. It can fire in the automatic and semi-automatic fire modes and fires a 5.56 caseless round."
"Caseless?" The younger man asked, surprised by the concept.
"Yep. Caseless." The general said with a smug smile, before tossing the rifle to the person in front of him. "Catch!" He said just as quickly as he threw the gun.
The young man caught the rifle smoothly, before lightly tossing the gun into the air before catching it again. "It's lighter than I thought."
Darlton nodded appreciatively as he pulled some magazines out of the gun cabinet. They were long, rectangular cases with a small turntable-like addition at one end of it.
"These things carry thirty to forty rounds each, so just to be sure, I'll give you four magazines to start with." Darlton said, drawing a rifle of his own from the locker, placing a magazine of his own into the gun.
For the next hour and a half, Darlton took Ciaran through the various firearms used in Britannia. Pistols, submachine guns and rifles, Darlton taught the young man how to operate, fire and clean each one.
"It appears that you're a bit of a natural, Ciaran." Darlton said as he put his rifle away in the locker.
"I'm surprised myself, sir," Ciaran replied, as he fixed his new belt around his waist, making sure the holster was in it's right place. It had been something the general insisted on after the young man had proved his skill with a pistol. "Although I'll be honest... these guns are a lot more underpowered than I expected."
The general simply hmm-ed in response.
"Ciaran," he said flatly, "I want to be sure about this: are you sure you want to carry on with this? Becoming a soldier, I mean." The general fixed his eyes on Ciaran.
Ciaran kept his eyes focused on the floor, his hands still on his holster. Slowly, he raised his head and met the general's gaze.
"I am sir," the young man said matter-of-factly, "I know I wouldn't be able to fit in with the rest of Britannian society. I think the military is the only way I can do something with myself in this place."
Darlton nodded.
"Plus," Ciaran continued, "I believe that I owe you and princess Cornelia for saving for my life when I first came here. And I don't think a simple 'thank you' will cover it." A smile graced the young man's face at the last part.
The scarred general ran a hand through his hair at the comment, giving a short but loud chuckle.
"Yeah, I guess you do. I guess you do," the general conceded, "But don't you dare get yourself hurt in the process, understand me?"
Ciaran stood smartly at attention, his left foot stamping next to his right as he saluted smartly.
"Sir, yes, sir!"
AN: Okay, this ended up being a shorter chapter then I originally hoped for. Admittedly, I don't think I could have extended this chapter without messing up the flow of what I had planned for later chapters. So if you wanted something longer, I apologise.
Next chapter's gonna be where the big stuff happens, and also the introduction of some new faces. So... enjoy. c:
ETA: A note on the rifle: the Code Geass wiki for small arms says that nearly ALL of the firearms in the Code Geass universe do not use gunpowder as a ballistic propellant, they use an electromagnetic pulse. Now, I wasn't really sure if that would effect the actual weight of the gun or not so I just went with the standard "It's lighter than I thought" cliche. Plus the M15 designation is just something I came up with on the spot.