Recap: Alex and co are investigating the Black King and have noticed the student council with Alex stealing Shirley's phone. Lelouch is digging into Henry's memory problems and Pablo told him of the treasonous letters between his grandfather and Nunnally. Marianne embarks on a bonding trip with Nunnally to investigate what happened to her sister.
Chapter 27: Move Forward
Undoubtedly, you have heard of the incident within the palace by now. Predictably, the commoner press is siding with Prince Lelouch; Princess Carine has always been unpopular among them, even if they rarely dared to voice such opinions aloud, and Prince Lelouch appeals to them because of his half-commoner heritage. I suspect there will be contention among our ranks though for years to come. The Emperor has never humiliated one of his children to such an extent before, especially for a minor, unplanned squabble. Even Prince Antoninus, despite his embezzling, merely lives under house arrest. I have no doubt anymore that the Emperor favors Prince Lelouch, and I suspect Princess Carine risked everything in attacking him because she felt the shift of power.
We are on the brink of another Emblem of Blood, as every royal is desperate to hold onto a shred of power. While it is improper for a prince to bloody his own hands, I suspect Prince Lelouch did, which is why he will survive, while Princess Guinevere and others won't.
—Excerpt from a letter from Lord Heuberger to his wife, postmarked July 5, 2017
OSI Base, Area Eleven
With a victorious cry, Mark slammed a stack of paper in the middle of the table, disturbing Alex's morning coffee. Across from him, Shawn yawned lazily and continued to pick at the flaking blood beneath his fingernails. Alex resolutely decided not to think about it. The less he knew, the less inclined he was to pack up and call Lelouch to get him out of this hell hole. Lelouch needed a mole, so Alex would remain here.
"So I got us kicked out of the database," Mark began.
The knife slipped out of Shawn's hand and clattered onto the table. "How the fuck did you manage that? I need it."
"Well, I got the names of the student council off the girl's phone and tried to see what we had on it."
Oh, shit. Alex thought he would have more time.
"Unfortunately, I submitted their names as a batch, and the next thing I know is I'm being told to keep my nose out of where it doesn't belong." Mark pouted. "I called my friend in the other office. Same thing."
"So?" Shawn asked carefully, reaching for a paper.
Mark snatched it out of his hands and pinned basic profiles of various students to the board. Lady Ashford was at top, followed by Rivalz Cardemonde, Shirley Fenette, and Nina the side, he put Nunnally with Allie Welch at top, followed by Rolando Burton, Katherine Nelson, Warren Ellis, and Euphie Lichtberg.
"One of them"—he gestured grandly at his list—"is one of ours. I have no idea why though."
Alex could hedge a guess.
"And one or more of them is working with the new Black King," Shawn added. "Clearly, getting locked out of the system didn't stop you, Anything interesting?."
"Was a big pain in the ass," Mark grumbled. "Our pinkett has a flag on her, so good thing Alex stopped us from nabbing her. It's not her real name either. As far as I can tell, Lichtberg didn't exist before this year. She's also marked down as a noble yet can't find the family either. Meanwhile, little Einstein's father is working in the Ashford labs and has half a dozen bounties on him from various families who would love to poach him for his work. Lamperouge also has a flag on her. Brother is in the military, knee deep in classified shit, also has a flag, and his name comes up in an impressive number of incident reports from the Knight Police. I think he might be one of ours actually..."
"So the girl would also be ours?" Shawn asked.
"She's blind," Mark dismissed. "More likely to be a hostage if anything. It looks like the father is out of the picture although their paperwork doesn't mark him as deceased. Mother is also in the military, but I can barely find anything about her beyond being a former knightmare pilot and discharged due to injury before returning for administrative work. It feels fishy. I'm guessing her record was scrubbed because of black ops or so."
Shawn leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the table. "What about our pretty redhead?"
"Single child, moved from Area Two. Lost family to the Count. Their family has a disgustingly clean record. The worst they've got is a noise complaint a few years back. Seems like a nice, boring girl. More interesting and safer is Cardemonde. Both parents are lawyers, separated. Works at a bar and gambles occasionally on the weekend."
"What about the others?" Alex asked carefully, taking in every detail of each picture.
"Rolando Burton. Prefers to go by Roland. Mother is out of the picture, and his father is a low ranking worker in the Sumeragi offices.
"Katherine Nelson. Wealthy family with a stay at home mother. She's expressed interest in enlisting.
"Warren Ellis. His family regularly donates to the Purists as well as theater productions.
"Finally, Allie Welch. Attends on a full scholarship, family farms, and her sister works as a gossip journalist. She might have motive, but she's too young, and her position is too precarious to upset Lord Ashford."
"A dead end then," Alex said, careful to keep the relief out of his voice. "They got swept up in the craze like everyone else but have no reason to turn against Britannia or to crime.
"Shirley," Shawn said instead, a cruel smile dancing on his lips. "Area Two was a clusterfuck, and she would know it. Anti-Britannian sentiment, voila."
Mark threw him a packet. "You only want her because she's pretty."
"Their screams are always the tastiest. Even if she's not guilty, it'll be a good message."
"We're not..." Alex said.
Shawn's eyes narrowed. "I don't hear any suggestions from you. Or do you have a crush on the pretty little thing? You had your chance with her. Now, it's my turn."
"I would rather not waste my time," Alex said, clenching his fists beneath the table. "You two are messing around with school children. They are merely pawns for the real mastermind."
"Then which one would you take?" Mark challenged. "You've been tense since you've got here. Enjoy it for a minute. They're commoners. Nobody is going to mind if we scare them a little. Or even thin the herd. It's good for them."
As long as the attention stayed off Nunnally, he could handle this. Without a second thought, he said, "Cardemonde. His gambling is the closest lead we have, and he spends enough time out that nobody will raise the alarm if he goes missing for a day, or even two, with some excuse that he ran out of gas or so."
"So practical," Shawn whined. "Your kills are so as well. Where's the appreciation for the art, my friend? The thrill of the hunt? I've seen York reduce those miscreants to a quivering mess. Admittedly, I don't have his patience. I like it quick and fast with their screams as music to my ears." He twirled the knife and pointed the tip at him. "Go show us what his protege can do. So far, you've been rather dull."
The knife grazed his ear and thunked into the wall behind him.
Alex took a slow sip of his coffee to calm his pounding heart. "Let me guess, you don't like dull?"
"I hunt prey, and you would make a nice addition to my collection."
"It will be done," Alex assured, silently praying that Lelouch would be able to forgive him. "Give me a week."
Middle of Nowhere, Area Six
Lelouch left Henry at the hospital, overriding his objections, for an overnight observation. His scans had been worrisome to say the least, yet Lelouch wasn't afforded the luxury of waiting around and seeing what would come of it. He needed to accompany Pablo to meet his grandfather and hope to talk him out of his madness, however futile it would be. Thus, he was hiking through the woods instead of frantically calling every neuroscientist in Britannia.
It was probably for the best. His actions wouldn't have gone unnoticed by his parents.
Pablo, dressed in faded civilian clothes, shook his head as he left the most recent hut, and Frederick groaned as he swung his pack back on. The private beside him, native to the region and new to the division, glanced longingly at the food stall.
Sighing, Lelouch fished out some spare change from his pockets and approached the vendor in his rusty, awkward, portuguese dialect. The woman startled at hearing her language, and while her eyes narrowed in suspicion, she accepted the money easily. He smiled and bowed lightly before taking the bag.
"Catch," Lelouch ordered, throwing the sweet bread covered in colored sugar.
The private fumbled as he caught, and his eyes flicked between them, unsure.
"It's not like he's going to eat it, Albatross," Pablo barked, rolling his eyes. More quietly, he whispered to Lelouch, "You have to stop spoiling them."
"It helps to blend in."
"Right. Overpaying for a pastry." Pablo scanned the area. "I am sure by now my grandfather has heard I'm looking for him. News travels surprisingly fast here."
"I still can't believe you don't have an address," Lelouch grumbled, absently scratching the latest mosquito bite. The jungle loomed, threatening to swallow them whole.
"He likes to travel, village to village. Help teach the locals." Also illegal. "I doubt he's avoiding us on purpose."
If he was, they would be hard pressed to find him in a reasonable time frame. The jungle offered too many opportunities to hide, and inland, far from the cities, the Britannain population dwindled to nothing. They were vulnerable, especially to wandering cartels and rebels. Zero might have been successful in Area Six, but that simply meant curtailing rebellion within the populated regions.
Here? In the middle of nowhere, where Britannia barely had an up-to-date map? They thrived.
"He'll wait," Pablo assured him. "If anything, at least to satisfy his own curiosity. Or to keep others safe from his mess."
"I'm not killing people to draw him out."
"I know. You're not like them."
The sun was slowly beginning to set, turning their shadows into long eldritch abominations as they finally passed through cleared farm fields and approached what could, if generous, be called a village.
Three children screeched in joy as they approached on a squealing bicycle. The youngest of them skidded to a halt, glancing at Lelouch and Frederick. His face paled, and he rushed back to his friends, screaming words in some ridiculous combination of English, Portuguese, and Spanish that was purposefully indecipherable. They loudly babbled, casting frightened glances at them, before rushing to the village. The last, precariously wobbling on the bicycle, lagged behind.
"We'll certainly be announced," Lelouch said.
"You're hardly that scary," Pablo grumbled.
"Many would beg to differ," Lelouch said dryly.
"Nah." A casual hand reached out and ruffled his hair.
"Pablo!" Covering his head, Lelouch warily stepped away. "Seriously?"
He snickered. "Oh, come on. They're all scared of the big bad Brit, but you're adorable."
"You're a menace."
"And proud of it." Pablo sobered. "It would be safer for you to stay behind."
"I agree," Frederick interrupted.
Only the private remained silent, frozen except for his eyes.
Lelouch relaxed his posture and casually stuffed his hands into his pockets, ignoring the whispered reprimands of his Drill Sergeant and Guinevere. "While I trust you, I don't trust someone else to not misread the incident report. Frederick could accompany you, but I doubt he will agree to leave me with our little fledgling."
The corner of the private's mouth twitched. Lelouch had been fortuitous with his random draw of those Henry considered combat ready; the private was too new to be trusted.
"Besides," he continued, "we are hardly as unprotected as we seem."
"Do you still have your vest?"
Lelouch rolled his eyes and didn't bother dignifying that with the obvious response. They merely looked like civilians.
At the beginning of the small town—if four shambled structures could be called that—an old man stood with the aid of a carved cane. He glared at them over his spectacles, and Pablo's gait stuttered. The harsh, brown eyes narrowed as they passed over Lelouch. He met his gaze with a light smile, and stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets to subdue the instinctive twitch for his gun.
Non-threatening, that was what he needed to be despite the blood flowing through his veins. Despite the mission which he had ordered.
In Spanish, the man spat, "The first time you visit, you bring along some English dogs?"
Carefully, Lelouch kept his face blank.
"Don't call him that," the private snapped defensively in English despite the short time they had known each other.
"Grandfather," Pablo said tiredly. "Can you not insult my friends? I want to talk."
"Then talk in your mother tongue instead of that accursed language," his grandfather continued in Spanish. "Or have you forgotten what they did to us, to you? That you were fourteen when you were stripped of all your rights?"
"No, I haven't, but I'm still here. Perhaps we could take this somewhere more private?"
His grandfather grumbled and waved them along. They stopped before a small hastily constructed house made of wooden and metal panels. Inside, there was a small stove connected to a propane tank, and a typewriter set up next to the window. Countless books rested in rickety book shelves or in boxes.
Turning around, he snarled at Lelouch in English. "You two, go."
Lelouch nodded at Frederick and the private, flicking a hand symbol. Frederick grimaced but complied, dragging the overly curious private behind him. They would only go far enough to give them the sense of privacy.
"I meant you, Ingles," the grandfather spat.
"Louis has to stay here," Pablo answered in Spanish, taking a seat. "That was part of the arrangement."
"Still bowing your head to the English dogs then? Where is your pride? It's been seven damn years since you ran off and submitted to our conquerors, and now you show up with a little, eager English bitch wagging his tail behind you."
"Please don't—"
"Speak the truth?" He fell into his chair with a heavy sigh and cracked his joints. "You sold me out, didn't you? Your mother warned me. Said you had no loyalty but to yourself. I'm just surprised you had the courage to come down here and see me."
"I'm offering you a chance," Pablo pleaded. "You and mother... What you're engaged in is madness. You can't win. The past is dead. We have to find a new way forward."
"I can't believe I failed you so. I thought you were better than this."
"Grandfather—"
His grandfather slammed a fist on the table. "Do you think the English will just let us move forward! We're nothing to them and will remain so until they're forced to change. Waiting around and bowing our head in an idiotic effort to please them will gain us nothing but empty platitudes."
"But they can change—"
Scoffing, his grandfather leaned back and crossed his arms. "They're two-faced bastards. They'll promise you one thing with a smile and turn around and do the opposite. Or have you forgotten? My colleagues were promised better treatment. I took us and ran; the fools who didn't were slaughtered with their families in the night. The English need its Numbers beneath their boot in every possible way. Can't have educated professors running around, spreading dangerous ideas like self-governance."
"Yet they're allowing citizenship," Pablo whispered.
"At what cost? Because that supposed concession will wipe us out. They'll rip away our children to force them into classrooms where they're told they're nothing. Education? It's indoctrination, and I'm merely surprised that the English haven't thought of it before." He laughed. "And to pay for it all? They're raising the taxes on us for exercising our cultures. Soon, the only Feijoada you'll see is sold by the lords. Our culture is mere entertainment for them. And citizenship? Tell me, what lord is going to sponsor one of us?"
In trying to help the Numbers, Lelouch had brought more harm upon them. He wished that he could say it was a surprise, yet a part of him had known and dismissed the consequences because allowing education for the Numbers could only be a good thing. It would empower them and erase the divide. The same divide which shielded them against the persistent encroachment of Britannian culture.
Britannia would win; that was the path Lelouch had tied his fate to in forgoing outright rebellion against his parents. And with Britannia's victory, the Numbers would lose their identity. The only question was if it would be a fast or slow death.
In helping, Lelouch had merely sped up the timeline.
Beside him, Pablo's neck had tensed during his grandfather's tirade. Only when the silence stretched between the two, did he finally speak. "And seven years ago, you said it would never happen. You called me a fool for thinking that I could ever be something more under Britannia's rule. Well, things have changed. It's a step in the right direction. There are Britannians who'll listen, who understand. We don't have to die for some ridiculous martyrdom."
His grandfather deflated, and his nose scrunched as his eyes flicked to Lelouch. "There are English who will listen, but when was the last time they had the power to change their empire? Were we still a democracy, your words would have some credence. The commoners' interest align more with us than their nobles after all, yet the English have no problem slaughtering her own citizens to maintain control as the Count's rebellion proved."
Pablo flinched, and Lelouch barely suppressed his own as Fortescue's order echoed in his mind to open fire on the civilians.
"You know, don't you?" his grandfather asked sadly. "In exchange for meager promises and a paycheck, you sold Britannia your soul. It's not too late. I know it wasn't easy... fourteen and watching everything around you burn, but you never had to do this."
"They were starving!" Pablo roared, shooting to his feet. "It's easy for you and mother to say that we should rebel and fight on. For us to take pride in who we were, but I was the one taking care of my younger siblings while the rest of you went out to do who knows what. I was the one who tried to make our meager rice and corn stretch for the week. Yes, I remember a better life, but Francisca and Miguel don't. They didn't ask to be dragged into your fight."
"Yet, they joined in the end." His grandfather shook his head. "Liberty... Even the taste of it, that is worth fighting for. I cannot understand how you can embrace your shackles so readily and bow your head. You have tasted freedom yet walked away."
"Because it afforded the opportunity for my family to live. I sent you every paycheck, barely kept any to myself. I know how dire things were when I left... You benefited from my so-called servitude, or do you deny that?"
"No..." His grandfather sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't. You're right. Dreams cannot bring food to the table. I know you did it for us which is why I never stopped writing despite what your mother said. I prayed for you to survive despite the odds. I prayed for you to defect in the night and return home. But never like this... If it were a transactional relationship, I would understand, but you have given your loyalty to her... your heart, your pride. Why?"
"Because Britannia will change, Grandfather, and I'm going to be there. I'm going to take and pass the test. I'm going to show them what we can do, who we can become. I have seen enough bloodshed, and I will spill more to end it, but your way? It only ends with Britannia on her knees. Our rivers will turn red, and her enemies will swoop in. Your way leads only to defeat."
"That's because you've prematurely declared defeat. Freedom is worth dying for. Your way leads nowhere. Proving yourself? To whom? Britannia only changes to the whims of the Emperor, and even then, she is averse to change. Please—" He offered a desperate hand across the table. "What even gives you the hope to embark on such a foolish quest? To finally turn away from the family you protected."
"I've seen her change."
"The boy?" His grandfather's eyes flicked to Lelouch who returned the gaze with a confused smile. "He'll betray you."
"There are good people—"
"Not in the army," he answered coldly. "Your own hands are hardly innocent, and you could spend a lifetime scrubbing the blood from under your fingernails. But the English? They chose this path, and no half-hearted friendship will ever let me forgive them, your so-called friend among them. After all, he is hardly here out of the goodness of his heart."
"He is here because I begged for your life," Pablo said, voice pitching upwards in desperation. "Please... come with us. I promise, you'll see things are changing. You simply haven't heard—"
His grandfather scowled. "I hear enough."
"Zero," Pablo challenged.
"Proof that Britannia is changing?" Throwing back his head, his grandfather laughed. "Yes, proof that she is learning and becoming sneakier. Oh, he is a genius, isn't he? Always so precise as he turns brother against brother. He knows how we think; that's why he succeeds where the other English fail. Our movement has been neutered. Before, we at least had food and supplies smuggled in by the Europeans. Yet, now that's slowed to a trickle. He squeezes us from every side, until there's only two options: submit or die. He most certainly doesn't make life better for us, the Numbers."
"For Honorary Britannians though—" Pablo said desperately.
His grandfather sighed, cutting him off. "Mild, meaningless concessions. A hundred years from now, perhaps life will be somewhat improved. Perhaps the English will see us as people to protect rather than exploit. More likely, we will still be living in the same slums, living on the edge of society to be abused and discarded without care. But not to worry, there will be someone else standing in your shoes and claiming that life is improving if only we look around. When a fire burns, we do not stand around, content because we're being given a mere bucket. No, we demand more! And when we're given another bucket, we do not say that is enough. No! The fight is never done until the sins of our world, burning with reckless abandon, are finally extinguished. When confronted with great evil, your patience only condemns more than immediate and swift action ever would."
"And what of those who suffer in the present? The means themselves are an end. An incomplete revolution of yours will only be worse."
"Yet, you fail to try," his grandfather spat. "I know why you are here with the English, hunting me down. But Pablo... it's not too late. Dispose of your warden. They'll never find you hidden in the jungle. Please... I want my grandson back."
Lelouch grit his teeth. He had enough guilt without listening to the man spelling out all of his failings. And here, today, would be another one. Pablo had begged for him to save his grandfather, to offer him the same deal Art had. Unlike him, his grandfather had barely done anything of note.
"I don't want you to die... Please, come with me," Pablo pleaded.
"To be tortured?"
Lelouch brushed his hands off his pants and finally interrupted in Spanish. "No. You would merely be under guard with your communications monitored. For my subordinate's sake, I ask that you accept this deal despite whatever misgivings you may feel."
His grandfather snapped his head to stare at him, paling. His eyes darted between him and Pablo as his hands clenched the edge of the table. Finally, he turned to Pablo. "Why does he—?"
"I taught him," Pablo answered slowly, switching to English. "He didn't have to agree to this, but he did as a favor to a friend. Britannia can change, and Luis is part of the reason I believe that... His sister is also the one you were in contact with."
Lelouch grimaced. "Do you still have her letters?"
"No. I burned them," his grandfather answered, eyes narrowed. "So he is here out of self-interest."
"If that were the case, then we wouldn't be having this conversation." Lelouch paused. "Frankly, Pablo would've been promoted already if it wasn't for the perceived rebellious sentiment of his family. We're offering you a way to hold onto your life and even keep writing. Your works are definitely insightful into the history of Area Six and Seven. I will say your analysis as to why the Republic of Chile succumbed to Britannian forces is flawed, but considering the sources you have access to, it is surprisingly accurate."
At the glare from his grandfather, Pablo wilted. "I gave him a copy of your work for his birthday."
"What kind of soldier reads history?" his grandfather asked, raising an eyebrow at Lelouch. "Especially from uneducated Numbers such as myself?"
"Someone interested in the truth."
"Yet knowing the truth, you serve Britannia."
"Yes," Lelouch said simply. "What did my sister share with you in code?"
"Please," Pablo added. "He's hardly going to hurt her, but we need to know. Then you can come with us. See how we work."
Silently, they waited as his grandfather drummed his finger on the table. Groaning, he stood and cracked his back. He turned and brushed his fingers over his books.
"No, thank you." He rolled his shoulders back and stared at them proudly. "I won't sacrifice my ideals for momentary comfort."
"Abuelo," Pablo whispered sadly.
Lelouch stood, his gun hidden beneath his clothes heavy. "Do you have a preference? Or something you wish for us to send for you? We would of course inspect the package."
"No. My affairs are in order." He staggered to Pablo and hugged him tightly. His voice cracked. "I hope this path of yours leads where you imagine."
Lelouch waited for them to part and winced upon seeing Pablo's trembling hands.
"Your gun," Lelouch ordered.
Pablo wordlessly drew his gun and it hung limply in his hand. Across from him, his grandfather raised his chin defiantly.
"You're cruel, Ingles," the grandfather spat. His eyes narrowed as his gaze finally drifted from Pablo to Lelouch. "You tear families apart. May you rot in hell."
One more sin on a day just like any other, but they were his to bear. The burden of command ultimately rested on his shoulders.
"I know," Lelouch said and grabbed Pablo's shoulder, steadying him. He leaned in closer and hardened his heart as his hand wrapped around the quivering gun.
"Pablo," Lelouch whispered. "If anyone asks, you pulled the trigger."
He stepped back, Pablo's gun somehow heavier in his hands despite being the same model as his own. The safety flicked off. An apology burned on the tip of his tongue; he raised his arm. Surprise flashed across the man's face. His eyebrows rose, and eyes flicked between the two as his mouth parted, lips almost puckered.
The gunshot echoed through the room as the gun jolted in his hand and the body stumbled, briefly frozen in time and fell to the ground with a dull thud. Lelouch quickly pressed the gun into Pablo's hands as Frederick and the private rushed through the door.
"We're done," Lelouch answered calmly, all too aware of the cooling corpse behind him. The smear of blood staining the worn, treasured books. "Let's go."
He briefly considered burning the place down. It would be by the book. It would deny the man a proper funeral, and Lelouch had already done enough. He would report that he deemed the fire risk too high. Inevitably, he would be regarded as too gentle again by the other generals.
Eyes peeked over nearby windowsills, and already, people were moving in the corner of his eye, edging towards the house as they left.
"No! Abuelo, no!" a woman screamed behind them as they stepped back onto the dirt road. "Pablo!"
"Don't look," Lelouch ordered softly, grabbing his arm. "Don't look."
"Francesca," Pablo whispered, voice cracking.
"I'm sorry. You need to keep walking."
"But she—"
"Yes. I know. You can't tell her. You know that."
The roar of a helicopter interrupted them, and Lelouch braced himself against the harrowing wind, still not letting go of Pablo. He had done as he promised. He had given the man the chance to escape his fate. To claim the same deal as Art had. Undoubtedly, his parents would've been displeased again, but for Pablo, he would've done it.
Yet, he refused.
If Lelouch had tried harder, then maybe Pablo wouldn't be sitting next to him, near catatonic. He should've done more. But maybe a part of him wished for it to fail... and so it had.
Back in the base, as Pablo stumbled off, undoubtedly searching for a drink, Frederick pulled him aside into his office. "You didn't need to make him do that."
He hadn't. "You know protocol."
"You've never given a shit about that," Frederick hissed. "Pablo has always been there for you. Did everything for you! And this is how you repay him?"
"What was I supposed to do?" Lelouch asked tiredly, staring at him coldly. "Pablo knew exactly what would happen when he told me."
"You should've figured something out. You're Zero, aren't you? And—" His lips pressed together. "Well, your word is almost as good as the law."
He should've risked his father's ire. Saved Pablo from the emotional turmoil. Monitored the letters more closely. Stopped Nunnally before she embarked on this mad foolishness that extended to who knows where.
"I believe in you, Lelouch, but sometimes you make it so damn hard." Frederick closed his eyes and turned away. "Shout if you're dying."
"Frederick," Lelouch said as his hand curled around the doorknob. "I was lenient. Pablo was an accessory to his family's treason. Normally, he would've been executed, and because he is a Number, they wouldn't have even bothered with an investigation before culling the rest. Since he self-reported, there was room for leniency and a chance to prove his loyalty. Usually that means executing one's immediate family... for a Britannian."
Yet Pablo had come to him, fully knowing what the consequences would be.
Lelouch collapsed in his chair. He needed to pull himself together. Couldn't let a single person think that something else happened. "I doubt my father will raise any more objections to promoting him."
"It hasn't even been a day, and you're already manipulating the situation to your benefit," Frederick spat. The door slammed shut on his way out.
Jasper, Area Two
Marianne woke to the distant echoes in her mind and the notable absence of her daughter at her side. Heart pounding, she shot upright, startling the Unspeakable standing guard by the door. His companion was notably absent.
"Where is she?" Marianne asked, scanning the small room. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar and folded haphazardly on the nightstand was Nunnally's nightgown.
"She woke up earlier and insisted on breakfast," he replied mechanically. "She didn't want to wake you."
More like she was trying to avoid her. Maybe Marianne should have been a little more subtle than demanding what Nunnally was thinking with her spat against Clovis. Maybe then she would have listened instead of being so damn obstinate.
Both her children were too stubborn.
Pushing herself to the edge of the bed, Marianne adjusted the wheelchair, checking that the wheels were locked, before scooting herself over. At least, they weren't in the palace with endless rooms, corridors, and stairs where her daughter could hide. She would be forced to face her and settle this foolishness.
That was perhaps the only upside to this painful trip down memory lane. All to confirm that her sister was dead, like she already knew.
Pushing aside the relief at having simple commoner clothes lacking excessive buttons, awkward frills, and fragile laces, she finished her morning routine and grimaced at the blonde stranger in her reflection. Still, her cascading hair would only call attention to herself. Loose hair was troublesome, even dangerous, for commoners who worked.
Her hands reached up, and instead of the usual militant style, she weaved her hair in a messy, nostalgic french braid. Were Charles here, his expression would be affronted, and Lelouch would be stifling his snickers.
Feeling lighter, she rolled out of the room to hunt down her daughter. Across from her, a couple exited their room and sneered at her. A small boy peeked out from behind them, and the mother quickly pulled him away.
"Freak."
Marianne narrowed her eyes, and the Unspeakable undercover as her brother took a threatening step forward.
The woman didn't even blink, completely unfazed. Marianne was used to fear and hatred, even disgust. Yet the woman looked at her as if she didn't exist. No noble had ever dared, all too aware that even if she was an upstart wench, she held Charles's favor. That her words carried power.
The husband tugged on his wife's arm, pulling her down the hall. But before they turned the corner, he threw back one look which slid over her and focused on her guard as he offered a pitying smile.
If they had any idea who she was, they would be prostrating on the ground, begging for her favor. They would never dare to dismiss her as such.
The guard at her side bristled, and for a moment Marianne considered waving him forward, letting him drag the family back. Make them realize the folly of their mistake.
Except if she did, the media would inevitably hear of her presence and wonder what Empress Marianne was doing in a little backwater town in the middle of nowhere. Inevitably, one of them would remember she hadn't always been Reuben's ward, and her sordid family history would be splashed across the front page.
"I don't want to cause a scene," Marianne said instead and rolled forward, past the windows which overlooked a town that had in over twenty years become unrecognizable. The last time she had been here was with Reuben, returning to bury her cousin.
This wasn't home. She didn't belong here.
The dining hall could be scarcely called that, crammed to the brim with tables and chairs and people without an ounce of decorum. She scanned for her daughter's bright hair in the sea of heads. Her breathing eased as she spotted the other guard standing idly.
She rolled forward and frowned as the chaos didn't part. A person could scarcely traverse the narrow, winding pathways, much less her wheelchair.
The other guard leaned down, and a happy shout of "Mother!" burst through the din.
Marianne smiled as her daughter appeared, clearly in a better mood than the night before. Her smile faded as she noticed the sneers aimed at her daughter. Chuckling, a man extended his leg.
Nunnally stumbled but managed to catch herself at the last moment, her cane swinging wildly and nailing the man in the head. Marianne wasn't sure that was as accidental as it looked.
"I want his name," she whispered to her guard. He would be dead before they left.
Nunnally though didn't spare the man a moment of her attention. Her smile hadn't even slipped.
"Are you alright?" Marianne asked as she stopped before her.
"Yes?" Her nose scrunched. "Oh, that guy. Don't worry about it. That was nothing." Victoriously, she pulled out a napkin from her pocket and held it out expectantly. "I got directions! Let's go!"
Marianne squinted at the neat handwriting. "I haven't had breakfast yet." A squashed muffin of questionable quality landed in her hands. "Nevermind," she muttered. Her daughter had way too much energy for this early in the morning. "Where are we going?"
"The church. Then the town hall. Then the bus to the tax office. Then to the teahouse because apparently Mrs. Basset is like a hundred years old and remembers everyone!"
Mrs. Basset ran a teahouse now?
The teen working as a receptionist snorted. "Remembers people, right along with the fantastical. She's batshit insane. She'll talk your ear off for hours that Empress Marianne was born here like everyone doesn't know she was born in the Homeland."
Marianne coughed slightly and pulled Nunnally away before she could pester the boy. "Why don't we get breakfast there?"
"But I already ate," Nunnally whined. "And I want to see the church first."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know if you really got baptized."
Marianne groaned. Despite her best efforts, her daughter did confirm that one Marianne Burn had been baptized at the church. If Charles ever caught wind of it, she would never hear the end of him griping. He wouldn't care that she never had a say in it, and that it was entirely her parents' fault. In the end, their devotion hadn't saved them.
The town hall and tax office were less exciting although they managed to get a copy of her parents' marriage certificate that Marianne wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to do with. If Aimee was alive, she had never returned home to claim any inheritance. For a moment, Marianne considered shedding the identity of Mary Lamperouge and claiming the name of Marianne Burn. The compulsion slipped through her fingers as the accountant turned to her so-called brothers and completely ignored her again.
Besides, Marianne was nothing like that cowering, little girl anymore.
"This way," Marianne interrupted her daughter's pleasant chatter as she recognized a familiar worn down fountain.
Her street still existed, the angles and turns the same. The fields which she used to run through with Aimee were gone, replaced by neat, cookie-cutter houses. At the corner stood an older, more traditional house—her house. There was not a hint of her parents' pharmacy. The building wasn't even the same color.
"Mother?"
"It's nothing," she dismissed. "A little further."
Nunnally frowned but thankfully didn't call out her lie.
The stream gurgled as they approached, and Marianne scowled at the nearby bridge which also hadn't been there before. At least the tree which marked the spot that she had buried their trinkets still stood proudly. A flick of her hand, and the two guards kept a respectful distance.
"There was nothing left to bury," Marianne whispered. "Reuben, Nunnally,"—her daughter jerked at the mention of her cousin—"and I buried some trinkets here instead."
"Why did you never come back?" Nunnally asked, and for a moment her cousin was standing there instead.
"You can't live your life trying to converse with the dead... They move on, and so do we. Your friend as well, Nunnally, even if Clovis killed him."
"I'm not stopping," Nunnally growled, her previous cheerfulness forgotten. "He needs to pay."
"Haven't you done enough? He's an embarrassment for letting things get out of control. Any further, and you will get hurt as well." It was a miracle she hadn't yet.
She huffed. "I'm not going to stop because it's hard."
Marianne pinched her nose. A distant acquaintance, even a famous actor, wasn't worth this kind of vengeance. Still, it was the only explanation forthcoming at the moment. "I can make sure his family is provided for. It wouldn't even be suspicious. Everyone knows I'm a film enthusiast." At the lack of reaction, she continued, "I could start a royal grant to nurture promising talent, especially those who don't have access to traditional opportunities. If we mostly target it at veterans, the public will be thrilled and not notice that it applies to others as well."
"It's... not that simple," Nunnally finally said, dashing her hopes. "If you could help with that though, it would be nice."
"Fine," Marianne grumbled and slumped in her wheelchair. Charles would accuse her of spoiling their daughter, but it was such a minor thing, and Clovis really shouldn't have acted so rashly. "But why pursue this?"
Nunnally was quiet for a moment, her finger absently twirling her hair. "My birthday is coming up soon."
"Yes. It's going to be a little pompous, I'm afraid, unless you want to fade into the background entirely." Marianne already knew that was a definite no. "You'll come home at the beginning of the month. It'll give you some time for rehearsal... and for your friends to adjust."
She froze.
"If you don't invite them, I will. You can decide whether they should attend the ceremony and in what capacity, but you don't need to be alone. From what Reuben tells me, they're good friends. Those are hard to come by."
"Thank you," Nunnally choked out, rubbing her eyes. Her hand fluttered back to her side. "I just... I'm not weak, and Lelouch is being useful, but I'm going to be sent back to school or something. It won't matter that I am old enough. I won't let people forget me."
Amusingly, Lelouch would probably love to be forgotten. He put way too much effort into fading into the background, from creative excuses to avoid festivities to playing the forgettable fool whenever he was finally dragged before someone. Yet despite all his effort, he attracted people and power like moths to a flame.
Both of them, though, desired to fight and raged against Britannia. Lelouch pushed the line constantly with his division—seeing something Marianne couldn't comprehend in the Numbers he insisted on defending—yet he saw the line. Perhaps Nunnally was too young or inexperienced because she was throwing Area Eleven into upheaval for her own ambitions, not caring for the Empire she was supposed to serve. Charles would notice eventually, and he had a temper, especially when his authority was rejected.
Charles wouldn't forget, but not in a good way.
"Sometimes, it's better to not draw attention." Marianne snagged her daughter's hand and pulled it close. "We will find something for you to do where you can prove yourself in a safer manner."
She snatched her hand back. "Because I'm blind? I am being careful. I beat the Black King"—who?—"but you want to shove me aside. Pretend that I don't exist. Well, I'm not like you! I'm proud of who I am. You don't even care what happened to your sister."
The guard looked at her questioningly as she stormed off, and Marianne waved him on before massaging her temples to alleviate the burgeoning headache. Somehow, Lelouch was easier to handle. He didn't crackle in her palms like a firecracker or burrow through the chinks of her armor.
When she finally rolled to a stop at her daughter's side, the furious expression had been replaced by a placid smile, not a hint of the tempest within. Her daughter was an excellent liar.
"I'm assigning you a permanent guard," Marianne said.
"You can't—"
"I definitely can. When we get back to our room, you will explain exactly what you have been doing and who the Black King is."
Her mouth opened and closed silently. "You can't make me."
An instinctive threat died on her lips. Those had rarely worked on her children in the past and only sparked resentment. "No, but we have an entire week together, so I merely have to be patient, while you have to convince me to trust you to go anywhere."
Nunnally banged her cane on the ground harshly and walked off.
"How are you going to get a bus ticket without me?" Marianne shouted.
"I'll figure it out!" Nunnally screamed back.
Marianne pursed her lips and resisted ordering the guards to drag her back. Reuben had done something similar to her when she had finally snapped and screamed that she didn't need him or anybody. She had spent three days out in the cold, too stubborn and prideful to return, until her cramping stomach gave her no other choice.
"Don't interfere unless she's in danger," Marianne ordered the guard. "Or if she asks for you to bring her back to the inn."
"Understood," he said. The next time she glanced in his direction, he was gone.
The day proceeded quietly, too quietly for her comfort, and when she returned to the inn, the receptionist informed her guard that Nunnally hadn't returned yet. Once again, Marianne was ignored. Unable to fall asleep that night, she pulled out her laptop and searched for the Black King. Only once she logged into the OSI database, did she finally get a hit, and her headache returned with a vengeance.
An organized crime boss.
At thirteen, approaching forteen, Lelouch nearly caused his division to mutiny when he was captured; at the same age, Nunnally took over a criminal syndicate. Why were both her children so troublesome?
When her daughter returned, she was either going to congratulate or ground her for eternity. Or both.
Zeroth Division Base, Area Six
Lelouch idly perused Henry's medical files filled with dense jargon to drown out the buzzing in his ears. He itched to go to their makeshift hospital and tend to the wounded. To disappear into the kitchen and bury himself in repetitive motions where everything made sense and the result brought smiles and laughter instead of broken homes.
Instead, he busied himself confirming what he already knew. Henry was having memory problems. The MRI and CT scans found multiple lesions and shrinkage of the medial temporal lobe, yet the PET scan showed normal glucose metabolism. It wasn't inherently degenerative, yet something clearly was causing it.
Hopefully, the blood work would shed some light on the mystery. A rare genetic disorder or disease. Because as much as Lelouch didn't want him to be sick, it was something which could be treated.
Or his father's training sessions were at fault, and Lelouch had no idea how to tackle that problem.
A soft knock interrupted him, and Pablo, pale and expressionless, stood in the doorway, hesitating. "How's Henry?"
"Let's take a walk," Lelouch said instead and waved Frederick off who was gazing at Pablo suspiciously. A quick glare silenced his protest. The base was safe. He didn't need a guard dog hovering in his shadow. Regardless, as they climbed the nearby hill, Lelouch could hear Frederick in the distance. At the top, he took in the view and collapsed on a log. At least it was Frederick following him—not Henry who blabbered to his father too easily.
"How are you doing?" Pablo asked.
"I should be asking you that," Lelouch said with forced lightness.
"Don't hole yourself up in your office. It's not good for you," Pablo reprimanded. He sighed and idly tore a leaf of a nearby twig and twisted it between his hands. "I knew what would happen, even if I hoped otherwise. I just... I don't understand why he is—was so damn stubborn?"
"If we were overrun and you were guarding me, would you step aside if promised your life?"
"No? Of course not."
"Even outnumbered and outgunned? It doesn't matter if you fight. I would die anyway."
"Lelouch... I would never—"
"Then you understand." Lelouch stared at him pointedly. "Your grandfather fought for an ideal, a soldier to his cause." Dropping his gaze to the ground, he observed the ants idly marching by and slipping underneath his boot. "He was right too, you know."
"Lelouch?"
"For all that I act differently, I am still Britannian, and Zero may be hope to you and everyone here, but out there"—he gestured vaguely—"he's feared for a reason. Zero is Britannia's instrument and excels at crushing resistance before it can even form. For every person I help here, I condemn hundreds, thousands... entire cultures, and if I'm sent abroad, nations."
Pablo looked into the distance silently, eyes tracking what couldn't be seen. "I asked Art what he fought for. Why he accepted..."
When his grandfather hadn't.
"For a possible future... and to stop an even worse one."
Stomach clenching, Lelouch looked away. The knife resting on his jugular was almost comforting because if ever went too far, lost sight of what was important, he had no doubt that Art would strike the finishing blow.
"You represent that for him somehow..." Pablo murmured. "I guess we're all foolish idealists here, still clinging onto the last scrap of hope, and you keep it alive."
"I'm not—" Lelouch protested.
"You loathe Britannia, and you'll change her. You already have. Without you, I think I would have defected."
He clenched his hand and forced himself to take a shaky breath. "You don't understand. I'm not—"
"Why do you fight for Britannia?" Pablo cut in, and this time it was Lelouch frozen under those inquisitive brown eyes. "You could turn against her in an instant, and I think almost all of us would follow you. Roy and Henry are probably the only ones who would protest, and I think they would concede in the end. You see something worth saving."
"I'm not who you think I am," Lelouch answered softly. "I considered it... but I had my sister, and I was twelve... I didn't have the strength to embark on the path of blood. Now the toll is even higher, and—" He slouched, shaking his head. His father's hand ghosted through his hair. Commanding and comforting. "I just can't."
Pablo's gaze didn't relent. "Then why didn't you join the Count?"
"I would never," Lelouch snarled. He took another steadying breath. "If she had been someone different, actually concerned without the justice she spouted and not disregarded the Numbers... I might have." His hand brushed over the faint scars on his wrist. "Only if I could have brought my friends with me."
Pablo snorted. "I don't think Roy would've followed you at that time. And definitely not Henry. Didn't he try to stop you from disobeying orders?"
"I doubt I would have respected their 'no,' " Lelouch answered honestly. He would never have left them to face his parents' wrath alone. He wasn't that cruel. "I don't care for a lot of people, but the few I do, I will do anything to protect."
"You've acquired quite a lot more than a few."
He shrugged. "Yet I put them in danger."
"You avoided the question. Why do you keep fighting for Britannia? You're smart enough to twist out of any toll. In the best case, your sister is merely toeing the line. She's not holding you back; if anything, you are. It would be so easy for you to revolt."
"Careful," Lelouch hissed. "You're suggesting treason."
"Like you give a shit. It's not your last name that keeps attracting foreign and domestic spies. Nobody would even suspect anything until it was too late if you put in a modicum of effort. You're smart enough to pull it off."
Lelouch laughed. "I can't even spend a day alone without causing an uproar. We'd have Empress Marianne on us in an instant. I probably have half-a-dozen sleeper agents who will become active the second I go rogue and sabotage the essentials. While we're distracted, a team will slip in and extract me... And then I'll be sitting there, watching each and every single execution. Maybe they'll even spare you to hold as collateral if I ever dare to do something again. Sorry, not you, because you're a Six. The best you can hope for is death."
"That's... a bit excessive." Pablo rubbed his eyes. "Are you sure you're not catastrophizing? That is a lot of resources to expend on a single person. They would just go for a big flashy battle and try to target the command center. We may have a spy or two... and a few who would betray us, but sleeper agents? Among Numbered troops? That's unrealistic."
Lelouch pulled his hand down along his face and peered at Pablo through his fingers. Had Lelouch been born a commoner, he would never be in such a position, but he would also never have such worries. Of course Pablo wouldn't understand.
"A part of me doesn't want to fight my family," Lelouch admitted quietly. Roy was right—far too often as of late—Pablo needed to know. "If I turn against them, then I accept they're irredeemable. Sure, I despise most of them, but I have some fond memories... and even my mother has some positive aspects. When I walk down the street, I see so much suffering, yet there's also happiness. If I rebel and somehow evade the very likely consequences, Britannia will be thrown into Civil War. Some people are suffering now, but everyone will be suffering more then."
Pablo raised an eyebrow. "Civil war? Zero is not that important."
"I'd rather not spark a succession crisis," Lelouch grumbled. "I'm trying to organize a mostly peaceful transition and during the confusion, no one will notice if a few vocal traditionalists disappear. Odysseus will become the Emperor, and he'll appoint either me or Zero as the Field Marshall. Probably Art, maybe Alex, will take over intelligence and slowly work on disentangling the OSI before they can officially be dismantled.
"I'll spend a few years making a mess of things by doing such things as abolishing the Number system. It will all be very unpopular, and Odysseus will of course blame me for everything that goes wrong. I am after all not of proper blood. Then he graciously bows to the pressure of the nobles and dismisses me from my post. They think they've won, but it's too late to undo all those exceedingly popular reforms, and I'll retire on an island."
Silently, he waited for Pablo to close his mouth and for the questions to begin. He felt somewhat relieved to finally share his plans with someone. He hadn't exactly filled Odysseus in on the intelligence or scapegoating part. The former would make his brother worry that Lelouch was a threat to his power while the latter would be refused, which was stupid. Lelouch was never going to be popular. He had no problem playing the role of the villain.
As a bonus, nobody would ever view Lelouch as a suitable successor. With his reputation in shambles, he could happily enjoy his retirement free from political backstabbing and, if need be, meddle via his own superior intelligence force.
"You know Prince Odysseus," Pablo finally said.
Lelouch winced. He had been hoping to leave that conversation for last.
"Are you his— No... Are you Prince Schneizel's secret love child or something?"
After a moment to process that ridiculous yet close guess, Lelouch asked, "Why him instead of..."
"Because you constantly call your father a bastard, and I doubt you would willingly put him anywhere near the throne." Pablo narrowed his eyes. "It's not Prince Schneizel, is it? But you are related to royalty? That's how you know all those things and gossip... And why your parents knew Japan was going to be invaded..."
Wait, when had Lelouch shared that?
Pablo frowned. "You made a bet on Prince Schneizel losing a chess match... Major Palmer—" His eyes widened with a hint of fear. "He said you were Prince Lelouch."
Lelouch swallowed. "Yes. I'm Lelouch vi Britannia."
"It was supposed to be a joke."
How the hell had Palmer of all people guessed it correctly? He would have to run damage control. Nobody could know.
Pablo stumbled to his feet, head still shaking. "How? You—" His hand came up in a stiff salute. "I need to go. Your Highness."
"Wait," Lelouch ordered as he turned to leave. Pablo froze, every muscle coiled for action. "Nobody is supposed to know. You can't tell anyone."
"You told Roy before me," he said dully.
"His grandmother recognized me." Absently, he reached out. Pablo flinched, and Lelouch snatched back his hand as if burned. "You may go. Just keep quiet, please."
His voice was almost monotonous. "Yes, sir. Your Highness."
Lelouch collapsed back onto the log as he watched his friend retreat stiffly. He bit down on the scream bubbling in his throat and buried his head in his hands. Of course Pablo wouldn't take it well... Lelouch had just killed his grandfather. He should've waited... Or not said anything at all. Or woven a tale of half truths, of a boy hoping to climb the ranks so when the new Emperor rose to power he would have the opportunity to strike. Anything but the painful truth.
It was only right that the closer he became to his father, the more his friends hated him.
Jasper, Area Two
It took exactly five minutes after storming off for Nunnally to realize that she had made a horrible mistake. She was alone in a strange, unfamiliar town without anybody to help her. She waited next to the gurgling water fountain for the next half-hour, fully expecting her mother to order the guards to drag her back. Then she would scream and rage, and everything would return back to normal again.
Except, her mother never came, and the townsfolk passed her by with insults and loud musings.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small napkin which the woman at breakfast had so helpfully written on, but it was useless to her now.
Maybe her mother was still at the park? Waiting by the creek? She could go back, but then she would have to apologize.
Her lips twisted, and she stood up, resolutely heading in the opposite direction. She could do this. Her mother was expecting her to run back with her tail between her legs. She didn't need her. She wasn't weak.
She would find out what happened to Aimee on her own.
That declaration lasted until the temperature rapidly dived and a breeze summoned goosebumps along her skin. Her stomach cramped, and no matter how many people she tried to approach, none would spare her a moment of attention. As too soft footsteps for a civilian padded behind her once again, her heart rose in her throat, and she reached beneath the jacket for the comforting knife.
"I know you're there," she said.
"I can only return you to your mother," he said monotonously from her right.
She shrieked, and her cane stopped against something solid. It was pushed back down to the ground. She shivered. Why were the guards always so creepy?
"I'm not going back," she announced and marched off until the town turned deathly quiet and she slumped against a wall, sleep calling to her.
She woke to a distant screeching rooster and the sputtering engine of a car. Massaging her numb hands, she tried to coax back the circulations. Carefully, she listened for the comforting presence of the guard. There was someone above her, and as she stood, the shingles clinked, confirming their presence.
Careful measured footsteps broke from the crowd, nearing her location, and she grabbed her knife in preparation.
"Hey, Natalie, right?" a familiar woman asked... Amelia, from breakfast. "What are you doing out here?"
"Got lost," she whispered.
Amelia sighed. "Your family must be worried sick about you."
"I doubt it," Nunnally grumbled but allowed the woman to grab her hand and pull her along. "Don't you have somewhere to be? I'll be fine. Just point me to the bus station."
"I'm not leaving you alone." A hand settled on her shoulder. "Damn it. I don't have time. Look, we can go to the county office, and you can call your mother."
Nunnally winced as a rock skittered along the rooftops, and Amelia abruptly paused. Her footsteps became less confident, more anxious.
Ignoring the guilt for abusing the woman's kindness, Nunnally fibbed at the county office that she forgot the number. "I could come with you instead?"
Huffing, Amelia pulled her along, stopping at a florist and leaving with . "You had a fight, didn't you?"
"What?"
"You're lying. My sister would do the same and sneak out every time. It's only going to get worse the longer you wait."
"We always fight," Nunnally admitted and took a deep breath, appreciating the scent of turned dirt then sneezing at the numerous incense. "Where are we?"
"The graveyard."
"Oh..." Nunnally ducked her head, cheeks uncomfortably warm. "Sorry for intruding."
"I'd feel worse leaving you on your own. Come on."
Ameila nudged her gently and murmured numbers under her breath as a sheet of paper crinkled in her hands. Finally, she stopped and stepped off the gravel path, footsteps suddenly silent. In the distance, someone was making a ruckus along the stones. "You remind me of her, you know."
"Oh. What was she like?"
"I don't really remember. I was too young, but her hair was like yours. She's the only one I could find. I spent the past few days trying to find out what happened, but it's been too long, and Mrs. Basset's memory isn't the best. She has some strange notions, thinking some people are the same." She chuckled sadly. "I guess it was a fool's dream to come out here in the first place, especially since it's been so long. You said you were trying to find a craftsman who lived in the area? How did your search go?"
"Not well," Nunnally admitted quietly. The sound of crunching gravel drew closer, intruding on their bubble of peace. "It's been too long as well. The Emblem of Blood... made records messy."
"Try to forgive your mother, dear. You never know when you might lose someone, and grudges, they weigh you down. You're fifteen?"
"Thirteen," Nunnally corrected.
"Hmm... What would you get a boy your age? Something small."
"A pocket knife," she answered. Those were always useful, and the thought behind the gift tended to matter more than the actual contents. Like her mother willing to make a concession... Nunnally groaned.
"Hmm?"
"Nunnally!" screeched her Mother, shattering the silence. Only the slight edge of panic and fear stopped her from retorting with an angry reply. "Get over here, now."
Hesitantly, Nunnally stepped away from Amelia, and brusque arms abruptly dragged her back to her mother's side.
712th Division Base, Area Six
For Kallen, the physical demands of training were the easiest part; Gino had adequately prepared her for them. More difficult was the flurry of protocol and hand signals that they also expected her to just know, but she was slowly crawling her way up to competency. What nothing had prepared her for was the sheer loneliness as her platoon only begrudgingly acknowledged her existence.
In a week and a half, she had only exchanged the barest of words. They avoided her at every opportunity, and in their eyes, she saw hatred and disgust. Kallen was thoroughly unwanted. Part of her desired to scream that she was like them, that she too had dirtied blood flowing through her veins. That she wasn't like the Britannians.
She stayed quiet. This was simply one more test.
Grabbing her tray, she once again sat at the edge of the table as conversation washed over her. The few women near her, all painfully older than Kallen, scooted even further away. She stabbed the potato viciously, and its neighbor flew off her plate.
"Of course she'd waste food," said one of the women, Iby or something. Unlike the others, she didn't care if Kallen heard and often her remarks turned towards goading. The others hushed her anyway.
"Did you know what's with Staff Sergeant Vegas? Drill Sergeant was talking about it with the Corporal. Something about treason."
"Then he's dead, isn't he?" the other woman snorted. "It's like bed bugs. Burn the entire thing down."
A man from the neighboring tables leaned in. "Nah, he's alright. Gosling forgave him."
"Really? Treason."
"Oi, I saw him last night. Was a bit pale, but he ain't dead yet."
"Come on, even Gosling can't let treason slide. Must have been something else. Can't trust what anyone says."
"Heard his grandfather is dead. Haven't talked to my family in years, so I don't know, but maybe that's why he is shaken up."
"No, I heard Gosling ordered Staff Sarge to kill him."
Kallen's stomach lurched and hunched over her meal as rumors bounced over her head, surmising that the grandfather was indeed dead. Too many people had heard. She remembered Fadiman's threat back in his office from across the form that her family's life was forfeit if she spoke a word. She needed to tell Kaguya, but the first thing she had taught her was to always prioritize her cover.
Britannia was very good at sniffing out spies.
"But like would Gosling kill him if he did? I heard they're friends."
"If they were, I doubt he'd be running that many laps."
The other young girl in the platoon plopped down across from her and grimaced. She looked slightly ill at the casual conversation around them of whether one of their own should've been executed. "You don't look that thrilled. I thought Brits were all about that? The thrill of the fight. The others say you're a noble."
"Yes." Kallen took another bite, avoiding the inquisitive stare across from her. "Fights are different from executions."
"Huh." She held up the plate and brazenly licked it. "Makes me kind of glad I don't have a family to care shit about. It's Saachi by the way."
"Kallen," she answered, trying to place the accent. "Where are you from?"
"India." Saachi grinned. "Stowed away on a boat to Area Eleven and went directly to the recruiter. They not give a rat's ass where I'm from. Was hoping to fight some Chinese bastards. It'll come."
"You want to be Britannian?" Kallen asked, bemused.
"What? You think your life awful or something? The Brits actually hire girls. No person back home wants me to blow shit up. Say if I wanted to fight for India, I should marry the governor. He stinks like garlic and tobacco all the time. Makes you want to throw up. Here is much better. At least the royals are hot."
Kallen closed her mouth gingerly, unsure how to respond. Knowing what Britannia did, who wouldn't fight her? Saachi might be slightly better than a Number by being a foreigner, but she would never be treated well, yet she grinned enthusiastically.
"Okay, but hear me out," the conversation besides them continued, "what if Staff Sarge's grandfather committed treason. And of course Gosling wouldn't do anything to him, he's innocent—"
"Yeah, but he's still a Brit. He'd still have to kill him."
"Well, maybe Staff Sarge Vegas told him. Then he'd be snitching."
"He's still damn lucky he only had to kill his grandfather. When I was a kid, there was another girl with the sweetest voice you heard. A lord employed her, but then they caught her mother stealing from him. He made her kill her entire family. Only left her younger sister alive."
"For insurance."
"Doesn't make much sense. Gosling is just weird."
Saachi winced and whispered, "They don't care a bit about what he did. They think it's right."
"Welcome to Britannia." Kaguya had sold out her own father to integrate herself. Patriotism over familial loyalty. And then because her mask was cracking slightly too much, Kallen added, "We all serve the Emperor first and foremost. Without him, the empire wouldn't exist and every family would struggle to survive."
Pensive, Saachi looked away. "I have much to learn. You too, because Ernesta is going to kill you if you mess up the codes again."
Kallen groaned. "Save me."
"You're alright for a noble," Saachi declared. "I'd have think they treat you more special, but the Drill Sergeant seems to hate your ass."
"More special?" Kallen asked, affronted.
"Well, each day, you get pulled out."
Reflexively, she rubbed her ribs where Sullivan, Lamperouge's other asshole friend, had kicked her yesterday. He most certainly hadn't liked her when he accompanied him back during their surprise visit to the school, and he most certainly didn't like her now. "The general had the... misfortune of witnessing my combat abilities and decided to rectify it."
"I thought that bruises were from Ibbie!" Saachi laughed. "And here we all think she was insane."
"No, they're from a demon."
"Henry?" interrupted a male voice, and Saachi shrunk in her seat. Art smiled at her kindly before gesturing at the empty spot across from Kallen. "I would offer to talk to him, but I would probably only make it worse."
A slight hush fell around the room as distrustful eyes landed on him, and the hushed murmurs of "crow" clued in those who didn't know. Relieved for a somewhat familiar presence, she nodded. Her reputation couldn't get any worse.
"How are you settling in?" Art asked warmly. "I know it can be hard to... adjust."
If anyone knew what it felt like to be an outcast, it would definitely be him.
"Is it true?" Ibbie interrupted, standing behind her like a looming knightmare.
"You'll have to be more specific."
"That Staff Sergeant Vegas killed his grandfather."
"Staff Sergeant Vegas is not facing any charges if that is what you are asking." Art took a nonchalant bite of his food.
Kallen frowned. "Did Gosling order him to execute his grandfather?"
The crowd around them waited tensely.
"Gosling had no need to make such an order; Staff Sergeant Vegas did everything voluntarily."
From the back, someone exclaimed victoriously, "I told you!"
Appeased, the others drifted away, and Kallen blotted her lips with a napkin to hide her frown. The wording suggested initiative. Everyone here was much too loyal to their commander.
"And what do you think, Stadtfeld?" Art asked. "Is family worth the cost of proving your loyalty?"
The mission always came first. Kaguya had drilled that into her, and the envelopes with directions left in her room, without a hint as to how they got there, carried an implied threat. Were Kallen to betray her mission, Kaguya would eliminate the loose ends. Sometimes she regretted diving into this mess, but there was no backing out. The only way to keep her family safe was to excel in the eyes of Britannia.
"They're loyal, so it hardly matters," she replied. "I have a duty to carry on their name and continue the line into the next generation, but that only exists because of the Emperor's benevolence."
"Well said. We'll make a soldier out of you yet," he joked. She relaxed as he continued pleasantly, the bite of loneliness fading.
It was a shame Saachi was strangely cowed in his presence. Unlike the others filled with disdain, she was fearful, flinching at his every sudden move. To his credit, he didn't push her, merely left the door open to join their conversation. By the end, she finally shared innocent stories from back home.
Checking his watch, Art slowly stood. He reached back and cracked his back. "By the way, if you don't give the Drill Sergeant a cause to complain, General Fadiman said he'll let you take the Horus on a test run. He wants to see what you can do." He winked. "Not supposed to tell you, but figured you should have something to look forward to."
A burst of pleasure warmed her chest. The Horus... So much better than a rusty Gloucester or the clumsy Sutherlands. She itched to return and finally prove that she was more than a liability, that she was an asset. She had messed up with Empress Marianne, but surely they would have to recognize the benefits of having a prototype in their back pocket.
"Holy shit, you're a knightmare pilot!" Saachi shouted with stars in her eyes the moment he was out of earshot. "Will you show me? Please?"
Kallen laughed. "If they let me."
Babel Tower, Area Eleven
Suzaku tensed as gentle arms covered his eyes with a melodic, "Guess who?"
"Euphie," he whispered, hating how his breath caught on the simple syllables and all too aware of Allie standing in the doorway glaring at him. She scowled even fiercer as Euphie danced away and twirled in loose, comfortable clothes. Suzaku cleared his throat and carefully averted his eyes. "Let's cover the chokehold again."
"Ooh, I like that one." Euphie giggled.
"Focus," Allie barked. Once again, he was thankful for her presence to remind him of the boundaries he could never dare to cross. "We only have a half-session tonight, and we promised to meet with Roland to help get him set up with some stuff. So stop fooling around!"
When the timer went off, Suzaku gratefully stepped away and guzzled some water. His flushed face—not from the minimal exercise—greeted him in the mirror. The two girls finally left, and he took a moment to relax and remind himself what was at stake. Euphie was kind, vibrant, and accepting but so very Britannian.
"Are you free later today?" the angel of his nightmares whispered. "Relax, Allie is in the shower."
A shower which he very much needed at this moment. "I have obligations," he choked out. "Thank you."
She frowned.
"I'm sorry," he added.
"Are you avoiding me?"
"I don't—" He ran a hand through his hair. "You'll get hurt. You're nice, beautiful even, but people will slander your name if you're seen with me."
"Why don't you let me worry about that?" she teased. "And won't they already talk? Two girls alone with a boy?" Throwing back her head, she laughed. "Relax, I'm not asking you out on a date. I was hoping we could be friends."
"May-maybe another day." He offered an abashed grin. "I actually am busy this evening. I promised some friends to help move some stuff. I don't have the brains for anything but manual labor."
"That's not true." Pouting, she crossed her arms. "Don't underestimate yourself. I'll bring my homework next time. You can learn along with us."
His stomach panged. "Thank you."
"Euphie!" Allie snapped from the doorway. "Leave him alone."
"You don't have to be so mean," Euphie whined. "I'm just being nice."
"He's an Eleven!"
"I don't care." Euphie twirled around and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "See you tomorrow!"
Allie forcibly dragged her away. "Well, everyone else does."
Chuckling, Suzaku turned away from the two quarrelling friends and ran his finger down his cheek. Both of them were nice, but he needed to keep his distance, for their sake. Britannia wouldn't care that they were two innocent school children if they could be used as hostages against him.
Still, he was in a good mood when he entered the nearby parking garage where their group had taken refuge. The two stolen trucks sat in the center as various members rubbed it clean, so it could pass Clovis's cleanliness expectations. On the table rested a map with their planned escape routes, each carefully labeled with a possible meeting spot within Shinjuku station. They weren't sure what type of compound they were dealing with, so Ban had vetoed dumping it into the water.
"Look who decided to show up." Tamaki slammed a gas mask into his chest. "I'll be watching you so you don't run back to the Brits."
"Enough," Ban barked. "To your positions. We leave in ten."
Scowling, Ohgi looked up from the map. He would be driving the decoy truck. Ever since his Britannian friend betrayed them, he had been on a hair trigger. Yoshida sneered as he pushed past Suzaku to climb into the truck. He was by far the worst and itching at the opportunity to blast some Britannians.
"This is going to go terribly," Suzaku whispered as Ban passed him a radio.
"One mission, then it's done," Ban assured. "You will be fine."
Suzaku nodded and entered the truck, passing the tarp covered knightmare. He was their last resort. If everything went according to plan, they wouldn't have to fire a single shot.
The radio crackled. "This is Alpha. Radio check. Over."
Slowly, they went through each member as they confirmed that their equipment was operational. For some reason, Suzaku's call sign was the only one in English. Tamaki finished last, "Roger that. Over and Out."
Ban groaned. "Zulu, this is Alpha. I can't wait to never see you again. For the last time, one or the other. Out."
The truck rumbled to life beneath him, and Suzaku grabbed the rail to steady himself. One last mission, and this entire mess would be over.
Forty-six minutes later, Tamaki broke formation and opened fire as the mission went to utter shit. Suzaku barely managed to grab him as he fled through the corridor with soldiers hot on his tail. Staggering under his weight, Suzaku helped him into the truck as Yoshida shouted at the others to hurry with the forklift carrying the gas canister.
"Lima, this is Alpha," Ban ordered over the radio as they swerved down the highway with helicopters thundering behind them. "Suit up. Over."
"Roger." His knightmare was waiting for him.
Worldbuilding Thoughts
- Despite what often happens on TV, it's nonsensical to say "over and out." Tamaki unfortunately is an idiot.
- The irl population of Shinjuku is about 300k and covers an area of about 18 square kilometers. Due to Britannian occupation, the area might be a bit smaller, but the anime shows high rise buildings in the ghettos indicating the denser portion is still part of Shinjuku. On top of that, as Numbers don't appear to be allowed to live elsewhere (unless it's part of employment as with Kallen's mother), the majority of the Japanese population of Tokyo probably lives there. Irl, it's also home to one of the busiest railway stations which stretches quite far underground and is probably a large factor in the creator's decision to center the first episodes in Shinjuku.
- A common control tactic is to isolate the victim from outside influences. With armed groups, this often means involving the victim in armed conflict against their community. If they flee, they won't be accepted back home. As a result, the group becomes their only source of comradeship and acceptance.
Author's Note
How many cliffhangers are possible in a single chapter?
Me: Yes.
Sorry, but not sorry. I said that ch. 28 would be the start of the Shinjuku stuff, and I'm keeping my word. And yes, Lelouch isn't in Japan.
Back when I was approaching the end of book one, I spent a lot of time brainstorming and wracking my brain for an original take on Shinjuku and a way for Lelouch to be there when it mattered. Unfortunately, canon had Lelouch stumble into it by Rivalz's bad driving and happenstance. After coming up with a very convoluted scheme involving Lelouch and co, Nunnally and co, Gino, and Kallen, I realized I was an idiot and to just go with the simple, straightforward solution.
Forewarning: The next few chapters are dark.
Sorry for missing the last update. I somehow managed to catch a cold. The next chapter is a little bit shorter, and I'll be posting it next week Friday.
Chat with me on the discord: discord . gg / uSBegVj
Thank you x1tears1X on FFN and dark for your help with betaing.