Recap: Kallen's new friend in the division stands accused of treason as the division packs.
Chapter 31: Across the Great Divide
October 14, 2000
Clovis's seventh birthday was marked by Father refusing to fund the festivities. We now get allowances, which while generous, do not cover the extravagant affairs expected of the royal family. It is a clever move to force father's wives into a more active role in government so they can support their lavish lifestyles. I just wish he hadn't made Clovis's birthday into such a spectacle.
Empress Marianne attended the party along with father. They are still in love. Father asked me if there was a girl that has caught my attention. The royal family is basically expected to be polygamous, but I'm unsure how I feel. Sure, I appreciate looking at some of these young noble ladies, but there is no desire to go further.
Lelouch attended as well. I doubt it was worth the hassle bringing an infant to such an event. At least Clovis enjoyed sketching Lelouch as he played with his blocks in the corner. Lelouch hasn't learned to crawl yet. I think he lacks motivation. He is perfectly happy just observing the world with his deep violet eyes. He is going to grow up into a handsome young man.
—Excerpts from Odysseus's Journal
712th Division Base, Area Six
Kallen woke, limbs heavy with dread. She filed out of the barracks silently as the others jostled around her. A few mused at Saachi's absence but remained unconcerned. After all, if it was important, they would be informed. Perhaps Gosling intended to keep the entire affair quiet, disguising it as her being transferred elsewhere.
"Stadtfeld," the Drill Sergeant said. He discreetly passed her a magazine. "For your service weapon. You're dismissed."
Her hand drifted to the hand gun at her side, and she flinched at the touch of cold metal. At that moment, she utterly despised both Kaguya and Lamperouge for putting her in such a heart wrenching position.
"Yes, Drill Sergeant."
Kallen turned around and followed the fuzzy memory of directions to find the building in question. The base felt strange, abandoned, without the constant bustling of troops and trucks. Everything was too quiet, leaving her no distractions from her sickening thoughts. It was one thing to kill from the safety of her knightmare, another to perform an execution.
Lights flickered on as she entered the makeshift prison. A man slept at the desk and briefly raised his head before unlocking the gate. "Eleventh door on your right."
Swallowing, she braced her heart. With this, Lamperouge would finally be convinced of her loyalty. One life wasn't a high toll, especially compared to all the Japanese who died at Britannian hands each day. Light pooled under the doorway. She opened the door.
"You came," Lamperouge said, raising his head from his work. She had thought he left already. Standing before another door, Sullivan scowled heavily at her. "I see nobody had to fetch you."
"Where is she?" Kallen asked dully as she offered a perfunctory salute.
His eyebrows rose, and he acknowledged her with a small nod. "So eager?"
"I know my place," she spat. "Sir. There is no point in waiting around is there?"
"She was released ten minutes ago," he answered. "A paperwork mix-up, you could say."
A wave of relief crashed through her, and she staggered backwards, hating how absolutely grateful she felt. "It was a test."
"Yes. You passed, Stadtfeld. Congratulations."
All that worry and stress for a ruse. How Britannian of him to treat them all like pawns.
"You're an absolute bastard." Nobody saw it; the division idolized him. "She never did anything wrong in the first place. This is all a game to you, with all of us as your little chess pieces. The others put their lives on the line for you. They worship you. This is how you repay their loyalty? With subterfuge? This is how innocent people get hurt. From where I'm standing, it looks like you care for nobody but yourself. You don't deserve Nunnally." Remembering herself, Kallen scowled and grudgingly added, "Sir."
Sullivan took a menacing step forward, only to stop at a sharp gesture from Lamperouge.
An indecipherable expression crossed Lamperouge's face. "This is a Numbered division, Stadtfeld, with Numbers holding the ranks of officers, although outside this division, they would only be acknowledged as a Staff Sergeant. Even then, do you know how many Numbers ever attain such a high rank? Before, there were just a handful—some raised by noble families so they could pat themselves on the back for being so generous. A couple dozen proved their loyalty through means that I will never condone. Most were at least second-generation Honoraries without a single black mark on their or their family record. The fact the Emperor even allows this social experiment is a goddamn miracle."
The fact that the Numbers were so foolish to fall to Britannia's honeyed lies was a miracle. If her people ever heard that such success and advancement was possible within Britannia, the JLF would suffer a major blow. Their power relied upon being the ones to help the Japanese, not Britannia. Everyone knew that every victory and concession they gained was only because of the JLF's long reach.
The more she learned about Lamperouge, the more dangerous he became... And ever so more enticing. Because with his power, they could actually push Britannia back.
He stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I will do whatever is necessary to protect the division and the success I've built here, even if I have to scare some noble who wandered in by accident. That is why the division trusts me, because I serve them."
He paused, and she twisted her head to stare at him at the sudden strength of sincerity in his words. The purple of his eyes was too rich, his cheekbones too high, his chin too pointed. How could she have ever mistaken him for a commoner?
"You stand on a precipice within Britannian society. Should your heritage become common knowledge, your comfortable world will fall away. I couldn't care less about your heritage, but others will. A strong reputation would at least discourage more frequent attempts at assasination like the ones before. Upper nobility culls its own ranks to keep itself pure, and unfortunately, your family's vassalage to the Ashfords makes you of interest. Even then, it might not be enough."
Everything he had done reinforced his image of power, and nothing was more enticing for a Brit. They would've grasped the opportunity in a heartbeat and betrayed him at the first crack in his facade. She needed his trust; he didn't trust her because she was a noble—perhaps some form of past trauma on his and Nunnally's part? It would explain them hiding as commoners so convincingly that she wasn't even sure it could actually be considered a masquerade.
"Empress Marianne is the greatest and most fearsome pilot in Britannia; but even she isn't respected. Her Majesty still ended up crippled," she challenged.
His lips quirked. "I am sure Her Majesty enjoys the benefits of her position and assassinating those who speak ill of her too loudly. As long as you do not plan on marrying the Emperor, I am sure you will avoid drawing such extreme ire. You were raised as a noble after all."
At the thought of the Emperor—or any of the other royals—near her, she shuddered.
He chuckled and checked his watch. "Follow me, Stadtfeld. You have a flight to catch."
"What about training, sir?" she asked, breaking into a slight jog to keep up with his sudden breakneck speed out of the building and to the nearby open field with a helicopter waiting.
"I think you have learned your lesson." He climbed inside, and she flinched as his friend or guard or whatever he was roughly pushed her inside with a bone chilling glare. "Henry, play nice."
Sullivan's scowl deepened. "She was rude."
"Deservedly." Lamperouge pinched his nose and cast her a side glance. "You will control your temper when we're not alone, and when I give you an order, you will obey, without question."
"Yes, sir."
En Route to Area Eleven from Area Six
Kallen hadn't expected there to be a seat saved for her in the front of the plane among the other officers. It brought a sour taste to her mouth that Lamperouge had been so confident in her actions and that he had been right. Worst of all, his plan most certainly didn't end with her here. He wouldn't have ensured that the seat on the opposite aisle of him was reserved for her otherwise.
Unlike the back of the plane where the seats were packed as tightly as sardines—yet the soldiers were strangely enthusiastic about having seats—the front of the plane had enough room to sit comfortably. Fadiman, sitting on Lamperouge's left, scowled at her presence. He clearly wasn't thrilled with whatever plan Lamperouge had for her. To Lamperouge's right, next to the aisle, Sullivan sulked, not having gotten over that his commander demanded he surrender his firearm before boarding.
She squeezed her arm rests tightly as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. One of the many officers she didn't recognize whooped excitedly, which prompted a chorus of laughter from the others. Even Lamperouge looked up from the paperwork he had buried himself in. Kallen remembered some of the military officers her step-mother had her meet—part of her plan to endear her to potential suitors and maybe even secure an invitation to the winter season. They were never anywhere near as busy; he was apparently a workaholic.
"Pablo, you made it!" one of the older officers shouted happily as Staff Sergeant Vegas shoved through the divider with a stack of binders.
"Sorry. I had to settle some things with my unit first. No rest for the wicked after all." He stumbled to the side as the plane lurched again. The officer beside him passed him one of the folders that had fallen to the ground. "Thanks. I need coffee... Jim. These are for you."
Lamperouge's head snapped up as the greying Command Sergeant Major shimmied out of his seat to grab the paperwork.
"Oh sorry. This one is for Roy." Vegas grinned and leaned over Lamperouge to drop it in his lap. Pulling away, he ruffled Lamperouge's hair. Who did that? "You're not allowed to drown yourself in paperwork."
Lamperouge shook his head fondly as Vegas retreated and reshuffled the seats to grab the one in the farthest corner.
"It's good to have you back," the Sergeant Major noted, returning to his seat. "You had us worried there."
"I'll be fine. I just need some time to screw my head back on straight."
Heads turned towards Lamperouge, some judging, others merely inquisitive. He ignored them, immersed in his works. It was rather relieving to see something besides blind devotion, especially as Vegas was the one to kill his grandfather.
"It's not your business," Elric—Lamperouge's other guard— whispered, nudging her with his elbow. He glanced up from his book—something about national parks. "It's between them."
"Everyone was talking about it," she grumbled.
"Everyone is a shameless gossip." He flipped to the next page before sighing and snapping the book shut. "Look, we all care for him, and he never asks for more than we can give, but he expects a lot and even more from himself. The worst part is you know it was for the best, but it hurts because he's absolutely terrible at opening up to people. Giving him the silent treatment is the only way to get through his head. Words are useless; he'll either accept them, not actually hearing a thing we said, or twist them around back at you."
"So he plays mind games with everyone."
He snorted. "Lelouch has been playing mind games since we were in Basic. Our entire platoon got smoked so many times, and I swear the others would've tried to hospitalize him if he hadn't freely helped everyone with their Mandarin, French or mathematics assignments. He used to drive Roy completely up the wall... Honestly, he still does, but Roy is the only one after Edgar who— He grounds Lelouch... Alex simply encourages him, and Pablo finds his antics cute most of the time."
Would he protect his sister? Or had she condemned her? "What about Nunnally? Does he—?"
"They both love each other to the point that they lose all rational thought. On the other hand, they have a perpetual game of assuring each other they're perfectly fine so not to worry the other... and are therefore always worried."
Glancing at Lamperouge again, Kallen considered that he was only two years older than her... and the rest of her classmates. She wouldn't trust any of them in his position, but he had been doing this for years. Henry caught her gaze and glowered.
"Don't mind him." Frederick chuckled, opening his book again. "He's just pissed that Lelouch almost died again when you met him and that he wasn't there to help. Give it another week or so of him beating you up during your spars, and he'll be right as rain."
"Does everyone here know everything about me?" she hissed.
The officer to her right chuckled. "Girl, you're a noble. You're like the most entertaining thing to happen outside of Gosling being an oblivious idiot."
"I miss the prank wars," someone mumbled.
"Hey, Lelouch! When will we have another paintball game?"
Lamperouge lifted his hand, flashing a few symbols—never? cheating?—and eliciting groans.
"What about after?" someone suggested.
"Rather not," the Command Sergeant Major interrupted. "I'm too old to keep up with young sprites anymore, and everyone here is a pathological cheater."
"Because Lamperouge only lost once!"
"And Henry always defects to join his side."
"Oi, like you're any better. You did the same!"
"What can I say? He promised me food."
"When's the next time you're going to cook again?" someone else whined.
Lamperouge stood to glare over his seat and pin the officer with a glare. "I just cooked like a week ago."
"But you were gone forever. We need to catch up. I'm in withdrawal."
"I'm surrounded by children," Lamperouge grumbled and resumed his work. He rolled up a few papers and passed it back with whispered instructions.
Soft conversations drowned out the hum of the engine, and occasional shouts foiled all attempts at dozing off. The back of the plane continued to grow louder, and Kallen furrowed her brow as foreign words slipped in-between. At one point, they broke into a song about their Gosling. Lamperouge put down his pen and buried his head in his hands with a pained groan.
Those around him burst into snickers, and they too slipped into another language, yet their tone was unmistakably teasing. Lamperouge snapped back at them, forgoing English completely. Kallen sat in the middle, understanding absolutely nothing.
It had to be one of the Numbered languages, but they were forbidden from being spoken. To her absolute astonishment, Fadiman joined in with a thick accent.
She closed her eyes and attempted to quell her rolling stomach. She still didn't know where they were being deployed. Abroad? Nobody seemed to be expecting to land anytime soon.
Loud shouts snapped her awake, and Lamperouge ordered one of the officers to check on them.
The officer returned with a wide shit-eating grin. "I hear you've finally caught a girl! To think it has taken this long."
"What?" Lamperouge's eyes drew together. "When would I even have had time to hypothetically do that? I've been on the base... and I assure you nothing happened when I was gone, or my mother would've shouted it off the rooftops."
His eyebrows waggled. "But you did spend time alone with the noble girl... and now she is here." He placed a hand on the top of her seat, and she flinched. "Look, she's blushing. Come on, isn't there something?"
"No need to be embarrassed. Two young, attractive people together, alone..." someone added. He laughed. "She was practically biting people's heads off when she first got here; now, she's all obedient."
"How was she?"
Kallen ground her teeth, shock and shame freezing her in place.
"I hear Brits fight even when in bed."
"More like they fuck underneath the Emperor's portrait. Gotta dedicate everything to him and all that shit. It makes them drip in excitement."
Holy shit, they were just as bad as Nunnally. One did not discuss the Emperor like that... ever. Nobody was batting an eye, except Sullivan who had buried his head in his hands and mumbling something about respect.
"Language!" Vegas hollered.
"He's nineteen! And Gino isn't here," the guy shouted back.
"No— Well, Stadtfeld isn't. The Brits can swear; you're a professional."
"Fine! I've heard they engage in holy matrimony under the Emperor's watchful gaze because they are excited by such ardent displays of loyalty."
More eyes turned to her. "So what did you do? Was it some kind of secret technique?"
"I bet she kissed him. She's impetuous enough."
Another leered at her over their seat. "Care to give us a demonstration?"
Kallen shot to her feet, clenching her fists. "Shut your mouth! Like I would ever even date him!" Concurrently, Lamperouge ordered, "Enough! Get your ass back in your seat, Johnson. Eyes up front."
"Nothing untoward happened," Lamperouge continued as the cabin fell silent. "Stadtfeld remained completely professional, and I will not have anyone insinuating otherwise."
"Would he even notice?" someone mumbled.
The officer to her right shrugged. "Sorry. It was all in good fun. We all know Lelouch wouldn't do anything."
"Stadtfeld did nothing," Lamperouge reiterated. "If anything, he initiated," Kallen snapped over him.
Vegas snorted from the back. "Well, that's a first."
"And this is why," Fadiman added with a weary sigh, "you're supposed to defend yourself first because what you call manners, everyone else calls flirting."
"Oh, shut up, Roy. I didn't ask you why your parents didn't witness your bedding ceremony because it's frankly none of my business. Is it really hard to fathom that neither of us are interested?" Well, that kind of hurt. "Besides, she is a noble; I'm not that brazen."
That statement was met with amused looks from around the room and more speculating glances in her direction. They clearly knew he wasn't the commoner he pretended, but then why maintain the charade? Especially when everyone here knew?
"If I hear anymore slander, you can enjoy cleaning the latrines when we land," Lamperouge finished.
Fadiman meanwhile gaped. "Why would my parents watch me... Do you mean sex?"
"Yes? To prove that it was consummated?" Bemusement laced Lamperouge's voice. "So everyone knows it happened?"
"But, why?" Fadiman asked, face pinched. "That's creepy."
"Because..." Lamperouge seemed to be at a loss for words.
Kallen huffed. "Old noble families still hold to some weird traditions, but it's supposed to prevent the marriage from being annulled since everyone can prove that it happened... which is stupid. I think they just like having the entertainment; the Emperor's weddings were popular for a reason. Not only do you get to meet the Emperor, you get to see him fuck on the other side of a curtain." She shuddered. "Some bullshit about proving that the royals and their lineage are property of the state and serve the nobility."
"So you—" someone asked, the insinuation clear.
She glared at him. "I said 'old'. My family is basically a bunch of nobodies. They work in trade; proper nobles don't work—they go to war. Basically, only Margraves care about this shit, some of the Earls do as well, but anyone who gained their title recently usually doesn't bother."
"This is not mentioned in my book," Vegas called out. "Like why is this not in the 'Comprehensive History of the Royal Family'?"
"Don't—" Lamperouge flushed. "Roy, why does he even have that? It's like five hundred pages of arse kissing. It's even worse than the stupid history textbook."
"So everyone watched your parents have sex?" Fadiman confirmed.
"Don't worry, my mother found it apparently delightful, and I did not need to know."
Kallen leaned back in her seat and ignored their exceedingly ridiculous and almost treasonous conversation. This wasn't what she imagined a bunch of Numbers with no pride and who sold their souls would act. They should've been showering Britannia in praise, just like every noble did. Their entire conversation was the exact opposite. They had no loyalty to Britannia, only Gosling—Lamperouge.
But his loyalty... His father had to be an old, powerful noble. Yet, Lamperouge's statements bordered on slander as well, just like Nunnally's. Who turned their back on nobility? Kallen had never been loyal to the Empire, but she wasn't foolish to think that if her eyes weren't forced open because of heritage that she would be fighting against them.
"Enough." Vegas snatched the paperwork out of Lamperouge's hands as he returned from the bathroom. "You already read that five times. There's nothing more you can do so get some sleep. It's a long flight, and I doubt you'll have time when we land.."
"But I—"
"Roy?"
Fadiman sighed and accepted the paperwork.
"Problem solved. Trust him," Vegas snapped, a slight bite to it at the end. He turned and pointed at Elric's seat. "Swap."
Closing his book, Elric sighed and kicked the person out of the seat in front of him. Sullivan left for the bathroom, and when he returned, he glared at her until she slowly slid out into the aisle. The only seat open was the one next to Lamperouge. She was surprised he trusted her enough to let her sit next to him. Hesitantly, she claimed the seat.
No objection was forthcoming. The lights slowly dimmed, and she quietly answered Vegas's numerous questions regarding Britannian culture, especially the royal family. For a Number, he was surprisingly well spoken, and he had a firm grasp on history. Silently, she reprimanded herself for thinking him as some unintelligent brute.
"Why did you," she trailed off, unsure how to ask the question or even if she should about his grandfather.
He blinked and his expression tightened. "Because it was necessary. So, what's the difference between a regularly sworn knight and one of honor?"
"A Knight of Honor used to become a real noble, but now they can only act in their liege's name. A regular knight can't do that." She flinched as Lamperouge shifted in his sleep and whimpered. Across from him, Fadiman rested against the window, a bag uncomfortably wedged between them. "A royal only has family land on the consort's side, but the Knight of Honor had to take the rank below them which means they need to be given a dukedom. As only the Emperor can grant that, they either were gifted one from the Emperor, usually an act of extreme favor to their child, or it declared their intent to claim the throne. Or both."
"So it's meaningless these days?"
"Not exactly. There are ways to end knighthood when it's abused. Not for a Knight of Honor. Only their liege can terminate it... Usually fatally."
The position was practically worthless: all risk, no reward. Still, now that it no longer was ridiculously expensive, nobles eagerly poached minor nobles to pressure them into vows of servitude. Ashford had been quite clear that she should never accept such a promise of honey and poison.
Lamperouge stretched, and she froze as his hand brushed against her. He paused for a moment, his eyelashes fluttering at some strange dream. Then, he leaned in closer, his hands wrapping around her forearm and pulling her close.
Unsure what to do, she stared at him, askance. He couldn't possibly be awake, right? Or was this another mind game. She tugged on her arm slightly. The grip tightened. Grimacing, she reached with her freed hand to pry off the offending limb, Somehow, his grip became even tighter, and he practically dragged himself out of his seat to shift closer.
Eyes wide, she turned to Vegas who looked vaguely amused. Behind him, Sullivan smirked triumphantly. He raised his hand and gave her a mocking salute.
"What is he doing?" she hissed.
"Best to lean back and bear it," Fadiman idly said and lowered the bag back between his legs. "Don't worry. He should wake in about five hours."
"I can't feel my arm!"
"Don't wake him," Vegas reprimanded although his voice was light with barely suppressed laughter. "He's much more pleasant to be around when he isn't sleep deprived."
Kallen grit her teeth and tugged again.
Smugly, Sullivan spoke up. "Once he latches on, he never lets go."
Yes, his grip was like a vice.
Kallen whirled around, only ending up enticing Lamperouge to shift even closer to her. "You planned this."
"I've had the pleasure on numerous occasions."
"Oh, fuck you!" she spat.
"Don't. Wake. Him. Up," Sullivan commanded.
Kallen wasn't eager to be in that position either. Groaning, she leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to ignore how she could hear him breathing and every single hitch of his breath. His grip loosened marginally now that she wasn't struggling. Who slept like this?
Pitiful whimpers woke her although she couldn't remember falling asleep. The plane jostled, and she took a deep breath. Lamperouge mumbled something; by now, he was practically hugging her. Her arm, pressed against the armrest, was completely numb.
Experimentally, she tugged on it. Lamperouge mumbled again and his grip tightened. He was never letting go. Wildly, she glanced across the aisle. Soft snores greeted her. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, and her eyes widened at the overly formal rendition of Japanese. "I didn't mean to. You must live. Please."
Fadiman leaned forward and pursed his lips as he examined his commander. "He'll let you move if you lean in towards him slowly. Just have to be slow with everything."
Taking his advice, she blinked in surprise at finally being able to adjust her arm. Surprised, she huffed, "Thanks."
He nodded and draped a blanket over him. "He's not taking this well."
"Has he always been like this?" she asked.
He laughed. "No. Nailed me right in the nose when I tried to wake him up in Basic. Well, that was if he was tired enough to not wake up when he heard us approach."
"What changed?"
Pausing, Fadiman shoved a pillow beneath Lamperouge's head. "We all have our demons. Some are simply greater than most's. He doesn't mean anything by it; he just sleeps better if he knows others are nearby."
Quite literally given that he gripped her as if she would disappear.
Japanese words spilled from his mouth again. "Where are you? Nunnally..."
Another officer stopped by their seats, and he froze upon noticing Lamperouge sleeping. Kallen flushed at him witnessing their compromising position, but he merely smirked. His hands flashed through a series of signs as Fadiman responded in kind. Again, she could recognize some of them. They were eerily similar to the ones Kaguya had taught her, merely distorted.
"Sir?" Kallen asked quietly as the officer left, satisfied. "Those aren't the signs we learn."
"No... Lelouch made them up. Stick around long enough, and you will pick them up."
But Kaguya— Was Kallen seeing things? Because how could a Britannian soldier have learned her signs? Yet he knew Japanese. Had they both learned them from the same source? But who among her people would teach a Britannian? Maybe the signs leaked in which case Kallen absolutely had to warn Kaguya because they had a mole.
"Tohdoh." Lamperouge gasped and froze with a stiffness only possible to those awake. His head turned, eyes meeting hers, and widened upon realizing that he was basically draped across her. Flushing red, he jerked away and knocked his head into the seat before him in a hilarious display of uncoordinated limb. "Motherfucking fuck that hurts."
"Don't let Vegas hear you swearing," Fadiman reprimanded.
He massaged his head and groaned incoherently. A series of pops made her flinch as he cracked his back and slowly rolled out his shoulders. He scanned the area again and flushed again before dropping his head into his hands. "Roy. Why didn't you wake me?"
"You needed the sleep."
"I was—" He groaned, curling in on himself. "I'm so, so sorry, Stadtfeld. That was— They should've never— If this ever happens again—" He lifted his head and stared at her directly, his cheeks still tinged red. "You have my full permission to wake me regardless of what these jokesters say."
"It never happened," she said firmly.
He nodded, clearly relieved. "Exactly."
"It did." Fadiman huffed. "Besides, it was Henry's idea. You should be happy that he finally stopped thinking she would stab you the first chance she got."
"What?" Kallen asked. Not that she wouldn't if it would save Japan, but she had her orders for now—maintain her cover, no matter the consequences.
He rolled his eyes. "Henry thinks everyone will stab him. Don't take it personally. Just like Lelouch thinks everyone is a spy, and everyone who is a terrorist a mere concerned citizen."
"I'm not that bad," Lamperouge mumbled. "They're interesting to talk to."
Oh fuck, he had all of Nunnally's bad habits… and was somehow in command of a division.
Fadiman chuckled. "So, want to talk about it?"
"Just a bad dream." Lamperouge flicked on his light and grabbed the paperwork again. His hand trembled as he flipped through the pages. Expectant silence spread between them, and he finally succumbed, lowering the folder. "It was about a former teacher of mine. Typical dream nonsense."
There had only been two names mumbled: one Japanese; the other, his sister's.
Fadiman didn't press the question and grabbed the pillow to make himself more comfortable. Out of the corner, she watched him work silently, wary of him noticing. Every few minutes, he would massage his wrists, and he soon gave up on writing as the tremors turned his annotations indecipherable, so different from the previous script which screamed grace and control.
His entire demeanor to her before had been a facade. He believed her to be Britannian, so he exuded tantalizing power to forcibly claim her loyalty. He hadn't relaxed before, drowning himself in work, but the way the officers trusted him despite knowing of his flaws... She twisted to examine Vegas sleeping chaotically, with limbs strewn everywhere. He wasn't Britannian, nor did he act like a caricature of evil who sold his soul to Britannia for the vague promise of power.
None of those gathered here—except maybe for Sullivan—acted anything like that. They were even more relaxed than the student body was around Milly. Despite how she never reminded them of her status, the silent superiority was always there. Lamperouge gave them orders; they listened yet trusted him completely.
She groaned slightly, feigning sleep and facing him again. Through her half lidded eyes, she saw him freeze; one hand grabbed his wrist to quell the tremor. Then, he relaxed as she didn't respond, and his breaths turned ragged. His quivering shoulders hunched, and he finally set aside his work as he silently broke down when no one was watching.
Feeling as if she was intruding, she turned her back to him and stared blankly across the aisle. If anyone ever met Kaguya at court, they would be convinced that she was a staunch supporter of Britannia. Her step-mother dismissed her entirely, couldn't even fathom that her friend would ever even think of rebellion despite being Japanese and a victim of Britannian conquest. They only saw Kaguya's childish facade, disregarding that she was in charge of an aggressively expanding company.
People only saw what they wanted to see, and Kallen? She had expected a cruel, Britannian soldier. So she got one. Much like she had seen Nunnally as only a commoner despite the mounting evidence to the contrary.
The real Lamperouge was unfathomably more complex with control over his masks that put Kallen's to shame.
Gossips and lighthearted jokes woke her again; the lights were now fully on. Lamperouge was again buried in work, maintaining the illusion of the impervious commander. Did he yearn to partake in the casual camaraderie around him? Why bring her here?
"Where are we going?" Kallen asked quietly, sitting upright. Those around her fell quietly, glancing at Lamperouge.
He gave her a long hard look. "Japan."
"Area Eleven?" No... Please, no. But was that why his dreams were in Japanese, and he called out a Japanese name?
"Japan," he reiterated. "Tokyo, specifically. Do you want to change your former answer about your family?"
"I—" She closed her eyes; he already knew everything. Whatever truce that spanned the dark was gone. Obedient, that was her role now. "I really don't know. We don't talk much. I think my mother is near Shinjuku?"
His expression turned pained. "Henry, you will accompany Stadtfeld to see her father when we land."
"Why me?"
"Because you're not cleared for combat." He threw in an additional glare. "Be nice, and I might forget your misdemeanor."
"I'm fine." Sullivan huffed.
"Not until the doctor says you are; so you get to do a family visit."
Combat? What? How— Why were they seeing her family? Hadn't Kallen already done enough to assure him of her loyalty?
"Why would her family be in Shinjuku?" Vegas asked. "She's a noble—"
"Her mother is Japanese," Lamperouge answered. "Unfortunately, her marriage wasn't enough to spare her. The nobility would never have accepted one of their own being married to a Number, even if months before they would merely have disapproved. So they divorced."
"You had no right—" Kallen snarled. The gazes around her softened, and she dug her nails into her palms. Her chest burned in desperation. No one could know; they would see through her. All of them knew. "That wasn't your secret to tell."
"When it affects operational security, it most certainly is."
Unable to refute him, she fell silent and hunched her shoulders against the speculative gazes.
Tachikawa Airfield, Tokyo, Area Eleven
As the plane descended from the sky, the mood within turned sullen, and Lelouch pushed aside various concerns from how to dispose of corpses to providing security at the upcoming Sakuradite conference. There was no room for sentimentality now. People would die if he misstepped.
The situation was precarious. Over a hundred thousand civilians needed aid. Clovis would be displeased that the Emperor sent a force to meddle and undoubtedly would express the displeasure. Until he was replaced, he was still the Viceroy, and the ultimate authority of the military with Area Eleven.
If Lelouch pushed too far too quickly, if his units appeared to be a threat to Clovis's soveringity, they would find themselves surrounded by enemies on all sides. The situation wasn't hostile yet, but it could become so at a finger's snap.
Clovis needed to be removed; his father was undoubtedly already searching for replacements. He had been before as the money continued to dwindle, but there was never anyone trustworthy enough. The Viceroy wielded too much power for his father to ever put the Empire's sakuradite reserves into their hands without stipulations.
Clovis had lied to his father; he lost the trust necessary.
Further complicating everything were the Britannian citizens whom Nunnally had riled into an effective mob. They too could be a problem, a threat to the stability of the Area. Lastly, the JLF could exploit the opportunity to finally strike. Any goodwill Britannia had cultivated among the Japanese had just gone up into smoke; they were primed for a wide scale rebellion.
A rebellion which Lelouch would be required to put down.
The plane touched down with a stomach-seizing lurch. Beside him, Stadtfeld waited for his orders. She had been strangely reserved since he woke up although he couldn't fathom what had caused such a change. Maybe the implicit threat to her family? But no. Her default response to anything was anger. Maybe she was embarrassed?
He glanced away. That had been completely inappropriate. If rumors started of a relationship— Well, his mother would undoubtedly storm in and blow everything out of proportion.
Outside, the sun lambasted him, and he shielded his eyes as he took in Japan for the first time as its conqueror, not an invited guest nor a respectful visitor.
"Lelouch!" A frantic waving hand flew about Gino's head, and he bounded towards them. "Why didn't you tell me! I was so embarrassed."
Groaning, Lelouch covered his eyes. Not now. He couldn't deal with this, especially with Stadtfeld standing near him who was so much more sensitive to noble politics than any of his friends ever could be.
"Kallen! You're here too," Gino shouted excitedly, obliterating any chance for them to quietly resolve it. Gino was absolutely terrible at keeping a secret.
"Well, if it isn't a Knight of the Round," Roy joked as he passed by. "What honor brings you to us, dear sir?"
Gino straightened, offering a precise salute. "Major General Lamperouge, the Emperor has ordered me to assist you in any manner that you deem fit."
"Why?" Lelouch asked warily. He had already used up his favor. His father shouldn't be helping him, not when Gino could conveniently curtail Clovis's movements. His position as a Knight of the Round allowed him to temporarily override the Viceroy if he believed their intentions were against the Emperor's wishes.
Shrugging, Gino dropped his formal facade and clapped him on the back. He hadn't changed one bit. "I think His Majesty expects there to be some sort of trouble... and frankly, you only have one pilot."
Had his father not realized how utterly terrible Gino was with secrets when he sent him as a spy? Putting a Knight of the Round under his command gave him way too much power. He already had the rest of the Britannian forces in Tokyo under his command—even if technically Clovis could steal that at any time. That almost never happened. At best, they would coordinate. Or did his father have some archeology project ongoing here?
Nothing made sense.
"Thank you," Lelouch said.
Gino grinned brightly, dazzling the world. "Fair warning, Prince Clovis is sending one of the Purists to act as a liaison between your unit and all others. He should be arriving around afternoon tea." He hung his head. "I'm sorry. I couldn't find out who."
"Henry! Stadtfeld!" Lelouch shouted. "Time for you to go. Roy. Sixteen hundred, I need you in my office." Wherever that was going to be. Well, Gino would surely be of help there. "So Clovis knows you are here?"
"Yeah... I only said I was here to observe. He's throwing a bunch of parties. There's an open invitation for you to attend." Gino cocked his head. "None of them have any idea about you... And His—your father... He seemed amused that I didn't know. It took days for me to figure out. Like how... Why?"
"It's complicated," Lelouch said. "I'm sorry."
Gino sniffed. "It's not fair. I never fooled anyone."
"I was embarrassed on your behalf," Lelouch mumbled. "How's training?"
"The best kind of torture... Empress Marianne—" Avoiding his eyes, Gino rubbed the back of his head. "She has high expectations. Almost none of us have any idea how to do half the things, and nobody is going to ask Sir Waldstein for help. I got my own prototype knightmare now, the Tristan. She's a beauty."
All pilots were the same.
"If you're here, you can keep training Stadtfeld. The reports kept mentioning an ace. She should be fine, but I don't want to take any chances."
He winced. "Right. We heard about that. Sir Waldstein ordered me to assess their skills and capture them if possible. He thinks the reports are overblown, but it's been a long while since an ace just popped out of nowhere in the middle of a battle."
"More like a massacre." Lelouch shook his head. "Do what you have to do. I have bigger concerns than one pilot. Just remember, when in uniform, I'm Lamperouge. Don't mess it up."
"I know... The Emperor warned me." Gino paused. "I get your relationship isn't great, but he did seem genuinely worried, Lelouch. My family looked so happy when they showed up at my knighting ceremony. I'm going to give them a chance... You were the one who said I might have misinterpreted things."
"We're trying," Lelouch whispered. "It's... weird."
"If it comes to it, I will stand by your side." Gino half bowed—one hand crossing his chest, reminiscent of a knight kneeling before his liege.
Grabbing his collar, Lelouch dragged him upright. "Stop that, you idiot. What if someone sees you? They'd accuse you of treason."
"They'd be right."
712th Division Forward Base, Area Eleven
Jeremiah passed by the soldiers with a weary sigh. Prince Clovis had given him a mission. He was to ensure that the strange unit sent to pacify Tokyo would not usurp his power. Personally, he would prefer to be tracking down that skilled pilot. Unfortunately, no one was allowed to enter the ghetto—Jermeiah, noble rank and all, included.
One of the Numbered soldiers read over his pass; Jeremiah was surprised he could read. Their kind tended to be rather useless. They barely followed orders, and their manners were non-existent. Every moment near them, he was reminded of why Britannians were superior.
"Follow me, my lord," the Number said with a short bow.
The others around him nodded, and non-standard hand signals passed between them. He dared to presume to order Jeremiah Gottwald? What kind of commander was he dealing with? A Number sympathizer? He could see the vague sense in sending a Numbered unit. Monkeys were best in dealing with other monkeys.
Biting his tongue, Jeremiah followed; he had orders. The commander, though, would be in for a rude surprise. Most people went their entire lives without meeting a Margrave, and his authority was only second to the royals in the realm.
He wasn't quite sure whether he should support Prince Clovis. The winds were shifting. Lord Greenford had ordered Kewell on a special assignment and specifically asked him to accept Prince Clovis's request.
Then there was the other matter... Prince Clovis had pissed off the Emperor; everyone knew it. His majesty should have never needed to countermand orders. It was a startling breakdown of command. The fools within court thought the Emperor was growing weaker, and Prince Clovis had gathered enough power to make a strike for the throne.
Jeremiah knew otherwise.
When he had been a guard at the Aries Villa—tasked in protecting the glorious Lady Marianne, which he failed spectacularly, a stain on his record which he could never remove—the Emperor had visited on occasion. He was as awe inspiring in real life as in his public speeches; he would never let an upstart Viceroy usurp control.
This mysterious commander? Undoubtedly, they were here to crush Prince Clovis. Should Jeremiah continue holding onto his loyalty to the prince he swore to serve? Or should he align himself with this commander—even if they were surrounded by upstart Numbers who rushed through the hallways—as he was closer to the Emperor? Or he could bide his time and bully his way past the blockade and into the ghetto to finally hunt down that pilot who sounded eerily like a noble?
"We're here, my lord." The Numbered soldier bowed to him before a door. Overly deep, yet somehow projecting resentment.
Jeremiah ignored him and knocked on the door. A surprisingly young voice bid him to come in. A secretary, perhaps?
Inside, there were only two soldiers, their backs ramrod straight. They rose as he entered but withheld their salute until he offered one of his own. The one on the right took a respectful step back, waiting at his superior's side. Whatever work they had been discussing before forgone with his presence. The other—
"Lieutenant General, Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald and knight of the empire, presenting. I am to act as your liaison between your units and others in Tokyo..." Never before had he given himself such a formal introduction. Outside of Bartley, he was the highest ranking officer in Area Eleven, and his father's rank carried enough power to cow most nobles. But before him was undoubtedly Prince Lelouch, to whose mother he had sworn loyalty, even if she no longer acknowledged his vow.
Why was he here? With his hair black as Jeremiah remembered from his youth, not the blond color of his father he sported in every photo. Why would the Emperor punish him by putting him in command of the dregs of society? Why was he even in command? Cornelia had only gained her rank in her twenties.
Did the man standing on the prince's left, even know the truth? His eyes had widened at the introduction, and his uniform was more worn than any proper noble would ever allow.
Prince Lelouch sat, folding his hands together and levying him with an appraising look. Up close, stress lines marred his face and bags shadowed his eyes. His rare appearances in court never hinted at such weariness. If Jeremiah didn't know better, he would think him to be in his twenties, not at the end of his teens. Prince Lelouch didn't invite him to take a seat—a deliberate snub.
"What should I call you... sir?" Jeremiah asked, exercising prudence.
"Sir is fine." Prince Lelouch leaned forward and pressed his fingers together with a vicious smirk. "So you are to be my brother's little spy. The Purists must be terribly desperate if their leader is subjecting himself to manual labor. Or is it because they wish to cover their own pathetic blunder? You practically giftwrapped Sutherlands for the terrorists' use and two remain unaccounted for. I have never seen a more mortifying mobilization of the Imperial Armed Forces. Thousands of you against..." He paused and swept his hand forward. "What was it? An approximated twenty ill trained terrorists."
"They had an ace, sir," Jeremiah defended himself.
"Did they now?" Prince Lelouch covered his mouth, eyes widening mockingly. "Did your mysterious pilot also vanish without a trace? Next you will tell me that he rode a dragon. A single unit, even a Sutherland, should never have been able to hobble your forces as such."
"General Bartley—"
"It's his fault now?" he gasped.
Jeremiah grit his teeth. Reuben had tried to warn him; Prince Lelouch was not receptive to the Purists at all. As a child, he had been eloquent; this was not a verbal spar that Jeremiah could even hope to win. He always left these tasks for others, like Greenford.
"Clovis is not a military leader. He excels in the softer arts and keeping the population content and complacent." Prince Lelouch stood. "Yet, in the past few months, Tokyo, the center of his power, has experienced multiple upheavals from unprecedented civilian protests to terrorism courtesy of former Lieutenant Colonel Kusukabe. Don't the Purists claim to safeguard Britannian society against moral decline? Yet in what could be considered your party's seat of power, you have left your sworn prince out to dry."
Jeremiah stood straight under the onslaught. "Then as their leader, I am culpable for my oversight. We should have paid greater attention. These incidents have escalated beyond what we ever could have reckoned. I shall do my part in rectifying my mistakes by helping you in any manners needed to placate Tokyo to the Emperor's satisfaction."
"Then why have you not acted before? Pretty words are hardly enough to sway me when your history speaks against you." With predatory grace, he crossed in front of his desk. Jeremiah's past failure to adequately protect Lady Marianne and Princess Nunnally flashed before him. While merely at chin height, Prince Lelouch towered over him through sheer presence. "Take your recent actions in Shinjuku. You have the status and rank to protest when Clovis gives such a foolish order, yet you did nothing. You led the men into the ghettos. The property damage your reckless fight incurred will cost the city millions in the long run. Tell me, how many did you slaughter?"
"They were Elevens—"
"Civilians." He sneered. "Remind me, under what rules of warfare do we engage in our own country?"
"War of Honors, sir. But they were hostiles."
Prince Lelouch threw back his head and laughed. "An entire neighborhood? The children as well? Do you mean the army lost all control over the situation that they were frightened by the mere possibility of children fighting? Perhaps I should worry more about a Chinese invasion if the incompetence here has reached such heights."
But Greenford had said to support Prince Clovis in all matters... Jeremiah had made a massive misstep. His mentor's advice had led him astray.
"I shall submit to the Emperor's discretion when the situation is resolved." Lowering his head deferentially, he continued, "My judgment lapsed in the heat of the moment. I was more concerned with the thrill of the fight than the larger strategic picture. It was a novice mistake and a grievous oversight. If you wish, I will remain in an advisory capacity instead of piloting to avoid a repeat of such an incident, sir."
"I do not condone the slaughter of civilians.." Prince Lelouch's shoulders rose, and he braced himself for another onslaught. "Ever."
"Lelouch," whispered his subordinate.
Jeremiah glowered. "You forget your place! Do not disrespect His Highness by assuming such familiarity."
"He has my permission," Prince Lelouch cut in. "Do not presume my will."
"I apologize," Jeremiah ground out. "Perhaps we could finish introductions."
Prince Lelouch glanced at his subordinate and strung together a series of strange, foreign signs, undoubtedly of his own creation.
"Roy Fadiman, Brigadier General," the subordinate said.
"That's a commoner family." Even a knighthood wouldn't have allowed him to claim such a high rank.
"The Emperor allows it within the division. Or do you have a problem with skilled individuals being rewarded as such?"
"No, sir," Jeremiah assured quickly, not allowing himself to hesitate for a moment. He had seen what Lady Marianne was capable of in her prime, and knew enough of her exploits to know she was barely diminished since her injury. That the Purists insisted on disparaging her and all others capable of such greatness annoyed him to no end. "If he has proven himself to you, he should be rewarded as such, and it's not my place to interfere." He wondered if the prince had taken him as a knight.
Prince Lelouch stiffened. "Yet the party which you lead belittles my mother and pledges to protect Britannian society from various upstarts."
"Well..." Jeremiah winced. "I lead the Purists in memory of my father, not because of my personal beliefs. Your mother... She was an inspiration growing up, and I have fond memories of working in the Aries Villa." He hesitated before barging on ahead. His vows still held, and while this prince seemed to hold some strange notions, he could still fulfill them working under him—and finally absolve himself of the guilt he so long carried. "I was there the night of the attack and escorted you and your sister to the hospital afterwards."
"I... don't remember you, my apologies." Brow furrowed, Prince Lelouch observed him intently. Some of the tension bled out of his frame. "I am here under the Emperor's direct orders. You will not tell Clovis about my presence nor that his actions are under review."
"Yes, sir." So that's why the Emperor sent his son. To ease some of the rank hierarchy nightmare. A margrave perhaps could have wielded the same influence necessary to hold the loyalty of his men against Prince Clovis's usurpation. That Prince Lelouch hinted at a possible change in the Viceroyship was an offer of a truce. Countering, he said, "I would like to have permission to take a small team into the ghettos for reconnaissance. We would not engage the Elevens unless fired upon."
"Why?"
"I fought the rumored ace... He would still be within the ghettos."
Shifting nervously, Jeremiah refrained from commenting on the more selfish nature of his request. Bringing the pilot to his heel and setting him loose on their enemies would earn him immense political capital, and there were rumors that the shortage of aces would soon lead to opening the ranks of knightmare pilots to Honorary Britannians and foreigners. Frustratingly, Greenford and Kewell staunchly opposed such a move. If they were really so concerned about the necessity of social hierarchy and traditions, they could simply allow non-knights to pilot and avoid the entire issue.
"The pilot was male, slightly taller than the average Eleven, brown haired... He also had a noble accent. I suspect he may be a foreign asset, which is unaccounted for by intelligence. At the beginning of the fight, he made numerous novice errors, which he quickly corrected, and implied that this was his first fight. In a year or two, he could be a considerable threat to Britannia," Jeremiah elaborated. "It would be in our best interest to capture him or ensure his execution."
"Denied. If the pilot shows up again, the Knight of Three will engage and move in for capture if he is deemed to be of interest." Prince Lelouch nodded to Fadiman. "I do not have time to wait for you to drop by and chat over tea. General Fadiman will be your main point of contact. I trust that there will be no problems?"
"None," Jeremiah assured. "I will keep your involvement quiet." If the Emperor had sent a Knight of the Round, there was no other option. Only someone suicidal would oppose the Emperor's favored son, heir in all but name. "I look forward to a productive partnership, perhaps even in the long run."
"We will see," Prince Lelouch dismissed, voice still laced with ire. Jeremiah hadn't yet proved himself worthy to serve.
Worldbuilding Thoughts:
- Beddings ceremonies are a fun little rabbit hole. While they don't make much sense in the modern time, because no longer people can declare you married bc they stumbled upon you in the same bed due to glorious paperwork, nobles like to flex with old traditions.
- As Britannia practices more of cultural superiority than what we recognize as classical racism via colorism, there's a lot of subtle signaling that indicates class from dress to education… to accent. As Jeremiah can't see Suzaku, merely hears the accent he picked up from Lelouch, he doesn't recognize him as an Eleven. Suzaku being a skilled pilot helps a lot here, because Britannians can't fathom their inferiors having comparable skill.
- I think Jeremiah's position as the head of the Purists in canon came before they decided to make him one of Marianne's guards. It really is a strange twist that landed him there. I'm saying he's the second highest military officer in Area Eleven because he took over from Bartley and even had the power to arrest him.
Author's Note:
Surprise!
People on the discord were asking if I was updating New Year's Eve, to which I replied no… Because I'm updating today instead. I also updated Laugh of Despair. Merry Christmas everyone!
Leave me a present in the form of a review? ;)
Chat with me on the discord: discord . gg / uSBegVj
Thank you x1tears1X on FFN and dark for your help with betaing.