The Prince at Malta

Before Italy could start going on the offensive in the Mediterranean, they had the ten thousand strong host of Britannians in their midst to handle. Letting them run amok in Italy would be a horrible way to start their revolution- and speed would be important here.

News of the revolution would spread- it would be impossible to hide, in all honesty- but the moment Lelouch had given his bombastic speech and gotten a positive response, a rider was sent out, long before the news began to spread into Rome proper. Of course, there was a powerful response in Rome- some people worrying (quite reasonably) about the war to come while the more eager cheered in the streets, celebrating the true birth of Italy.

The revolution would percolate across Italy, spreading as fast as news could be carried- but Lelouch's rider was sent out earlier, and they were told in no uncertain terms how urgent the letter was. By the time the letter had reached its destination in Milan, the rider had nearly ridden his horse to death- but he had a fair margin between him and news of the revolt, which the Italians exploited brutally.

By pale moonlight, they struck at the heart of the Britannian camp- thankfully, with their great excess in numbers they could afford to take prisoners and not just slaughter them wholesale. Especially considering that the Britannian cavalry was nowhere near prepared to fend off a nighttime attack from men presumed to be their allies.

That night was not short on prizes for Italian soldiery- they captured warhorses, which were rather expensive beasts, alongside the horse's owners, who would demand significant ransoms. There was also the matter of all the objects… liberated from Britannian tents- including many uniforms- that fell into Italian hands.

High on revolutionary fervor, some excesses took place- a few particularly haughty nobility were killed in 'struggles' against Italian soldiers looting their camp, but accidents happened all the time in war… And of course, the celebration that followed could definitely be called excessive.

Unsurprisingly, large portions of the Italian army were very patriotic- and once the prisoner situation had been handled (and in some cases, before it was) they were more than happy to celebrate the rebirth of their country. Suffice it to say, quite a bit of fine wines went missing from Britannian tents, which fueled a significant amount of drunken carousing.

The Peat Gatherers that were stationed in Lombardy as opposed to following Lelouch to Rome gave a rousing rendition of God Save the King- they could appreciate Lelouch a lot more than they did Emperor Charles, at the very least.

Now that Italy had revolted, the nearest piece of Britannian land in the Mediterranean was Malta, south of Sicily. Of course, it was intolerable to have a Britannian base of operations so close to Italy- it would serve as a launching point for a potential invasion, and serve as a point of resupply for any Britannian fleets in the region.

Malta would also make a fine garnish for the Italian crown, preventing any other power from projecting power across the Mediterranean from there- Italy certainly wasn't lacking in naval bases to control that particular sea, but denying other powers that control was critical as well.

Lelouch had several options that he could choose to take regarding the Maltese archipelago- of course, it was going to fall under military occupation when he invaded it, but that wasn't a permanent solution. One of the simplest solutions would be to integrate it into the local government of Sicily- or he could go a step up the chain and make it an administrative division on the same level as Sicily, while still part of Italy.

He supposed that making it an independent state (safely under Italian sway, of course) could work, although Lelouch would probably have to restructure the island's government a little- he certainly didn't plan on returning the islands to the rule of the Knights of St. John.

Funnily enough, Malta was its own little absolutist Britannian vassal- ruled by a governor appointed by the crown and that whole deal. It was supposed to be a sort of security measure- a fall back measure in case Sicily ever got too uppity. Lelouch supposed it a rational concern- Sicily had gotten rebellious, along with most of Italy.

It was possible that Malta could be taken with guile and cunning instead of force (that was the plan with Gibraltar, which would be a much rougher siege) but of course, he wasn't going into this particular situation unprepared. He had the might of just about every Italian warship on his side- while he had bomb ships and his steam ships, they still wouldn't do much against Gibraltar. For all intents and purposes, it was like shelling a mountain.

Malta, though? There were a few castles and fortifications on the island, it was far too important for it not to be defended, but Lelouch had some very fine guns and a navy that would hopefully trump whatever wooden ships were docked at Malta- and the smaller islands of Gozo and Comino, of course.

Their stop for provender in Sicily was interesting- news of revolution had reached the island by the time Lelouch and his forces had arrived. There was that same sense of excitement, the jubilation of a new beginning, but there was fear there too- if the war against Britannia was lost, the reins would certainly be tightened in contrast to the Sicilian Prince's more hands off rule.

Their fleet was flying the old flag of Britannian Sicily- no reason to tell the Maltese that anything was off before they struck, not to mention the fact that flags couldn't be made instantly. As nice as flying dozens of their brand new flag would be, those flags needed to be sewn and such. Understandably, a design with something as complex as the Iron Crown required a delicate sewing hand.

The isle of Malta was dotted with a number of watchtowers, a result of its long history of being in the middle of the conflict-ridden Mediterranean. Considering how things had been going in Europe recently, the watchmen were on high alert- especially when great streams of smoke appeared on the horizon.

The smoke was definitely an unusual sight on the ocean, but menacing columns of smoke were the sort of thing that got watchmen worried, even if they weren't entirely sure of the source. So they waited expectantly, straining their eyes to see if they were being approached by friend or foe.

The flag of Britannian Sicily brought sweet relief, but they still sent runners- the approaching fleet certainly seemed vast, with ships propelled by both steam and sail, so it would be best to have the governor of Malta on the case, especially if the fleet carried the Prince himself. Malta was certainly a humble station, but they were obligated to give the prince what passed for a royal welcome.

As the ships got closer, some muttering and murmuring broke out as the gleaming metal hulls of the fleet cut through the water. Of course, they had heard of the steamships which the Prince had used in his campaigns in North Africa, but hearing about them in the same breath as a great iron hulled sailing ship was a little different from seeing the stumpy little crafts in person.

Onboard the Italian ships, the men were busy- rushing around in the final preparations before combat, loading rifles and gathering equipment, on top of generally keeping a very careful eye on the Grand Harbor of Valletta. It would make a fine place to dock the fleet before sailing to Gibraltar- but of course, just about everyone knew how valuable that harbor was, and steps had been taken to make it defensible.

From what Lelouch had heard, there were a number of forts on the harbor itself- the Fort Saint Angelo and the Fort Saint Elmo for example (the Knights of Saint John were certainly a pious folk, if the name wasn't indicator enough) which would make an invasion difficult. The former fortress had held off the Turks during the grand siege some two hundred and fifty years ago- admittedly, not a good sign, but Lelouch had a few advantages: the element of surprise, iron ships, and some delightful exploding shells.

Or at least, that was one possible way of going about it. At least to the people of Malta, he was a Prince, if only for a little while longer. Lelouch could probably guarantee himself a landing on the island and an audience with whoever was in charge of the place- and that seemed a lot more workable than trying to take a famously difficult to siege island by siege. The navy would really need to be put through it paces to even have a chance of winning against Britannia, and starting things off by assaulting Malta wasn't appealing.

So they landed in Malta without much issue, with Lelouch and his retinue walking the streets of Valletta. If things went smoothly, Lelouch might be able to bag the other inhabited islands without too much trouble… what was throwing a coup after sparking a revolution, after all?

The key to taking Malta would be incredible swiftness- if the big guns started firing, the jig would be up, thanks to how small the archipelago was; if they fired a cannon off, every person on Valletta would probably hear it.

Despite the impending violence, Lelouch couldn't help but appreciate the island- the sea air, the murmuring of the common people in that strange, Arabic sounding tongue of theirs. Perhaps it would be better to make Malta a bit more self determining- Lelouch could pick out hints here and there, but otherwise their language was strange, if reminiscent of his time in Barbary.

The governor of the island was a military man- fair enough considering it would be a martial installation- and an ambitious little autocrat of his own. No parliament, of course, but not so much as a cabinet composed of Maltese officials. The seat of government was, fitting enough for this little despotate, a palace, complete with lavish staterooms.

So they found themselves in a stateroom, the walls painted with images of the island and its forts, and Lelouch had to admit that the governor just seemed to fit in, the finery of his uniform and the gleaming medals on his chest feeling in sync with the room in a way that Lelouch's guards couldn't quite manage.

"Your highness- what can the people of Malta do to serve you?"

"I'm sure you've heard of all that dreadful business in Europe- war seems likely, and I thought it pertinent to come and reinforce Malta. Your island will be of critical importance in any European war to come." The governor seemed to sit up a little straighter when the words 'your island' left Lelouch's lips.

"Of course, your highness- I have some three thousand men at my command, half Britannian and half Maltese recruits. The amount of men Britannia could devote to the Mediterranean was limited, as you know well, your majesty, and Britannia's focus soon turned to Sicily..."

"Of course- I decided to err on the side of caution and bring some six thousand men to help fortify Malta," or rather, to occupy the island while Lelouch handled more important things, "If worse came to worse and Italy fell- we could not loose Malta. It would cripple our ability to project power in the Mediterranean."

"Six thousand? Are you certain Italy can spare those men?"

"For Malta? Of course- we all need to play our roles in protecting in the Empire." Lelouch smiled. "So why don't you tell me a little more about the Maltese military, and where my men could be put to use…"

"Well, there are a number of fortresses on the island…"

So they had a numbers advantage just about everywhere- usually outnumbering the enemy two to one- unenviable odds for Britannia at the best of times, especially when about half of the garrison's number were Maltese. Of course, that wasn't a guarantee they'd just drop everything the moment Lelouch asked them too, but they probably joined the military out of a love of their home island- all Lelouch needed to do was convince them that he could win and do Malta better than Britannia would.

Admittedly, Lelouch probably didn't do much to win them over by taking them all hostage- but what were you going to do?

Unfortunately, there was no way to make a takeover completely simultaneous- they had no means of communicating instantly, but it wasn't really needed. Several portions of the isle seemed to fall without so much as a shot fired- the sheer weight of numbers won without a fight in some places. Other portions of the island heard the sharp retort of gunfire- the jig was up by that point, and Jeremiah summarily introduced the governor's face to a table.

The takeover was unexpected and vicious- those gunshots marked some notable Britannian casualties; somehow, the Maltese had gotten out of it with fewer casualties. Maybe the Sicilians among his ranks managed to smooth talk the Maltese into surrendering, or maybe they were just more willing to surrender. Whatever the case, the Maltese portion of the ex-garrison outnumbered the Britannians.

Lelouch had options when it came to how many men he left behind- too few, and he risked a counter-coup courtesy of the captured Britannians. Sure, he could execute them all… but he wished to keep some sense of decorum in this war, at least. Of course, his choices had left to the choices of many deaths… but he did not revel in slaughter. He took Britannian prisoners before- he'd do it now.

Still, those prisoners needed guards. He could devote almost every man he had to their defense- but that would leave him nothing to support Cornelia with at Gibraltar. He was certain that taking the Rock would prove a challenge- better to save the bloodshed for then. Splitting his forces in half seemed best- three thousand was no small number, and they handily outnumber the garrison they had just imprisoned.

Deciding to handle Maltese unrest as best he could, Lelouch made a decree promising representative government for the Maltese people, along with greatly eased taxes. Honestly, the island wouldn't be providing much revenue- it was a strategic goal more than an economic one.

Hopefully, his hands off attitude would be appreciated- having soldiers breathing down their necks as they conducted their elections probably wouldn't set the Maltese in the best mood, and it would take a while for anything approaching a constitution to be written up. Mixing in some Maltese with his own soldiers might ease the tension a little, but there was too much risk there.

It wasn't the perfect situation, but it just needed to not cave in under itself while Lelouch was gone- he had all the naval bases he needed in the Mediterranean- if Britannian ships could get close to conduct an invasion of the island, Italy was already facing major problems. With the business of Maltese governance as handled as it could be in these times, Lelouch sailed for Gibraltar. He needed to meet with his sister- and take out another Britannian garrison.

Collins had nearly forgotten what long sea voyages felt like- and it was not a particularly pleasant experience, all things considered. They were sailing for Gibraltar first- the gateway to the Atlantic, and another center of Britannian power in the region. If it fell into Italian hands, it could serve as a base that would potentially let them cut the Britannians off from the Mediterranean entirely.

That would be a tremendous coup, but it wouldn't be easy. Gibraltar had stood up to a number of fierce sieges in its time, and considering the growing tensions between Britannia and the powers on the continent, it seemed likely that the garrison was prepared for a siege. The obvious solution was to take the fort by subterfuge if at all possible- they certainly had the tools for it.

So that was how Collins found himself, quite literally, in the same boat as Princess Cornelia- well, was she technically a Princess of Italy? She was a half sibling of the King, so that would make her… something? Admittedly, Collins had never cared much for those minutiae. It was mainly fluff for the nobility, he figured- fine dressings to hide their rotten cores.

It was definitely surprising to see the Emperor's attack dog switching sides and joining Italy and Lelouch- he supposed that Cornelia wasn't all bad, but her condescension could be a tad obvious from time to time.

Cornelia gave him a strange sort of glance, looking down at him as if straining to remember who he might be. Collins found himself flushing under her gaze. "Ah- your highness, do you need something?"

"You…" her eyes widened, "You're the soldier who saved my brother's life, aren't you?"

"Yes- off Tunisia."

"Thank you."

"Uh- you're welcome, I suppose?" Cornelia had already walked away by the time he had formed a response, and he certainly wasn't bold enough to try restarting that conversation. Still, he couldn't help but smile a bit as she walked away.

Eventually, they sailed within range of the Rock of Gibraltar, that great precipice of stone near the tip of Europe- and a base from which Britannia could project power deep into the Mediterranean. Understandably, it would be quite difficult to take by force, since it would be rather hard to bombard an entire mountain into rubble, after all.

Of course, Lelouch and Cornelia never would have settled for a plan as indelicate as storming the Rock- the casualties would be atrocious, and Italy just couldn't throw away men like Britannia could. So choose a slightly less dangerous option- Cornelia and her men just walked in.

After all, Cornelia was a Princess of the Empire and one of its finest generals- why wouldn't they let her into Gibraltar? Well, there was quite a big reason why, but considering that none of the garrison knew Cornelia was on the Italian side… Well, there was no reason to not let her in that they knew of, anyways.

Gibraltar wasn't exactly the roomiest of stations- halls and rooms needed to be carved from the stone, after all- but there was room enough for a garrison of some five thousand, the same number that had held off the French and Spanish back during Washington's revolt, in addition to what soldiers Cornelia brought along with her.

A significant garrison, with more men than Cornelia could reasonably bring to bear- but that wasn't what she needed to do, at least not now. For now, she pushed her royal blood as hard as she possibly could- she would cow the commander of the garrison, get him used to bending to her authority- oh, and she needed to send a letter.

A rider galloped through the rugged landscape of Andalusia. This rider carried a letter, which couldn't be encrypted for rather obvious reasons (the King of Spain, while rich in many things, did not have a cipher of the sort used by the Italians, which was a good thing) intended for the royal court.

Roughly, the letter read as such:

To My Great and Good Friend King Carlos,

I hope this letter reaches you in good health, peace, and prosperity. Unfortunately, this letter must speak on those most miserable matters of war- as of quite recently, my own Kingdom, Italy, has declared independence against the Emperor of Britannia and his unjust rule.

Of course, I did not write this letter to plead assistance from you in this war- Italy will stand upon her own merits- but to make a deal. If our war against Britannia goes well, we will hopefully capture the Britannian fortifications at Gibraltar- and for your non-interference in this war, I will return it to you once a peace has been reached.

I make no demands, I require nothing from you other than inaction- let Italy be, and I swear upon my honor as King that Gibraltar will be returned to you, if it is within my power. I assure you that I will never raise a sword against Spain in this conflict- you are not my foe, the Emperor of Britannia is.

Your Good Friend,

Lelouch Lamperouge, King of the Italians

It would take some time for the letter to reach the King of Spain, as horses could only run so fast (especially if one wanted to keep their horse alive), but there was no reason to think anything was unusual going on at Gibraltar, except for a royal visit.

Eventually, after Cornelia had sailed away towards Gibraltar and Lelouch had steamed away towards Malta, a series of ships came towards the harbor of Rome, flying the flag of Corsica: a moor's head in black with a white bandanna above the eyes (as opposed to being worn like a blindfold).

Of course, a menacing fleet arriving on the coasts was the sort of thing that caused unrest, especially when Rome was already buzzing with revolutionary fervor. Thankfully, the young Bonaparte was tactful enough not send his soldiers marching out in lockstep, and only departed with a small personal retinue.

Still, that didn't mean the local authorities didn't give the Corsican a bit of the run around- he found himself delayed again and again, only getting his trip to the (now) royal residence later in the day, once the setting sun had begun to paint the horizon orange and red. He couldn't help but hope that the men would be willing to tolerate a night in the ships, if he couldn't negotiate lodgings before then.

So he and a small group of guards made their way towards the Quirinal Palace, unsure of what exactly waited for them- none of them had spent much time in Italy after all, even if they could speak the language conversationally. Napoleon had to admit that the city was a fine one, even if walking the streets of Rome smarted a little- he was once the King of Rome, after all.

They were led through the halls of a palace by a pretty looking maid of… well, Bonaparte thought that the woman seemed to be of Oriental birth, likely from the further reaches of Asia, but he couldn't be sure. The woman seemed quite competent- downright graceful, even- but Bonaparte couldn't help but notice the way her hands lingered near the folds of her dress. Still, he had to admit that the Prince- well, King, he supposed- of Italy lived rather well, much better than the Prince of Corsica would.

The big surprise of the day came when the maid opened the door to reveal a surprisingly humble royal meal- with no Lelouch present. Instead, there were a number of guards and two young women: a mild looking girl with sandy hair, who glanced in his direction with closed eyes, and a slightly older looking young woman with vibrantly pink hair. Was it dyed? Was that the sort of thing Britannian men found attractive?

Bonaparte shook himself- the two girls were staring expectantly, even if only one of them was doing so with open eyes. "I beg your pardon, I was expecting King Lelouch."

The pink haired one giggled, "Oh, we do get that from time to time- I'm Euphemia, and this is my half sister, Nunnally. My brother is out on business, but I can't tell you more- military secrets, and all that."

He cleared his throat. "Military business indeed- I, ah, came when I heard the news of revolution. I was hoping to help your brother with his campaigns, but I suppose I'll have to wait."

The younger one- Nunnally- spoke up next. "May I ask how many men you've brought along with you? We'll have to take steps to accommodate them, after all."

"Some fifteen hundred, Miss...?"

"Our mother's maiden name was Lamperouge- that's what we've decided to go by." She smiled, "But of course, you're not here to discuss surnames, are you? You'll be wanting accommodation for your men, right?"

"Of course- I beg your pardon if I've interrupted anything of import."

Euphemia waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, we handle business over dinner all the time. Please, sit down- I can't imagine whatever food you had on your ships was very appetizing." Who was Napoleon to refuse? These young ladies were the authorities in the region until Lelouch came back (if he came back, some part of him said), so it would be good to cooperate with them fully.

"It may be impolite to ask, but I must ask: Princess Nunnally, your eyes…"

"I am blind, yes."

Bonaparte blinked. "My apologies."

The Danubian Empire was keeping a careful eye on the Italians just across the Piave- and things weren't going too great in their Italian territory. The recent declaration of the Italian Kingdom sent a wave of nationalism across the Piave, spurning unrest that spooked the military higher ups.

On the bright side, it seemed like the Italians were digging in and not preparing for any offensives- perhaps it was a logical decision, considering that they were trying to hold off Britannia, but they weren't neglecting their northern flank either.

It seemed like the Italians just kept on digging in- more ditches, more blockhouses, and guns. Guns upon guns upon guns- it felt like every artillery piece on the peninsula had been brought north to shore up their defenses, which was made even worse since they knew that the Italians had rifled pieces which could outrange their own pieces. Sometimes they would even see balloons floating above the Italian side of the river, spotting for counter battery fire which would cripple Danubian guns.

They would have to send a message back to Vienna- the Italians had dug in, and even with the large amount of Danubian forces in the region, things could get messy if they just pushed without preparing a proper offensive. If they even needed to attack, that was- perhaps it would be better to just let the Italians be while they struggled with Britannia- if the Italians lost that was no skin off their backs, and if they won…

Well, they wouldn't be much of a state to defend themselves after holding off Britannia, now would they?

Or at least, that was the impression that the Danubians got from their particular side of the Piave River- if they had crossed over and taken a closer look at the guns that had seemed to grow from the Italian trenches like weeds, they would have been rather surprised.

They looked like guns- they were cylindrical, black, and had a hole on the end- but those characteristics do not necessarily a gun make. You would find the same characteristics in, say, a long log that had a hole carved into one end before you painted the entire thing black- and that was exactly what the Italians did.

It wasn't a completely novel idea, of course- but it worked, on top of a number of other, smaller deceptions. The small garrisons light more fires than they needed to every night and worked long into the night to give the impression that they were more men stationed at the Piave then there really were. After all, what was warfare without a bit of deceit?

Of course, while a war might be fought by soldiers and lead by generals, it wasn't the sort of thing that the average man could just ignore- especially not a conflict that promised to be as decisive (and potentially disastrous) as a war of independence against Britannia. If they lost, any potential reprisals would be… bad, to put it quite simply.

That was just one reason why someone would throw themselves into the conflict- but for the more patriotic among the Italians, it was easy to get swept up and throw themselves wholeheartedly into the conflict in whatever way they could. Anti-Britannian sentiment wasn't exactly unusual among those zealous sort- they were the enemy after all.

Italy was, until quite recently, a part of Britannia, and that meant that a number of ethnic Britannians had made their way to the newest portion of the Empire, hoping to make their fortunes- of course, things turned out rather unfortunately for those people.

The most obvious choice in such a situation is, to put it quite simply, booking it. Flee for the home country and get out before Britannia inevitably comes knocking- or at least, that was the decision that a proper, patriotic Britannian might choose. Kallen Stadtfeld was of course, no real patriot- even if she happened to be sired by one.

Circumstances were rather daunting- stuck in the middle of what was now foreign territory, under a hostile, fairly anti-nobility government, miles away from Britannian territory and even further from land that wouldn't fall to an Italian onslaught almost immediately. It didn't take a brilliant strategic mind to realize that Malta was basically done for- it would be swamped, almost certainly.

Unfortunately, arranging a trip from Italy to Britannia during an active war between the two states was quite impractical. Still, Lord Stadtfeld had managed merchant enterprises before- arranging shipments was his bread and butter.

Things were urgent, though- it wasn't impossible that the Italians would begin to lash out at them, venting anti-Britannian and anti-noble sentiments onto some of the only people in the country that happened to be both of those things. Preserving their business wasn't quite as important as preserving their lives, in Lord Stadtfeld's opinion.

The winds of revolution were blowing- and Kallen was fascinated. Here it was, a revolt against Britannia, happening in her lifetime! This was history in the making- if Italy won… If Italy won, things would be very different. If Kallen had to make a choice between sitting down doing nothing and fighting, she'd go for Italy.

Of course, Kallen didn't want to be a nurse- sure, she understood why that particular profession was needed on the battlefield, but it wasn't something she was particularly interested in. She could do more, be more- although she preferred the idea of dying for the sake of something like liberty as opposed to throwing away her life for vi Britannia.

Admittedly, she worried that this whole thing was an elaborate scheme by the latter, to convince people to die for him in the sake of noble ideals, but… it seemed genuine. It could be a scheme, but it certainly looked republican, felt republican- and was that better than Britannia, who didn't even care for a facade? If life in London was anything like the Cape, it would be miserable…

She had become a fair markswoman by now- was Italy really in the state to refuse a skilled volunteer? The Viceroy's own mother got her start as a soldier, why couldn't Kallen? (Of course, she had no plans of marrying up like Marianne- if Kallen ever married at all)

Maybe she could request a private meeting with the princesses? They were royalty, but they were high up in the Italian government- they were probably her best shot at getting into the military, along with staying safely out of the public eye if anti-Britannian sentiment really spiked. Even their waitstaff could tell something was up- they weren't going on quite as many shopping trips now, considering how things were going.

Bonaparte had found himself shoehorned into more dinners with the two princesses- or perhaps they just wished to keep a careful eye on him and tie him up in the palace for long portions of the evening, so he wouldn't be causing trouble. Well, more trouble than what his foreign soldiers already caused at a time like this. At the very least, the princesses were pleasant company.

Eventually, he worked up the courage to ask a question that had been plaguing him. "Princess Euphemia, I'm curious- how exactly do your dye your hair?" The two burst into laughter, and Bonaparte was stuck with that sinking, embarrassing feeling of missing out on a joke.

Euphemia wiped away a tear of laughter. "I don't- it's completely natural."

Bonaparte found himself astounded again, but for different reasons. "But… how?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but it's the hair color I was born with, You'll probably see my older sister, Cornelia, eventually." Euphemia gave a grin. "Tyrian purple."

"You're kidding." Bonaparte sighed. "You Britannians and your hair."

Nunnally tilted her head to the side. "Euphemia, could you tell me what color his hair is? I want to know if he's being a hypocrite."

"Blonde like yours, Nunnally."

"Yes," Bonaparte replied, "A normal color."

"Normal, he says." Euphemia rolled her eyes.

Eventually, news of revolt reached London, and the results were understandably inflammatory- many had considered war in Europe a possibility, but a betrayal from Italy was as bitter as gall. Anyone had thrown themselves too intensely behind the Traitor Prince won themselves no shortage of shame and disdain among the court- once again, the Lamperouge family brought shame to anyone attached to it.

For anyone who doubted the Prince- for his common birth, his Italian heritage, his liberal leanings, his conversion- it was proof that he was rotten all along. Of course, it made perfect sense that everything the Prince had done for Britannia was selfish, exploitation of the crown's prestige and power until he could make a break for it!

Emperor Charles was quiet. Lelouch had decisively stepped against the crown- any chances of him being a minister or God forbid, even Emperor, were up in smoke. It was treason of the highest magnitude, and for the sake of Empire he would need to be put down, like a rabid dog.

What a loss. Among all his sons, Lelouch was one of the finest, and even worse, he was one of the few people that could hold down Italy without excesses of military force- the only other option was his daughter, Nunnally, who might be able to serve as a puppet Vicereine. Even then, from what Charles had heard, Lelouch had only grown more protective of his sister over time- he'd keep her hidden away somewhere, far out of Britannia's reach.

Reestablishing Italy would be even more of a mess- even assuming that Lelouch hadn't come up with some plan to spirit his sister away if things got bad, Nunnally would be… less than likely to cooperate with Britannia once they had managed to hunt down and defeat Lelouch. Not to mention the fact that the girl was blind- would she even be capable of doing the paperwork properly? Someone would need to hold her hand all the way through the processes of governing, which would only be more difficult without a parliament to delegate to.

That was just the tip of the restructuring they'd have to to bring Italy in line. Getting rid of the Senate would be a start, of course, but they would need overwhelming military presence in the region to even dream of keeping it, he'd have to mete out land to the nobility, he'd need to find a child of his who was either charming or brutal enough to keep millions of Italians down.

Of course, the other countries would be sure to seize on this- at the very least, they'd be very unlikely to side with Britannia, there was a possibility they'd actively aid the Italians, and at the worst they might even completely support Lelouch as a just Catholic monarch revolting against Anglican Empire. Sure, republican government was vitriol to the other powers, but that the sort of thing that could tolerated if it meant striking against Britannian hegemony.

Not to mention what might happen if the Spanish decided to bring their own navy to bear and put Gibraltar to siege- even if they couldn't take it, it would inconvenience Britannia, making resupply harder while possibly leading to a naval battle in the Straits, which wasn't a great proposition at the best of times. And of course, on top of all of this, Lelouch would almost certainly strike at Malta while they dallied and amassed their forces, which would cripple their abilities in the Mediterranean even further.

Charles almost wanted to smile (or maybe grimace)- Lelouch certainly wasn't to go down without one hell of a fight, and on a larger scale this war would probably come to define Charles' reign, or at least the end of it. A massive territorial loss like Italy would be an embarrassment, and it would probably spawn unrest elsewhere, especially if they had to reassign armies from the colonies or draft more men from them. They would need to use just about everything they had, press every advantage...

And so later that day three heavy frigates cast off from London and sailed towards the Mediterranean, determined to harry the Italian navy and hopefully pave the way for an eventual triumphant return, their narrow hulls cutting deep into the Atlantic chop, their sides rife with guns- between the three of them, some 150 guns sailed towards the Mediterranean, along with holds full of rockets.

It would be an understatement to say that the Italian revolt was newsworthy; Italy had exploited those first moments of confusion, but the victories they had managed to achieve for themselves might be swept back the might of an attentive- and furious- Britannian Empire.

But of course, Britannia was not the only empire who held power in Europe, even if they may have liked to think of themselves that way: the Danubians, Russians, and the Ottomans. The von Habsburgs were… concerned, to put it simply. They had the most to lose if the Italian situation boiled over into Friuli- unrest had already spiked, and it wasn't hard to imagine what would happen if relations soured… Not to mention all those fortifications going up- an invasion now would be costly, make more problems with rebels in the future, and evoke the wrath of Britannia if the war turned in Emperor Charles' favor, but leaving the Italians be caused problems of its own.

The Ottomans had come to a strange sort of agreement with their northerly neighbors; while the House of Osman and the House of Habsburg certainly weren't friends, they could recognize when sticking together was best. Sure, the Ottomans had no real Italians under their discounting a few holdouts in previously Venetian owned areas, but that certainly didn't mean Rumelia- the Balkans- was secure. The Italian had already stuck his nose into North African affairs, and the Turks did not like the idea of that wild dog undermining the Empire's authority even more, in areas that were more important.

So across the Piave and the Adriatic, in the halls of power in splendid Wien and ancient Konstantiniyye, they waited. The longer the war stretched, the worse state the eventual winner would be in: a weakened and overstretched Britannia, or an Italy ripe for the plucking. So both powers contented themselves to wait, while preparing themselves for war as best they could. It would be foolish not to.

Northernmost and easternmost of of all the great European powers, Russia stood isolated- it took time for even the fastest riders or finest boats to make their way to the city of Saint Petersburg, after all. It would take time for news to reach the Tsar's regent- and Schneizel- but the news was too important not to reach that northern city.

Among the Kings of Europe, reactions varied. The Bourbons north of the Pyrenees, in France, were quite upset- reasonable, considering the bitter fruit of the last great revolution. In Spain, though? Initially tempers flared and words of war eagerly spilled from courtier's lips… but when the King's enthusiasm dampened, passions dimmed. Whatever news that letter brought, it was clearly influential- although the King kept it close to his chest.

The Princes of Germany were anxious- they had suffered at the hands of the revolution as well, but they were hesitant to devote their forces to action. Belgium had turned out alright- as far as they could tell- without any real interference. There was also a bit of curiosity there; of course, Italy was no Germany… but there were some compelling parallels. If- and that was a major if- a German state ever came to be, it would shift the balance of power, perhaps irreparably; it would be good to see how a new European power would be received. At least the German nationalists thought so...

In France and the Low Countries… they were a little busy. France was extremely concerned about revolution, but they were happy to see Britannia taken down a peg; especially considering that if Italy somehow won they could come in and sweep the Italians away once their men were no longer tied down in Belgium, battling the Dutch. The Dutch were equally focused on trying to retake Belgium, while the Belgians sent for their chosen king: a German named Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, who had diplomatic connections to aid the young state, on top of being a bachelor (the Belgians had no idea how this Italian war would turn out- and Britannia had many princesses. Best to leave that avenue open…).

But of course, for every great King and Emperor, countless thousands toiled beneath them. For many, war was war- brutal, violent, but thankfully for them in this case, foreign, the affair of far flung princes. Providence had brought peace to their particular corner of the world after years of fighting- that sufficed, even if fears of war spreading bubbled. Sure, there were ideologues on both sides on the fence: die hard monarchists and fanatical republicans who would take action to aid the side they saw as right… but the fields still needed to be tilled at the end of the day.

Bonaparte could tell that Italy was shifting into something like a war footing- the militias were being encouraged by the government for rather obvious reasons, and plans were being laid for expansions to the army. And from what Bonaparte gathered, it seemed like Italy was planning on broadening their horizons when it came to drafting.

In small amounts- at least for now- Italy would take on volunteers from other countries. Of course, there was definite risk of infiltration when it came to that, but the Peat Gatherers had already proven that there were men who were willing to fight and die for the sake of republicanism- why not exploit that trend, and get experts about foreign countries in the process? Who would serve as better pioneers and scouts in France then Frenchmen?

From what Bonaparte gathered, the plan was to offer eventual citizenship in the Italian republic (along with pay, of course) in exchange for a few years of fighting. Some sort of… Foreign Legion, if you would. They wouldn't be perfect for every job, surely… but it was a window for Bonaparte to get closer to the Italian state, at least. He might be able to worm his way into the Italian high command this way- he'd have some sway among French volunteers. At least the French who were radical enough to fight for Italy but not quite radical enough to hate Bonaparte on republican grounds.

It would take a while to get off the ground, and it would require some unconventional problems to be solved, like the language barrier… but it would give Italy another source to draw manpower from, on top of just plain old drafting, which they hadn't gotten to quite yet. Or at least those were the impressions that Bonaparte gathered- he wasn't exactly sitting on the debate floor.

He wondered how much Euphemia and Nunnally kept hidden from him- obviously they weren't fools, and they kept military secrets close to their chests- but in other areas they were downright inviting. Was it an act of some sort, or were they genuinely trying to befriend him? Was it some sort of sympathy born of loosing parents far too son, or was it pity?

A knocking on the door snapped him out of his contemplation, and that maid, Sayoko, came in with a letter. "News- from Malta." Straight to the point then- and fitting news. Of course one of the first battles would start in Malta.

Euphemia and Nunnally both perked up at that, and the former (obviously) took the letter and opened it to read- "Of course he'd put it in code." Unsurprising, considering that they were now at war, and Bonaparte assumed that the Prince- no, King- and his siblings had their own secret order of the disks for the cipher.

Translation revealed that Malta had been seized, and Lelouch sailed for Gibraltar, to rendezvous with a (hopefully) successful Cornelia. "So- I suppose this is when we part ways, Bonaparte?"

He nodded as he stood- he was here to fight a war after all. "We'll cast off with haste- would you like me to take any letters?"

Euphemia nodded. "That would be delightful- just be sure to sail with caution, alright? I'd imagine Lelouch would be rather… antsy if a random fleet showed up all of a sudden."

Quaker Gun time! That's the name for the fake-out artillery the Italians pulled, so called because the Quakers were pacifists- an artillery piece fit for a Quaker, I'd figure.

I've been wanting an Italian Foreign Legion for a while- since I had butterflied away France's involvement in Algiers and I wanted Lelouch's Italy to have some vaguely American vibes in a sort of "new home and center of democracy" way, if that makes sense. Plus, it kind of brings back that idea of the more liberal sort coming to Italy- and Lelouch weaponizing them.

Interesting factoid: one of the largest battles in the American revolution, by numbers, was the Grand Assault… of Gibraltar. 60,000 French and Spanish troops tried to take that bad boy- and failed, obviously. At least such a battle took place in our timeline… things get fuzzy considering how the siege lasted until '83.

Next time: fighting at the Strait, and an encore performance of Europe's favorite concert.