Chapter 25: Royal Jewels

Britannia has proven themselves unshakable, unconquerable, and unstoppable. There are only two ways to stem the flow of tears and end the cycle of grief. The first, is for Britannia to finish its conquest of the world. With no new Numbers to replace the youth lost, the fighting will cease. I do not know if I will see that day before the grim reaper graces my doorstep. I do not know whether my beautiful grandchildren will be alive to witness the occasion, or even if such an event will occur within the life of our star. History states that empires fall, and while my heart rejoices at the possibility, there's a dark insidious worry as well. When an Empire falls, so do its people. I cannot hope that such a cataclysm would allow the Numbers to thrive afterwards and not pull us down with even heavier chains of bondage. It is for this reason, I cannot wait. Waiting is like holding penicillin in my hand and sitting next to a gravely ill man, but refusing to give it to him, for perhaps, he will get better on his own. The reality is that my tears will never cease unless change is brought about.

The second option is more radical than the first, but I will argue for it regardless. Others may call me a traitor to my people, but I will follow my heart and protect the dear lives and happiness of my grandchildren. The endless and bloody fight for freedom is fruitless and only brings more suffering and pain to our community. Britannia's right to govern relies on bringing happiness to the greatest number of its citizens. All actions, after all, are undertaken to maximize happiness and minimize suffering. Because we suffer, we pursue the goal of freedom and have equated it with happiness. The notion that freedom equals happiness is a misguided belief that only brings more suffering.

—Cease to Shed Tears, an open letter by Ian Cort

Forward Base Division 712, Near Ottawa, Area 2

Sheltered by the tent from the young morning rays, Lelouch sat and patiently waited for York. His hands felt clammy in the brisk winter air and his breath misted in the air before him. Why did it always have to be York? He had no problem facing nobles… or even arguing with his father. But York kept him off balance despite refraining from violence.

Lelouch could still remember York breaking his finger and the bursting sharp strike of pain. Every time York approached, his finger throbbed and his heart rate rose. York knew Lelouch was a prince... and surely wouldn't do anything. That was what logic dictated, but Lelouch still felt uncertain... and afraid.

The threat York presented was simply too real and ever too present. If only he could know what the man wanted... but York played his cards close to his chest and Lelouch was none the wiser. Biting at his cracking lip, Lelouch flinched as boots crushed snow outside of the tent. York was there.

"Ah, Lelouch. How are you? Truly some exciting times you have lived through, are they not?" York drawled. "And Alex. Definitely a keeper that boy. I can see why you keep him close."

"Thank you," Lelouch ground out. "Alex is an important member of my squad."

York sat down on the other side of the desk. Pulling out an electric kettle, he set it down, and poured himself a cup of boiling water. "Tea?"

"No thank you."

Shrugging, York deposited a tea bag and they both waited in silence as red swirls colored the water. York gently blew on it and grimaced. "I miss good tea. Now boy, how has your search been going? Quite some time has passed, I hope you have something to report."

His tongue tasted iron. "I'm close. I believe Pablo intends to show me where... contraband can be acquired."

"But you don't know where yet?"

"No."

York leaned back. "And truly, considering your impressive victory against the Count, I would have imagined this to be child's play for you. Or perhaps..." He leaned across the table. "Maybe you're getting attached. I did tell you they will not resist the temptation to slit your throat if they discovered the truth. Or have you forgotten?"

The statement felt too extreme, but Lelouch knew there was a real danger, so he dipped his head. "I remember, sir."

"Yet you continue to risk your identity. A noble accent? Although I must commend your foresight to use an Eastern one, but really, how long do you expect this lie of yours to last? Sooner or later, it will come out and I'm thinking sooner with all the clues you carelessly dispense."

His chest felt tight. "I will be more careful, sir."

York blinked lazily. "Instincts will only get you so far... and you, you rely too much on those instincts of yours. And in the next conflict, because there will be another one, you will step up again, and throw caution to the wind."

"I would have died sir," Lelouch hissed. "I imagine that is worse for you."

He laughed. "Yes. It would be. Your mother was quite clear. But life is nothing without a little danger. Had you been smart, you would have turned off the lamp, and let the army slip by you in the darkness without risking your life. Then there would be no officers watching you and no threat to this life of obscurity you have chosen."

A third of the division dead. Even with Lelouch's desperate plan. The cook: an older man with a bad leg, but somehow capable, of making even the most unappetizing slob edible. A young boy from Area Eight who constantly stuttered but diligently helped unload the mail every day. The Corporal who could always be seen with a squirrel or two trailing after him. They were all dead.

"I can't let people die. Not when I can save them."

York's gaze held no mercy. "You will not save everyone boy. You may even try and kill more with your orders. Their lives have no worth compared to yours. You let your mind rot away by aiding simpletons who will betray you."

"It is the right thing to do," Lelouch snarled back. "Who stands by and lets others die? All our blood spills red on the battlefield. There is no difference between the corpse of a Britannian and a Number. I would fail in my duty as a human by standing by."

York leaned even closer and his breath condensed in the air between them. "I thought we agreed on no lies, Lelouch."

Why was his heart hammering? Lelouch leaned away. "It is the truth."

Walking around the table, York's hand settled on his shoulder and his breath tickled Lelouch's ear. "Don't be naive, Your Highness. These sentiments you spout are the same ones held by our enemies and you... you cannot be a traitor. Do you even know the history of your family?"

Lelouch knew. He knew of all the assassinations. The stories of blood running down steps. It was the legacy of the Britannias and the Emperor... his father had played the game best of all. But what York was implying... It couldn't be true... and yet, Lelouch couldn't help but wonder. He was his father's son, surely he wouldn't? But that hadn't saved Empress Margret after she was caught plotting treason. Her execution... had been a public spectacle devoid of a clean death. The Emperor had been clear to set an example.

No one was safe from the Emperor's justice.

Not even family.

"I'm aware," he whispered.

York moved out of his field of view and Lelouch's chest tightened more. Two hands firmly settled on his shoulders and nails dug in. A breath warmed Lelouch's ear. York whispered, "And if you die my little prince, what will your father do?"

There would be a public funeral and the Emperor would read off the teleprompter and his mother publicly grieved. Nunnally... she would be all alone. And if Lelouch wasn't there, Nunnally would be ripped away from Ashford Academy and the new friends she had found. He couldn't protect her, if he was dead. But he refused to let his squadron die.

"What show do you think the Emperor will put on? Because once you're dead, this secret of yours will be out, and it will spill on the front page of every news site in Britannia. It will even cross the sea. The Commoner Prince, the headlines will say, but what will follow? Appearances must be kept after all. And for every moment you spend here, the image of royalty cracks a little more."

Lelouch's heart hammered. His hands shook as he set them down on the table. Trapped. That man's legacy always hung like a dark cloud around him. Nothing could ever be innocent. What would his squadron think if they ever discovered the truth? They were friends and friends did not lie. But Lelouch did with every breath by virtue of being there.

"I imagine whatever facade the Emperor employs, he will deliver justice. And who is more guilty of letting the prince die, than the division he served in... and the squadron that should have protected him."

It was too hot. Sweat rolled down his back and Lelouch squeezed his eyes shut. Why did he have to bear such a burden? He hadn't asked for it. He only wanted to live free and prove his worth. He had become what he wanted to avoid: a pawn in someone else's game. Corporal... that was his new rank. One earned for nothing but given because of blood spilled. In the end, even that was not enough.

He had been a fool. He had searched for a way free and not seen the trap on the other side.

Defeated, Lelouch bowed his head and whispered, "What can I do?"

"Vanquish your weaknesses. Learn to lie, not by omission, but deliberation. You have a sharp blade in your hands Lelouch, you must only learn to use it and harden your heart. Words are the weapons of a prince and a strong mind. Not blades, guns or knightmares. From the darkness, you can weave a web and soldiers will rise to battle for you, officers will dance in your hands," York paused and his hand gently combed through Lelouch's hair, "and a royal will tremble at your touch."

Lelouch froze. He had to leave. But York was behind him and he couldn't move. If only he was stronger... If only his mother had killed York for his crime... but she let him roam free. She didn't care. There was no one to protect him.

A familiar voice shouted from close by. Alex. "Sergeant Malfoire. Where do you want the papers?"

York floated away and his voice became warm and friendly. "Right on time, Alex. Why don't you come inside. Your friend Lelouch is here."

"Oh, he is? Is he going to go into communications as well, sir?"

York chuckled and Lelouch turned to see him ruffle Alex's hair who beamed in delight. The mask slipped although his voice remained light. "Are you Lelouch?"

At Alex's worried expression and York's darkening one, Lelouch forced a smile. "Yes Alex. If you don't mind. I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Not at all." Alex beamed.

A satisfied smirk crossed York's face and Lelouch knew he had lost the game for which he had never been told the rules.

Royal Palace in New Pendragon

Arthur Greenford dabbed his lips with his handkerchief as he heard the guard announce the presence of the Emperor and Empress Marianne. She was such a continued nuisance and had the Emperor wrapped around her finger. Despite being a cripple, she was allowed to serve in the military. He had expected her to fall in Area Eleven, yet she swept the Area clear. Then she had repeated the feat in Area Two and he could only take solace in the rumors that the Count had crawled out of his dark corner and was continuing his efforts. Still, even if he was back, it would do nothing to damage the legend of Empress Marianne, for she returned from Area Twelve victorious.

Her, a cripple and a commoner, continuing to dominate the battlefield was an affront to everything that Britannia stood for. His lips curled. And now the Emperor lowered himself to push her wheelchair. Sickening.

"Unseemly. I wonder what the media will say tomorrow?" asked Oberstein as he materialized next to Arthur. "The Emperor pushing her wheelchair sends quite a message."

"The wrong sort. His affection seems to grow every year that passes by."

"True. The attempted assassination only brought them closer. I doubt that was something the culprit intended. I would say this is a facade, but their affection is nauseatingly real."

"It's still the Emperor," Arthur hissed and glanced around the ball room.

The Emperor finally left his favored wife and walked up the stairs to his golden throne. His robes swept the floor and fluttered to a stop gracefully as he sat down. Arthur's brow furrowed as he glanced at the robes and the distinctive cut. They were remarkably similar to the ones Charles zi Britannia had worn after slaying the former Emperor, Brandon vi Britannia.

"Seems he is making a statement," Arthur whispered.

Oberstein hummed absently. "When is he not? No. He knows the majority in the room will be displeased with his stunt with Lady Marianne. He has to feel quite confident and secure in his base to take such a risk. Yet, the robes..."

"If he's trying to remind us of that day... then he can't feel that secure. It's a reminder of what he is capable of."

"As if we ever needed one," spat Oberstein with uncharacteristic bitterness. "It's a warning. He can easily manage whatever lord decides to act thinking that the Emperor is weak. He just doesn't want to bother. Understandable. Paperwork is such an affront on humanity."

Arthur moved to respond, but a subtle jab of Oberstein's elbow silenced him. Adopting a cordial smile, Arthur bowed as Prince Schneizel, the Prime Minister of Britannia, approached.

"Lord Greenford, Lord Oberstein. A pleasure as always. I hear your affairs are running well." Prince Schneizel tilted his head, yet he did not pass them by.

Only the slight acceleration of his heart rate betrayed Arthur's unease as Prince Schneizel's interest. Only fools did not fear the Prince. One did not become the Prime Minister at sixteen without being conniving. Those who spoke ill had a tendency to suffer unfortunate accidents.

"Business as usual, Your Highness," Arthur replied, "It's all rather mundane and monotonous. My old bones miss the thrill of battle, but I'm afraid it's just too much for my joints. Have you heard of the unfortunate fate of the HEA Carlton? The E.U. did a number on their forces."

"The E.U. grows bolder with each passing day," Prince Schneizel replied calmly. "It is only fortune that my sister had gone on shore for a mission. I shudder to think what those savages would have done with a member of the royal family."

"Terrible that," Oberstein muttered, "but speaking of royalty, your father is causing quite a stir."

The smile was a tad too sharp. "Yes. It seems my father tires seeing his favored wife disparaged by the court. Affairs have been becoming rather dull. The fallout will definitely spice up my work."

Arthur couldn't help the furrow in his brow. Prince Schneizel sounded too enthused by the prospect and Arthur hadn't pegged him as an ally of the vi Britannias. He would have to send out some feelers. It wouldn't do for the relationship he was carefully cultivating between Princess Guinivere and his nephew, Bedivere, to fall apart because he missed Schneizel's play.

"I recall Empress Marianne had two children," said Oberstein as he scanned the ballroom, "I'm surprised to see them absent."

Arthur nodded as he recalled a hazy announcement of Empress Marianne giving birth to her second child. The names eluded him and he took a delicate sip of wine. Oberstein's question reminded him that there were potential other players in the game.

"Yes. Lelouch and Nunnally. After the assassination attempt, Lady Marianne withdrew them from court life and given that they're both below the age of majority, father permits it."

"A few more years then," Oberstein whispered, "but how are they? The assassination attempt must have shook them. They were so young."

"I met Nunnally earlier in the year. We played a game of chess, which was enlightening. Apparently, Lelouch has been keeping himself busy, although she didn't share many specifics."

Arthur blinked slowly. Chess? "I look forward to the opportunity of meeting them. It sounds like they possess an enterprising mind."

"Quite," Schneizel said.

Mulling the question over in his mind, Arthur decided to risk it. It seemed the prince was in a magnanimous mood. "And what does the Emperor think of her children?"

Schneizel raised a single eyebrow and turned to look at the Emperor conferring with his wife at the throne. "Father always holds his cards tightly. But if you truly seek my opinion, you're courting the wrong sister of mine. Cornelia has the drive to keep climbing and Nunnally won't allow herself to be sidelined."

Arthur did not care for the women. They were the weak links in the chain and by nature, wouldn't be able to stand against a man. It was the boy he was interested in and worry churned in his gut at Schneizel's avoidance of the topic. If he was protecting the boy, that meant Schneizel saw his younger brother as a potential ally. An intelligent ally.

It was Oberstein who dared to ask the question Arthur yearned to: "And what of Prince Lelouch? I recall some rather outrageous rumors when he was younger."

Schneizel laughed, drawing attention from others dancing close by and eavesdropping. "He was always willful, but it's more a trait of royalty, than unique to him."

"So the rumors that you played chess with him are unfounded?"

"Oh no. Those are quite true. And he taught Nunnally well."

Arthur could feel a headache coming on. A praise from Schneizel occurred once in a blue moon, meaning the young prince deserved it. More and more, Prince Lelouch was someone to watch. Unfortunately, having withdrawn from the public eye meant Arthur had no chance to observe the prince for himself.

"I admit I'm curious," Arthur began, carefully watching Schneizel's face, "whether we'll ever see the young prince? Royalty shouldn't be sequestered away. Denying him the opportunity to interact with his father's subjects will only be to his detriment."

Schneizel shrugged. "I already asked father if Lelouch and Nunnally were joining us for the annual Christmas festivities. He says they are busy, and alas, that is where the line of questioning ends."

Oberstein tapped his glance, and while his statement sounded innocent, there was a slight edge to it: "The Emperor seems to take a great interest in their safety. He never granted such allowances for his other children."

Inclining his head, Schneizel said, "My father adores Lady Marianne and she adores her children. I would not say my father is more fond of them than his other children. He rules fairly and—"

The large oak doors swung open without an announcement and conversations died down as heads swiveled to see the intruder. Sir Bismarck Waldstein strode forward and Arthur blinked. He had thought the knight to be the Emperor's literal shadow, but upon reflection, he had been suspiciously absent. Muffled cries echoed through the cavernous room. As the knight ascended the steps to the throne, Arthur caught sight of the man being dragged behind.

Black hair peeked above the bindings.

The corner of Prince Schneizel's lips ticked upwards and he took a long delicate sip of his wine. "Lord Oberstein, you are acquainted with the soon to be former Earl Seymour?"

Arthur flinched. Stripping a noble title was not done lightly. It meant Earl Seymour, a man known for his magnanimity, had committed a grave crime. Next to him, Oberstein smoothed his shirt with one hand and glanced back at the trussed Earl.

"I imagine everyone is Your Highness. He is well known and well liked."

Prince Schneizel didn't have the opportunity to reply as the Emperor stood up and the room became deathly still. "Earl Seymour, you are found guilty of breaking the laws that you have sworn to uphold. You are found guilty of practicing slavery, a practice banned since Washington's Rebellion. You are found guilty of developing and distributing illicit drugs among the populous. What do you have to say to your defense?"

Arthur watched the man tremble on the ground as Sir Waldstein ripped off the gag and wondered what necessitated justice to be so swift. "Not even a trial?"

Prince Schneizel didn't move. He continued to stare at the display before him, enraptured. "This is a trial. Britannia is just."

Taking a step backwards, Oberstein grimaced. "A trial is done by the courts. This is the Emperor's justice. While his crimes are despicable, let us not pretend he is the only lord to commit such actions within this room."

"The case was first brought to His Majesty by Lord Ashford who had been investigating rumors within the areas. Concurrently, a terrorist group in Area Eleven gifted the information to our European friends. They found him guilty this morning and I have spent all day calming ruffled feathers. Earl Seymour is a Britannian and thus will submit to Britannian justice."

Unsaid was that it couldn't be swept under the rug. Ashford, for all Arthur despised the man, was a stickler for the truth. He would fight a losing battle to bring the information to light. Meanwhile, the Euorpeans would disseminate Seymour's crimes among their propaganda and proclaim Britannia as the mother of all evils. Hypocrites. They were guilty of everything they claimed. No society was without fault. Britannia's justice was swift and unswayed by the fickle opinions of the uneducated. It made it reliable.

Seymour's voice carried through the ballroom: sniveling and weak. "Your Majesty. I beg for mercy. I never harmed a citizen of Britannia. I taught the Numbers their place."

Oberstein grimaced and whispered, "Have the terrorists been caught?"

Schneizel took another delicate sip, still focused on the spectacle before them. "No. Rather elusive terrorists."

"So this execution simply exists to de-fang whatever other information they possess."

"It's justice all the same," Schneizel replied and pressed the wine glass into Arthur's hands as he took a step forward. "Father loves his statements."

The Emperor boomed, "Your concerns are with that of your estates and upholding the laws of the land myself and my forbearers decreed. For forsaking this sacred duty, I strip you and your family of all titles and holdings."

"No! Mercy. Please. My crime is my own." Seymour began to sob.

"Sir Waldstein, release him. Seymour, stand."

Trembling, Seymour stood. His hair glistened from sweat and quiet begs pierced the frozen air.

"My dear," the Emperor said and offered a hand to Empress Marianne.

She rolled forward and from deep within the folds of her dress pulled out a bejeweled gun. The blood red rubies scattered light and droplets of blood danced across the floor.

The Emperor trusted his wife to allow her to have a gun within his presence. He wanted her to have a gun. Arthur wondered if perhaps he should be less openly hostile regarding the woman. She had bewitched the Emperor completely.

The gun trained on the former lord who fell to his knees. "Please! I beg you. I'll give you anything."

The Emperor proclaimed the inevitable sentence. "For your crimes, I sentence you to death. Stand with the last remnants of honor you possess."

"Please no! I'll confess to everything! I'll tell you who helped me! Who paid me! You can use me. I'll serve you loyally! Please."

Outraged whispering spread through the room. It was one thing to commit a crime... but Arthur thought Seymour had honor, yet he would sacrifice everyone else to save his skin. The man deserved to die.

Prince Schneizel turned around and Arthur glanced behind him, wondering what could have caught the Prince's attention. His breath caught within his throat. The royal guard streamed through the doors. Slowly, the other nobles began to notice and shrieked in outrage. The royal guard swept through the crowd diligently hunting their targets.

With the doors now hanging open, Arthur could now see the news crews filming and elegant reporters gesturing empathetically at the gathered crowd. The Emperor was indeed putting on a show... but not for the nobles to who he owed his power, but rather the commoners. It was all the witch's fault who stood by the side of the throne, her gun ready without a quiver in her hand.

Arthur glanced at Oberstein whose eyes were a smidge too wide as he watched the guards enter and arrest lord after lady, ignoring their fervent protests. It was a coup. But normally a coup dispatched the head, not the torso. Surely the Emperor could not be this confident in his might to anger every noble beneath him. More worryingly, perhaps the Emperor knew he could control the fall out.

"What is the meaning of this Prince Schneizel?" Oberstein hissed as he regained his wits. "In this room, are the Emperor's strongest allies. Do you mean that we are nothing before him?"

Prince Schneizel grabbed the wine glass back from Arthur's petrified hands. "The most dangerous snake is the one found in bed. I imagine you and Lord Greenford have nothing to worry about if you kept free of Seymour's business."

Arthur scowled. Everyone had business with Seymour.

"Well then, perhaps you do have something to worry about."

And Arthur had said his thoughts out loud: an amateur's mistake. A shot rang through the air, proving the day could indeed get worse.

Nobles screamed as they reeled backwards from a fallen guard bleeding out on the ground.

A familiar figure turned to flee and Arthur could only watch, as another man he had thought he had known, proved to be dishonorable. Margrave Leger, his gun in his hand, rushed towards the Emperor and people dove to the side as the guards rushed afterwards.

"The idiot," whispered Oberstein. "Waldstein will destroy him."

True to his prediction, Sir Waldstein stepped forward and drew his blade. It sliced through the air with enviable grace and speed. The Knight of One, true to his legend, needed but only a moment to dispatch the threat. The head rolled back into the crowd and to the pursuing guards.

Noticing the ever increasing tension among the nobles around them as the guards approached, Arthur turned to the Prince. "Your Highness, you should leave. A stray dagger will end your life swiftly."

Unconcerned, Schneizel nodded at the Emperor before turning back to them. "I assure you, I am adequately protected."

The guards were certainly close enough to deter many attacks, but Arthur eyed the nearby nobles warily. An attack on the Prince would likely catch himself in the cross-fire and Arthur was not keen on dying yet. His family's name could still rise to greater heights and he intended to see it. Oberstein, stiff besides him, was surely having similar thoughts. Their eyes met and flicked to the doors.

As loyal Britannians, they should ensure that the prince came to no harm. But surely if the prince insisted on being obstinate, they didn't have to martyr themselves besides him.

"Your Highness," Oberstein hissed, "I must insist you move to safety."

Five guards began to move towards them and Arthur's heart began to beat erratically within his chest. Weapons were not permitted in the Emperor's presence and he had only a small blade tucked in the sole of his boot. Perhaps Seymour was just a ruse. Surely not all of these people were accomplices. It was inconceivable... and if the Emperor was willing to arrest over half of his court, then it meant he would have no issue taking them under false pretenses.

Arthur was a noble. Fraudulent arrests were for the weak who had nothing useful to give. He couldn't die, but his knife was too far to reach.

A blue robed noble, his hair perfectly partitioned, and with bright frenzied green eyes leaped at Prince Schneizel. The knife descended in a beautiful arc.

Arthur didn't move. Perhaps it would be for the best once Arthur survived this calamity. The prince grew in power every year and with it, his deadliness. With Prince Schneizel out of the way, Prince Odysseus would abdicate to his sister and his nephew would become her husband and lead the Empire. Even if he died, his line would be successful. Prince Schneizel had to die.

A flash of silver intercepted the blade and the assassin gurgled.

"Almost too late Kanon," Prince Schneizel murmured.

And the opportunity was lost. Torn away by a rose-haired servant who now dutifully knelt by the still cooling body.

"Lord Greenford, Lord Oberstein," Schneizel began and Arthur froze. His lack of action could be equally as damming. "I suggest you work on those reflexes of yours. Next time, it will be you who will fall to an assassin's blade."

Prince Schneizel turned away and nodded at the Emperor. Around him, nobles lay on the ground with their hands bound behind their back. The guards continued to sweep through the room and the remaining nobles pressed themselves against the wall. Some of the ladies cryed or covered the eyes of their children. The formerly blue tiles gleamed crimson; it was the Emblem of Blood all over again.

The Emperor took a step forward. "Seymour. As you can see, your conspirators have all been found. The information you possess is useless. You are sentenced to death. Marianne, if you will do the honors?"

She fired and Seymour fell.

Prince Schneizel sighed. "It seems Lord Oberstein, you were not one of the missing names on Seymour's list."

"He kept a list?" Oberstein asked, aghast.

"Seymour was an exceptional bureaucrat. It is almost commendable his diligence in taking notes. Come Kanon. Time to meet the press."

Watching Prince Schneizel walk off, Arthur shook his head and suddenly felt drained. Slumping, he glanced back at the Emperor talking quietly to his wife, as if half of his court did not lie on the ground in chains. The carpet of security had been ripped from beneath his feet, leaving him off kilter.

"Lord Oberstein, may I entreat you to a drink at my estate?" Arthur asked and ignored the tremor in his voice.

Oberstein closed his eyes. "I think I'll take you up on that offer Arthur. And please, call me Frederick. I think now is the time for friends, not the game of politics."

"Are we friends still Frederick? It has been a long time."

"Since my brother, Rudolf... I know. You were always a close friend and I couldn't let my problems become yours. Not when you had your whole life laid out before you and a wonderful life looking forward to your presence every night. It would have been selfish of me to impose."

An apology years too late, but it was an apology nonetheless and Arthur accepted it. There would always be a realm of awkwardness between them, but maybe they could find a new way forward together. It was a start and at least Oberstein, no Frederick, was being honest. Men he had thought honorable lay on the ground, proving that Arthur hadn't known them at all.

"Well Frederick. I think the party is over."

"Yes."

Outside in the fresh nighttime air and the stars shining as if nothing had changed, Frederick said, "Schneizel used himself as bait."

If his knife had been somewhere more accessible, Arthur would be the one lying on the floor, dead. "We were suspects."

"Yes. And I can only assume that others fell into the same trap despite being innocent. The Emperor decided to clean his house and Seymour's crimes provided the proper cover."

Arthur wrapped his coat tighter. A small blood stain on his collar mocked him. "What is he playing at? There was always an understanding that the Emperor needed us nobles and we accepted the Emperor because he aligns with our own self-interests. But to say he doesn't need us at all? It will lead to rebellion."

"What else is new?" Frederick chuckled. "Civil War runs in the blood of Britannia. We grew up in it, we will die in it. And the cycle will rinse and repeat for each and every one of our descendants. In Area Two the peasants are revolting, gathering meager victories, but shaking the trust of the people in the Emperor. Elevens continued to fight long after their subjugation. Britannia's strength lies in conquest, not internal affairs."

"And he purposefully fans the flames? This action was rash, not to mention blatantly favoring the commoner wife of his."

"Others will think the Emperor is weak after this night, but the Emperor's strength is immeasurable and this move? This move is just one on the chessboard meant to sow dissension and confusion, while he prepares for his larger strike. He cleaned the house of all but the most staunch loyalists and cowards who were too afraid to act."

Bristling, "I'm not a coward."

"I am. Honor is your game, Arthur, and I guess that makes you a loyalist. But I am a coward who works through words and far from the action having others do my bidding. Rudolf was the brave one... and he died for it."

Arthur stopped. "You know why his men turned on him?"

"Yes."

Kind and brave Rudolf who laughed and never let anyone down. "Why?"

Frederick glanced around and stepped closer to Arthur. "I have known for a long time Arthur... and I will not say. It is a secret that I will take to my grave."

The chasm was growing and Arthur's honor burned within him. He had renounced Emperor Brandon to avenge Rudolf. And now, he learned that the task was incomplete.

"I will not say, and no claim of yours regarding honor will sway my mind. You would rush off, galvanized by the thought of vengeance and not survive the encounter. Only cowards can survive and pray for the chance to finally claim justice." Frederick's phone rang and he grimaced. "Let us save the drink for another time. This is urgent."

Arthur was left on the curbside waiting for his driver, more confused than ever, but vowed to discover the secret that caused his old friend such grief and caused him to forsake honor. Rudolf would have justice... And for his actions against the nobility, the Emperor would fall.

Forward Base Division 712, Near Ottawa, Area

Lelouch, buried doubts and thoughts of York's assignment, as he let Pablo guide him inside a large tent in the midst of camp. At the front, it appeared as a large storage area, but hidden behind crates and out of sight, various soldiers lazed around. Overturned crates were used as makeshift tables with beer cans on them. Light seeped through the thin fabric of the tent, illuminating the stuffy space. Feeling the accusing gazes of the other soldiers, Lelouch ducked his head, and hid behind Pablo's broad shoulders.

Pablo sat down on the ground and pulled out a handful of coins, slamming them onto the table. "Jon! Bring me the good stuff will you?"

"So... dented or scratched, Pablo?" a soldier called out.

Lelouch turned to see the man, Jon, pulling his knife out of a fading picture taped to a crate. Leaning down, he grabbed three cans and sauntered over. His shirt was untucked, and in his waistband, Lelouch could see a non-military issued pistol. Jon smirked as he set the two cans down and plopped down on the ground.

"So," Jon asked as he opened his can, "didn't peg ya as bringing Brits in, my friend."

"He ain't an officer."

Jon pointed at the silver badge, gleaming on his shoulder. "Corporal, ain't nothing to sniff at either. Not a place for his folks... and Pablo, my man, thought ya understood the code." He paused and waggled his eyebrows. "Unless, ya aiming up?"

Pablo flushed an unhealthy shade of red and spluttered, "I'm not a cradle robber Jon! Look, you owe me a favor for the Swinston incident. Just give him a chance, that's all I'm asking." He took a sip of beer. "And it's nothing like that."

"Well Brit," spat Jon, "what makes ya special? Pablo hates collecting on favors. Hoards 'em like a dragon."

Somehow, it was easier to face a court martial, than this simple man who, despite his unassuming posture, screamed danger. "I am not looking for trouble. Pablo dragged me along."

Jon leaned closer and Lelouch turned away as he was assaulted by the man's heavy breath laden with alcohol. Leaning back, Jon took another sip. "Kid. You're how old?"

"Almost fifteen," Lelouch said while crossing his arms.

"Right..." Jon looked back at Pablo. "He lies like shit Pablo. If you're gonna adopt a Brit duckling, ya might as well teach'em proper. Talks like ya to be fair."

"I'm not adopting him Jon," Pablo protested, "And he talked like that already when I found him."

Jon laughed and clapped Pablo on his back. "Mother hen."

"I loathe you."

"I know you love me. Ya keep coming back. And it's not for this crap," he said gesturing to the beer. "Now, what's the duckling's name?"

Feeling insulted, Lelouch cut in, "Lelouch Lamperouge. And I'm not a duck."

Jon's eyes widened and he broke into a coughing fit. Recovering, he stared at Pablo. "You're pulling my leg right? He's so short."

There was an amused glimmer in Pablo's eye as he replied, "Nope. Completely serious. He even helped me get in contact with my family. That's why I'm asking you to give him a shot. Lelouch's a good kid."

"A kid. You've got to be kidding," Jon muttered and shook his head. "You sure it's him? Not a Brit trick? Because a snot faced brat, ain't what I was expecting."

"Excuse me?" Lelouch asked. "What's the issue?"

Jon glared up at the ceiling or a moment, before crossing his arms and regarding Lelouch. "Well, they say someone managed to save our hides from the Count. A skilled strategist. And they even managed to escape a court-martial unscathed. But a duckling could've hardly managed that."

Lelouch bristled and remembered the terror of facing the Count's Crows. "It was luck. The Count was too overconfident and we got lucky."

Leaning back, Jon regarded him and raised an eyebrow. "Not what I expected, but guess a Brit has it easy in court. Still... Pablo, your duckling isn't much of a duckling."

Pablo groaned. "He's not my duckling."

"Perhaps a goose? They've got teeth, the viscous hellions... Pablo's little gosling. I think that works." Jon stood up and raised his can, "A toast to the victorious commander Lamperouge." He burst into laughter. "Pablo's gosling."

Lelouch buried his head in his hands as he heard everyone cheer. He hadn't done much of worth, yet they were cheering him and clapping him on the back, and continuing to make jokes about his stature. Lelouch was tall for his age... life was completely unfair.

"Drink up lass," Jon ordered, shoving the beer can before his nose. "A great commander needs to know how to drink."

The bitter taste of beer slid down his throat and Lelouch set the can back down with a grimace. It was nothing like the alcohol served at various social functions and even then, his mother had always disapproved. Lelouch froze, realizing that she would most certainly hear of his escapades and the risk he had taken. "I'm so grounded."

Pablo laughed. "Haven't had to worry about that for a long time. Come on kid. you needed a birthday gift for your sister, right? Let's see what we can scrounge up."

Lelouch shuffled after Pablo, ducking his head and avoiding the inquisitive gazes of others. "Pablo... I'm a bit broke."

"Consider it a loan," Pablo replied, waving off the concern.

"Loan?" Jon cried in mock distress. "You would swindle the Hero of the Night? No. For the sister of the gosling, it's on the house. Well... within reason."

Hero of the what now? He had bluffed! And suddenly all those hostile and suspicious gazes had turned to indifference... or worse, hero worship. If he had been better, more convincing, then the camp wouldn't be half-full.

"Now, let's see what we've got," Jon said as he rummaged through a crate. "How old is this sister of yours turning anyway?"

"Nine," Lelouch whispered. The same age he had been when the assassin had come and permanently crippled his mother and blinded his sister. Nine. He had been too young. He would never let Nunnally be in such a position.

"Got some books here. Most of 'em are stories from back home. Not Brit."

There was a test there to determine his attitude to Numbers and willingness to risk his new found rank for illegal contraband. "She's blind."

"It's true," Pablo replied to the questioning glance from Jon. "They send letters to another in braille. That's how I sent my letter."

"Hmm... Not much for kids in here. Don't imagine she'd a-ppre-ciate the adult games. Or grenades. What were ya thinking?"

Lelouch considered for a moment. "Not sure. I sent her stories last time. And a picture of myself so she could show her friends. Maybe a necklace so she has something to remember me by?"

"Blind eh? Don't got much in jewelry. But I can introduce you to Carl. He's right fancy with the needle. Maybe he can cook something up." Jon tapped his chin and his face stretched into a smile. "But remember ya by? What better way than giving ya a gosling? I'll give it ta ya tomorrow. Carving it should be a splash."

"Thank you," Lelouch replied dutifully. He was not a gosling, duckling, or whatever Jon would think of next. But for his sister, he would fight through the embarrassment. It would be worth it if she smiled from across the ocean.

Jon hummed and began sorting through small chunks of wood, tossing them in his hand, and sorting through. "Hey gosling? Is the letter thing with Pablo a one time deal? Or between hombres?"

"I'll ask her," Lelouch offered. Still, a carving made on his behalf was hardly something from Lelouch himself. Pride could hang itself. This was for Nunnally. "Can I still see Carl?"

"Got a shift in the med. You ain't that bad for a Brit. Maybe, I'll even like ya. Need anything, just ask Pablo to show you in. Ya won't find us here again."

Location Classified, New Pendragon

Charles's order had filled the palace's prisons to the brim. Nobles who dared to skit his laws sat in straightjackets, their eyes glowering at him. The thick glass prevented him from hearing any curses. His and Marianne's show in the ballroom had gone perfectly and his son, Schneizel, was currently going over the footage that the reporters had captured. It would drop within a few hours and paint the Emperor as just. In recent years, the commoners had become restless. Nationalism only kept rebellion abay for so long.

This move? This move let the commoners pin all the faults of Britannia on the corrupt nobles while endearing them to the Emperor. Too many nobles believed that their wills were absolute, and refused to listen to their constituents. No power was absolute, not the Emperor's, or even Charles's Geass.

Stopping before the cell of Margrave Lichenfeld, a thorn in his side for many years, he nodded at the guard who unlocked the door. Bismarck stepped in first and grabbed the soon to be former lord, by his hair. The door clicked shut behind them and Charles glanced around the room in disgust. He refused to kneel.

His Geass activated within his eyes and Bismarck dragged Lichenfeld's head up; their eyes met. In the time it took to blink, Charles's Geass caught hold of the man's mind. Rewriting memories was always a tricky business, especially when it involved the core personality of the subject. Lichenfeld was innocent of the crimes Charle's accused him of and too proud to plead guilty, but he was the kind of man everyone hated. Forcing him on the stand to confess before the people would make Charles a paragon of virtue.

It had been years since the Emblem of Blood and memories were such fickle things dulled by time. The masses would forget how Charles had earned his throne in an era of blood. The Empire no longer needed a symbol of unstoppable strength to hold it by it's tattering seams through sheer will. No, the Empire needed a kinder hand that convinced the populous that the Empire was the only force capable of providing the security they required... And maybe, it would quench the rising tensions in Area Two where his obstinate son resided, and refused to return home to safety.

Focusing his mind, Charles returned to bending Lichenfeld's mind to his own. He planted seeds of a crime that he didn't commit and contorted his pride to become one that took perverse pleasure in revealing his superiority. The pieces continued to shift and fall into place. At last, Charles stepped back and smiled.

Lichenfeld blinked as Charles released his Geass and then focused on Charles with a burning hatred. "You!"

It had been successful. The changes had been small enough that there was little chance of his true mind pushing back.

"Emperor Brandon vi Britannia was the true Emperor. You are a kin-slayer. A charlatan. The Empire will burn. Kill me! But know that I will die a loyal man!"

It seemed Charles's musings had influenced Lichenfeld's thoughts beyond what he intended. It didn't matter. The man would confess to his crimes and be dead by midday tomorrow. He turned around and waited for the guard to open the door once more. Another five nobles would require special attention and then, there would be no doubt in the commoner's minds that Charles had worked for their own good.

Later in the evening, sitting at his desk with weary eyes, Charles glanced at the various intelligence reports. Thomas was reporting on Ashford who continued to push boundaries, but Charles will let him be for now. Lord Ashford was a loyal Britannian despite his more soft hearted nature and would be necessary to sell Charle's appearance of goodwill. With numerous noble titles opening up, it would be wise to gauge Lord Ashford's opinion on the matter. While inexperienced in politics, Lord Ashford had a keen eye for talent.

A report, marked urgent, caught Charles's eyes. It was from his agent watching Lelouch. Glancing at the rest of the pile, he noticed the agent had sent a follow up report. Rubbing his brow, he exhaled wearily, and began to read what shennanigans his son had been up to. As he continued through the report, his brow began to rise. The attack on the 712th hadn't yet made its way to him and showed the Count's military might was beyond expected. Fortunately, for Marianne's sake, Lelouch had escaped with but a scratch on the forehead.

Still, the escalating situation made him wary. He had hoped that Marianne's bloody warpath would have put the so-called Count to a swift end. Instead, he had crawled back out of the gutter and scrounged up a knightmare. The Count, it seemed, had some noble backings which the Empire needed to resolve quickly. But for now, Charles would have to do his best to present Area Two at ease. The Count's survival reflected badly on Britannia's perceived military might.

Complicating matters even further, Charles had not been able to uncover the assassin that had pursued Lelouch. The deaths had fallen off, but Charles couldn't know whether they intended to try again... No, he knew that if Lelouch revealed himself that the assassin would have a clear target. It was imperative for Lelouch to remain hidden until he could protect himself. Charles had a few years of leeway until Lelouch turned fourteen, but then, Lelouch would have to be ready. Considering the loyalty that Lelouch seemed to inspire—even if the subtle signs of affection were rather worrisome coming from his own agent—he would be ready in time. The commoner friends of his would serve him well when the time came.

Still, they were commoners and unused to Court life. Lelouch himself, having been removed for years, would have trouble navigating the realm of nobles upon his return. Additionally, there was a small matter of Lelouch attracting trouble. It was a personality trait causing Charles to lose more hair than he wished to admit. If only Lelouch had more of Nunnally's charm who continued to befriend students with ease and kept under the radar.

Yes. Charles stacked the papers and pushed them aside, before leaning down and pulling out thick perfumed letter paper with gold ornaments on the edge. With the nobles thrown into chaos from Charles's actions, it was an optimal time to secure a few loyalties and ensure that a few nobles of more trustworthy reputation were sent to the 712th. The circus of officers which constituted the command there, would be no more. One or two to sort the entire mess out.

He would also have to find a noble youth, perhaps one who aspired to be a knight or had just joined as a cadet, to transfer there. They needed to be open-minded enough that Lelouch would not reject them outright. The difficulty was pushing them into a friendship. Perhaps his agent would be of further use? Charles scowled. No. That would be a risky affair. He needed to recondition his agent soon and an order to help foster a relationship between his son and a noble boy might make him resistant to future use of Charles's Geass.

Instead, he would monitor the situation and see if something could develop naturally. Marianne's resource, York, could be of some use, but OSI agents were notoriously sadistic and Charles was still unsure what he thought of the man in such close proximity to his son. York definitely intended to use Lelouch to his own advantage. Knowing that Charles wished Lelouch to earn the loyalty of a noble would give York unneeded ammunition. No. It was better to leave York to more useful things such as spinning any future court martials in Lelouch's favor or if need be, spiriting Lelouch away should his identity ever be compromised.

Charles leaned back and closed his eyes. Multiple court martials. Considering how willful his son was... it was a frighteningly real possibility. Even Marianne had accepted working within the confines of the system. Unfortunately, Lelouch had inherited his relentless drive to overcome all obstacles.

Worldbuilding Thoughts:

-Lelouch got rid of all the nobles by the power of mind control. Charles can manipulate people's thoughts. He is a bit more subtle when getting rid of people he doesn't like. Of course he could have gone with mysterious defenestrations and poisonings like other regimes.

-Readdressing education: Britannia commoners aren't necessarily uneducated. There are local schools that teach young children (historically, around 7-11) run by the church or community donations. They're just not what we would call a "public school," meaning run by the state. Our modern school system is pretty... well modern. You could potentially see education as a bunch of small "private schools" which happen to be free or charge very low fees. These schools lack the resources to teach advanced skills and because they're locally run, there's no accepted standard of education. If you're smart enough and lucky enough to be very well educated, you're better off becoming a private tutor than a teacher. Furthermore, a university education is inaccessible to the commoners because universities are only open to nobles. This system results in a shortage of people who know advanced math or science... which is bad.

Author's Note:

Thank you x1tears1X and Spaded Ace18 on FFN for your help with betaing.

I've swung between loathing this chapter and somewhat liking it repeatedly. Which character do you detest loathe right now? And why?

The next chapter is a little different...

See you next week. (Or via discord: discord (period) gg (slash)uSBegVj)