Chapter 31: Perdition to Conspirators
Warning: Following chapters contain torture and possible trigger for hypersensitivity
On the night of November 28th, the Count released footage captured from La Sarre and caused massive riots through Area Two. The populous, tired of critical shortages such as food and medical supplies, raided the empty houses of numerous nobles who had traveled South for the Winter. Guards were quickly overrun or sided with the mob. After the first day, desperate nobles called upon the assistance of the Britannian military which further escalated tensions.
Due to stringent Britannian censorship, historians remain unsure about specific events. Personal accounts suggest that soldiers deserted and defected en masse to aid the civilians. According to other accounts, such attempts were made but squashed due to the liberal use of decimation—killing every tenth soldier suspected or associated with treason. It is highly likely that both scenarios occurred within separate divisions although no concrete evidence corroborates that an entire division attempted to mutiny despite persistent rumors.
Riots only began to calm after liberal promises from Crown Prince Odysseus and finally with the arrival of the popular...
—'The December Riots of 2013,' in A Brief History of Britannian Social Movements
Hadano, Area 11
Suzaku followed Kudo through the newly constructed ghettos as snow dusted the ground. The suburban homes that once formed the region had been swept aside and replaced with Britannian constructions. Endless farm fields and pluming factories surrounded the ghettos, boxing them in.
Sparkling Britannian highrises dotted the horizon. And closer, but separated by the farm fields, stood the domineering villa of Margrave Shaft. The white limestone walls were quarried from the nearby ravished hills. Heavy marble, shipped from the newly reopened mines in Yamaguchi, built the facade.
The villa was pure Britannian and Suzaku glared at the ugly monstrosity and the ravished Mount Fuji looming behind it. Not content with crushing the Japanese, Britannia destroyed their cultural monuments and reformed the landscape to suit their needs.
An ebony basalt statue of the Emperor with a guard by its side glared down at Suzaku. Others respectfully lowered their gaze, but Suzaku stared up at the stony eyes. This… was Lelouch's father.
The statue had no resemblance.
The bag of books dug into his shoulders and Suzaku hurried past, unbowed. Helping his people and giving them the tools to survive was his duty as the son of the former Prime Minister. He needed to help his people. Everything was for the people.
What would his father say?
He had believed in the rule of law without a single inch of leeway. It was all or nothing. No remorse.
This world... Suzaku averted his eye as a pair of children ran by with protruding ribs and tattered clothes. Some ran barefoot through the snow. This world wasn't as rigid. If he did nothing, his people would suffer. The rule of law was worthless. Britannia only cared for its own.
Kudo pulled him into a narrow alleyway between two towering concrete buildings. A small ladder hung limply from a window and they began to climb.
The room was packed with children sitting on the ground and poring over scrap pieces of paper. A few weary eyes looked up to acknowledge them, but a harsh shout from the only adult forced their gazes down.
"You have the supplies?" the old man asked and waded through the sea of children, his cane striking the ground and sometimes hands.
Kudo gently lowered the bag. "We got some books. Not a lot of medicine this time."
The old man bowed. "Thank you."
And then they were on their way again. Britannian flags marked the location of resistance cells. Sometimes, they had to wait for a ladder to be lowered. Other times, a child would greet them in hurried Japanese and guide them further into the alley ways to some dimly lit room.
This was what Japan had been reduced to.
Suzaku stopped as they passed a courtyard where two Britannians stood guard as people filled pails of water. An old lady dropped a handful of coins and the guard kicked her.
"Patience," Kudo said as he grabbed his shoulder. "We're helping already."
Dropping his gaze to the ground, Suzaku didn't reply but followed silently. Kudo was right. There was nothing he could do. If he moved in to defend the woman, he would be arrested. And a new guard tomorrow would repeat the same actions. Their resistance had to be a subtle one.
His father would never have bowed his head. Let an elderly woman suffer while he walked past.
Storm clouds began to roll in and Suzaku pulled his patched jacket tighter. He was lucky to be well equipped courtesy of Tohdoh-Sensei and his incessant concern. But Suzaku loathed accepting food and clothes while others suffered. They didn't have access to the stream of supplies smuggled in from the E.U. or China or bartered for with stolen sakuradite. They didn't have the luxury of knowing a small fortune—courtesy of his wealthy family—waited for them in the vaults of Australia if they ever escaped Britannia. They had nothing but what they scavenged during the invasion and valueless Yen.
Suzaku's former job had provided him financial security and protection from overzealous Britannians. A Number in service to a respected business owner wasn't worth the trouble harassing, not with more lucrative targets abound. And Lord Ashford? He curbed the worst impulses of the police he employed.
Not like Tsukuba… Or here…
Where the guards were simply the local extortionist demanding tribute in return for not being robbed. They functioned like the Yakuza, but without any honor. The rules outside of Tokyo changed from day to day according to the guard's mercurial moods.
But then even Lord Ashford's little fiefdom wasn't perfect. His old boss had vanished into thin air. Her little stand was taken over by an angry man who beat a Number for any excuse he found.
Suzaku winced at the reminder of the man bearing down on him with a knife when he dared to ask what had happened to his former boss.
She hadn't liked Numbers, but wouldn't have let such abuse stand. Maybe, she would have become one of the rare Britannians indirectly helping the JLF. But she had vanished with only whispers of treason left.
Treason.
Never had Suzaku thought he would commit treason. He was the Prime Minister's son and expected to be morally righteous. He would have married Kaguya and maybe years down the line, be pushed to run for Prime Minister himself. Treason was unthinkable... just as it had been for Lelouch.
Yet Lelouch had lied to save his life.
"What are you thinking about?" Kudo asked as they passed through another checkpoint with forged IDs.
"Just an old friend," Suzaku whispered. "Wonder what he would think about this?"
"There's always a chance you'll be reunited. Or do you think he would have become an Honorary Britannian?"
Honorary Britannians... Suzaku wasn't sure what to think of them. It was a system that offered a route to full citizenship, but one had to join the military. To become an Honorary Britannian was to betray Japan and renounce its culture, but it also allowed people to feed themselves.
How many people starved on the street?
Suzaku should never have killed his father. They should have fought. Instead of dying under the might of the Britannian army, they were slowly being drained of life while providing maximum utility for Britannia.
The smell of rotting corpses still haunted him.
He had made the right choice. Otherwise, everything was worthless.
"He's alive," Suzaku finally replied. "He's a Britannian."
"Brits are no friends of ours," Kudo snarled. "They'll always look down on us."
His old boss had been kind, but then she disappeared. Lelouch... "He was a good friend."
The slap to his face stung and Kudo glowered at him. "Keep your eyes on the mission. All Brits are the enemy. Every single one. If your former friend stands across the battlefield from you, you will shoot before he kills you."
The guns in the bottom of the bag weighed heavily. While Chiba had taught him how to use a gun, Tohdoh hadn't been too eager to have him transport actual weapons. He only relented after Suzaku resigned himself to playing shogi in the evening with Chiba and he swore to only fire the gun in self-defense.
Then Tohdoh had dumped an excited Ko on him and taken a picture.
"You mongrels! Stop," a guard shouted in English as he ran forward.
They stopped dutifully and Suzaku watched as Kudo's hands strayed closer to the gun hidden beneath the bulky jacket.
"Why ain't you speaking English, you filthy Elevens!"
Suzaku stepped to the side as the guard attempted to push him.
The man smiled and called out to an older guard with a more lavish uniform. "Look at what I caught! This Eleven thinks he's hot shit. Too good for us."
Kudo kept his head bowed, but his hand reached inside the jacket.
"You think you are special, Eleven?" The older guard approached and stood by, his arms crossed.
Suzaku bowed, a proper Britannian one. "No, sir. I didn't intend any insult."
The younger guard laughed and pulled Suzaku's ear. "You mocking me? Talk all stiff and formal like you're someone special."
He had picked up Lelouch's accent. All Britannians sounded the same to Suzaku, but as the soldier from long ago said, he spoke with a noble accent.
"What? Nothing to say brat?"
"Try not to touch him, Ryan. You might catch something and then who'll clean my gear?" said the older guard.
The guard let go, wiping his hands. "Right. But we've got to teach the Eleven his lesson. Speaking your filthy language, mocking me. I can't let that go."
"Please, my nephew is just a boy," Kudo finally interfered.
"Empty the bag." The older guard took a step forward, his hand resting on his sidearm.
Suzaku glanced at Kudo. Their bag was filled with illicit goods.
"Waiting here, Eleven. Or are you stupid?"
Suzaku set the bag down on the ground and waited for Kudo to make his move. Unclenching his jaw, he said, "My apologies."
The younger guard's baton whirled out and struck the side of his leg. Suzaku grit his teeth as he sank to the ground and tears welled in his eyes. He could have dodged. Could have moved in and broke the man's arm. But then what?
"Stop mocking me!"
"Well maybe your English just makes the Emperor cry," Suzaku snapped back.
Kudo groaned.
The older guard snickered. "The Number got you there, Ryan. How does an Eleven speak like a noble? And bow like one too?"
Shit. Lelouch had only taught him three bows. One for nobles. One for royals. And the last if he ever met the Emperor. But he had used the first one?
"You are under arrest," the older guard finished.
Suzaku ducked beneath the first puch, weaved around the next offending hand, and fell as a stun gun struck his side. He wheezed as the pain faded, but the older guard was efficient. Cold handcuffs settled around his wrists.
Kudo glanced between him and the approaching guards. He dove for the bag and ran, leaving Suzaku to his fate.
"We'll catch your uncle soon enough, don't worry. There's been rumors of Elevens organizing. You wouldn't know anything about it?" the older man asked as he deposited Suzaku on the ground.
Suzaku glared back, silent.
"Let's start with something easy. What's your name?"
He had promised to live, so he remained silent. The Prime Minister's son was still a valuable playing piece. Britannia would kill him.
The younger guard scoffed. "He's obviously stupid."
"No," the older guard said. "Just has something worth hiding. I'll make you a deal. We'll let your coward of an uncle run off, and you tell me who taught you how to bow."
Suzaku swallowed. His conspirator couldn't get caught with the goods. People needed them. "Before the war, a Britannian friend of mine taught me."
"Friend?" The younger guard laughed. "No proper Britannian would be friends with Numbers. Either a traitor or playing you as a fool."
"Says the man who can't speak proper English. I bet you can't tell the difference between the spine and edge of a blade, as well."
"Why you—"
The older guard raised his hand. "A name if you will please."
To buy Kudo more time to escape, Suzaku was about to blow his cover. Although, they probably wouldn't believe him. "Lelouch."
"That's French," the younger guard said, crossing his arms. "Even I know that."
The older guard paused in thought as his gaze dissected him. "You do not understand the significance of the bow you used, do you?"
"Are you complaining that I bowed even though you aren't a noble?" Suzaku asked, incredulous.
"Ah, apologies. I have failed to introduce myself. Earl of Kansas, eldest son of Margrave Shaft." The lord bowed mockingly.
Suzaku lowered his eyes respectfully, cursing himself. Margrave Shaft owned Hadano and he had attracted his son's attention.
"Your friend wouldn't be Lelouch vi Britannia?"
The young guard stared at the lord incredulously and Suzaku flinched.
"Most curious," the lord murmured. "He must hold you in high regard. A Number. Of course Lady Sumeragi— You know her as well? You were a noble before your country's conquest."
"Japan was a democracy," Suzaku countered. "We didn't have nobility."
"Functional nobility. A handful of families controlled all of Japan. You only paid lip service to the people. Now the question is which family did you belong to?"
Suzaku glowered. His father had defended democracy. They were not like Britannia. Everyone's voice had mattered.
"Take him. The prince will thank us for finding his self-declared friend."
And if Lelouch didn't, they would grill Suzaku for his friend's weakness or use him as leverage. Politics. But if Empress Marianne heard... then he was most certainly dead. His cousin may have somehow carved a role for herself, but Lelouch's mother hated him with a passion.
"I won't help you," Suzaku declared. "I won't hurt him."
The lord smirked. "No need. The rumor that the son of Marianne the Flash is friends with a terrorist will work just as well. And we'll apprehend your so-called uncle soon."
The guards hadn't stopped searching.
"You bastard! You lied."
"Are you that naive?" The lord turned around as a car rolled up to them.
Suzaku sprung to his feet and swept out his leg. Without his hands, he wobbled slightly, but his kick landed true and dug into the lord's side. Spinning around, he drove his shoulder into the guard's chin.
A gunshot echoed through the plaza and people began to scream.
Behind him, the lord toppled.
Kudo ran up to him and pulled Suzaku out of the way. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? Let's go. Tohdoh will kill me if I let anything happen to you. Run!"
Suzaku obeyed.
Sirens echoed through the air as they hid in a small room and Kudo repeatedly cursed as he tried to pick the handcuffs. Finally, the cold metal fell free. "Why the hell was he interested in you, anyway? Come on, we need to move."
Saying he admitted to being friends with a Britannian prince was stupid. "He must have recognized me."
"As what?"
"The Prime Minister's son," Suzaku whispered.
Kudo froze. "Damn. No wonder Tohdoh said your safety was my highest priority. You do know what the Brits will do to you if they find you?"
"Kill me, I know."
"No. They'll prance you around like a freaking show pony. You're a damn symbol. The people look up to you and the Brits will use you to defang the entire resistance. They'll say look at the Prime Minister's son who is broken at our feet. And every time someone rebels... they'll parade you out in the streets as a victory trophy. Prime Minister Kururugi's body is lost for a reason."
That was why Lelouch's mother had asked for the knights to recover him alive. He had forgotten.
"I... understand," Suzaku whispered.
"Then don't mouth off to the Brits," Kudo replied. "Come on, let's go."
A Cell
Lelouch woke, gasping for air as freezing water burned his skin. Harsh fabric clung to his face and he reflexively tried to remove the offending cloth, only for his bound wrists to burn. Thick, coarse rope tied his legs and hands, leaving no room to move.
What had happened? Where was he?
The last chains of tiredness burned away as he slammed his elbows and bare heels into the cold, stone floor. He stared into the darkness and the small pinpricks of light seeping through the hood. Taking a deep breath, he pushed down the instinctive urge to struggle.
A kick to the ribs.
Lelouch scooted backwards, his back pressing into metal bars.
"You're being unusually harsh," a stranger said, her voice eerily familiar.
The hood was ripped off and Arthur leered down at him. "This one kept trying to escape. Who keeps an escape kit in their boots? Not to mention that I practically had to overdose him to finally knock him out... And he broke my tail light!"
Lelouch didn't reply as memories of being confined to a dark trunk and his friends lying on the floor of the bar, returned. Were they alright? Alex... he had been there. Lelouch had to believe they were fine. Just like Suzaku.
But Edgar wasn't. He was dead, wasn't he?
The red haired woman leaned uncomfortably close. "The soldier from the church. We meet again. All of this trouble could have been avoided if you had agreed to join me instead."
Lelouch glowered. The Count was indeed a woman. No wonder the OSI had floundered to discover her identity.
"The church?" Arthur asked. "He's the one on the radio."
What radio?
The Count pursed her lips and the faint amusement vanished, replaced with a simmering fury. "A noble stole my victory in Ottawa, Art. Not some snot nosed brat who had the intelligence to find me at the bell tower."
Arthur—or was it Art?—shrugged. "I checked every noble officer and even the local lord. None of the voices were a match and our moles couldn't find any record of the event. Closest match was Fortescue, but he didn't have the capacity to win. That's why it took so long. He's a commoner."
She towered over her subordinate. "And when did you, Art, begin to suspect my foe wasn't a noble? Or did you wish to spare a commoner the pain they deserved?"
"Almost a year ago and you're right, but"—Art glared at Lelouch—"they're all guilty."
"Yes, Oliver was innocent," she murmured. "I trust you have learned your lesson, Art."
He bowed his head. "Of course. What do you wish to do with him?"
The Count's dress spread around her feet as she crouched down. "You've denied me my victory, not only once, but twice. Most people don't live for round two."
Behind the Count, the buzzing electrical light illuminated other empty barred cages in the refurbished wine cellar. Either the Count didn't keep many prisoners or the cells weren't used for long.
"Not talking are we? I did offer to let you join me and I keep my word." She tilted her head. "So what will it be?"
Lelouch, his mouth and throat painfully dry, rasped, "Would you even trust me?"
Looking inordinately pleased at his reply, she said, "Fear and hate are wonderful motivators although I rarely am inclined to devote my attention to one person. But you've proven yourself useful, haven't you? Britannia gives you nothing, yet you somehow manage to be a thorn in my side."
Maybe Lelouch should be begging for his life. He needed to buy the time to escape and he was useless as dead.
With an eerie smile, she pulled out a camera and the white bulb flashed in his eyes. "Britannia must be punished for its crime and you are just as guilty for serving in the army. You fire on innocents, destroy their homes, and steal their livelihoods. How should I punish you?"
Art crossed his arms behind her and his glare never wavered.
Lelouch knew what was coming. The illusion of choice as York liked to say. The torture became the prisoner's fault. He had been forced to stand by numerous times as York broke through their walls with glee. Never had he thought he would be in their position.
But the gleam in the Count's eyes was just like York's. They were cut from the same cloth, but this time there wasn't a veil of civility that curbed her actions and the truth of his heritage would not save him.
He didn't want to answer. Either he would choose a punishment too light and she would use it as an excuse to punish him further, or he would choose a punishment that satisfied her which would undoubtedly be too harsh. Could he really make that decision? Knowingly condemn himself? And what would she do if he failed to play the game to her satisfaction?
Her fingers drummed along her knee.
He had to buy himself time. Something harsh enough, but survivable. But why did his throat constrict at the thought? He needed to breathe. He could survive this if he played his cards carefully.
Flogging risked infection; stress positions—in the hands of the over eager—kidney failure; electricity, heart failure.
Lelouch closed his eyes and played the game. "No food."
Opening his eyes, he stared back at her waiting impatiently. It wasn't enough.
"No sound…" Still, no reaction. When would it be enough? Or was he doomed to fail? "No light."
"Well, that's rather boring," she complained, but straightened. "Still. It's what you chose. Art, put the hood back on."
He hated himself for the rush of relief. And then the flash of panic as he realized what he had subjected himself to as Art stomped up to him with the hood in hand.
Their footsteps faded and the electrical light turned off, trapping him in a tomb of darkness. At least he was still alive.
His eyes fell close as the remnants of the sedative pulled him into a dreamless slumber.
He woke to silence and he tugged fruitlessly on the rope binding his wrists. The pangs of hunger gnawed in his stomach. Lelouch pushed himself upright, leaning against the freezing wall. How much time has passed since his disappearance? Did his mother know already?
While she might be able to rescue him, Lelouch hoped not. His friends would be caught in her fury. If he wanted to save their lives, then he had to stage his rescue himself
If only he could see.
The rope around his bare ankles cut into his skin but he pushed himself into a seated position. A refurbished wine cellar was not the equivalent of a Britannian cell with smooth edges. And the rope around his wrist could be sawed loose.
In trying to escape from the trunk, he had lost his boots and coat which would have made the current endeavor easier. Instead he had wasted them and been greeted with civilians who scowled at his uniform and happily turned him over to a Crow. The single cold dog tag burned against his chest.
Far away, water dripped.
Gentle and steady.
He clung to the sound within the tomb.
He was so thirsty.
How long had it been?
His heart beat rose. Blood pounding through his ears.
Steady breaths. Deep— He couldn't breathe. Get enough air.
Cellars had little ventilation… Would he die here with each breath poisoning his body?
No. Steady breaths. Inhale. Hold. And exhale.
The water continued to drip and he began to count, his heart and breathing calming.
At 1,435 drips, Lelouch lost track. His eyes pressed together tightly and he watched phantom lights dance across the darkness. They twirled. Green, red, and blue. Occasionally, purple eyes stared at him accusingly and asked why he hadn't come back.
2,456 drips.
1,915 heart beats.
6,892 drips.
He lost track again. His skin shivered and he wrinkled his nose at the putrid stench of ammonia.
1,345 drips.
Everything was black. He needed to see. How could his sister live like this?
Pushing his head against the wall, he tried to wiggle out of the hood. This needed to end.
Why was it so hard to breathe?
His head felt light and his stomach sloshed as he shifted.
Why had he chosen this? Something physical would have been over faster.
He needed to escape.
Waking and dreaming blended together, neither offering escape from the gnawing hunger. Sometimes he woke, only to wake up once more, realizing that the former had been a dream. Or perhaps sleep had simply claimed him again.
Water dripped, marking the relentless passage of time.
In the hours awake, he futilely rubbed his bound hands against the rough rock. Maybe the Count would forget him and friction would overcome the bonds that held him captive.
Sleep was dangerous. Every person he slayed haunted his dreams. The assassin with blood dripping onto his hands, the Japanese teenager falling backwards as Lelouch's bullet flew true, the old man on a snowmobile tumbling to the ground and the blood staining the snow… and Edgar bleeding out with Lelouch unable to save him because of his damn pride.
There were civilians as well. Nameless and faceless. But Lelouch knew each had a family and he had ordered his men to fire into the crowd. Their deaths were on his hands as well.
He had failed, utterly.
Footsteps echoed through the cavernous room and Lelouch straightened eagerly and shoved his guilt aside. He shouldn't be eager to see his captor. A light switch clicked. Light filtered through the material.
The hood was removed.
Lelouch gasped for breath, the air burning his painfully dry throat, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Arthur, no Art, didn't say a word as he cut loose the ropes around his wrist and leg. Lelouch lifted his arms with their dead weights and shook them to help the blood flow.
"Up." Art's voice thundered through the deadly silent cellar. "The Count wishes to talk to you."
Lelouch rose. Took a step forward. His legs collapsed. Again, he rose.
Feet spread apart and knees locked, Lelouch hobbled forward and caught himself once more as his right leg refused to take his weight.
Again, he planted his left foot on the ground and pushed. Every joint ground into each other and popped as he straightened. He could feel the bones grinding and his muscles trembling. He rose. Straightening, Lelouch stood still and glanced at Art.
Art shook his head and grabbed him by his arm. "I'm just doing this because I don't want to drag you out."
Slowly and awkwardly, they entered the neighboring room and the hidden door silently closed behind him. Art turned left and Lelouch took in the rows of wine. He had been right. The Count was a noble.
Art caught his breath at the top of the cellar stairs.
"What does the Count want?" Lelouch dared to ask.
"Don't know, don't care," Art grumbled.
Another set of stairs stretched up to freedom and Lelouch committed their location to memory. Lelouch's legs trembled and shook with every step as they ascended. Sometimes, he stumbled, but Art's firm grip kept him upright.
The beautiful but deafening sound of rain greeted his ears. It was distant, far away. Lelouch was not close to the walls of his prison. Decadent paintings and marble statues peeked from beneath haphazardly thrown cloths.
Art pushed him into a bathroom and passed him a white bundle. "You stink."
The tiled room was painfully clean and Lelouch, covered in grime and dried blood, defiled its presence. Spitefully, he ran his fingers along the wall and enjoyed watching the dirt mar the sterile white tiles.
Three minutes later, he stared at the mirror feeling more refreshed than he could ever remember. His knees still wobbled and his thumb continued to tingle, but he was ready to make an escape.
He brushed off some gravel from his shirt and for the first time noticed his blackening bruises and scabs. He couldn't remember the cause... The time in the trunk had blurred by.
He had tried to escape, right?
That was why there was gravel.
Turning on the faucet, he quenched his thirst and the water settled uneasily in his empty stomach.
A knock on the door. Lelouch turned to face his captor.
"You didn't put on the clothes," Art said.
Lelouch straightened. "I don't need them."
"You still stink." Art stepped inside.
His friends were relying on him.
Lelouch shot forward, slamming his palm into Art's nose. Suzaku would have been proud. Not wasting a second, Lelouch ran out of the room. He didn't know how much time had passed. If he didn't return before his parents learned what happened, his friends would die. Every second was precious.
The maze-like corridors blended together, but Lelouch committed every one to memory, even as his captor gained. Up ahead, he heard the rain finally grow louder. Right, left, forward, past the staircase, right, right, past the oil-painting of a violin. And as Art finally caught his gasping body, Lelouch repeated the path to himself.
Next time, he would be faster.
Art pushed him against the floral embossed Lincursta wall. "Why do you insist on making it harder for yourself?"
"I'm not keen on dying," Lelouch hissed, but stilled. There was no opportunity for escape right now.
"I'll make you a deal. You don't do anything stupid from now until you return to your cell and I won't put the hood back on."
He was returning to the cell, which implied that the Count did not intend to kill him yet. Of course, it could all be a lie. Art stepped back and Lelouch stared at his eyes, before nodding. If he saw an opportunity to escape, he would take it.
Without the hood, perhaps Lelouch could discover a way to escape.
Art smiled and pushed him up a servant corridor and into the Count's large room.
While sparsely decorated, every item was obviously chosen with great care and worked well together. The work of a professional. Sitting at a small table in the center, the Count sipped tea and watched him with cold, calculating eyes. The blinding light drew attention to her immaculate clothes. She set down the tea cup and glided across the room.
Circling him, the Count said, "I've been looking into you, Lelouch Lamperouge. There's hardly any information to be found. You lived on the Ashford Estate. Had part time employment with both Lord Ashford and the local newspaper."
She paused. "The house you rented was in your name, not your parents. While records of your parents are almost nonexistent, you have a younger sister attending Ashford Academy and you're paying the rest of her tuition."
His heart pounding in his ears, Lelouch did not respond.
"Your military record is just as splotchy with gaping holes although that seems to be rather common in your division." She stared into his eyes. "You even lied about your eye color. Like you don't want to be found."
Lelouch's mouth dried. Where was she getting her information?
"Tell me, do you think you've repented for your crimes?"
Crimes. Was she referring to the crimes of Britannia that she ascribed to him or his own? Nunnally was blind because he reacted too slowly to save her from the cabinet. He had watched the slaughter of the Japanese but done nothing and joined the very army responsible for their destruction. He had followed orders which led to his men being killed and disobeyed orders only for more to die.
He should have protested York's abuse because no matter how many times he tried to rationalize it... the prisoners didn't deserve to be tortured. And to make matters worse, hadn't Lelouch used those tactics in an attempt to gain the information he wanted?
But worst of all, Edgar was dead because of him.
"I'm sorry for the pain I caused," Lelouch whispered.
And he was. There were so many actions he could have taken but had been too blind to see. His hatred for his parents led to him dismissing anything that reminded him of them. In doing so, he failed in his duty. If only Lelouch had used the code and then maybe Edgar would be alive. Or if he had used it earlier, how many more lives could he have saved?
"Prove it by taking up arms against Britannia. They had caused countless suffering and you helped them."
"No," Lelouch spat. "Your actions sowed discord through Area Two. You kill indiscriminately and bring untold suffering. How many families have you broken? How many people have starved because you raided supply lines that feed the people? How many people going peacefully about their day died in one of your attacks."
She coolly countered, "And how many citizens have you shot? How many businesses and homes have you destroyed? How many people have you kidnapped and tortured for knowledge that they do not have? I have plenty of evidence."
Lelouch laughed. "You claim to be the lesser evil, but you do not have the ability to succeed. The Emperor would rather burn the entire Area than let you win. You have no chance at victory and yet people suffer for your pointless show of egotism."
"My ego?" She laughed. "No. Britannia made me. My mother sold herself to the local lord so my brother wouldn't die at the age of three. Two years later, she disappeared and my father, sick and tired of the burden of raising an invalid, left. The lord who claimed to have loved my mother, couldn't even be bothered to lift a finger to help me. Our neighbors considered us useless and would have let us starve to death. That is Britannia."
Lelouch scoffed "And what? You suffered so everyone is guilty?"
She only wanted revenge. A blind hatred with no focus or plan was worthless.
"You haven't repented. What a pity. Art, restrain him." The Count turned away and grabbed the kettle as Art complied with her orders. "Perhaps I made a mistake letting you choose the punishment last time, but I see that additional correction will be necessary."
She walked forward and Lelouch struggled as the steaming kettle neared.
"Right hand or left?"
He didn't choose quickly enough and she yanked forward his right hand. The kettle began to tilt. The water poured.
Lelouch flinched.
The scalding water steamed as it struck the carpet, narrowly avoiding the hang tightly clenched in her grasp.
The hot kettle slammed into his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. The Count turned around as if nothing happened and poured herself a new cup of tea. Setting the teacup aside, she picked up the plate of scones and a knife.
"It wouldn't be fun if you were easy to convince, but as I said, fear is a powerful motivator. Perhaps not fear of pain. You brace yourself and are willing to accept it to stay strong to your ideals. Fear is what keeps citizens in line. Fear of losing their job, fear for their family, fear for their life. It's an effective tactic, but I reveal the cause of those fears and they learn to hate. Fight is always stronger than flight. What do you hate?"
Many things, but Lelouch wasn't idiotic enough to say them out loud. "You."
She sighed and passed the plate of scones to Art. The appetizing aroma wafted past him and the Count disappeared from view. Lelouch strained his ears as he tensed for the strike that would undoubtedly come. York would do the same and prevent Lelouch from reading his mercurial moods.
A slender arm snaked around his neck and the Count breathed into his ear as she toyed with the knife in her other hand. The light reflected off it and Lelouch watched the sharp edge with trepidation as she slid it over his arms, tearing through his issued uniform and leaving a thin red angry mark. The knife glistened and rose into the air.
It pushed against his throat.
"If you insist on being obstinate, then you are of no use to me."
The knife dug into his skin and Lelouch could feel it pushing into his airway, obstructing the flow of oxygen. He took a shaky breath and his skin stung.
"Bleeding already? I guess slitting your throat would make a mess on the carpet. Art, be a dear and remove the rug."
Art stepped back into view and ignored Lelouch's pleading eyes as he began to roll up the floral carpet.
She was going to kill him and Lelouch couldn't allow that.
"Please," Lelouch rasped and the knife dug deeper.
"What do you hate?"
He had to answer, so he lied, "The French. They killed my grandparents during the War and the E.U. is a bunch of hypocritical bastards."
She laughed. "So that's why you joined the army. Revenge."
"It's not patriotic," Lelouch protested.
The answer pleased her and she stepped away. "Give him a scone and some tea, Art. We have manners after all. And then take him back to his cell."
The walk back was silent and the scone melted on his tongue, easing the gnawing of his stomach. They returned to the cell and Lelouch let himself be bound up.
He had thought the Count would have been more eager to sway him to her side. York would never have killed a prisoner. He found the threat of death boring. The Count was practical and her eyes gleamed with a hunger and, unlike York's, it wasn't one of control and the desire to discover the essence of a person.
No.
Her worldview was already fixed and immutable. She wanted to win and it was still a victory if his corpse cooled at her feet.
And Lelouch had denied her the proper win twice.
Revenge, right. This was her revenge.
Art finished tying the rope around his hands and legs. The hood lay on the ground between them.
"You lied. You said your mother loved French film and named you after a French director. She wouldn't have done that if they killed your grandparents." Wonderingly, Art added, "And she believed you."
Lelouch had forgotten that the story shared among friends who would never harm him, now rested in the hands of his captor. "The idea that I would lie to her while she held my life is incomprehensible to her. Revenge is something she understands."
Art picked up the hood and Lelouch watched his hand. He tossed it aside.
"Why did you join the army then?" Art finally asked.
"Why did you join the Crows?"
He blinked and leaned against the bars. "I don't know. I grew up with her and it was always us and Oliver. Mother tried to protect her when her parents vanished. She was the only one who understood although the town didn't like her much either. And when Mother died, Br—the Count and Oliver welcomed me. The Crows felt like the next step."
Oliver who was now dead.
Art sighed. "The Count… I know she can get angry, but we only want to change Britannia. So there can be proper justice. So people can get the help everyone deserves…. At least hear her out?"
"I'm terrible at being a proper Britannia, but I won't betray everyone." Lelouch replied. The silence weighed on him and he wanted Art to stay a little longer before being trapped in the tomb once again. "I thought joining the army was the only way to be free of my parents. I guess I was young and stupid… I could have found another way."
And the Lelouch wouldn't have been here. But he wouldn't have made real friends either.
Art's eyes narrowed. "At fourteen you could've left and got yourself any job," he trailed off and his face paled. "You're not fifteen."
Now, his captor had a conscience? Lelouch laughed. "I'm hardly the only one. Nobody can touch you in the army, for better or worse. It's an escape from one prison to another, but at least one of your choosing."
Art turned around and closed the door to his cell. The buzzing electrical light stayed on.
Ashford Academy, Area 11
Nunnally held out her hand as cold rain drizzled from the sky. It splashed against her skin and slowly wound down her wrist. The wind rustled through the leaves and Nunnally breathed in the first scents of the winter storm. The usual distant clammer of construction had ceased. It was peaceful.
Well... except for Allie and Shirley chattering like best friends.
"Nunnally," Shirley cried, "Come on. You're going to catch a cold. Close the window, it's freezing in here."
Allie snickered. "Maybe you should wear some layers."
"My jacket doesn't fit in my locker! You've seen me try and cram it in there plenty of times."
"Why do you even need something fluffy? It's way too warm for anything useful."
Shirley laughed awkwardly. "Area Two is a lot colder you know."
Closing the window, Nunnally traced her brother's embroidery. She was being selfish, missing his presence already. He had duties to attend to and Nunnally couldn't begrudge him. Duty came first although she knew he wanted to spend time with her. Perhaps that was the cost of growing up and the expanding lists of freedoms.
"Lulu is rather cute," Shirley suddenly commented. "And he knows how to cook."
"Ew, you're talking about my brother!" Nunnally shouted and bumped into Shirley.
"Maybe he can run a mile now," Allie teased.
"Of course he can, he's in the military," Shirley immediately defended. "And he's such a gentleman too."
Nunnally buried her head in her hands. "Please stop."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to jump him. But I can see why all the other girls were talking about the mysterious student council president. Milly even got a request to open a fan club." Shirley's pen rolled to a stop.
"Please tell me she turned that down," Nunnally begged, horrified.
"No... It's Milly. She thinks it's hilarious and demanded to see the pictures they took." Shirley humphed. "Of course, it's rather stupid. They never even met."
Allie skeptically asked, "What do they find so interesting about him anyway? He was just here for three days. It's not like he could have done something interesting."
"Well... he turned down Sally's invitation to go on a date and she hasn't shut up about how heartbroken she is and describing his handsome looks in vivid detail. If you listen to Liz, he was a dashing hero when he helped her pick up his books. And Belle swears he was brooding in the library and walking in strange patterns. She's telling everyone he must be a vampire... or a werewolf, fighting off the forces of evil."
Nunnally groaned. "He was just checking the security because he was bored! I had to follow him and listen to him pace and mutter because he was testing the security cameras and mics."
Allie coughed. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say this school is bugged. I like having the illusion of privacy."
"Why wouldn't the school be bugged?" Nunally asked.
"Wait, the school is bugged?" Shirley asked. "But why?"
"Security?" Nunnally shook her head. "It's Lord Ashford's property and only an idiot wouldn't make sure nothing illegal is happening."
"But you can't just bug a place and tell no one about it," Shirley protested.
Allie set down her books. "Well, he's a noble. The rules don't apply to them."
"I thought it was obvious." Crossing her arms, Nunnally leaned back. "Like Lelouch bugged the house we were renting."
"Why would you bug your own house?" Allie asked, horrified.
Because if you didn't, your enemies would do it for you. Bugging your own house first meant you had a chance of catching them in the act. And then, of course: "Obviously, so if someone threatens you or kidnaps you, your allies can look through your records to find the perpetrator. Or you can hand over the records to prove your innocence although I guess lots of people would alter them."
Her two friends spluttered incoherently.
"There's nothing obvious about that," Allie cried. "Who plans on getting kidnapped?"
Nunnally tapped her chin. "Come to think of it, Lelouch and I used to play games where we had to break out of boxes. It was a lot of fun. And our mother would play with us hide and seek and teach us how to be super quiet. If we got outside, then we won."
"Um, Nunnally?" Allie asked hesitantly, "How did you play hide and seek?"
Nunnally shrugged. "Mother would shout, 'hide and seek!' And then we had to run and hide and sneak out of the house. It was super unfair when she started the game from the next room over. But we got cookies for every fifteen minutes."
Shirley coughed and the table rattled. "Fifteen minutes! How long did you play?"
"The entire day... We once hid successfully for three hours. We got cake that time. Why? How do you play?"
A long poignant silence followed and Nunnally fidgeted in her seat. She had heard the younger kids play the game and Suzaku had recognized the game although he had a different name for it. Surely, it wasn't that unusual?
"Normally, someone counts," Allie finally replied, "and then everyone hides. When they're done counting, they find everyone. If it takes longer than fifteen minutes, people usually start a new game."
"So they just stand there... and count?" Nunnally clarified, absolutely confused. Of course it was easy to hide if the person wasn't doing anything.
"Yes. Down from thirty or something." Allie sighed. "Sometimes, you and Lelouch are too weird."
Nunnally frowned. "I don't get it. That's super easy."
Allie groaned. "Normal families don't make games to train you in kidnapping. Games are supposed to be fun. That's it."
Oops? Nunnally shrugged. "Well, it was fun. How did your families teach you to defend yourself?"
A thud and the table shook.
"Allie, Shirley?"
Shirley laughed nervously. "Nunnally, nobody is going to hurt a kid. What's the point?"
To put pressure on the family and force them to obey their whims... Oh. Nunnally groaned. Most families wouldn't have enemies seeking that kind of leverage. She felt like an idiot.
The door banged open and someone panted in the doorway.
Milly frantically said, "Nunnally, there's someone on the phone for you. It's about Lelouch."
Had something happened? "Someone" implied Milly didn't know who they were instead of her mother or father. Nunnally swallowed and staggered to her feet and allowed Milly to grab her hand.
Her heart pounded as she entered the Upper Student Council Room with the only phone. She could hear the phone crackling and she picked up the receiver.
"Shit, Roy, I need more coins."
"Hello?" Nunnally asked.
"You're Lelouch's sister?"
"Yes. What happened to my brother?" Nunnally shouted and she could imagine the worst. He was fighting in a war and of course there was the risk of death. She couldn't afford to lose him. He was her brother.
Footsteps collected in the doorway and Nunnally knew her friends were standing there, silently waiting.
"We're going to find him," the boy replied.
Nunnally almost dropped the phone out of shock. Dead?
No… They said "find." Her brother couldn't be dead.
"Lelouch told me to call you if something ever happened and I thought you deserved to know. But we're going to find him."
"What happened?" Nunnally ordered because finding him meant his body was missing.
"I told Henry I was coming to the bar, but was running late. I only got there at the end and—"
A deeper male voice interrupted, "You're wasting time, Alex. Lelouch has been kidnapped."
He was alive.
But kidnapped? That was—
Had someone discovered the truth? Nunnally's hands clenched. He could be anywhere, suffering because of who their family was. It wasn't fair and no amount of childhood games could prepare her for the crushing reality. He was alive, for now, but somehow it felt worse than death.
"Tell me everything," she ordered.
Alex sighed and she could hear shouts in the background. "An agent of the Count drugged them and then took Lelouch. I'm sorry. He ordered me to save the others."
"You shouldn't have listened," she hissed and sank to the ground. Of course, Lelouch would ignore his safety to save others.
Alex remained silent as shouts echoed in the background.
"What's happening there?"
"Well..." Alex fell silent and glass shattered in the background.
The older voice sighed. "The locals are rioting because of the Count. Command is claiming Lelouch deserted and there's a standing order to capture him and execute him if he resists. Half the division thinks he did desert and got arrested for trying to desert as well, while the other half is refusing to pick up their weapons. And Henry, of all people, deserted last night."
"Oh..."
"Lelouch is strong. We'll find him and clear up this mess."
Nunnally chuckled weakly and stifled a sob. Of course her brother was strong. He had lied to her mother's face to protect Suzaku, but if her father believed he deserted... She doubted he would listen. They had to find her brother and fast.
"What exactly did my brother last say to you?"
"'The Count wants me. They sent...' and then he got cut off," Alex replied. "He wasn't using any signals and Roy and Frederick don't remember anything useful. We're trying to figure out the sedative, but without knowing who the Count is..."
They... Lelouch has said. They. Her brother would have chosen his words carefully. Did it refer to the Crows? What was he trying to say? Or: "Does Lelouch use 'they' to refer to the Count, normally?"
"No... Wait, he used it earlier that day. I'm sorry, but I've got to go!"
Distantly, "Alex, wait!"
Only the muffled sounds of chaos remained and Nunnally slowly hung up. She whispered, "Lelouch is missing."
Missing... not kidnapped. It implied that he might just wander back as if he had gotten lost on a stroll. Missing, not kidnapped, where he was in danger and at the mercy of others. Lelouch was missing.
Warm arms wrapped around her and Allie said, "I'm so sorry. He's going to be fine, just you wait and see."
Milly, knowing the truth, asked, "Do your parents know?"
If they had, then Nunnally wouldn't have heard it from Lelouch's friends in the army. She shook her hands.
Milly's voice trembled. "You have to tell them... or I'll tell grandfather."
Hugging her tighter, Allie snorted. "Nunnally doesn't have to do anything. Besides, her parents hardly care. Her mother only visited once."
Her parents cared but in all the wrong ways. They would be furious and Nunnally shivered at the thought of what they would do. Weakness was forbidden. Would they blame Lelouch for his kidnapping? Or would they instead hold all his friends accountable like her mother blamed Suzaku? And maybe... they deserved to suffer for losing her brother.
That was an irrational thought. Lelouch wanted to protect them and sacrificed his safety for theirs. Nunnally had to forgive them... only if they brought her brother back.
"Nunnally." Milly's hand settled on her shoulder. "I—I can't hide this."
No, Milly couldn't. If her father learned Milly knew... and said nothing, he could charge her with treason.
"Fine," Nunnally said and pulled back from her friends. "But I want to talk to them..."
"Grandfather has your mother's current number. Come on."
Nunnally let herself be led away.
Worldbuilding Thoughts:
-Mount Fuji is more basaltic than most of Japan's volcanoes which have more andesite. Basalt is actually slightly softer than andesite meaning, as a non-miner, it's probably easier to mine.
-I highly doubt that sakuradite is only within Mount Fuji. It can probably be found elsewhere in Japan and judging from tectonics, the entire area around the Sea of Japan. The Sea of Japan has some really unique tectonic activity with numerous micro plates. There are oceanic plates which were completely subducted and most of Japan, geologically speaking, is really young. Which makes me wonder… How much sakuradite does the Chinese Federation have on their coast?
-Noble and royals are all paranoid enough to bug their house. And some wealthy commoners as well. The more money you have, the better your security is.
Author's Note:
How is the tone working for everyone?
I completely drained my emotional battery with this and the next few chapters. Some iteration of this plotline happened in all my brainstorming sessions because reasons. I joke about torturing my characters all the time, but I don't actually enjoy doing it. So… I hope that it isn't too dark. But not too light either because this is supposed to suck for Lelouch.
And what's everyone's opinion about Art?
Note: Ch. 1 has been edited. Nothing plot relevant changed.