Chapter 34: Clipped Wings
Dear Frederick,
I hope this letter will never reach your hands and that in a few years, I may burn it and watch the ashes drift into the wind. But if you are reading this, then I have died and I'm truly so sorry. I loved you. You have no idea how my heart beat faster every moment you are near. How I yearn for your presence when you are away. Or how many times I've rewritten this letter looking for the right words. In an ideal world, I could envision a future of ours together as we finally retired from military life. I would be a doctor in a small village that didn't care from where I learned my skills. You would probably be a craftsman and every night I would sit by your side as you whittled away.
Unfortunately, if you're reading this, then my dream will always remain a dream. Even if I'm no longer there, I must ask one more selfish thing of you: move on. Find someone new to love. Find new oases of happiness in this dark, sordid world without mercy. You must keep moving and holding your head high even when the world threatens to crush you. Please do not lose the kindness and gentleness that I loved.
Lastly, as a favor, please look after the squad. They too deserve a bright future. Henry needs acceptance because he thinks everyone will reject him. Roy is blind to the injustices and cruelties of the world. One day, he will realize the truth and will need someone to lean on as he finds his way and purpose again. Alex and Lelouch enlisted at twelve and are too aware of how the world functions. Alex doesn't trust adults and views the world as a threat. He needs someone to show him the good in the world and teach him to question Lelouch. Speaking of the Gosling, he'll inevitably blame himself so please remind him that I could never hate him. He could be the Emperor himself and I would only see a child who believes the world to be his burden.
Keep my family safe.
Goodbye Fred, I love you and writing this hurts so much. But you deserve closure and to move on.
Love,
Edgar
—Personal Letter from the 712th Division, dated 2013
Near La Sarre, Area 2
Marianne passed the burnt town and the rioters in the street with pursed lips. The mob shouted and screamed while the military pushed back and her own guards clustered around the car. She had seen the plumes of smoke and fire from above in her helicopter, but being on the ground lent a sense of horror that could never be captured on a report.
The atmosphere of growth and hope that captured all Britannia with Charles's ascension was gone. Instead, Area Two resembled scenes from her childhood where parents corralled their children indoors at the first hint of nobility and a gun was never far from reach.
Even the mob was familiar, reminiscent of times when tax collectors came in force and the locals, with nothing to lose, murdered them in the street.
Before the day was over, Marriane would receive a desperate plea for an audience. The locals—some from the same mob that accosted her now—would beg for her protection and forgiveness, selling each other out to protect their family.
This was the Britannia from the past, not the one she and Charles had ushered in.
The army encampment wasn't in much better shape with hundreds of Honorary Britannians shackled in the snow and glaring as she passed. Soldiers stood guard and their postures straightened as they saw her car approach. The smell of fire and filth wafted through the air.
In the distance, she spotted deserters flee for their lives. Gunfire mowed them down.
Snarling, she ordered the car to stop and allowed Bismark to lower the ramp. He attached the wheelblades and she rolled out onto the fresh powdery snow.
Her eyes zeroed in on the communication trailer and the nearby tent that would always hold the OSI agent. York had a lot to answer for.
Ignoring the curious looks of awe and the crunching of snow as they fled to find their superiors as soon as her back turned, she entered York's tent. "Hello Sergeant Malfoire."
Knocking over a cup of pens, he bowed clumsily. "Your Majesty! What an honor. How may I be of service?"
The wheels slipped on the ice and Marianne took a calming breath as Bismark pushed her forward so she could probably glare at her insolent agent. "I hear my son is missing. You didn't inform me."
His half-smile froze. "I am deploying all my resources at my disposal to find him. I filed a proper report the moment I heard, but mail is troubled these days."
Marianne narrowed her eyes. Perhaps he was speaking the truth, but as Nunnally astutely pointed out, he had no incentive to. "Effective immediately, I am taking command. This mockery of Britannia's might has gone on long enough. Debrief me on the current situation."
Charles could protest all he wanted later. Right now, her son was in danger. She could only hope that the Count didn't know who he was...
"Sergeant Malfoire!" a bony boy screamed as he ran into the test without any consideration for proper protocol. He squeaked as Bismarck drew his sword and pointed the unwavering tip at his neck and the stack of papers in his hands scattered.
"You're the Empress! Oh..." he said and blanched. He dropped to his knee and bowed his head. "My sincere apologies ma—Your High—Majesty."
York pinched his nose and glowered at the insolent boy. "Please forgive him, Your Majesty. He forgets his manners when excited."
Ignoring the nuisance, she focused on the snake before her. "Which idiot gave the order to fire on the locals?"
The boy made a sound suspiciously like a snort. Why was he still here? Shouldn't he have scampered off, realizing the implicit threat she embodied?
York threw him an impressive glare, before his expression cooled to calm politeness. "Major General Fortescue thought it the most expedient solution to resolve the situation."
"Really? And why is a fool, who can't tell the difference between a War of Conquest and a War of Honor in charge?"
Coughing slightly, York delicately said, "His uncle is Margrave Cornwallis. Nobody dared to discipline him and all reports of bribery and misappropriation of supplies have mysteriously vanished."
He glared at the paper beneath him and Marianne wondered how many reports he had sent for no action to be taken. She could feel an oncoming migraine and shared a suffering look with Bismark. This disaster would take weeks to sort out which was precious time she didn't have.
"Alex, we found—" The soldier, waving a pamphlet clipping, abruptly stopped and stared at her with wide glimmering eyes. The dark skinned Number behind him inched backwards.
Marianne shifted in her seat to raise an eyebrow at York. "Is this the standard of discipline you enforce?"
He winced. "It's... unfortunately endemic to the division."
The youths slowly inched to the tent flap, dragging the soldier with wide eyes behind them.
"Where are you going?" she barked.
They froze and the Number paled.
Wide-eyes finally blinked. "Our apologies, Your Majesty. We're sorry for the intrusion."
"You all came here for a reason important enough to ignore protocol, so spit it out." She crossed her arms and waited expectantly. If she had to take on this mess, then she would start by enforcing proper discipline.
The bony boy stared down at the ground, but spoke first. "I wished to inform Sergeant Malfoire that I compiled a list of possible ladies who could be the Count, Your Majesty."
He had to be a fledgling OSI agent that York took under his wing.
A noble? To think nobility would stir unrest among the commoners and attempt to destroy the very structure that put them in power. Something was amiss, but if the boy was right... One of them knew where her son was.
She glared at the wide-eyed soldier and Number, who shared a brief glance.
"Well?" she asked, tapping her fingers on the armrest. She had things to do and a son to find.
The soldier bowed properly which raised an eyebrow. "My apologies, Your Majesty. It's a private matter and contains information confidential to the Fadiman company."
That brand sounded oddly familiar, but his statement was a nice way to say he didn't trust her. She leaned forward. "Your confidentiality does not concern me, soldier. You may share."
"I wished to gauge Alex's opinion on mixing cinnamon, jalapenos, and rosemary in a new exotic scent of shampoo which would capture the smells of Britannia's might."
The other two stared at him incredulously and Marianne cast a glance at York, who had continued on his paperwork.
Without looking up, York commented, "Fadiman, if I hear such idiocy out of your mouth again, I will make you clean the latrines for the rest of your service. I hope for the sake of your family's fortune that you are not considering such a concoction as employable for relaxation. It would be in your best interest to share any information you came across regarding Lamperouge."
Marianne froze. They knew her son?
York continued, "Though the paltry information you scrounge up will hardly worsen the charge of defection."
"Excuse me?" Marianne gripped the armrest. "Defection?" Her son wouldn't defect.
The soldier took a deep breath. "Lel— Lamperouge did not defect. He is a loyal soldier and was taken hostage. I found—"
Marianne, losing her patience, zeroed in on the clipping in his hand and half hopped to the other side of the wheelchair and leaned out precariously to snatch the clipping out of his hand. He gaped like a fish and Bismarck rightened her wheelchair.
On the back of the glossed paper, obviously from a pamphlet of some kind, her son stared back at her with tired eyes and his face stony. He wore the uniform of a Crow.
A hand wrapped around her heart and squeezed. Charles would not be pleased. He would be livid. Had she really pushed her son this far away that he would betray Britannia? Nunnally?
She suppressed the urge to rip out her phone and call Reuben to make sure her daughter was still safe in school. He would have called her the instance something was amiss.
Scanning the photo and her son's rigid posture, she searched for a sign. He knew the codes to indicate distress, but... nothing. He hadn't used a single one.
No.
She would not lose him.
"He did not defect. The photo is manipulated," the soldier interrupted and belatedly added, "Your Majesty."
These were his friends and Lelouch had protected his Number friend from her all those years ago. He wouldn't leave them behind and they believed that he hadn't defected.
Distantly, she asked, "How did you come to this conclusion?"
At the end of the tunnel, the soldier replied, "Certain parts of the image are over exposed, but the uniform isn't indicating it was taken in lower lighting conditions. There is also evidence of color manipulation. The purple in his eyes is more saturated than in the background. Lastly, if you look at his uniform, the horizontal strips curl slightly upwards because someone edited his proportions. My aunt uses the same techniques in advertising and creating a more pleasing image, Your Majesty."
She could imagine Lelouch standing still, terrified for his life, but willing to do anything to survive. Ice flowed through her veins. The Count knew he was her son... They were taunting her. Why else use his image in propaganda?
"How did you get this?"
Silence greeted her and she tore her gaze away from her son's pleading eyes. Never again would she not listen to his plea for help.
"You will comply or I will have you all charged with treason for conspiring with terrorists."
The Number stepped forward, rested a hand on the soldier, and shook his head. "I contacted the locals and expressed interest in fighting against Britannia. I have contacts in the village who were willing to set me up with a recruiter for the right price which is where I received a pamphlet. The following edition had his image, but not the one before, meaning the picture was probably recent."
Well... admitting to treason in front of her, the Emperor's Executioner, took guts. Of course, it was still treason. "Soldier, arrest him."
The soldier flinched and his shoulders rolled back. "Private Vega is attempting to protect me. I made contact with the terrorist cell."
The bony boy stood up. "I instructed the others to look for information and such the fault for any action lies with me."
The soldier kicked him. "As the highest ranking—"
"—Stop!" Marianne ordered and massaged her temple. If they were all intent on falling on the sword for each other, then she would arrest the lot of them. But hadn't she promised her daughter to withhold justice until Lelouch was safe?
"Major General Foretscue," announced a voice outside of the tent.
"Enter," Marrianne said irritably. Today was a stream of endless interruptions.
"Your Majesty," the swallow faced lord bowed with a dramatic flourish. "It is an honor to have you visit our esteemed division. You must be weary from your journey. My tent is most accommodating and away from"—his lips curled as he gestured at the trio—"such rabble."
Marainne knew his type. He rode on his family's esteemed tailcoats and greedily hoarded wealth so he could flaunt it over all others. He and her son must have been like oil and water or Napoleon and Empress Elizabeth. It was amazing that the division was still standing with this incompetent fool.
"I'm stripping you of your rank effective immediately," she said and waved her hand at Bismarck. "Make sure Private Fortescue goes through intake and find him an appropriate squadron.
He squeaked, "My uncle is Margrave Cornwallis! You cannot do this. I will not live among the riff-raff."
Over his protests, she said, "My word is the law you swore to uphold. You have already failed in your duty to allow the division to become a stain upon Britannia. You will cease babbling and follow orders or I will open a full investigation in your and your family's abuse of the Emperor's forces. Being Margrave Cornwallis's favored nephew will not then save you from your fate."
His face reddened and Bismarck stepped closer to her, ready to intervene.
"Lamperouge's treason caused all this discord. I am not to blame and you insult my honor by suggesting this rabble is even worth listening to." He sneered. "Of course what can I expect from someone of your breeding. The Emperor bestows upon you some paltry gifts and you forget your place, Your Majesty."
The argument and insults weren't new, but most had learned to hold their tongue. The intelligent ones after she tricked the Rackwell heir into issuing a duel and graciously spared his life after a crushing defeat. But no matter how many times she dominated the battlefield in her Ganymede or defeated the nobles who were foolish to challenge her, there was some idiot who thought to disparage her.
When Charles made her a Knight of Honor, she thought they would finally accept her or cease their foolish attempts. An attack on a Knight of Honor was an attack against their liege.
What a fool Marianne had been.
Nobles like Fortescue would never accept her. But Charles had married her and that gave her real power.
Marianne laughed. "Soldiers, detain him."
The trio complied a tad too eagerly.
"Unhand me, filth," Fortescue spat. "I will overlook this transgression, Your Majesty, if you end this farce and apologize right now. Even a bed warmer like yourself knows not to anger my family."
"How far the Cornwallis family has fallen," Marianne tutted. "Once they saved the Empire and built the model that has allowed us to survive and thrive against the onslaught of the E.U. But you were always a disgrace. Nobody dared to touch you, so they shuffled you off to the Number division. But I do have the power to end your farce."
"Should I take care of him?" Bismarck asked.
"No," Marianne replied, smiling cruelly. "He thinks I'm useless. So how would you like to die by my hand? A knightmare duel? Fancy a fight with the Flash? Think you have a chance? Did you know you can jam the ejection method? It would be an expensive coffin, perfect for someone of your standing."
Fortescue paled and his struggles ceased.
"Maybe a simple gun shot? Why, I think I still have some of the bullets Charles gave me. Would that be sufficient for someone of your standing? I know! Beheading. Back to the old fashioned roots. So what do you choose?" she finished cheerfully.
The soldiers took a hesitant step away from Fortescue while the wide-eyed one stared at her in admiration.
"Kn—knightmare du— Knightmare duel," said Fortescue.
She shot him. Bullets were infinitely more efficient and she didn't have the time to toy with him. Her son was out there, waiting.
He stared at her in disbelief as he crumpled to the ground.
"That bullet was nothing special." Turning her attention from the moaning and bleeding body, she glared at the soldiers and snapped, "Attention! And shut your mouth. You're soldiers, not fly catchers."
The wide eyed soldier's ears turned bright red. The trio snapped to a textbook attention with only the Number fumbling momentarily.
"You are invested in saving your friend?"
They had shown initiative and she had promised Nunnally to not harm his friends, which she suspected they were... even if there was a Number.
"Yes, Your Majesty," they chorused.
She would give them enough rope to save him: "You will assemble a battalion and will report directly to me. The battalion is officially authorized to take all necessary actions to capture the Count, which I will personally review. You may recruit any volunteer and structure yourself regardless of class..." Or hang themselves: "Fail, and you will be tried for treason. Any questions?"
She would find her son first and prove that they were unworthy of his loyalty. Undoubtedly, the power would go to their heads and they would devolve into an incoherent mess.
The Number dared to ask, "Your Majesty?"
Dipping her chin, she didn't bother with a reply.
"Hypothetically, if some misplaced soldiers rejoined, would they face repercussions?"
Of course her son's friend had connections with deserters. At least this way, she wouldn't need to bother hunting them down afterwards for the executions.
"Any volunteers. If you need the local baker, be my guest. I expect results." They nodded. "You are dismissed."
They fled and through the thin tent she could hear the bony boy say, "I'm not sure if she wants to kill us or expects us to hang the moon."
The soldier laughed nervously. "She's terrifying, but I'm not complaining. Plan A is officially cancelled so my family won't disown me."
"Like I cared. We should probably stop Frederick before he's caught though."
"She said battalion, right?" The Number asked. "Or can we interpret that as finding as many people we can?"
Their voices drifted further away and Marianne raised an eyebrow at York.
He shrugged and leaned back. "They're all irrational where your son is concerned. And you did threaten to kill me if Lelouch was harmed... so I may have promised to turn a blind eye to any rescue attempts, Your Majesty."
"This entire division is being withdrawn to get proper training," she muttered as she ran through everything she would need to do.
"That would probably be for the best. Most of the Numbers were thrown here with a week of training. I can never figure out if they're missing on purpose, their guns are broken, or they have no idea how to fire a gun. Your Majesty."
Why had she ever consented to this ridiculous sham in the first place? Right, because Lelouch attracted assassins... and now, apparently terrorists. He was going to give her gray hairs.
Her phone rang. Charles. She picked up. "He's alive. But we need to talk about the army."
A Cell
Lelouch stared into the endless darkness, feeling a tear slide down his cheek. He had no chance of escape, not when the Count knew what a valuable prisoner he was. Still... he had no doubt that she would mail his cold body to his mother if he became too much of a hassle to control. Never had he felt so helpless.
No.
Trapped in the nightmare, unable to do anything, he felt despair.
His body had become a prison, leaving no room to flee.
He could remember seeing Art through the drug induced haze watching him as his body acted out motions from the past. Not listening to his mind scream.
Trapped.
And then... the disconnect between reality and memory vanished. He couldn't rationalize. Think. Or distract himself. Utterly at the mercy of the drug.
Lelouch shivered and he took a deep steadying breath. Every muscle ached, but it was a welcome pain. He prodded his fresh scabs and stretched out his arms and legs. The pain kept the memories at bay.
He was a coward. A captive. A weakling.
He didn't want to see his sister lying helplessly on the ground under a maelstrom of bullets or Edgar's dying moments.
When the Count came again with the vile poison what would he do? His chest constricted at the mere thought of the substance coursing through his veins. How much more could he take?
Even if he escaped, he wore the uniform of a Crow. He had ordered Alex to save the others. A prince should never have let themselves be captured.
The least he could do was keep resisting with every breath he took. Keep toying the line between survival and denial.
But he didn't want to remember Suzaku's face as they trudged past the mounds of dead... Or the Emperor staring at him while covered in blood.
What had that memory been?
Had he suppressed the assassination attempt? And the drug forced those memories back to the surface? Yet, he remembered everything else so clearly, while that memory of the assassin pausing and insinuating she had use for his sister, that memory was unclear.
Perhaps it was a nightmare? A manifestation of a deep fear of his? It made no sense.
Why had his younger self been so relaxed?
Why was his head screaming every time he considered the impression of a bird.
Lelouch forced his eyes shut and took another deep breath.
Escape.
If he wanted to survive, he needed to focus on what was important. Food. Water. Mobility.
Right now? Lelouch was unbound, but his stomach gnawed, his throat was parched and raw, and he had no doubt that his legs would not allow him to stand.
The water dripped.
Lelouch groaned.
He hated it. Always, always, dripping. And the dark. Crushing solitude.
And the boredom... He was terribly bored and without anything to think of? The pain was constant and his father's face covered in spatters of blood stared down at him as—
No.
Two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four...
He covered his ears and pressed against the wall. Even then, the water continued to drip.
If his father saw him now, he would be disappointed… or livid. Because Lelouch had given up. He didn't have the energy to stand up and pull at the lock. A prince never bowed their head, but he had learned to when he began this charade.
He yearned to be just Lelouch like at the shrine with no secrets between him and Suzaku. His friend never cared that he was a prince and there were no lies between them.
But that wasn't true. Lelouch had known Britannia would invade Japan. It had always been a question of when. Had he been honest, he would have told Suzaku and explained the rules of a War of Conquest. Revealed that Britannia was mass producing knightmare frames.
Lelouch had been a coward even then and if only he had betrayed his father, who didn't care for him, then they would have had a chance. He and Suzaku wouldn't have walked through the mass grave where dead eyes—
Backwards from one-hundred by seven, perhaps?
One-hundred, ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-nine, seventy-two, sixty-five, fifty-nine, no, fifty-eight, fifty-one, forty-four...
Lelouch chuckled. He was going to have memorized a ridiculous chain of numbers by the time he was free.
What number was he on?
The door creaked. The light flicked on. Lelouch blinked and turned away.
"Hey, I brought you some water," Art whispered as he sat down beside him. "Come on."
Lelouch grabbed the water bottle with trembling hands and spilled half of it. Art said nothing, simply dabbing at the water with a towel and pressing the bottle back into his hands.
"She wants to see me again?" Lelouch asked.
"No... Brie is busy."
"You know that's a cheese, right?" A cough wracked his body and he took a shallow breath. "Need to make sure I didn't die, then?"
Art frowned and his eyes flicked back to the open door. "I see you still have your mouth."
"Not the first to have that complaint."
"Like your father?" Art asked tentatively.
Lelouch froze. How much had Art inferred from Lelouch's hallucinations? He had been there in the cell with him as he relieved his worst memories... and if his body had moved... then his mouth had probably as well.
How would Art use it against him?
Art sighed. "Empress Marianne arrived in Area Two. She's taken command of the army in the Area and has been executing officers for incompetence." He paused. "The people love her and our information network is in pieces."
"My friends?" Lelouch asked, putting aside the obvious question why Art was giving him hope that he would be rescued. Maybe he just wanted to crush it afterwards. If the OSI hadn't found the Count before, there was little reason why they would suddenly discover the truth even with his mother snarling at their backs.
"I don't know," Art said and as he turned away, softly added, "The Count is going to lose."
Oh.
"Can I write to my sister first? I want to tell her goodbye," Lelouch asked.
Nunnally deserved better than a dead brother, but maybe he could soften the blow. Death felt almost appealing. It would bring everything to an end. No more pain. No more memories. No endless questions.
But she would be so upset.
Art groaned. "I despise you."
Lelouch flinched.
"You always—Single most annoying person I've met. You broke my tail light trying to escape. You broke my nose!"
"Sorry?" Lelouch replied, hoping to appease his captor.
Art grumbled and buried his face. Quietly, he asked, "Do you think she killed Oliver?"
The friend... her brother.
Art sagged and his voice was tired and broken. "You think she was behind Truro... and I remember her being busy that day. Sending me away. And then... she has her music box on the mantle. I don't—I don't—it's the same box and I checked and it has photos... and I know she likes to take them, but they're all dead... and I only knew about some of them."
Frowning, Lelouch pondered his reply. He didn't want to anger Art who was working himself up, but he didn't know how to calm him down either.
"Damn it!" Art jumped up and began to pace. "I don't know what to think. I know her. I know her! We've been friends for years and I always did as she asked. But now... She promised she wouldn't change and then I thought maybe it was from acting like nobility all the time, but you!"
He pointed his finger at Lelouch who inched back.
"You should be a spoiled little brat, yet all you seem to care about is your friends and your sister! The Numbers like you. I've been trying to get them to mutiny or sabotage or desert or something for months... and you disappear and they do it for you!"
His friends did what, now?
Were they alright? Surely, they weren't idiotic enough to commit treason for him.
"And now you're worried about them because of course you are, while Brigit doesn't flinch as your mother seems to intend to actually bathe the streets in blood." He ran his hands through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm going to die."
Well... That had a tendency to happen to terrorists. If they sent his body to his mother... there might not be an Area Two when she was done.
"She's going to kill me..."
Yes, his mother would.
Art suddenly grabbed his arm and hoisted Lelouch to his feet. "Come on."
"What are you doing?" Lelouch rasped.
"Congratulations. Today's escape attempt is going to be successful."
Art was letting him go? Lelouch took a shaky step forward and crumpled.
Cursing, Art draped Lelouch over his shoulders and stumbled out of the cellar. And up the stairs. Past the bathroom. Through the hallways.
Lelouch was going to be free. He wasn't going to die.
"Wait," he said.
Art stared at him incredulously. "We don't have that much time."
"This is a noble house, right? You need to erase the security footage. Turn it all off or else, she'll know."
"Security footage? We didn't install anything," Art said and took another step forward.
Was Art serious?
"Every noble house is bugged."
"Who bugs their own house?" He groaned. "Right. I checked the security room, there's nothing there. We're fine, kid."
"No. That's for basic stuff and normal security servants are trusted with. Is there a TV? Maybe one that never works?"
Muttering to himself, Art turned around, confirming there was indeed a TV that didn't work. Awkwardly, they ascended the stairs and he deposited Lelouch on a couch while he glared at the TV sitting in the corner.
"Ok. If you're right, how does this work?"
Lelouch shrugged. "Every family would be different. Probably a passcode, but don't know what the Count would have set it to."
Shaking his head, Art grabbed the remote and began punching random numbers. At the fifth try, the TV flicked to life. "Really?"
"What was it?"
"The Viscount's knight's birthday. Never thought that would be important."
Then the Count hadn't known? Lelouch frowned. Roy had insinuated that his family's house was bugged, so surely, the concept wasn't that foreign. Or maybe it was because they had business dealings with nobles and thus learned the hard way. Still, for the Count to make such a mistake... she wasn't integrated with nobility despite the title she obviously held.
So how had she known who he was?
Art flicked through the recording files, stopping at one in particular and watched in frozen silence. On screen, the Count entered the dreaded room and put a small music box on the mantle.
The timestamp was the day of the attack.
"How do—How do I delete everything?" Art choked out.
Lelouch could tell him and had intended to. He didn't need the Count to catch him right after he escaped the mansion.
But now?
Art felt betrayed. He was questioning everything, and Lelouch... Lelouch was angry. His friends could be dead. His sister had to be out of her mind with worry. His mother was killing people, undoubtedly innocents among them.
He had a chance to end everything. And what sort of person would he be if he didn't take the opportunity? Even if it risked Art turning around and throwing him back into the cell with Lelouch being too weak to resist. He didn't want to go back and hear the relentless drip or relive his worst memories for the Count's version of punishment.
Yet, he had a chance. The only thing it cost was his pride and chance to escape. But to succeed, he would need to see people as tools.
Like his father… Like York.
"Art? Do you have a phone I could use?"
Art swallowed and gestured to the TV. "We need to leave. I don't know when she'll return. You can call your family and friends later. You said I should erase it."
"No, Art." Use the subject's name to build to trust. "Brie hurt you. You didn't want to do those things, but she made you." Reinforce the idea that the subject isn't guilty. "You are a good person, aren't you?" Appeal to values. "And I don't want her to hurt anyone else."
Sagging, Art set down the remote and stared at him. "Look, just help me get you out of here."
Lelouch forced himself to sit upright despite every protesting muscle and joint. "We can leave... and she'll hurt more people, but..."
And there was a desperate hope in Art's eyes.
"But we can also stop her. Save people's lives. All those innocent people who never did anything wrong and just are living their lives... What do you think she'll do when she realizes she is losing? When she finds me gone and without anyone to turn her anger on."
Pausing, Lelouch felt a dawning sense of horror. What would she do? The Count wasn't like York as he thought in the beginning. They were similar, but she was more prone to angry outbursts and didn't accept the idea of defeat. York thought defeat was amusing, a challenge. The Count didn't comprehend defeat and instead sought to annihilate her opponents.
Best case scenario, she would try to assassinate his sister in revenge and then kill Lelouch himself.
She also had such a penchant for explosives...
Art was silent, but his were wide and Lelouch knew he had come to the same conclusion.
"How much explosives does she have? Wherever we are right now? Or does she keep them elsewhere?" Lelouch asked.
"We're in Halifax," Art whispered and turned back to the monitor where empty rooms cycled back and forth. "She just got a shipment from the E.U. yesterday. They'll be under a different manifest, but... I only know it by its code name."
Of course the E.U. was involved. Arming a terrorist to weaken Britannia was a perfect opportunity for them and explosives had a tendency to destroy the evidence of where they came from.
"Art, I need a phone," Lelouch ordered.
"You can stop her?" Art asked frantically as he pulled out a small cellphone. "She'll destroy... everything."
"How much?" Lelouch asked and narrowed his eyes at the monitor as a lone servant walked through a hallway.
"Almost the entire ship. Picric acid and benzol. I bribed the inspector and the ship would be docked in the harbor."
The city would have to be evacuated and Lelouch had to move fast before the Count realized and just detonated the ship out of pettiness. Lelouch dialed the number he never thought he would. The phone rang for a moment and Art watched him in confusion.
The operator, one of countless, answered on the other line. But they weren't important. Nor was his scratching throat or weak body. He didn't know how large Halifax was, but it was one of the Empire's major shipping areas due to the sheltered bay. Thousands of people could die.
"OLB12599," he barked.
"Voice identification. Match. Name?"
"Lelouch vi Britannia."
The operator passed him through. "Orders?"
And now he, dressed in the uniform of a Crow, was an agent of the Emperor. "Which division is closest to Halifax?"
"The 318th, 256th, 712th, and 83rd are all within a day's reach."
"I'm taking command of the 712th, patch me through."
The operator was silent for a moment. "Empress Marianne has special orders for the division in particular. Her authorization is above yours."
Had she hurt his friends? But like his parents who ordered the invasion of Japan, he couldn't let personal feelings get in the way. At least he wasn't risking the lives of his non-existent children… only his friends.
"Patch me through to the 318th. Also... tell Empress Marianne to contact me when it is convenient."
"I will pass the message along to Her Majesty. Patching you through to the 318th."
After a brief wait, an old male voice answered. "Major General Arkansas, speaking. May I know who I have the honor of serving in His Majesty's name?"
Lelouch flinched. His Majesty's name. His father had given him such power, but it came with a price. He was just a pawn. And maybe it was petty, but Lelouch didn't want to say his name. The Major General would have been delighted to hear he served a prince and then everyone would know. There was no way to silence the troops and they would know that a mysterious commander had taken charge.
Everyone would know Lelouch... and if he had to return to the royal court, away from all his friends, then he'd have to subject himself to their curiosity. They would ask questions. And what could Lelouch say?
He was a coward who hadn't dared to take charge earlier? He was a weakling captured by the Count and needed his father's power to save himself?
OLB12599. Without it... he was worthless.
The Major General was waiting. "You may call me Zero."
"Yes, sir. What are your orders Zero?"
Lelouch covered the receiver and turned to Art who was staring at him dumbfounded. "She is in town?"
"Or trying to kill your mother," Art confirmed.
Lelouch nodded. "Major General Arkansas. I want the city, Halifax encircled. Coordinate with other divisions if need be, but no one leaves without being screened and no one enters who hasn't been confirmed as military personnel. The Count is either in the city, or will be returning soon. She will not escape us today."
"She, Zero?"
"Brigit Meblourne ne Buteau, Viscount of the Iceplains," Art whispered, looking ill.
Lelouch relaid her identity along with a basic description. On the TV, a figure dressed in black wandered down the hallway. They were not a servant. "Inform me immediately if the situation changes."
He hung up and gestured at the TV.
Art's eyes narrowed and pulled out a gun. "That's the fuse box."
The room was plunged into darkness and Lelouch clenched his fists because he was not back in the cell, waiting endlessly as the water dripped. He wasn't there, even if the darkness around him was beckoning. Even if the rope was digging into his wrists.
"Lelouch?" Art whispered. "I need you to breathe."
He took a shaky breath and then another. Weakly, he joked, "What kind of idiot doesn't have emergency power?"
"We do," Art said and his footsteps brushed over the carpeted floor. "Lelouch. Get down on the ground. Don't want to shoot you by accident."
His body still ached, but he nodded and lowered himself to the ground. If only he wasn't wearing a Crow's uniform. This had to be an OSI raid and Lelouch risked getting caught in the cross-fire.
The door banged open and three cracking gun shots, before a painful cry as Art fell to the ground.
"Where's Lelouch?" Henry asked between the sounds of fists striking flesh.
What was he doing there? Henry was not an OSI agent last time he checked.
"Henry, stop!" Lelouch ordered.
"Lelouch?"
"Yes. What the hell are you doing here?" he asked and Art let out a painful groan. "I need him alive."
"He kidnapped you," Henry pointed out. "And why are you in a Crow uniform?"
The darkness pulsed and Lelouch took another steadying breath. He hated not being able to see. "Henry, lights please?"
Henry groaned but flicked on a flashlight and finally Lelouch could see his friend with night vision goggles hanging from his neck. He was alive. His mother hadn't killed him. But why was he here? Why alone? And how had he found him?
Dropping the flashlight, Henry pulled Art to his feet and glowered at Lelouch. "Why are you in a Crow uniform?"
Bile rose within his stomach as he thought of her threatening to take a finger. It had been for Nunnally. She would have been so terribly upset at being mailed a finger, but Henry was still glaring at him and maybe, he had done the wrong thing. He was a prince and should never have bowed his head. He had been weak.
"Long story," Lelouch grumbled. "How did you—?"
"—You gave some lady a hundred pounds and your dog tag and told her she'd get twice that if she helped," Henry said. "Which, by the way, was all my cash."
Art muttered something about his taillight again, confirming it did happen although Lelouch had no recollection. Was that why he lost his boots with his emergency kit?
Henry stepped closer. "And your explanation?"
"Always shoot first, ask questions later," Art mocked. "Didn't betray you, moron."
"You drugged me," Henry said and jerked him to the side, "I should kill you."
"What's stopping you? Afraid of the big bad Crow?"
"Shut your mouth." Henry kneed him as Art took a deep breath.
"Henry," Lelouch said, raising his arms, "I need Art and he's not going to do anything. Everything is fine. Calm down."
"Why do you have a phone?" Henry asked.
Lelouch swallowed.
Why couldn't Henry have shown up an hour earlier and broken into his cell when everything was clear. Now, he was waiting for a call back from his mother and any updates from Major General Arkansas. He had a Count to capture and a city to save. He didn't have time for Henry to suspect him of being a traitor.
"Art gave me the phone so I could call for help. I'm still your superior, so let me be clear. You're going to let him go and step outside. There is no other exit out of this room so you can be assured that I will not slip past you, but you're going to step outside."
Why was Henry forcing him to pull rank? They were supposed to be friends who looked out for each other.
Henry straightened and in the scant light, Lelouch observed his clothes without a single identifying mark and the expensive night vision goggles. The equipment was not from the army and then he confirmed it. "My orders outrank yours. Lelouch Lamperouge, you will accompany me peacefully, otherwise I'll arrest you for treason."
Art burst into laughter.
"What are you laughing at Crow!"
Lelouch shook his head. He didn't want to tell Henry who he was and ruin whatever friendship they had... but then Henry was obviously not who he claimed to be. "This was a planned operation. If you must, you can check my authorization code."
"Right." Henry looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Doesn't matter, my orders outrank yours. Last chance, Lelouch... Please don't make me do this."
Outrank his? Henry hadn't even thought to verify the statement. There was always someone of a higher rank. And then...
Lelouch chuckled.
"Lelouch?" Henry asked hesitantly.
Their friendship had been a lie. Sitting down on the couch, he shook his head. "You're a damn unspeakable."
"How—How do you know that?" Henry asked.
"I thought unspeakables were a myth... and didn't talk," Art muttered. "No wonder you didn't go down."
Lelouch laughed. "No. They're not. Perfectly legal if you're the Emperor. Of course, nobody would dare to tell him no. So, what did he order? Kill me if I step out of line? If I'm not his perfect little pawn?"
Eyeing him as if he was a rabid dog,—and Lelouch sure felt like one now that he had accepted his role as an agent of the Emperor himself—Henry said, "No. His Majesty ordered me to protect your well being along with reporting on your activities. He was very displeased when you broke your collarbone. Why does the Emperor take such interest in you?"
Lelouch sneered. "Maybe because he doesn't want to upset my mother. Not that the bastard would ever care."
"Did you just call—" Henry groaned. "Your mother?"
Art cleared his throat and glared at him. "We're a little short on time so maybe you can clear this up?" He paused. "No? Fine. Moron, who is also an unspeakable, which is apparently a thing and not a myth, meet Lelouch vi Britannia and I didn't believe he was a prince either, but apparently he is. Now, release me, idiot."
Slowly, Henry said, "Your father... is the Emperor."
Crossing his arms, Lelouch said, "Unfortunately. And I have a plan which you interrupted."
"The Emperor sent me to spy on his son... and he didn't tell me." Henry looked rather ill. "You insult your father all the time!"
Lelouch rolled his eyes and glanced down at the vibrating phone. "I need to find stress relief somewhere."
"You insulted the Emperor... and I told him."
Lelouch ignored him and answered the phone.
"Lelouch?" his mother hesitantly asked.
Ignoring the sudden lump in his throat, Lelouch said, "Hello, Mother."
"You're alive," she said, relieved. "You're fine. I thought it was a fluke... or maybe the Count using your code. But it's you. Where are you? I'm taking you home right now."
Home. Where was home?
"What did you do to my friends?"
She sighed. "They're fine although one of them seems to have run off. I'm not going—"
"—He's here actually. Apparently, he is an Unspeakable."
Cheerfully, she said, "That's great, he can return you home and hope Charles forgives him for losing you in the first place."
Glancing back at Henry who still hadn't overcome his shock but was tying up Art, Lelouch frowned. The Emperor would kill his friend, and they were friends despite the lies between them. Everything couldn't have been a lie? Some part of their friendship had to have been real and for that part...
Lelouch would ensure his friend survived. In memory of the experiences they shared.
"Mother, I'm taking command. If you're not fighting the Count, then she's in Halifax. I need the division to evacuate the city and make sure she doesn't escape."
"But, Lelouch—"
"—No. I have information on the Count, at least once Henry turns on the power again"—Lelouch glared at him who took the hint and slinked out of the room—"and I am best situated to end this situation once and for all. We need to capture... or eliminate the Count now otherwise more people will die. Please... just trust me."
His mother sighed. "Fine. But, Lelouch? You will stay safe. I will not lose you again."
"Of course," Lelouch whispered. "Can you take charge of the encirclement and make sure the citizens are evacuated in an orderly fashion."
"Evacuated?"
No. He wasn't going to tell her. Because while he hoped to be wrong, he knew. And it hurt.
"I'm not holding a military operation in a city filled with civilians, Mother. I doubt the Count will try to flee that way, but Major General Arkansas has her description anyway... I'll see you soon. Now, patch me through."
His mother sighed. "You have six hours. Stay safe."
She finally patched him through.
Lelouch leaned back as the lights flicked back on. In the corner, Art sat with his arms bound behind his back. He scowled as Henry trekked back inside and Lelouch took a deep breath. He hadn't dared to ask more about his friends in the vain hope that they would slip beneath her attention. But then she was already aware of them... which didn't bode well for them having escaped her ire.
Slowly, he began to greet each battalion and asked for a status report.
And finally, as he heard from the last battalion and barked orders, someone hesitantly asked, "Lelouch?"
Lelouch closed his eyes. Of course they would recognize his voice and did he want them to know he was Zero? Because now on the radio, he wasn't their friend, but their commander and an agent of the Emperor. But they had to have been worried for him and it would be so cruel to pretend he wasn't.
"Yes, Alex. I'm fine. I'm glad you're alright. How is the squad?" Lelouch answered, not caring about all the regulations he was ignoring.
"We're all fine, 'cept Henry who deserted. Actually... well. We barely escaped decimation and then we sort of ran into Empress Marianne"—How did someone sort of run into his mother?—"and I think she's mad at us, but I'm not sure because she didn't execute us, although she did threaten to… and executed Fortescue and demoted most of the officers."
Good riddance.
"So we need to catch the Count or we're all dead. I guess we don't need to rescue you anymore?" Alex paused. "The original plan was we'd find ya and see if ya have a plan or take ya and run to tough it out in the wild."
"Plausible deniability, please?" Lelouch groaned and Henry was most definitely smirking at him from the doorway. "Who's we?"
A long silence. "Technically a batallion. All volunteers who wanted to rescue you."
"Technically?"
"We had a lot of volunteers. More than the Empress probably expected, but most of us were gonna be executed anyway for desertion or mutiny so... Figured this is the best chance to save everyone's hide... Half the division?"
"That's not a batallion," Lelouch countered while wondering what the hell had happened in his absence. Half the division? He definitely never had the opportunity to meet them all. "Fine. Give me a run down on all the platoons. Your priority is removing the civilians. They're going to be hostile to what they see as Numbers, but don't use force if you can avoid it. No need to start pointing weapons."
"Evacuations? I'll put Roy on it. He has the best people skills."
"Prioritize the harbor. Tell them there's a chance to see Empress Marianne. She'll be outside the city taking in civilians. But, I'm going to need three companies to head to the harbor and check the cargo for explosives... Ask for volunteers first to capture the Count. The mission is high risk."
Should he say more?
"That's a lot of boats, Lelouch."
Art sighed and hobbled closer. "Tell them they're looking for a freighter. It will have a new coat of paint, probably to mask it's French origins."
Lelouch nodded and relayed the information and added, "She won't be unloaded yet, so she should be sitting pretty low in the water. They should expect to run into the Count... And have them stop by the broadcast station and pick up some video cameras. If the Count kills herself, I want proof that she's dead."
Switching back to Zero, the efficient agent of the Emperor, Lelouch did not let himself dwell on what he hadn't said to his friends. They were mostly safe by helping the evacuation efforts, but he couldn't let himself be bogged down with concern. The Count had to be caught... or half a Division would be dead and his mother did not bluff. In her desperation to find him, she gave them the opportunity to rescue him and catch the Count, but expected them to fail.
Perhaps it would have been kinder to execute them outright instead of laying a honeyed trap where every soldier who harbored treasonous thoughts would come running. And even if they caught the Count, would she honor her promise? Many of them had deserted according to Alex which was an automatic death sentence. The capture of the Count wouldn't erase their crime.
And to capture the Count? Or rather, ensure her death was certain, for she would not allow herself to be captured, Lelouch would have to gamble with lives... Actually, there was no gamble. To win, he had to lose.
Minimum casualties.
And hadn't he blamed Fortescue for suicidal orders?
Lelouch switched the TV to the local three company's cameras were rolling as they approached the docks and began to search the ships. Next to him, Art looked at each ship and shook his head.
"Zero, we've engaged with Crows on Fourth and Baker's. They're retreating to the docks. Over."
"Company R-1, circle to the docks and coordinate with R-2 to prevent the Crows from reaching the docks. Over" Switching channels, he said, "R-3, continue your search. Over."
They followed his orders.
"There!" Art shouted and nodded at the TV.
"R-3, board the White Mountain. Detain the crew. You have permission to fire upon any hostiles." Switching back, he said, "R-1. You're chasing a decoy. Send a platoon to make sure they don't disappear. Meet with R-2 and march towards R-3's position."
And he had done it.
Art grimaced. He understood.
"Update on evacuations?" Lelouch asked. The harbor had been cleared in a two mile radius, but it was infeasible to evacuate a city of half a million.
The White Mountain raised its anchor as the two companies approached. They were out of time.
Lelouch ordered all the troops to withdraw and sent out an emergency broadcast for any remaining citizens to shelter in their basements. It was better than nothing. Finally, he opened a line to R-3. "Have you found the Count? Over."
"Platoon Bravo, here. Found the Count at the stern. Over," replied the familiar voice of Lance Corporal Villalba who was an avid cook and taught Lelouch how to make an empanada. Back home, he had three kids and an aging grandmother with accumulating medical expenses. He joined the army to pay her bills while his wife and children worked odd jobs to pick up the remaining slack. And Lelouch was about to sentence him to his death.
"I need your platoon to get a visual. Broadcast the Count."
Minutes later, the Count's visage filled the TV screen. Her eyes were hard and the Crows around her fired back. She had lost. And she knew it.
Bullets ricocheted off metal walls and embedded into the barrels of benzol. And then it happened.
One barrel burst into flames. Another exploded and belched putrid smoke.
Art turned away.
"All platoons beside Bravo, abandon ship. Take the rowboats. Over." Lelouch waited a moment before opening a line to Lance Corporal Villalba. "I'll make sure your family will be fine. Everyone's family."
"Gosling?" he confirmed.
"I'm sorry," Lelouch whispered back. "If you kill the Count, then you may abandon ship. But until then make sure the camera keeps rolling. That is your priority."
He needed proof that the Count was dead... otherwise, he would have ordered them to evacuate already... but if there was any chance the Count survived, then it would be so much harder to save the rest of the division from his mother's wrath.
Twelve-thousand men for thirty... It should be easy.
Why did it hurt?
"Yes, sir. Keep the division safe, will you? And tell my family... tell them I went out in a blaze of glory."
"It will be memorialized on video, but I will." Somehow, he would find his way to Area Seven and through the ghettos to apologize. It was the least he could. "It was an honor knowing you."
"And it was an honor to serve you, sir. Shame that it couldn't have been for longer. See you in the next life. Over."
The line cut and Lelouch watched as fire spread and barrels exploded. His men ducked behind the walls to avoid gunfire, while keeping the camera roiling.
Some hugged. Others cried. He couldn't look away. He had sent them all to death.
There was Jon, who had named him "gosling," pulling out a flask—knowing Jon, filled with beer—and then saluting the camera, mockingly, before he took a sip. He had been so hostile to Britannia and Lelouch knew that if Jon had the chance, he would have betrayed Britannia in a heartbeat, yet he stayed to eliminate the Count.
"Lelouch." Art sighed. "You're Henry, right? We need to go to the cellar."
"Don't need to listen to you, Crow," Henry snarled back.
The fire was licking the walls and the crates. The Count's eyes widened. Had she expected to escape? Or did she always intend to go out in a blaze of glory. She turned to the camera and smirked. A fire of crimson then.
Her mouth began to move, undoubtedly giving a big speech meant to rouse the masses. She was martyring herself instead of accepting defeat. But there was no audio and the only one who could hear her were his men.
They fired on her and she ducked out of the way.
Temperatures had to be skyrocketing. Would they die first by cremation? Or by the detonation of picric acid in the hold.
"There's a shit ton of explosives, so unless we all want to die, we're going to the cellar," Art said.
"I need to watch," Lelouch whispered. To see the consequences of his actions. To never forget what he had done. This was all his fault.
Henry grunted and pulled him. "Damn. You're light. And no, you don't. Much as I hate to agree with the Crow, we need to go. We're... out of time."
Lelouch didn't have the energy to resist, but his gaze lingered on the TV until the door slammed shut. The cellar was just as dark and filthy as he remembered. The water continued to drip.
Water was evil.
Reports filtered through the phone as his men reported their safe returns to the outskirt of the city. A deafening blast of thunder shook the house. Dust shook from the ceiling as glass and ceramics shattered.
Lance Corporal Villalba was dead and so were twenty-nine of his men, Jon among them.
Alex screamed through the phone, "We did it! The Count's dead!"
Other voices chimed in agreement. Eager and happy. Exuberant.
Lelouch was tired. Exhausted. In agony. His lungs expanded and collapsed, but the air was never enough. He wished to curl up and sleep.
But sleep meant nightmares.
Especially now.
Lelouch had sacrificed lives to reach his goal. Maybe if he had been sharper, he would have found another way. A way to save all the lives... or at least not purposefully sent out men to their deaths. That was what Fortescue had done. Platoon after platoon. Thrown away like garbage.
Thirty-men dead on his orders.
His back shuddered and a tear trailed down his face. Joined by another.
Worldbuilding Thoughts
-The Halifax Explosion is a real historical event which occurred Dec 6, 1917. The Mont-Blanc was secretly carrying explosives from New York, stopping in Halifax, and intended to head to Bordeaux, France. At the time, it was the largest human made explosion. For alternate history reasons, this event never had the opportunity to happen before.
-My Area Two has a large amount of French influence (if the names didn't tip you off) which made the French very eager to help since they still consider Area Two/Canada as their rightful territory.
-Fortescue is a descendant of Charles Cornwallis. Cornwallis was the one to surrender to American forces at the siege of Yorktown. Surprisingly, he was made Viceroy of Ireland (tech, Lord Lieutenant) and India. He was also well respected enough that the UK sent him to sign a peace treaty with Napoleon.
Author's Note
This chapter was evil to write and edit. Also, apologies to everyone whose review response got delayed last week. FFN had some issues.
Onto housekeeping:
Structure wise, Excalibur is three books (even if book one is apparently 200k+). Unless everyone screams at me to keep it as one fic, I've decided to post each book as separate fic.
Separating it into different books does mean that I will be retitling this story as I believe Excalibur is the name of the entire story/series, I have planned. I will also be changing my summary, mostly because I'm of the opinion that my current one is garbage.
New Proposed Title: A Sword Forged by Stone
And two possible summaries:
By what right does Britannia govern? So ask the terrorists as they take up arms. So asks the JLF as they fight for their culture. So ask two young royals as they try to step out of the Emperor's shadow. Or: Marianne vi Britannia survived and things sort of snowballed from there. Unfortunately, life isn't any easier. Book 1 of Excalibur
Or:
Lelouch's mother may have survived, but the Emperor still sees him as a pawn. It doesn't matter if he submits or fights for his independence, Lelouch's hands will be sullied by blood. His father's will is absolute and Britannia rests on the graves of innocents. Book 1 of Excalibur
Thoughts? (I already spent way too much time culling my 7 brainstormed summaries to two and I totally didn't flip a coin)
(Just to be clear, this is not the last chapter. There's still a resolution to get through)
Thank you x1tears1X and Spaded Ace18 on FFN for your help with betaing
See you next week. (Or via discord: discord (period) gg (slash)uSBegVj)