Six
Two lithe hands in delicate white gloves carefully removed the wooden clock from the parlor wall. Setting it down on the large silver tray, whereupon already lay its golden pendulum, the servant straightened up, removed the pin that the clock had been hanging on, before escorting the incessant tick, tick, ticking that had so irritated his lord and liege. Jeremiah Gottwald quietly closed the door after the servant before anxiously resuming his post by the entrance of the train car. The knight's pin-straight posture was unrelenting, though belied his own growing impatience, that, even with the exiled clock, his jaw remained clenched and his grip tight as he remained at attention.
The prince himself seemed more interested in the book that had been fetched for him than their arrival at their destination. What more, he was seemingly unconcerned by the great offense that was currently being committed by the government of Elláda in confining their royal guests to their train. Occasionally turning the page or drinking his tea, His Imperial Highness leaned back and quietly forgave an entire nation for its insolence. Jeremiah attempted to follow the fine example his lord provided for him and affixed his gaze upon a single point at the far end of the car.
Meaning failed to penetrate Lelouch as entire chapters came and went. Though he was never one to eschew rereading, the moment the imperial train had pulled into the Athína depot, he'd been robbed of all leisure, with no hope of regaining it until Hephaestus roared to life once more to return them home. Why else would he have deployed himself to the dining car, with its drawn curtains and picture windows?
Taking care to preserve the scene he'd so meticulously designed, Lelouch lifted his gaze to latch onto the decorative mirror hanging on the wall in front of him. Its gold frame was flanked by windows identical to those behind him, and it was through this reflection that he observed a sliver of the world that still remained out of their reach.
A platoon of soldiers rigidly marched by, as attendants and servants, of both Britannian and Elládan employ, fluttered about like spirits in the now-dissipating steam, frantic to finish unloading the luggage they had underestimated. It was a limited view, but not from the distraction of other trains and passenger, of which there were none. Apparently, the government had seen fit to bar the public from the depot for the occasion of their arrival. Not that he felt there was an actual need - he seriously doubted that, when left to its own devices, the view would look anything like Pendragon's Saint Christopher Station from which they had departed.
Finishing a chapter, Lelouch shifted in his seat to reposition himself for comfort. Now with a slightly different view, he passed over more soldiers, unconcerned and unimpressed, until he glimpsed an unusual figure. Statuesque, she towered over most, if not all the uniformed men gathered around her. An aura radiated from her, even long after the general had saluted and marched off with his orders, emphasized by her dark blue empire gown, which only summoned an image of the capital's namesake.
So, it was to finally begin.
No sooner had the thought grimly crossed his mind, when the door of the car slid open. It was the conductor, bearing news that His Highness would at last be permitted to disembark. Lelouch quietly snapped the book shut with one hand and set it down on the table in front of him. Standing, he took his time rearranging his fine suit of maroon and gold before following after the banished clock and removing himself from the room.
Stepping out of light and into darkness, the prince greeted his sister, who smiled at him nervously. Before he could say anything, she turned to her lady-in-waiting, who murmured reassuringly into her ear. Swallowing, he dragged himself away from the mire of thoughts that had seized him the moment he'd returned to this space between realms, now fractured by time they'd stolen. Fortunately, Suzaku stood between them; he could always be relied upon for distraction.
Green eyes glittered in dim light before creasing into a smile, until he saw that his friend would not return the favor. His smile fading slightly, a crease appeared between his brows and a question in his eyes. Lelouch chose to ignore it as he scrutinized him one last time.
"Are you prepared?" he finally said. "To do whatever it takes. When we return here, no matter what may happen between, are you prepared to do all that may be demanded of you?"
Suzaku frowned. What did he think might happen? But it was too late. A sharp hiss kept from him what nightmares Lelouch had prepared for, as did the light, sounds, and scents of the outside. It was time. Almost like, Suzaku thought absentmindedly, the gates into the coliseum.
The knights revealed themselves first, as was customary for the Imperial Family, by order of ranking before saluting their lord and lady. Then emerged Lelouch, who offered his hand to his sister. Euphemia thanked him as she was helped down. Behind her, her lady-in-waiting held the train of her dress to keep the rose silk catching on anything. Once any imminent danger had passed, C.C. formed the tail of the small entourage, with her hands folded in front of her and her head slightly lowered, as befitting for a demure servant in the presence of the imperial.
The tall woman approached them, the skirt of her dress billowing slightly. Her steps were long, though unhurried, and her handsome voice reached them before she herself did. Now that she was closer, Lelouch could see that the initial distance had in fact diminished her; Tatiana Onasis was eye-level with Jeremiah and made none the shorter as she did not bow upon greeting her esteemed guests. Not that it would have been expected. As of yet, she was free and commanded by a different power. It would have been insolent on their part to demand such fealty. For now.
All the same, Jeremiah quietly bristled.
An apology, however, was offered and accepted. His Excellency, the Prime Minister, had been called into an urgent meeting and sent his regrets, alongside an earnest promise to join them for dinner. As his enthusiasm for their postponed meeting was made known, her sharp grey eyes pricked and prodded them each. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave shallow scratch marks that might sting. It was rather cumbersome of her, Lelouch thought. Or perhaps she had wanted him to had, after all, been sent on a demeaning mission to fetch their guests and grovel in his stead. Though one could argue just how demeaning it was, if she was to be accepted as the Prime Minister's proxy.
Lady Onasis - as they were to address her - gestured towards the double doors at the far end of the platform, where there would be a carriage to take them to the Prime Minister's estate. The horses they'd brought with them had also been saddled in preparation for their riders. And true to her word, there was indeed a covered carriage, glimmering in the bright sun, with its refined gold and sable palette. Inside were cushioned seats, upholstered in rich navy velvet, which also covered the floor of the cab to soften any loud footsteps that may cause embarrassment for heavier passengers. It was a fine thing, and had probably cost as much. A curiosity for a nation afflicted with woes.
Jeremiah and Suzaku separated from the party to mount their horses, Gringolet and Lancelot, but not before personally looking over the saddling. With a tug or two, they mounted with an ease and fluidity that came only with practice, and soon, looked upon C.C., who was the last to step up into the carriage with none to assist her.
Lady Onasis had taken the seat directly across from Her Highness, Princess Euphemia, leaving her with no choice but to take the remaining seat across from the prince. Drawing in the skirt of her gown to keep it from getting stuck in the shutting door, C.C. half-listened to the ongoing discussion between Euphemia and their escort - enough to be aware but not enough to influence where the exchange of pleasantries might flow.
It was all banal. Had they experienced any difficulties in their travels? Not at all. It'd gone by quickly as well, perhaps because they were looking forward to their time here. Yes, they'd picked an excellent time to visit. It was beautiful all year-round, but the summers especially were quite breath-taking. Yes, it certainly was, though they also hoped to make good use of their time here. Had either of them been to this region of the world?
C.C. watched Elláda's capital slowly reveal itself as they began a gentle descent up a paved street. Athína was much smaller than Pendragon, though the comparison was inherently an unfair one. But it was just as clean and civilized, and if she didn't know better, would have assumed them to be in one of the Britannian territories with an adequately competent viceroy. They passed by distinguished businessmen, their wealthy wives, and spoiled children, all dressed in the most modern fashion that money could import. Neoclassical townhomes were tall and bright, a stark contrast to the older homes with their traditional red clay tile roofing and stone walls smoothed down over the ages. Flowering vines with swollen, bright pink blooms were occasionally draped across the street, just missing their carriage, providing cool shade and a dream-like fluttering of petals.
She wasn't allowed to wander too far along the streets of Athína, returned to the shadowy interior at the sound of his voice. Though she had steeled herself, the hairs on her nape still rose, and instinctively, she turned away from the window. Barely stopping herself, she studied the lacing of his leather shoes, climbing up the rungs untiil she reached the neat bow at the top. How many times had she stepped on those laces over the years? The first few times had been accidental, of course, and he'd taken her missteps during the waltz with a grace that she'd had yet to find. Then after was out of mischief and curiosity, to try and see how effective his princely training had been. It became apparent enough that it had been quite thorough, as he'd never complained even once, nor stopped asking for her company. When she had been younger, C.C. had wondered how much should be attributed to his aversion to defeat. It had been worrying how she'd begun to delight every time he approached her, as well as how she seemed to forget their little game or even the rest of the ballroom until the entire evening had been spent in the other's arms. It had been a silly question, and one that had been answered for her in empty rooms and quiet hallways.
She could still feel his lips on hers: the gentle pressure of his urgency, his warmth and desire and taste.
Last night, when Euphemia had at last retired for the evening and C.C. allowed some privacy in her own room, she'd stared at herself for some time. Wide awake, she'd swayed with the train, the dim glow of a single lantern glistening off the cold water she'd splashed onto her face. Her reflection was a little red and swollen, though nothing noticeable enough for Euphemia to stop and inquire. Delicately, she'd placed her cold fingertips on her cheek before dragging them across her lips, where they were warmed quickly. Pressing lightly, she'd closed her eyes, losing herself in his embrace one more time.
She was compelled to look up from his shoes, seemingly by God himself. Slowly, she travelled up the length of his legs, all the while fighting the urge to look upon his face. Up, she continued, past his folded hands resting on his knee, beyond the gold buttons of his silk vest, the thin gold collar chain that hung over his black cravat, until at last, she came upon eyes already looking upon her.
She hadn't noticed his silence. Her mistake. And yet, she found it difficult to detach herself, just as it had been impossible the previous evening. An eternity seemed to pass in those few moments as they looked at each other with their own silent exchange. Did he regret last night? Had he woken this morning, sober and once more sane, dismissive of the delusions he'd spouted the evening before? Or was he still dreaming, just as she, with eyes wide open, of a different, more selfish life where they could afford the happiness they craved?
She looked away again first - for them both. Smiling at something Euphemia had said, she nodded her head in agreement, never to return to him. Lelouch lingered, dangerously so, before acquiescing and waking himself from that dream he held so dear.
Outside, it continued to rain petals.
. . .
The Prime Minister's residence sat atop an enormous rock outcropping that overlooked the spread of Athína where an eons-old temple had once stood, made to kneel by those unstoppable forces of time and ambition. Crumbling limestone and marble had been replaced by the grandest of spectacles, and it was this spectacle that introduced them to the man that was Achileas Makriyannis.
Imposing gates were drawn open, slow with weight, to permit the procession into the empty courtyard. Swinging around to the right, the carriage arced its way closer to the fot of the stone steps leading up to the palace. Thick columns of stone, 40 feet high and 6 feet wide, stood sentry at the top of the stairs, looking as if they held up the heavens themselves, if not for the hand-carved frieze that depicted the long and passionate history of Elláda. A glorious and astounding thing that demanded to be marveled at, even by those who had been born and raised in equally impressive palaces.
Euphemia leaned closer to her brother to try and appreciate the true scale of her wonder, but Lelouch refused the distraction. Instead, he looked over his sister's shoulder to the iron gates that were swinging shut behind them. He grimaced at the sound they made, echoing thorugh the courtyard they had been locked inside.
Two men in simple but tailored suits had descended by the time their carriage came to a rest, neither of them who Lelouch was looking for, and so fated for oblivion. Lady Onasis introduced the one with blue hair as Apostolos Ioannidis, who bowed slightly. The other, the one with silver hair, and the taller and handsomer of the two, smiled and bowed similarly as he narrowly escaped his destiny.
"Theodulus Dimitriou," she said. "Scions of our most important families, they have been selected by His Excellency to serve as your attendants when the Prime Minister or I am unavailable."
Apostolos and Theodulus couldn't be much older than him, though they were undeniably older. Their upbringing and lifestyle were evident enough in the way they carried themselves and the self-assured ease even when before a prince and princess, but it was also measured in such a way that would have been unobtainable for anyone younger. They had certainly been hand-picked, though for very different reasons than the excuse that had been given to them.
Chosen spies, Lelouch thought, to be embraced.
"I'm afraid I must take my leave. Apostolos and Theodulus will guide you to your suite and can acquaint you to the rest of the estate before dinner, should you wish it."
"Yes, that sounds quite agreeable," replied Euphemia.
"Excellent."
And without any more ceremony than that, they were promptly placed in the loyal and powerful hands of Ioannidis and Dimitriou.
. . .
The wide halls of the palace were just as stately as its exterior. They frequently passed by large windows that offered sweeping views of the city below or marble sculptures of heroes past, who towered over even Jeremiah. All this magnificence was available to Lelouch, unfettered by his impaired vision, but it was still lost to him. Ignoring the grandeur, the marble and gold, was easy enough for him, having long been numb to the same shock and awe so characteristic of his own family.
What might have interested him was the expanse of nearby sea, which he rarely had had occasion to visit, but even then, the silver glimmer was faint and at too far of a distance, too insignificant in the face of what he'd come here to do, to sidetrack him. Turning away from the balcony of his suite, he removed his coat to drape it over the foot of the large bed that had been prepared for him. Undoing the gold chain draped between his shirt collar, he let slip his black cravat and let it flutter onto his coat.
There was a knock on one of the hidden doors - the one that connected his apartment to his knights' quarters. Releasing the first two buttons of his shirt, Lelouch waved off Jeremiah's bow and held out a hand. Thanking and excusing him, he unlocked a small mahogany case with the key that his knight had delivered for him. Inside, he found inkwells, wax, fountain pens, stationery – everything that Nunnally had gifted to him when he'd first left for the border wars. Removing the signet ring on his right ring finger, he aligned the carving of his personal crest with the coat of arms on the underside of the lid. Feeling it slide and lock in place, he gently turned the ring and crest in place until the seal was upside down. Using the ring, he pulled, letting the false top swing down on its hinge.
Nunnally had no knowledge of the secrets stored within her gift, but it made all the more useful. It was a good place to keep his most private letters, and the fewer who knew of it, the more secure he would feel.
A breath of the most pleasant perfume whispered forth from this hiding place. Removing thick envelopes filled with the same sloping handwriting, and a variety of thinner envelopes with an assortment of different handwriting, he found the documents he had been poring over, both with and without Suzaku, during the weeks leading up to today.
Ensuring that everything was where it was supposed to be, he returned the sheaf of papers to the lid of the travel case before returning the crest to its right-side up position. Slipping his ring back on, he carefully lowered the lid and locked that too, this time with the small gold key.
There was another knock, just as the key clicked back into place. It was Jeremiah again, this time to announce that Her Highness, Princess Euphemia, was eager to begin the tour of the palace grounds. Handing him the gold key, he nodded. Very well then. With deft movements, he returned to his costume – the dark, silk cravat, the thin gold chain that lay across it, and finally, his coat. Assessing his reflection, he adjusted his eyepatch, securing it in place.
The perfume had somehow transferred from those letters onto his fingers, making him pause. It was so faint, so faded, he wondered if it really was the perfume or if he was simply imagining things – summer nights, heavy with honeysuckle, as they hid themselves away from the scandalized and disapproving; long winter nights, as he somehow found her in a ballroom full of people, her wide eyes as he offered her his hand; his mother's disdainful glare as she berated him for such wanton foolishness, and the overwhelming scent of roses, jasmine, and lemongrass, as he tangled his fingers in her emerald hair and lay his head on that comforting heartbeat.
Yes, it was true, he thought to himself as he joined his sister in the corridor. He was a fool. Offering his arm, he feigned interest as he nodded to himself. Even years later, and in more ways than he liked, he was still a fool. But not for that.
Never for that.
. . .
Apostolos had conducted the bulk of the tour around the manicured gardens and stately rooms of the palace, with Theodulus occasionally offering commentary. While it had been rather mundane subject matter, Apostolos certainly couldn't be faulted for apathy; all throughout, his eyes had shone like topaz, and it was this enthusiasm that had captured C.C. Hidden behind Euphemia and free to be entertained, she'd observed this devoted lord, this zealous master, as he delved into the particulars of each thread and splinter of the estate.
But it had been those made of aquamarine that had refused to release her. She could only see half of Theodulus' face as he looked at her over his shoulder from where he stood beside Euphemia, but she was sure the hidden half was just as impudent as the visible. It would have been more unnerving, if it weren't for the way his silver hair fell over his pale blue eyes, which were crinkled in the most pleasing way, thanks to that audacious grin. Her only relief was that no one had seemingly noticed, until Euphemia asked about it while she helped her dress for dinner. Securing the corset around her, C.C. reached for the first of the princess' petticoats.
"I wouldn't think anything of it," she replied as she carefully guided her regal head through the next layer of white fabric. "Perhaps he's curious as to why Lelouch didn't bring an attendant with him. Unbeknownst to him, Jeremiah would never stand for sharing such a privilege."
Euphemia smiled faintly as she was helped into the wide hoop skirt that had sprung forth from one of the many, many trunks, but in spite of the distraction of dressing, continued to broach.
"Did he speak to you?"
"Not one word."
"Perhaps he's shy then."
"I hardly feel that's the case."
"That's true," Euphemia said. "Then he certainly wouldn't have been so bold."
Euphemia was afforded some time to contemplate further as the evening's gown was presented to her. Sewn of cornsilk yellow silk, it was a triumph of artistry and craftsmanship. The low Bertha neckline, made of the most delicate, snow-white lace, complemented her soft, alabaster skin, just as the fullness of the sleeves accentuated how lithe her arms were. All gifts from her mother – gown included – Euphemia admired the sumptuous vision making note of what to mention in the next letter to her mother.
Once the gown was buttoned and tied together, C.C. arranged the train of the gown so Euphemia would be comfortable when taking a seat before the vanity. Gently brushing through her hair, she busied herself with the jewels to go around Euphemia's neck and upon her ears and in her hair, until the dying light of the sun was renewed in the glitter of the diamonds and pearls that adorned her.
In awe of her reflection, the princess smiled as she earnestly thanked her. She had made her beautiful. C.C. said nothing. There was nothing to be said; Euphemia had always shone, with or without assistance from anyone or thing. To Suzaku, she must be dazzling, and this evening, blinding in the most euphoric way. He ought to take care not to look directly at her tonight.
Carefully rising, Euphemia touched her arm and directed her towards the seat she had just given up. Firmly setting her down, she kept her hands on her shoulders, expectant of C.C.'s protests. But C.C. offered none.
Perhaps this was what Euphemia had suspected. The glow slightly fading from her, she searched her for what troubled her.
"What happened yesterday?" she asked softly.
C.C. echoed the question as she pretended not to understand or know.
"Yesterday?"
Euphemia nodded, her diamond earrings swaying. She didn't elaborate further, refusing her any opportunity to hide behind a prompt, and instead, loosened C.C.'s hair to comb through it. C.C. closed her eyes as they sat in silence, considering what to say or how to say it. What was she going to say? What could one say? That since yesterday, she had been living a waking dream? That, in a moment of weakness, she'd maliciously sacrificed any and all for a happiness that had never meant to be rightfully hers?
"I…'ve just been tired," she said at last. Settling into her excuse, she steadily met Euphemia's inquisitive gaze. "You know I don't sleep well when traveling. All of the movement and noise easily disturbs."
While Euphemia already knew this, she apparently hadn't been quite convincing enough as she tilted her head to the side. Taking advantage of her hesitation, C.C. insisted on her lie.
"I'll sleep well tonight and feel much better tomorrow."
"Well… Alright," she said, relenting. "But if there is anything, you will tell me, won't you, C.C.?"
C.C. smiled. Of course; there was nowhere else she would rather be.
And this time, it was almost the truth.
. . .
Apéritifs were to be served in the salon adjoining the state dining room, so it was in there that a relatively small party of people gathered. It was a poorly chosen room, much too large for such an intimate party and with the Prime Minister's continued absence, made an already awkward affair into something nearly painful.
Euphemia did her best to alleviate them of the silence presiding over the room by enticing Apostolos Ioannidis to describe the flora and fauna expected of the Mediterranean landscape beyond the palace walls. As she listened attentively, C.C. relieved her mistress of her empty glass, happy for the excuse to distance herself from another lecture.
Exchanging her empty glass for another of cold water, C.C. reluctantly began in the direction of her punishment, when a shadow descended upon her, and with it, a now-familiar ice-blue stare. Theodulus Dimitriou bowed as he introduced himself.
"Yes, I'm aware. Lady Onasis introduced you. As did your wife, when she was introduced to Her Highness."
It was rather rude to reply in such a way, but he had committed the first offense, with all of his unabashed staring, so C.C. thought little of such effrontery. He may be the heir to an important family, but having long become accustomed to the heirs and heiresses of a preeminent dynasty such as that of the Britannian imperial family, the Dimitriou lineage was nothing more than sand to a cliffed coast, to be swept away by the tides and forgotten before they were even remembered.
She had stunned him into silence, though only briefly. Bursting into laughter, he shook his head. Another one of his deviously bright smiles flashed before her eyes, but before he could so much as speak, the doors were opened to admit into their presence, His Excellency, Prime Minister of the Republic of Elláda, Achileas Makriyannis.
Achileas too was tall, though not quite as tall as Jeremiah or Tatiana, but still enough to appear commanding in spite of his youth. Not that he was young - seconded in age only by Tatiana's 44 years, he was one of the oldest in the room, which revealed itself in the greying of his otherwise dark brown hair, but most would consider 35 years to be far insufficient for leading a nation through such turmoil as that which the Elládan republic was embroiled in. Of course, His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, had ascended to the throne at the young age of 28, but His Majesty had had the benefit of being bred and raised for such a purpose. Commoners such as Achileas Makriyannis would be hard-pressed to achieve the same level of preparation and competence, even with 7 additional years.
But all of this – birthright, bloodline, raison d'être – what did it matter when in spite of all these ancient and holy virtues, Achileas was still the one who greeted them? No, he, who had had the ambition and guile to claw his way up from the depths of oblivion, was not to be underestimated. Lelouch would make certain of that.
However. Scheming be damned, it only brought to mind the true risk of this endeavor. Should they fail, there would be no bulwark to protect them. Not when they sought to undermine centuries of imperial tradition and flout the very tenets that upheld their sovereignty. Make no mistake – it wouldn't do to underestimate Achileas Makriyannis or this so-called republic when even pawns could become queens. But there would be no second chances. In its entire history, the Holy Empire of Britannia had never believed in such, and they would be no exception, regardless of succession.
. . .
Achileas was seated at the head of the impressive dining table with Lelouch to his right, as the highest-ranking guest of honor, and Euphemia across from him. Theodulus had been bestowed the respective privilege, fortune, and misfortune of being seated between Her Highness, Princess Euphemia, and her lady-in-waiting, as well as across from Penelopeia, his very own wife, who herself was quite pleased with continued access to a prince. As such, Suzaku was largely ignored by Penelopeia, which was just as well for him, having taken an interest in what Apostolos had to divulge regarding the bountiful sea. This left Jeremiah with Tatiana, but both wordlessly agreed to silently participate in other nearby discussions that were far more interesting than anything the two of them could come up with together.
After the customary toast by their host, the first of allegedly thirteen courses was served, and with it, the first round of questioning. Achileas was gracious enough to begin with their journey here. During the second course, they turned to Apostolos' tour of the residence, where Achileas supplemented anything that might have been missed earlier. Lelouch had been engaged just enough to remain tethered to the conversation, but it was here that his full and undivided attention locked onto Achileas. It failed to escape his notice that there was no overlap whatsoever between Apostolos and Achileas – though whether this was preemptive or otherwise, he wasn't yet sure.
There was nothing of note during the third and fourth courses, as they were asked if they had any specific wishes he could grant them – to which Lelouch had glanced at his sister, but C.C.'s training had grown strong enough roots to withstand the temptation – before receiving an invitation to join him and Tatiana at his estate on Kefalonia, one of the Ionian Islands. He and Tatiana went there for 2 months during the summer to relax and recuperate on a private beach with the most beautiful waters. Euphemia thanked him – it sounded like a wonderous retreat. Yes, he agreed, it was, and he insisted they accept. But regardless, they would, without question, hold a gala to introduce the finest that high society had to offer. Penelopeia beamed at His Excellency and complimented his pleasant and generous nature.
At this, C.C., who had been faintly following the conversation, could sense Euphemia's ballooning discomfort even with the seat between them. Her eyes darted to Lelouch, who had also been closely monitoring her patience. They wanted to push her but not too far, and while he had been doing a good job of intervening when he must, if Achileas continued to provoke like this, there might not be anything even Lelouch could do to temper her.
Fortunately, the rebels rescued them from further distress, as an aged gentleman, most likely 30-35 years Achileas' senior, saluted the distinguished table before bending down to mutter something into the Prime Minister's ear. Judging from the storm that flashed across his face, something extraordinarily unpleasant and exceptionally urgent had occurred and required the immediate attention of both the head and foot of the table. Throwing down his napkin onto his half-eaten plate, Achileas apologized before excusing himself.
Just as they did with this morning, the prince and princess forgave him for his indiscretions and sent him on his way, leaving those abandoned to salvage the evening in what felt like an exercise in futility. Theodulus dutifully regaled some of the more humorous adventures of his youth, charming Euphemia and amusing even C.C., and leaving his wife to happily inquire after the fatherland.
Lelouch indulged in her, having sensed an opportunity within her. Not that it was punishment to – she wasn't terrible company, with a pleasing enough voice and face and the occasional interesting comment or question. Not that he was naturally drawn to her. In fact, if not for her presence, he would've preoccupied himself with her husband, who had evidently taken quite a keen interest in C.C. Even now, he glanced up to see him leaning towards her, as if pulled toward her by some unknowable force. He forced his grimace into a smile.
"Would you like to see it?" he asked.
"Oh!" She was breathless at the fanciful notion. To spend time alone with His Highness! "Yes, of course!" And in exchange, she would take him aboard the Atalanta, her little schooner. Lelouch was admittedly rather taken aback by the discovery of this hobby and thus, unprepared to effectively disguise his surprise. Penelopeia smiled abashedly as she curled her hands into fists, hiding away the unpleasantly rough texture.
"It's not very womanly, but it was something my late father and I enjoyed together, and continuing, even infrequently, is how I think he would have wanted to be honored."
"…Not at all. In my experience, there is nothing more human than the desire to define and measure oneself against the indominable. And are women not human?"
She looked up at him, the tension eased from her hands. Lelouch turned over the palm closest to her, revealing the leathery, calloused skin that was so unbecoming of a prince. Delicately, she brushed his hand with her fingertips, as if she couldn't quite believe what lay before her.
"From sailing?" she asked while looking up, wide-eyed.
"Nothing quite so glorious as that."
"A prince with coarse hands – I didn't think such a thing would exist," she giggled. Lelouch smiled – that was because it didn't. Not in the way she thought. Not that he didn't believe everything he'd told her. There was truth in everything he had said, and at the same time, there were lies. The care and affection and gentleness that he gave her, the very same that he typically reserved for a select few – all of those feelings and desires long pent up within him, that had needed somewhere to go because it couldn't go where it wanted. Within him too, there was an opportunity. He could see that now.
. . .
Everything aligned briefly as digestifs were served, this time on a large balcony overlooking the capital: Tatiana had returned and commanded both Apostolos and Theodulus' attention for whatever had called her away earlier, and Penelopeia had cited a need to freshen herself before the rest of the evening commenced, thus freeing both C.C. and Lelouch. Almost immediately, but imperceptibly so, they cornered Euphemia.
Since her back was turned to unfamiliar company, Euphemia frowned freely as she fanned herself, though she kindly listened to everything that was said to her in quiet voices. Yes, she understood they needed to tread carefully, at least until they could gather their bearings and confirm everything that needed confirming. But they too could at least empathize with her, couldn't they? Of course, they did, soothed C.C. She had nothing to worry about; she wasn't alone. They were here to help her, just as they'd always done. But to do so, she would need to trust in them.
Euphemia promised them her best, just as Achileas approached them, who had apparently returned from the bowels of the war room. Snapping shut her fan, Euphemia smiled nervously – how much had he heard?
"My greatest apologies for the intrusion – Prince Lelouch, if we could speak privately."
Prince Lelouch, in all his grace, permitted such a meeting and excused himself from his sister's company. She wasn't alone for long, as Theodulus, newly liberated, took his place, not even before he'd taken four steps away from them. Lelouch forced himself to push aside any discomfort as Achileas led him to the edge of the balcony. Taking two drinks from a passing servant's tray, he offered him a glass. Accepting it, Lelouch set it down on the stone balustrade and watched the gold bubbles float to the surface.
Achileas spoke first. Setting down his half-emptied glass, he looked out over the darkness spread below them.
"You don't seem to have changed much since last we met."
"I didn't think you remembered."
Achileas smiled, almost to himself.
"I remember every loss I've suffered. Especially one at the hands of a 13-year-old boy."
"Has it really been that long?"
"Do you still play?"
"Not as much, no."
Achileas expressed some disappointment – he had hoped for a rematch. In fact, such hope may have even invited foreign intervention. Lelouch said nothing to this. Achileas looked down at him coldly, just as he had all those years ago in the imperial palace. Perhaps a wager might entice him, such as that of the princess' hopes. They'd certainly gambled much more important things – like the economic survival of this very nation.
Lelouch took a slow sip of his drink.
"I wonder," he finally said, "if you'd be the one I'd be talking to if such strife hadn't afflicted this country. It makes everything so much simpler, doesn't it, when all you have to do is point a finger?"
What would he know of campaigning? Achileas' body and voice were relaxed but his eyes had blackened. Being born into everything he had, everything already given to him at birth – what did he know of a truly earned victory? Of the sacrifice required for it?
But that was the difference between them, wasn't it? To live unfettered by the need to prove his inherent worth, while his every waking moment was consumed by it.
The two men stood still, the rest of the world dead and gone to them. A hot summer breeze rifled through their hair and tugged at their suits, but even then, the frigid air remained, unaffected. Lelouch watched as the impenetrable blackness of Achileas' eyes eventually lightened in color, shifting from charcoal black to wet dirt to shit-stain brown, whereupon, he smiled. He smiled so wide, he began laughing. Lelouch continued to watch him, realizing for the first time that he'd been frowning. Releasing the crease between his brows, he finally looked away and took another sip of his drink.
Shaking his head, Achileas fought to keep from chuckling. He truly hadn't changed. What a relief that was, a weight off his shoulders. Welcome, Prince, to Elláda. And please – stay as long as he wished.
. . .
He'd had to wear fine suits on occasion, but even still, he hadn't quite become accustomed to them. They were suffocating, but worse yet, felt lethal with the way they liked to restrict movement. Even with suits perfectly tailored to his body, whenever he was forced into one, he couldn't help but feel as if he was being restrained, or in the very least, encumbered. Relieved to remove the final layer of this prison, Achileas tossed the pants onto the bench, where the rest of his suit had been unceremoniously dumped.
Naked, he left the antechamber, entering through the open archway that connected to the cavernous baths that lay beneath the palace. Steam from the hot baths wafted through the air, languidly and reluctantly drifting about, as he rinsed himself with cold water from a brass faucet in the stone walls. Closing the faucet, he wiped the water from his eyes and slicked back his hair before making his way towards the warmest of the baths. Descending the three short steps, he waded towards the center, where he sunk down until he was neck-deep. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Achileas submerged himself until he was nothing more than an intermittent series of bubbles bursting on the surface.
Resurfacing and standing tall, he brushed his hair back from his brown eyes as he moved to the edge of the small pool, where the bath floor rose up to allow for sitting. Leaning back against the warm tile, he rested his head on the stone coping of the inlaid bath. Slowly, aggravatingly so, the tension and tightness that had been holding him together seeped out of him. Quietly, he closed his eyes and waited as the day's toxins were extracted from his deepest recesses, as he was soothed by the heat and weightlessness of the water.
He didn't open his eyes again until ripples lapped at the angry scarring on his chest, permanent reminders of his sacrifice. When he finally did, he smiled as he found himself looking into steel grey eyes.
Seated directly across from him, Tatiana spoke first. She'd always had such little patience for these sorts of things. Though perhaps that was why they got along so well.
"And so?" she said, tucking loose strands of her hair behind an ear. "What of the Dadia forest?"
Achileas sighed, the familiar ache in his heart once more returning, despite his best efforts.
"...It's lost. I've ordered for retreat."
Steel softened as she saw slumped shoulders. The gas lamps attached to the walls flickered, throwing strange shadows all around them and aging his already worn face. Pushing herself off her seat, she glided across to sit beside him. He looked up at her, returning from wherever his mind's eye had taken him, anchored in place by her touch.
"But no matter," he sighed. "What's lost isn't always lost forever. What of you? What news do you have for me?"
"The princess is true to her reputation. As is her relationship to her servant."
He nodded. Yes, it had seemed that way. And her brother too was exactly as they'd guessed - arrogant and vulnerable, for all his cunning. It was decided then. They would send word to Anatolia as planned. But in the morning - she had done excellent work, and more than enough for today. Achileas looked at her fondly through the thick shadows and tendrils of steam, his youthful vigor once more restored.
Thank you, Tatiana.
A/N: Sorry - started two jobs in August/September, and 60 hour work weeks are not a joke. Hope this wasn't too hard to get through.
