Title: Once Upon a Time
Summary: Nunnally remembers what it was like to be a child. Probably not like these children were—assured of the peace in their futures, assured of everything—because her life has never been sure. But she had still once been a child. And she remembers.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
once upon a time
"Once upon a time, there lived a prince. His father was the great emperor of the lands, but the prince hated his father. His father was a tyrant who ruled over his kingdom with an iron fist, condemning the weak as he praised the strong. In the king's world, there was no such thing as defeat. The flags he waved were smoking guns used to conquer and oppress those who would defy him."
Nunnally never really outgrew her love of fairytales. She still loves them—she thinks it might be because they remind her of her brother, and happier times at the Kururugi Shrine, at Ashford Academy.
Sometimes, when she lies in her bed at night to go to sleep, her eyes will catch on the painting hanging on the opposite wall, depicting her mother, her brother, and herself—depicting a family, she thinks with longing. And she'll dream of a better world—not necessarily a more peaceful world, because the world she lives in now is certainly kind, but a world where she still has them. Family.
So it shouldn't have surprised Zero when, after they finished negotiating the terms of their alliance with the Prime Minister of Japan, she requested to be brought to the nearest orphanage. And it shouldn't have stunned him to see her smile at the flock of children, tears in her eyes as she set about regaling them with fairytales.
Both tales of old, and tales he has never heard before. Like this one.
"The prince, locked in a gilded cage masquerading as a palace, was blind to the plight of the outside world. He had his mother and his many siblings to distract him from the sins of his father. But one day, his mother's life was taken, and with her death, his illusion of a perfect life was finally shattered. He experienced his father's cruelty firsthand when the king denied his mother the justice she deserved."
There is a small smile on the empress' face, but Zero doesn't relax. Because while the man he parades around as does not know her, Suzaku does and so he knows that she isn't fine.
He can see the tightness of her stance and the weariness in her voice, the bitterness on her face and in her smile, the sadness in her eyes. He can see the way her fingers curl tightly around her royal dress, squeezing and strangling the ribbons and lace and cloth. He can see her pain.
She can't fool him. Not anymore.
"The prince was furious. A few days after his mother's body was torn apart by bullets and her soul passed on, finally released from its mortal coil, he stormed into his father's throne hall while court was in session. He demanded vengeance for his mother; he questioned the king's judgment and was so punished for it. Angered by the prince's gall, the king decreed that he, along with his injured sister, be sent to foreign land to further negotiations with its head.
"The prince had no choice but to obey. He stewed in his fury as he and his sister were tossed away like pawns, discarded once the protection their mother had afforded them was gone and they had fulfilled their usefulness."
Nunnally laughs quietly in her mind; a sad, mirthless laugh. She didn't realize it then, but the night her mother died, so did her brother. His body still lived on, but the love and laughter and liveliness in his mind was gone, draining away as their mother was buried—after their banishment to Japan, he smiled only for her sake.
"Your Majesty," Zero prompts from beside her, a breathless whisper. She hears the starch in his voice and a wry smile twitches at her lips.
She nods in acknowledgement, her eyes straying to the children gathered in front of her, eyeing her with excitement and curiosity.
They are just like her. Like the sheltered girl she used to be, protected from the harsh truths of war and chaos and death.
She lifts her hands to her face, examining them for a brief second. They are clean and smooth—perfectly unblemished and unscarred—but she can still see the blood. The blood of the thousands who died at her hands, perishing in the instant it took for the F.L.E.I.J.A. to eliminate them.
She flinches and drops her hands to her lap. She can never forget. And she doesn't want to, not when forgetting means accepting—not when it means she's forgiven herself for what she has done.
And she will never forgive herself.
But she gazes at the children, at their childish innocence and all the happiness that comes with their youth, and she bites back a sigh. She focuses on their smiles as she continues from where she left off, barely hearing the words that leaves her mouth as she weaves her brother's tale. Their tale.
"For months, all the prince could think about was justice. Justice for his mother. He wanted his father to pay. And that desire strengthened when the first bombs began to rain down upon the place of residence they stayed at, and a familiar army started to invade. He recognized the approaching fleet with a sinking feeling in his stomach: it was his father's army. He and his sister had been abandoned by the king, for good.
"So it stopped being about revenge only. Because during those perilous times when he, his sister, and the boy they'd befriended, fled for their lives and hid from the ruthless soldiers, the prince witnessed the deaths of entire civilizations. The slaughter of an undeserving people. He watched in horror, unable to do anything, as women and children alike were massacred beneath the uncaring march of his father's men.
"They wept as they traversed the soil of the dead and the dying, looking away in shame as they were forced to turn a blind eye to the suffering around them for the sake of their own survival. Strong men were reduced to groveling messes at their feet, women begged to be saved, and children cried for their parents, as they all bled without pause."
She is in the middle of her storytelling, her voice soft and sinfully rich despite the horrors exiting her lips, when she stops abruptly, her toes curling. What am I doing? she asks herself. These are children. I shouldn't be telling them these things, not now, not when we have peace. They… they will live innocent, untainted and unmarred by our tragedies.
She sees the wide-eyed, unveiled horror of the children as they cover their mouths and pray for the prince, the princess and their friend, who were forced to endure a war.
She makes up her mind to gloss over the details, looking away guiltily.
"Looking upon the bleeding nation as it was sucked dry, the prince made up his mind. He vowed to overthrow his father, to squash the barbaric notions the king put into place, and to return peace and harmony to the kingdom. Soon after, he and his sister bid their friend goodbye as they went on their separate ways.
"The prince had immeasurable patience, but luck didn't favor him, and he faced innumerable obstacles in his path. He wanted to do good, but fate forced him to turn to evil to prevail. To meet his goals, he was willing to do anything, even commit sin. Now, the prince was a smart boy, and he knew that he couldn't hope to defeat his king of a father on his own. He knew that he would need power of his own.
"He received this power from a witch. The witch possessed the youthful beauty of a princess, but she was old and weary and tired of life. She wanted escape. So when she found the prince, she saw his potential and offered him the power he so craved. In exchange for this, the prince agreed to grant the witch a single wish.
"With her gift bestowed upon him, the prince was ecstatic. Finally, he thought, he could stop his father's evil reign and give his sister the peaceful world she dreamt of. But he didn't realize that her gift, his newfound power, was more of a curse than a blessing, until it was too late. Instead, he embraced the power and all of its benefits and began to claim allies of his own. He never noticed the way the power twisted him, corrupting him until he could no longer turn back.
"The prince was forced to continue on in his accursed path to good. He lied and lied to everyone, even his own subordinates. And he deceived his old friend as well, with whom he and his sister were reunited. Along the way, he rose to greatness and accomplished his goal: he defeated his father, the king, and forced him to see the wrong in his ways."
Some of the children sigh in relief, laughing as they cheer for the prince. A hero, in their eyes.
Nunnally muses at the irony that, if they knew his name, his identity, they will call him monster.
She smiles sadly, knowing that she herself had, and interrupts their joy:
"But our story doesn't end there. Because, you see, he had to face the consequences of his actions. Those who once followed him began to doubt him, and those he relied on turned against him. In the midst of all the chaos, even the sister he loved most betrayed him, allying with his greatest enemy."
She pauses as her breath catches in her throat and she stumbles for words. But she has to continue. She has to push on, if only so her brother can finally be understood and his deeds painted in justice. (She ignores the part of her that knows that, unless she wants to make everything her brother fought for—died for—in vain, she cannot reveal the true identity of "the prince" in her retelling.)
One of the girls, sitting in the front row, gasps. "B-But why?" she asks in confusion, her brows furrowed. "He loved her!"
Nunnally flinches at the accusation, launching at her from the mouth of a child. "Yes," she answers quietly after a moment. "He did. He loved her very much." Her grip on her dress tightens painfully, and she doesn't miss the way Zero subtly shifts so that he is in front of her.
She laughs, this time. She knows he is concerned for her, and even though she hates it because it used to be her brother who worried about every little thing, she says nothing. Because there is nothing that can harm her here, not in a physical sense.
Only the reminder of what she did. Only the stinging words of a seven-year-old girl, wondering how a sister can betray her own brother. Nunnally wonders, too. She wonders why she didn't trust him, love him, enough.
"So the prince was forced to take arms yet again, driving away the attempts of his enemy as he sought to preserve his peace. Only this time, with his sister standing against him, he could find comfort only in the witch who offered him his power. He did not hate her, even though it was she who showed him the door to his new fate. He refused to blame her, because, to him, he was the one who opened that door and took the first step.
"And so the witch became one of the prince's greatest confidants. She became his shield, protecting him from his enemies as well as himself. She never wavered, even when the prince took on the hatred of the world for himself, even when he had to face everyone else as his enemy. She stayed by his side, the single constant in their inconsistent world. Together, they found happiness in unlikely times, never judging each other—even when the prince committed sins worse than his father's, she remained steadfastly beside him."
It pains Nunnally to say it, but she knows it is the truth. When she turned away to side with Schneizel, it was C.C. who offered him her hand and picked up the pieces she left in her wake. It was C.C. who loved him, who held him as he cried. It was C.C. who never lost faith in him, in them.
"What happens after that?" one of the boys asks eagerly. He leans forward, intrigued and immersed in her story. "Does the prince win? Against his brother, and… against the hatred of the world?"
"…he called it a victory," Nunnally answers softly. To her, it is no triumph, no decisive win. With him dead, it can never be a victory, not to her. But it played out as he imagined it. It is his achievement, his win, even if she despises it. She gulps down tears. "You might say that he won, yes. He brought about the peace he vowed to—the peace he knew his sister wanted."
"Together with the witch, and his childhood friend, the prince schemed and schemed. They hatched his last plan, his great masterpiece—one no one but they, and their closest advisers, would know of. Their sacrifice would go unacknowledged, but the prince no longer cared. He wanted rest. He didn't want to be celebrated; he just wanted peace to unite his kingdom, and the world.
"Their plan was a vile one. The prince donned another mask: not the mask of a vigilante, as he once played as, but the mask of a tyrant. A monster worse than his own father. He continued his lie until the very end, refusing to let up even as his end neared.
"And that day finally came, without fail. His death was an agent of change. As so many others had before him, he bled out, able to smile now that his plan, and his peace, were finally brought to see the light of day. He left his friend behind to ensure that war never returned to their shores, and he left his witch behind in the hopes that she could finally live with unburdened happiness."
"That's… that's so sad," one of them sobs. "He… just died?" Her face is shocked, her tears wetting her curly lashes and spilling over onto her cheeks.
Do you see this, Lelouch? Nunnally asks pleadingly. This is your legacy. You are hated now, but perhaps you will not always be so. Even in small ways like this… I will honor what you've done for us all.
"Why did he have to die?" another complains. "He should have found a way to live! And what about the witch? His friend, his sister? How could he just leave them?"
A girl nods emphatically. "Didn't he know they'd be hurt by his death? Even if his sister did betray him, I'm sure she loved him, too…" she trails off.
Nunnally barks with laughter so bitter she wants to cry. She stops herself abruptly. "She did love him, too much," she agrees. "And he did know. He knew they'd be hurt. But, beneath all else, he was a selfish man. And he thought that the end would justify the means, that they would be able to move on, living in his peaceful world."
Zero, just barely noticeable through his posture, stiffens minutely. His shoulders broaden, tense and uncomfortable at the topic.
Nunnally ignores it, averting her eyes. She hates to see it. Hates to see that even Zero, even her brother's murderer, grieves his death.
Later that day, after they leave the orphanage, Nunnally asks to visit the Kururugi Shrine. They are already in Japan (he never gets tired of being able to think of his home as Japan and know that it is true, Area 11 is no longer the designated name), after all, and Zero can never deny Nunnally anything. He has never been able to, not even as Suzaku.
Zero knows why—even though Lelouch has an official tombstone (the grave itself is empty) at the royal cemetery, they lowered his corpse into a grave at the Kururugi Shrine. It was Lelouch's request.
Personally, Zero didn't—and still doesn't—understand why Lelouch wanted his burial place to be in Japan, not after their betrayals, but he doesn't question it. (When he mentioned the request to Nunnally after she asked about where to bury him, she smiled a little and cried in the privacy of her suite.)
When they arrive at the old shrine, he stays a significant distance away from Nunnally, watching her as she slowly wheels herself over to the grave.
Respectfully, he finally looks away, gazing across the lake and remembering the last time he was here with Lelouch, the deceptive mask and guard the emperor put on relaxed for the moment but not fully discarded.
Nunnally's eyes rest on her brother's grave, unable to help herself as the tears well up inside her. She puts up a good front when she presents herself in public, but it's hard not to break down whenever she is back here, sitting in front of her brother's grave.
As she always does, she starts by telling him about her day, about her new life as empress. She continues until she can't anymore, until the words are stuck in her throat and she is too caught by the sadness in the fate he was doomed to live out.
"Were you watching me, onii-sama? Are you proud of me?" she whispers tearfully. "I… I hope you are. I hope that you're smiling, wherever you are… and that I've done your memory justice."
She almost looks away before she catches herself and sobs. No matter how painful it is, she refuses to close her eyes to her brother's death. Not when he has suffered for her sake, to make her dreams a reality. She swallows, crushing the part of her that is terrified. She can't afford to be afraid after all of the sacrifices he has made.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I should have known better. You are my brother, after all. A wonderful liar."
"Your brother loved you, Nunnally," the woman says quietly, her voice coated in misery. "He wanted you to be happy, to enjoy the peace he gave us all. Never forget that."
Nunnally sobs, her face in her hands. "I just wanted to be with him," she confesses earnestly, seeking comfort. But it can never be her brother giving her that comfort, not anymore. "All I wanted was for us to live together, happily. For us to remain family, even despite our mother's death."
"You were family, Nunnally," the woman soothes. "You were his sister, the one he could never let go of. He wanted nothing more than to see you smile. He wanted a world where you wouldn't be judged for the disabilities your father thought made you weak."
"I never asked for this!" she lashes out, shrieking. But it isn't anger she cries with. It is agony. And a weeping anguish. "I never wanted it to end this way…"
"He knows," the witch whispers, pulling her warlock's sister into a hug. "He didn't either, Nunnally. And… he wanted you to know that, no matter what, you will always be that sister. He never stopped loving you."
"And… and you?" Nunnally asks shakily as she leans into C.C.'s consoling arms. "He loved you, too, didn't he? He had you by his side, always, to take care of him, right?" She sounds desperate for reassurance that her brother hadn't been alone in his loneliest hours.
"…He did," C.C. murmurs into Nunnally's dress. "You don't have to worry about that."
The girl laughs breathlessly, sad and devastated by the poignancy of her brother's requiem. "I'm glad, then," she says. She swallows down her own guilt at not having been there for him, too. It's too late for regrets, she thinks. "I… thank you."
"Don't thank me," C.C. denies. "None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for me. Remember that. And don't forget that he didn't mean any of what he said. You are his sister, his reason, his inspiration. He never wanted to lie to you… but he had to. And that's what it was. It was all a lie, an act."
She doesn't try to stop herself when the strangled wail escapes her mouth and she starts to cry.
Through her blurry vision, she spots the two chess pieces on the tombstone, standing tall and indomitable in the gentle breeze. The black king and the black queen.
She wonders if it was C.C. who put them there and sobs louder, remembering how her brother and his witch—no, she corrects herself, his queen—looked on their thrones, cold and impassive but strong as they sat side-by-side, drawing on each other's resilience.
Her fingers are trembling so hard she almost drops the paper crane she is holding. She decided to bring it and offer it to remind herself—remind herself what she became empress for: the wish she made to her brother all those months—years—ago, begging for a gentler world.
It came true, but at a price she would have never wanted to pay. The cost it came with, her brother's life, is higher than should be allowed. But she refuses to let it be in vain. She will continue to govern the world towards a brighter future so that, if he ever sees what's become of his sacrifice, he will be proud.
She barely manages to compose herself, still shedding tears as she presses a kiss onto the white paper (for the justice he upheld despite his claims of evil, she explained to Zero) and sets it on the tombstone. "I'll do my best to keep up this peace you granted us, and…" She hesitates, drawing back before her tears can stain the paper crane, and says, "I love you, onii-sama."
"When the last piece slid into place, and the curtains drew to reveal the grand finale, the wold was changed once again, and the people were carried along by the currents of a new dawn. An era of peace."
fin.
