Chapter Eight

St Darwin Boulevard, Pendragon, Holy Empire of Britannia, April 2006 ATB

It had been an awkward two days.

Alexander was feeling much better after his brief sojourn. It had gone pretty much as Empress Marianne had predicted. Euphemia and her friends had fussed over him, Lelouch had hovered in the doorway just out of sight, glowering.

It would have been quite pleasant, if not for that incident with the porridge.

Now that he was recovered, Marianne had allowed him to take walks in the garden. He didn't understand why she fussed over him so much. He was feeling so much better.

Physically, at least.

It was a pleasant spring afternoon, and the flowers were open. The cherry blossom trees, imported from Japan at enormous expense, were about to bloom. The sun was warm on his face, and the breeze gentle on his cheek.

But he couldn't relax. He couldn't stop the events of two days earlier running through his mind; the battle with those three pages, the incident at the party. He couldn't remember the last time something like that had happened to him. He couldn't remember ever being so scared.

Except for then. The time before, when he was not Alexander Waldstein, but Soran.

He vaguely remembered the orphanage. In truth, it was all he really remembered from that time. It had been a poor place, now that he had something to compare it to. Cold in winter and hot in summer, the food poor, the grown-ups distant and sometimes cruel.

But at least it had been a place to be. At least he'd had a roof over his head, and food in his belly, and a bed to sleep in.

Before the troubles. Before there had been people fighting in the streets, bombs being thrown, and buildings set on fire. Before the orphanage got trashed, and he was alone on the streets.

He shook his head, trying to force the memories away. They were not his memories, not anymore! Soran was dead! He was Alexander Waldstein!

Yes he was. He was Alexander Waldstein, Viscount of San Clemente, son of Lord Bismark Waldstein, and page to Empress Marianne.

And he had gotten into a fight with some other Queen-consort's pages. He had beaten them, humiliated them. Might they want revenge? Might their mistress seek to even the score?

He gripped the hilt of his sword, willing his mind to clear. He would protect Empress Marianne's children, and Euphie and her friends. He would protect them all! It was all he could do!

Except there were no sign of them. In fact, he hadn't seen Lelouch or Nunnally since that morning. They had been strangely evasive, slipping out of the house while he had assisted Marianne with some minor tasks. What was going on? Had they taken a dislike to him? Or were they engaged in some private business to which he was not privy?

The sound of voices drew him from his thoughts. He listened closely, largely for want of anything better to do or think about.

"…can't find out…"

"…spoil everything…"

"…need to…"

Alexander blinked, and shook his head. Who was it? And what were they talking about?
Then he paused, remembering what Marianne had told him on the day of the party. If he were to eavesdrop, he might overhear something personal, something private. Worse, he might get found out.

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and crept closer. The voices were coming from behind the long bush along which he had been walking. He knew the layout well enough to know that there was a path on the other side. Coming to an opening in the bush, he slowed to a creep, stalking silently closer as his father had taught him.

"But it has to be a surprise!"

"But he's always helping your mother! He'll find out sooner or later!"

"He won't! I've got it all worked out! And it's only two more days!"

"Oh why can't you just tell him? It'll be so much easier!"

"No! It has to be a surprise!"

Unable to contain his curiosity a moment longer, Alexander slowly poked his head around the opening. Standing on the path were Lelouch and Euphemia, having a heated conversation, while Nunnally stood nearby, gazing up at them in mute incomprehension.

His timing could not have been worse, for at that very moment Nunnally just happened to glance his way. Her face split into a beam of delight.

"Arixandur peeping!"

Alexander was too shocked to react, his mind a sudden blur. Lelouch spun around to face him, his face a mask of horror.

"Uh, uh, Alexander!" Lelouch forced himself to appear affable, though his face was ashen. "Uh…so nice to see you…out and about!"

"I'm terribly sorry, your highness," pleaded Alexander, cheeks red with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop!"

"Don't be silly Alexander!" admonished Euphemia. "You're not a servant! Come out here!"

Alexander stepped around the bush and advanced to join them. He had begun to feel increasingly comfortable around the three in the two months since he had come to Aries Villa, but he knew his place all the same. It would not do to forget who they really were, and where he truly stood with them.

"But how did you know we were here?" asked Lelouch, both bewildered and a little suspicious.
"I fear I overheard your conversation," replied Alexander awkwardly. "I wondered who it could be."

"You heard?" Lelouch glanced back and forward along the path. "What did you hear? Who else heard?"

"Nothing at all, your highness." Alexander wondered what he had gotten himself into. "Just something about a surprise."

Lelouch barely stifled a yell, and Euphemia giggled behind her hand.

"Oh Alexander, you have ears like a bat!"

"Eep eep!" Nunnally squeaked, flapping her arms up and down. "Arixandur bat!"

"Is your highness seeking to surprise someone?" Alexander asked innocently. Lelouch and Euphemia looked at one-another, their eyes unreadable.

"Oh, uh…yes…" Lelouch replied, cautiously. "But…it's rather complicated, and a little awkward."

"Might I be of help, your highness?" Alexander wondered why Euphemia was giggling so much.

"Oh no, that's not necessary!" pleaded Lelouch, waving his hands in what looked like panic. "I mean…everything's already in order! All in order! Everything!"

"Your highness?"

Alexander was thoroughly confused. What could have happened to leave the normally calm and reserved Lelouch so utterly discombobulated?

"I mean, I just need your help in…keeping it a secret, that's all."

Lelouch seemed to be thinking very hard. Alexander could almost hear cooling fans whirring inside his head. He smiled suddenly, as if he had come to a decision.

"I need you, Alexander, to do a couple of things for me. I need you to…"

The smile vanished as suddenly as it had come. Surprised, Alexander glanced at Euphemia, whose smile was also gone. Only then did he register the sound of footsteps and the swish of clothes.
Someone was coming.

He glanced around, and saw a cluster of ladies approaching along the path. At their head was a glamorously-dressed woman with elegantly-coiffed blonde hair. She walked with her head erect, her every movement perfectly controlled, so that her dress barely seemed to wobble.

"Oh no!" hissed Lelouch. "Not her!"

Alexander was already moving, stepping off the path in a few smooth steps, then turning and lowering his head respectfully. Lelouch grabbed Nunnally and followed him, Euphemia doing likewise. For a few tense moments they waited, letting the ladies pass.

Alexander did not expect them to stop suddenly. He wondered what it meant, and why Lelouch was so apparently frightened.

"Something is here," the woman said, without moving her head. "Is that oil I smell?"

The ladies tittered among themselves. Alexander felt his stomach clench. What was going on?

"Good day, your Majesty," Lelouch greeted the woman, his tone coldly formal. Euphemia genuflected, but said nothing. The woman, evidently one of the Queen Consorts, did not react at first.

"Something is speaking to me," she went on, then appeared finally to notice Lelouch. "Ah, I see. It is Prince Lelouch, the clever son of the bloody-handed concubine."

More tittering. It took Alexander a moment to realise that she was referring to Marianne. Fighting down a flash of anger, he glanced at Lelouch; who was trying and failing to do the same.

"Such a face," mocked the Queen, evidently enjoying herself. "Such anger. How like his mother!"

"And who is this with you?" The Queen turned her attention onto Alexander. "Is it some android, implacable and unfeeling? Such a sour face."

"Queen Gabriella!" one of the sycophants spoke up with bright enthusiasm. "It's Alexander Waldstein! Her page."

Alexander's stomach clenched. Gabriella? That Gabriella?

"Oh him!" declared Gabriella la Britannia, in the same mocking tone. "The unexpected son, the one everyone's talking about. The feral beast of San Clemente, born with a dagger in his hand!"

"He's even wearing a sword!" tittered one of the ladies. "How uncouth!"

"He thinks he's a knight!" sneered another, leading to another bout of laughter.

The sound clawed at Alexander, like fingernails being dragged down his heart. But he could not react. He could not even speak. This woman was a Queen, to whom he could not even speak without first having been spoken to; and her sycophants were noble ladies.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing but squeeze his jaw shut, and bear the humiliation.

"Leave him alone!" snapped Euphemia, outraged. "You know he can't talk back!"

The ladies fell silent. Gabriella turned her head very slowly, staring down at Euphemia as if she were something found on the sole of her shoe. Euphemia stared defiantly up at her, but Alexander could see her hand trembling.

"Princess Euphemia," she said, very slowly and carefully. "Daughter of that other woman. You should choose your company more carefully, or you'll start to stink of blood."

The laughter returned. Alexander felt sick. He just wanted this to end. Why couldn't this vile woman just go away?

"And who is this?" Gabriella turned her head again, this time staring down at Nunnally. The little girl stared back up at her, eyes wide with fright, too afraid even to move.

"Leave her alone!" snapped Lelouch, stepping in front of Nunnally. Alexander felt his heart skip a beat, fearing what Gabriella might do.

Gabriella said nothing. Instead she raised a gloved hand, and snapped her fingers. Footsteps resounded, and three figures emerged from behind the crowd of ladies, hurrying at her command like trained dogs.

Alexander's blood ran cold as he saw them. There was the black-haired Hugh and the brown-haired George, their faces covered in livid red lines where Victoria's plants had scratched them. With him was that red-haired boy too, the one who had not revealed his name.

"Tell me, you three," said Gabriella. "Is this the one who humiliated you two days ago?" She gestured casually at Alexander. All three faces turned to regard him, George and Hugh glowering with bitter hatred. The redhead just smirked, as he always did.

"Yes, your Majesty," said the redhead. "He humiliated them. I never got the chance to fight him."
George and Hugh rounded on their comrade, but Gabriella laughed.

"George, Hugh, I wish to look at that creature behind Prince Lelouch," she said, with an air of command. "George, remove him from my way. Hugh, push that girl onto the ground."

The pair moved, striding towards their targets. Euphemia stood her ground, not seeming to believe what was happening, then let out a shriek as Hugh shoved her, throwing her to the ground in a tangle of petticoats. His face wore a vicious smirk, full of the cruel arrogance of one who knew he could bully a princess and get away with it, for a fine Queen had his back.

"Euphie!" cried Lelouch, but George grabbed him and threw him onto the path. Alexander bared his teeth, and grabbed for his sword hilt.

"No!" Lelouch cried out from where had fallen. "Don't! She's a Queen! You'll be executed!"

To his horror, and his shame, Alexander froze. He knew what Lelouch said was true. Gabriella was a Queen Consort, second only to the Emperor. She could not be touched, or accused, or constrained. Were he to defy her, or even to draw his sword in anger, she would have the right to demand his head.

He was frightened. He didn't want to die, not shackled and blindfolded like a shamed knight, or on the guillotine like a commoner. What would happen to his father if he suffered such a fate? What of Empress Marianne? Would disgrace would they have to endure?

Nunnally wailed in fright, and ran up to him, clinging to his leg. Gabriella rounded upon him and strode closer, looming over him like thundercloud.

"Stand aside, young lord." Her voice was cold. "Or shall I let these three avenge myself upon you?"

"Your Majesty," Alexander forced out the words. "I…ask you to desist."

For a moment there was silence. And then the ladies burst out laughing, a horrid cacophony that tore at Alexander's very soul. Never in his life, not even on the streets, had he felt quite so small and stupid. He glanced at the red-haired page, half-expecting to see that same vicious smirk.

But it wasn't there. The redhead wasn't smiling. His face was a cold mask, his eyes staring.

"Last chance," replied the Queen. There was something horrid in her eyes, something cruel. "Stand aside."

"Arixandur…" Nunnally looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of tears. "Please? Please no?"

Alexander's whole body had frozen solid, ice water running in his veins, his soul shivering. He could not abandon Nunnally to this…harridan's cruelty. But she was a Queen! This wasn't like before! This wasn't like that fight two days ago! It had all been so clear then, so simple!

And then he remembered.

"Think carefully before you draw your sword, Alexander Waldstein. One day, honour will cost you dear."

He understood. He knew what she meant now, what she had been trying to tell him, to warn him of. Honour, death. Compassion, shame. Love, ruin.

He glanced down at Nunnally, looking into those wide, pleading eyes.

"No!" Lelouch cried, as Alexander's sword came out in one swift motion, the blade hissing as it cut the air, halting straight in front of him, aimed for Gabriella's breast.

The ladies fell silent, staring at Alexander as if he had sprouted horns. Gabriella's face did not so much as flicker. She stared down the blade, straight into his eyes, her gaze full of bitter contempt.

"So…you are a man after all," she hissed. "Very well. You can repay this affront by entertaining me."

She turned around and swept away from him, standing in the very centre of the path.

"George! Hugh!" she barked. "Kill him!"

The ladies looked at one-another. Euphemia let out a cry of fright.

"No! Your Majesty!" pleaded Lelouch, terrified. "You can't! It's murder!"

Gabriella ignored him, instead watching as her pages approached him, drawing their swords.

They would kill him, Alexander realised. He could see the gleam of murder in their eyes. They were children, cruel as only children could be, granted permission to do their worst.

They were not like him, not like the urchins back in Tehran. Their eyes had been cold, empty of feeling, empty of conscience. These were spoiled brats, their wicked desires indulged by a mistress who cared nothing for the consequences. On the streets, where he had survived, they would not have lasted five minutes.

They would do no better with him.

"Alexander! Put it away!" howled Lelouch. He had pulled himself to his feet, his clothes stained with dust from the path. "Just say you're sorry!"

Alexander did not reply. He did not want to apologise. He did not want to avoid this battle. He felt calm…no, not calm, but whole. Everything, all his doubts, his fears, his inhibitions and awkwardness; all of it was gone. Never in his life, not since he had left the streets, had anything ever seemed so clear.

The boys advanced upon him, swords at the ready, teeth gritted, lips curled in mingled rage and cruel pleasure. They had been humiliated, and they looked forward to humiliating him in turn, and then killing him if their mistress insisted.

They did not know what they were up against. They had never dealt with something like him. They had never had to shiver in the cold, rifle through garbage cans for food, always at the ready to run at the sound of footsteps, or the click of a gun being cocked. They were nothing like him.

He felt Nunnally let go of his leg, but barely noticed. His world had shrunk to a tiny circle, where only he and his enemies stood. His mind was on them, all his thoughts fixed upon them.

Hugh charged, yelling at the top of his lungs as he swung for Alexander's head. Alexander moved, his head swaying to avoid the blade, his sword jabbing at Hugh's hand. Hugh pulled back just in time, their blades clattering as they met. Alexander attacked, thrusting left and right, his movements flowing like water.

He had never fought like this. He had never moved like this. The world seemed to slow down; all the tension he felt, the desperation to make each movement follow the one before it, was all gone.

Thrust above, thrust below. Thrust left, thrust right. Hugh fell back before him, his moves becoming sloppier, more forced. Alexander knew he was winning, and thrilled at it.

But there was George, creeping around the side, sword at the ready. George meant to blindside him, that much was clear. Alexander knew he had to end this quickly, but how?

He fixed his attention back on Hugh, looking for an opening, something he could use.

There it was. That slight shudder in the right leg, the leg where Oldrin had kicked him two days ago. He had been limping. Only slightly, so slightly that Alexander hadn't noticed before. But there it was.
Alexander saw his opening. He thrust at Hugh's right, the blade whistling through empty air as Hugh jinked left to dodge it. Alexander darted forward, drove his right shoulder against Hugh's left, and jammed his left foot down on Hugh's leg.

Hugh screamed, and Alexander felt the bones crack. He shoved Hugh away, sending him toppling to the ground, howling in pain.

He heard George's snarl of rage. He spun round, just in time to block an overhead swing, then fell back and parried as George came on. The boy's fury was almost palpable, stinging heat emanating from him as if he had caught fire. Even through the strange, unworldly calm that was Alexander's world, it set his teeth on edge.

George swung and slashed, not quite lost to rage, but still angry enough to make his moves sloppy. Alexander parried him easily, waiting for him to over-reach himself, to make himself vulnerable.
The page thrust, and Alexander stepped lightly aside, bringing his blade down on George's sword hand. The page yelled and dropped his sword, clutching at his injured hand as blood gushed around his fingers, dripping to the ground.

Alexander kicked away the dropped sword and stepped back, turning to face Gabriella and her ladies. The women stared at him, pale-faced and shivering. Gabriella's porcelain features had settled into a cold, emotionless mask.

"You are both dismissed from my service," she said, her tone ice-cold. "Do not come near me again. James, your turn."

"As your Majesty commands."

The redhead, whose name was apparently James, stalked out in front of his mistress, eyes fixed on Alexander. Alexander returned his stare as he squared off against him, trying to read the mind behind those now-emotionless eyes.

Nothing. He was as inscrutable as a training robot.

"I am James Tyrell, Baron Pulaski," the boy introduced himself. "My father is the Duke of Roanoke. It is an honour to face you, my lord."

Alexander did not reply. He did not understand what was going on. Why was this James Tyrell being so…civil all of a sudden?

Tyrell moved, so fast that Alexander barely registered it. It was all he could do to dodge the thrust, to leap aside as the blade lanced for his stomach. He slashed sideways, hoping to catch the blade, but it was already gone, already pulled back for another thrust. Tyrell thrust again, his blade ringing as Alexander parried. He attacked again, and again, his sword flickering like lightning, driving Alexander back.

What had happened? Where was that calm, that serenity he had known only a moment earlier? Why was his blood pounding in his ears, his arms aching with the strain? Was he weakening? Had he hit his limit?

Alexander gritted his teeth, the pain forcing down the rising panic. It would take all he had to defeat this one, and there was no running away.

He parried, then twisted the blade, swinging Tyrell's sword around in an arc. It was a trick meant to disarm, but Tyrell was equal to it, disengaging and stepping back. Alexander attacked, striking at Tyrell's chest, forcing him to parry. He attacked again and again, driving Tyrell back, buying himself time and space. If he could just keep the pressure on, keep his enemy distracted, he might find an opening.

Tyrell's face stiffened into a frown, his gritted teeth visible behind thin lips. He attacked much harder, striking harder and faster, sweat beading on his brow with the effort. Alexander strained to resist him, his lungs burning, his muscles aching. He was at his limit, and hopefully so was Tyrell; but he had been fighting longer, and had used more of his stamina than he had realized. He couldn't keep this up much longer.

And then he saw it. One chance, one small chance.

Tyrell came on again, but instead of parrying, Alexander dropped back suddenly, Tyrell's blade jabbing at empty air. Driving his heels into the gravel, he launched himself forward, feeling Tyrell's sword tip tear his jacket. He thrusted, his blade slicing through Tyrell's sleeve and cutting open his arm. Tyrell yelled with pain and swung hard, forcing him to hop sideways. His foot jarred as he landed, and it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

He halted, watching Tyrell. The redhead's arm was cut and bleeding, his face wearing a look Alexander could not make sense of; as if half angry, and half elated. Tyrell hissed, and levelled his sword to attack again. Alexander raised his own sword, daring to hope that he had gained an advantage.

A thundercrack echoed along the path, ringing in his ears. Alexander was so shocked, he almost dropped his sword. He snapped his head around, his weary heart hammering.

It was Lady Marianne, standing opposite them on the path, an elegant silver-barrelled handgun raised high in the air.

Her face was cold, colder than Alexander had ever seen it.

"Put up your swords, gentlemen." There was no warmth in her tone, none of the bonhomie Alexander had come to know. "This fight is over."

Alexander obeyed in reflex. Tyrell waited a moment longer, then sheathed his own sword. Gabriella stared coldly at the Empress as she slowly advanced, stopping only a few metres away. Their gazes locked.

"Just when I thought you could go no lower, Gabriella." Marianne regarded the scene with cold, exacting eyes. "Having your pages fight like gladiators for your amusement. It won't do, Gabriella."

"This boy!" Gabriella jabbed an accusing finger at Alexander, "drew his sword on me! I sought satisfaction!"

"She attacked us first!" protested Lelouch, who was hiding in the gap in the hedge with Euphemia and Nunnally.

"Enough, Lelouch," ordered Marianne, without looking at her son.

She glanced down at Hugh, who had managed to drag himself off the path. Alexander shivered as he saw the spreading patch of crimson on his trouser leg. He must have hurt Hugh much worse than he realized.

There was no sign of George. He had evidently run away.

"These are not squires to be ordered around by men," Marianne went on, returning her gaze to Gabriella. "These pages are children, in the care of women. A Queen Consort should treat her pages like children, not like hounds to be set on her enemies."

"I will not be told how to be a Queen by the likes of you!" snapped Gabriella, her fury no longer hidden. "You, the blood-handed woman who seduced the Emperor! The others may smile and twitter and speak kindly to you, but they have not forgotten! And I will never pretend, Knightslayer!"

Alexander's blood ran cold. Knightslayer? His Empress Marianne?

"Oh didn't she tell you?" asked Gabriella mockingly. "Didn't she tell you what she and your father got up to back in the day? Did she not tell, proudly, of all the knights she killed when my husband took the throne? Did she not describe how many were dragged out, crying for their mothers, to have their heads cut off?"

Alexander stared up at Marianne, sick to his stomach, not wanting to believe it. He knew his Empress had been the Round Table's Fifth Knight, and that she had fought alongside his father to help Emperor Charles take the throne. But a Knightslayer? How could she have earned such a horrid title?

"I killed the rightful Emperor's enemies," retorted Marianne calmly. "I killed those who would keep the false Emperor in power, whatever their reasons. I dragged the madman Darien from his throne, and by my Emperor's command cut off his head. I avenged his countless victims, including Princess Amelia."

"Do not dare to speak her name," hissed Gabriella, her amusement evaporating.

"I dare it, Gabriella. Princess Amelia, whose lady-in-waiting you were as a girl of thirteen. Princess Amelia, who was murdered by her own brother, the false Emperor, for having the guts to call him what he deserved to be called."

She stepped closer, her cold face taking on a thin smile.

"Oh yes Gabriella, I'll speak her name. I avenged her, when all you could do was cower in a corner sobbing your little eyes out. Just as I avenged Victoria's murdered family, and so many others. That's why I have friends here, Gabriella, and you have only sycophants."

"I loved her." Gabriella's voice was as hard as stone. "I loved her, with a love you are not capable of."

"Nevertheless, I did it. So…do run along." Marianne raised her pistol, and began to examine it closely. "Lest…this bloody-handed woman forgets where she is."

For a few moments, there was silence.

"This is not over, Marianne."

Gabriella spun on her heel and strode away, her ladies hurrying after her. James Tyrell paused a moment, then bowed to the Empress and hurried after his mistress.

"Are you all right, Alexander?" asked Marianne.

"Y…yes, your Majesty," stammered Alexander, barely remembering himself. Marianne turned away from him, secreted the pistol in her gown, and then crouched down next to Hugh. The page whimpered with fright, and tried to drag himself away.

"Unless you want to lose that leg, young man, you'll stay quite still," ordered the Empress. She looked up at the children.

"Lelouch, Euphie, take Nunnally home," she said. "Alexander and I have work to do."

Lelouch nodded, and hustled his sisters away.

"Now, Alexander, come here," she ordered. Alexander obeyed, and crouched down opposite her.

"You've done a number on this one, Alexander," Marianne went on, running a careful finger over the blood-soaked patch, halting as Hugh winced in pain. "Plainly broken, in at least one place. And going into shock too, from the look of him."

Alexander looked down. Hugh was looking quite pale, sweat beading on his brow.

"We'll have to carry him back to the villa so that he can get some proper help," Marianne explained. "I'm going to find two sticks, and then I'll show you how to make a splint. In the meantime, I need you to keep him awake. Hold his hand and talk to him, will you?"

Alexander shuddered. He didn't want to be kind to that boy, who had been such a bully and brute, and who had tried to kill him only moments earlier.

But now he looked so…pitiful. He shivered and whimpered, his face wet with tears. He had fought for his mistress, and his mistress had tossed him aside like a dirty rag. She had abandoned him.

Alexander obeyed, taking Hugh's hand in his. Marianne stood off, and set to work on tearing a branch out of the bush.

"Stay awake," he said, not too forcefully. "You must stay awake. You're going into shock."

"I…I'm sorry," whimpered Hugh. "I…I didn't…I didn't want to…I just wanted…"

Alexander didn't know what to say.

The hallway outside the lounge seemed very cold and dark to Alexander.

Night had fallen, and Aries Villa was quiet, the desperate doings of the day having long since been completed. Hugh had been carried back to the Villa, then taken away by waiting medics of the Imperial Guard. They seemed sure that Hugh would live and make a full recovery, but Alexander would not soon forget the blood, or the sight of his leg as they cut his trouser leg away.

Then Marianne had sent him to change his clothes, and wait as she made a series of phone calls. He did not dare eavesdrop, not this time. There was no sign of Lelouch or Nunnally, and Euphemia had gone home some time ago, without so much as a word to him.

He was all alone. Alone with his thoughts, and the terrible knowledge of what he had done.

He had threatened a Queen Consort. He had drawn his sword and pointed it at a Queen Consort. He had injured two pages, one of them seriously.

What was going to happen to him? What would Marianne do with him? Would she punish him? Have him thrown out? Send him back to his father in disgrace?

Surely she must. Surely she could not let such offences go unpunished. The best he could hope for was to be sent home to his father, no longer a page of the Imperial court, but a disgraced failure, unworthy of title or name. He would never be important, never achieve anything, never be a great knight like his father.

He would never see Lelouch, or Euphemia, or Nunnally, or any of them again.

He had left his sword upstairs. He thought about drawing it, of putting the sharp blade to his throat and drawing it, letting his life spill out on the ground. It would be painful, but it would be honorable, and he wouldn't have to deal with the disgrace he had surely brought upon himself.

If he could not live with honor, he would have to die with it. At least then his father would not be disgraced.

But no, not yet. Not until Marianne had seen him. Not until he knew her will, and what he was to do.

"Alexander!"

Alexander stood up, braced himself, and then strode into the lounge. Marianne was waiting there, slipping her phone back into one of her gown's many pockets. She stared out of the window, watching the distant sunset.

"Hugh is going to be all right," she said. "I've arranged for him to be sent home to his family, and I've contacted them to explain the situation. It's the first they've heard of it, would you believe? They were falling over themselves begging my forgiveness, of course. As if not letting their son bleed to death on the ground is some kind of dreadful affront to my dignity."

Alexander lowered his head, unable to look straight at her, fearful of what would come next.
"I've also called your father."

His heart stopped. There it was. Any moment now, the axe would fall.

"He said to tell you that he got into his first proper fight at your age too. But…drawing your sword on a Queen Consort is one for the record."

Alexander drew a long breath, which did nothing to calm his shivering nerves, of the sick weight of shame around his heart.

"Your Majesty…" He paused, forcing down the lump in his throat. "I have acted…disgracefully, and foolishly. I have committed treason…and I submit to your judgement."

For a long time there was silence, but for the ticking of the old antique clock.

"Disgracefully?" Marianne sounded surprised. "Is it disgraceful to defend my children?"

"Y…your Majesty?" Alexander was shocked, too shocked to manage a reply. Marianne turned to face him, a slight smile on her face.

"Did you really think I was going to punish you?" she asked. "Do you suppose I care one whit about that woman's feelings?"

"But…" Alexander was flummoxed, bewildered. He couldn't make sense of it. Marianne sighed.

"Don't get me wrong, Alexander. What you did was foolish, and technically treason. She was within her rights to demand satisfaction, but she should have asked it of me, not you. Whatever she was owed, she was not owed your life, or your honour."

She stepped closer, her eyes softening somewhat.

"But your alternative was to let that woman have her wicked way with small children, my children. You've caused me a lot of trouble, but I cannot hold it against you."

Alexander hung his head. He didn't know what to think, let alone what to say. None of it made any sense. Everything his father had taught him, had drummed into him with sword and word, insisted that he was in the wrong, and deserving of severe punishment.

So what did she mean? Why was she, and his father, taking this all so lightly?

"Alexander, look at me."

He obeyed, forcing himself to look up into her eyes. Marianne reached down, and cupped his cheek with her hand.

"I can see that you understand the severity of the situation," she said. "That's good, because this is an important lesson for you." She paused, straightened up, and turned away from him.

"You are a noble, a man of renown," she said. "This is the burden you bear. If you love anyone, are loyal to anything, or hold to any kind of conviction, then you will make enemies. And when you face those enemies, it is your duty to stand your ground."

She turned to face him again.

"Commoners don't have to. They can run, they can hide. They can scream and complain and cry. They can threaten to sue, and clog up the internet with their griping and back-biting. A noble may not do this. A noble must stand on his convictions, and if need be, live and die by his sword. That is the code your father taught me, and the code I have lived by ever since."

She stepped closer again, and crouched down in front of him.

"You faced that choice today," she said. "To defend my children, and your own honour, you risked the wrath of a Queen Consort. You put your name, your standing, perhaps your very life, on the line for the sake of my children; not to mention Euphie."

Alexander felt strange. Something was welling up inside him, a feeling of…he didn't know what. But it wasn't unpleasant, or scary.

But even so…

"I don't understand, your Majesty. Did I do right, or wrong?"

"That is what I am trying to explain, Alexander. As far as I'm concerned, you did the right thing. But there will always be others who think you did wrongly. If they have authority over you, and decide that you must be punished, then that is a cross you will just have to bear."

Alexander took in her words. They frightened him more than a little. It seemed so strange, so unfair. Why couldn't right and wrong be simple? Why did it depend on someone else's opinion?

"What is to become of me, your Majesty?" He dreaded to ask, but there was no escape. Marianne sighed, and his heart sank.

"I'm not going to punish you Alexander," she said sadly. "I won't show weakness to that woman. But at the same time there is such a thing as diplomacy. If you stay here, walking around bold as brass, after humiliating her like that, then I fear she will do something stupid. I think, Alexander, it would be best if you left us for a while."

"UWAAAAAAAAH!"

Alexander barely had time to register her words before the wail cut across the room. The next thing he knew, something had wrapped itself around his waist, burying its face in his stomach.

It was Nunnally, her eyes red, her face wet with tears.

"No!" the little girl wailed. "Not go! Arixandur not go!"

Alexander looked up, and saw Lelouch standing there, having hurried in after her. His eyes were red, and Alexander had never seen him look so miserable.

"It's not fair mother!" protested Lelouch, as Nunnally continued her sobbing. "It's not fair!"

"Fair doesn't come into it," retorted Marianne, somewhat testily.

"But it's Gabriella's fault!" Lelouch wailed. "She started it! She's always doing things like that!"

"Make nasty lady go!" snapped Nunnally, glowering up at her mother.

"Lelouch! Nunnally!" barked Marianne. Both children fell silent. Marianne paused, drawing a long breath.

"I'm not sending Alexander away to punish him," she said, more gently this time. "I'm sending him away to protect him from Gabriella. We have to keep him safe, or Gabriella will try to hurt him. You don't want that, do you?"

Slowly, reluctantly, Nunnally shook her head.

"But how can she?" asked Lelouch, confused. "Isn't she afraid of Lord Bismark?"

"Most of the time, she is," Marianne explained. "But when people get angry, when they are embarrassed and think people are laughing at them, they do very stupid things; things they regret later. It's no good if she hurts Alexander and regrets it when Lord Bismark comes for revenge."

She smiled suddenly.

"Besides, I've arranged a very nice stay for Alexander." She let out a little giggle. "You remember that Cornelia is going away to the military academy very soon? Well, I've talked to her, and she'll be very happy to take Alexander along as her page."

Alexander was amazed. The military academy in Caerleon? Would he really be allowed to go? It would be technically a demotion, but to attend the academy as a page to a Princess? It was as far from shameful as anything could be!

"But…it'll be so long," complained Lelouch sadly. "It's four years, isn't it?" Nunnally let out a wail.

"Only three, knowing Cornelia," replied Marianne with a smile. "And they'll be coming back every now and again on furlough. And you can write any time you want."

"Want Arixandur stay," whined Nunnally. Alexander realized what he had to do.

"Princess." He knelt down in front of her. "Please don't cry, Princess. It makes everyone sad when you do."

Nunnally snuffled, and he took her little hand and kissed it.

"I have to go away for a while," he said, fighting down a terrible sorrow. "If I stay, it'll only make trouble for you, and Prince Lelouch, and your mother. You don't want that, do you?"

"Nunna wuv Arixandur," she whimpered. "Nunna miss Arixandur."

"And I'll miss you too, Princess."

"Alexander's right," Lelouch cut in, forcing himself to smile at her. "It's what's best."

"It certainly is," said Marianne. "Lelouch, take Nunnally up to bed now, it's late. Alexander will be up in a moment."

"Yes mother." Lelouch led an unwilling Nunnally away. Marianne waited until their footsteps had disappeared up the stairs.

"They really do love you, you know," she said warmly. "Euphie does too. I hope you won't hold it against her for being a little cold earlier. For all her cleverness, she's still a young girl, and she's had a terrible fright."

"I understand, your Majesty." Alexander felt very tired, almost too tired to be sad. "I only wish…I had not caused you such trouble."

Marianne crouched down in front of him again, and seemed to regard him for a long time.

"You're a very special boy," she said gently. "So strong, and yet so kind."

Alexander felt awkward. He had never thought of himself as kind, not before then. If she was talking about what he'd done for Nunnally, he only did what he had seen Lelouch and others do on many occasions. It had seemed like the right thing to do, though I didn't seem to have worked.

"You felt it, didn't you," she said. "Orlando's Fury, some call it. That moment when the world falls away, and there is only the fight."

Alexander nodded, understanding her meaning.

"Not everyone can do it," she went on. "And it's not always a blessing. But you have that power within you, that terrible strength that comes from hardship. That's why your father chose you, I think."

Alexander felt the bottom fall out of his world. How could she have known? How could she possibly have worked it out?

"I knew your father for many years," Marianne said, her smile unchanging, her eyes still warm and loving. "I knew him well enough to know that he never found time for a wife. Had he asked me before Charles did…I would have said yes."

It was all Alexander could do to not to fall to his knees. She knew, she knew everything, by some horrid miracle she knew.

"But he chose you for his son," she said. "He chose you, because you are worthy. He chose you because you have that power within you, the power your suffering gave you. But for all that, you did not let your suffering rule you. He's so proud of you Alexander…and I wish you were mine too."

For a moment, Alexander's mind was a blank. And then inside him, something crumpled.

He let out a sob, a sound he had not made in many years. He tried to hold it back, but each sob tore at his defences, letting the next one out all the more easily. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold the tears in, but they came all the same, streaming between his eyelids and down his face.

Marianne slid her arms around him, pressing his face to her shoulder, shushing him and rubbing his back. He wept, like the child he had forgotten how to be, pouring out his sorrow and fear and shame.
And then it was over. The pain was gone, leaving only a strange numbness.

"You poor child." Marianne drew back, and wiped away his tears with her handkerchief. "You poor, brave, noble child. Never think that I'll reject you, or despise you."

Alexander could not think of anything to say. He felt ashamed for having broken down like that, but at the same time, strangely relieved; as if a terrible weight had been lifted from his soul.

"Off to bed now," she said, with a smile. "And make sure you say good night to Lelouch and Nunnally on your way."

Alexander stepped back, remembered to bow, and wandered towards the stairs. He climbed the stairs, too confused to know what to think, and yet within him there was a wonderful…something, for which he had no words, yet still it was there.

"Arixandur?"

He paused, and looked to see Nunnally standing in the doorway of her room. She was carrying an enormous pink rabbit, almost as big as she was.

"Arixandur crying," she said. "Hold bun-bun."

She held out the rabbit, and Alexander felt awkward, wondering whether he should take it or not.
"Nunnally, don't bother Alexander." It was Lelouch, emerging from the room behind her. Like her, he was clad in his pyjamas.

"But Arixandur crying," complained Nunnally, looking up at her brother. Lelouch did not reply, but looked straight at Alexander, his face a mask of pain.

"Why couldn't you just let it go?" he demanded, his voice hoarse. "Why did you have to be so stupid?"

The words cut Alexander to the quick. But Lelouch was not his young master any more. He did not have to be respectful, not in the same way.

"I couldn't let her hurt the Princess," he replied. "I couldn't let her hurt you…or Princess Euphemia."

"But now look what's happened!" Lelouch's voice quavered, and he squeezed his eyes shut. "She'll hate you forever now! Like she hates us! And now you have to go!"

He gulped, and sniffed.

"What's going to become of us?" he asked, his voice thick with sorrow. "What'll happen when you're gone?"

Alexander stared at the Prince, wondering what it all meant. Was Marianne right? After all that hostility, all that bad humor, did Lelouch really not want him to go?

"Lulu make birthday party," said Nunnally, looking sadly up at him. "Nice party for Arixandur. Surprise."

His birthday! Only two days away, and he had completely forgotten about it. He had never paid it much attention before. His father had given him gifts, but he had never dreamed of asking for a party, not with food or entertainers or other children. There hadn't been any other children anyway.

And yet…that was what they were being so secretive about.

Lelouch sniffled. Alexander sighed, and put his arms around Lelouch. Lelouch let out a whimper, and wrapped his arms around Alexander in turn. Nunnally darted in, joining in the hug, rabbit and all.

"I'll miss you," whimpered Lelouch. "I'll miss you."

"And I you," Alexander replied. "Both of you."

And here it is again! Mostly I redid this to provide a more plausible way of having Alexander move from Marianne to Cornelia, and I think it works well.