Chapter Thirteen
Aries Villa, St Darwin Boulevard, Pendragon, May 2009 ATB
Alexander felt very warm inside.
He always felt this way in the presence of Marianne vi Britannia. To Alexander Bismarck Waldstein, she was nothing less than a vision. A vision of elegance, beauty, warmth, and kindness. She did not seem to belong in the world, crude and ugly as it was in comparison.
But she was not some distant goddess. She was right next to him. As they walked together along the gallery of Aries Villa, he could feel her presence near him even if he wasn't actually looking at her. A scent of rosemary floated in from the gardens. It was a beautiful day.
"I'm so sorry I had to inflict that on you Alexander," Marianne said, her tone sincere.
"I'm happy to be of help, my Lady Marianne." And he was. Even if it meant taking tea with her and two rather important visitors, for several hours. The two visitors in this case being Lord and Lady Alstreim, the purpose of their visit being to deposit their daughter Anya with the Empress. As much as he adored her, Alexander could not shake the sense of having utterly wasted several hours of his life.
"No need for that, Alexander," Marianne beamed. "I know for a fact you were bored rigid. But they both wanted to see you, and I wouldn't have liked to have to deal with them alone."
"It's…it's my pleasure, my Lady Marianne." Indeed, she would have been alone had he not been there. Lelouch and Nunnally had been tasked with showing Anya around, probably because they were doing an even worse job of concealing their boredom than he was.
"Even so, I'm proud of you. You carried yourself like a young gentleman. I know for a fact they were impressed." Alexander felt himself blushing.
"I…didn't really say anything special."
"Special for an eleven-year-old boy," Marianne put a gloved hand on his head. "There aren't many who can explain the differences between a Ganymede and a Ganymede ALI after all."
"I wanted to help," Alexander managed to say, "because you've always been so kind to me, Lady Marianne."
"It's because you have always been so helpful to me, Alexander." She ruffled his hair. "And not just today, but at Flora's party last week. I couldn't help but notice how popular you were with the girls."
She giggled. Alexander felt his face heat up. He had indeed been popular, more so than he had expected. He had thought that his near-constant absences would have made the younger courtiers lose interest in him, and lavish their attention on someone new. But it hadn't, somehow.
"You seem troubled Alexander," Marianne said. "Would you care to confide?"
Alexander paused a moment, his instincts warring between not wanting to bother the Empress with such a trivial matter, and the simple fact that apart from Cornelia, there was no one else he could think of to ask.
"They asked me some strange questions, your Majesty," he said, cautiously. "Mostly to do with San Clemente. They kept asking about the buildings and the grounds; how many rooms, how much land, that sort of thing."
His awkwardness turned to utter mortification as Marianne let out a particularly unsettling giggle.
"Oh Alexander, the time has come!" she declared. "I knew this would happen."
"Your Majesty?"
"Alexander…" she paused a moment, gathering herself. "For those girls, childhood has begun its long, slow decline. Their parents will be thinking about their futures, and for quite a few of them, that will mean wedding bells."
Alexander supposed she was right. Arranged marriages were not legally enforceable under Britannian law, but that didn't stop them happening; especially among the nobility. All the same, it seemed a little soon. He couldn't imagine himself getting married to anyone.
"They've probably decided," Marianne went on, "that if they have to be married off to someone, they'd rather it was you."
Alexander almost gasped in surprise and embarrassment. He had never harboured any notion that they were that interested in him! It was…it was…
"But they might be too late," continued Marianne, beaming at his discomfiture. "Lord and Lady Krushevsky were round here only a few days ago, while you were all away with Euphie. I think they're hoping that your father will consent to have you marry their daughter Monica."
Monica? Monica Krushevsky?
Things began to fall into place. He remembered Queen Flora's party, and how she had been that afternoon. Her blonde hair done up in elaborate curls, those pearls at her throat, that elegant green gown. The grace with which she had genuflected to Marianne, and presented her gloved hand for him to kiss. Her cheeks red with blushing, her eyes never quite able to meet his.
"But…your Majesty…"
"Oh Alexander, there's nothing to worry about!" Marianne was almost giggling. "Nothing's been arranged yet. This is just the opening phase. It can drag on for years!"
"Your Majesty…" Alexander mastered himself with some difficulty. "I thought…that Monica wanted to be a knight."
"Oh she still does," Marianne replied brightly. "Her parents are probably hoping that if she's engaged to you, she'll start dreaming about wedding dresses and go all squiffy. It sometimes works."
Alexander looked down, remembering that shy girl; the prettiest girl at the party, yet somehow alone while surrounded by people. He supposed…he supposed he wouldn't mind being married to her. She was pretty, and she had always been nice to him. Being nice to her was easy. But…
"But your Majesty…will she have to give up on being a knight?" he asked sadly.
"Not at all!" insisted Marianne proudly. "I told her parents quite clearly. If she still wants to be a knight when the time comes, she has my full support. And they can't go trying to push it through before she's of age either. I won't stand for that kind of thing."
Alexander forced himself not to sigh with relief. He should have known that Marianne would never let such things happen; not while she could do anything to stop it.
"You've been so kind, your Majesty," he said, managing to smile despite his still-red face.
"It's because I want to be," replied Marianne.
Then all of a sudden, she crouched down in front of him, reaching a gloved hand to caress his cheek. It was so soft and gentle that Alexander could not bring himself to pull away.
"Your poor dear mother cannot help you with these matters," she said, in a soft, sad tone. "I know she would wanted to help you, to advise you, and protect you if need be. So I asked your father, and he asked me to act in her stead."
Alexander felt his heart clench, as a half-forgotten yearning welled up inside him.
"Can I do that for you, Alexander?" Marianne asked. "Can I be your mother, in this at least?"
A lump formed in Alexander's throat, and he felt tears well in his eyes. Marianne wrapped her arms around him and pressed him to her shoulder, just as she had on that terrible night three years earlier.
He almost jumped at a sound from behind him. He managed to look, and saw a shape vanish back behind a column.
"No privacy at all these days," mused Marianne with feigned sourness. "Come out of there Cornelia."
She stood up as Cornelia stepped back around the column. She looked magnificent in the white uniform jacket she had adopted as Captain of Marianne's household guards; the effect enhanced by the great white cloak hanging from her shoulders. The vision was only slightly marred by the blush on her cheeks.
"I'm terribly sorry to intrude, your Majesty," she said, with suitably dignity. "I fear I've come at a bad time."
"No time is a bad time for you, Cornelia," replied Marianne. She was smiling, and Alexander could see the pride and satisfaction in her eyes as she regarded the grown-up, soldierly Cornelia. He felt the same way.
"We were just discussing Alexander's future," Marianne went on, her eyes twinkling in a manner Alexander knew only too well. "The Krushevskys are in the early stages of putting their daughter Monica forward. The Lord Alexander and Lady Monica Waldstein. I think it has a nice ring."
"Your Majesty!" Alexander was mortified. He glanced at Cornelia, who was grinning at his embarrassment.
"I think it sounds just fine, your Majesty!" she declared. "Though I wouldn't mention it to Euphie or her friends just yet. They'll be after poor Monica with knives!"
"Or clamouring to be bridesmaids?"
"Both I suspect."
Both women laughed. Marianne hid her mouth with her hand, but Cornelia laughed openly like a man. There was something about it that caught Alexander's attention, even through the burning embarrassment.
"Ah, but there's this." Cornelia held out a small, expensive-looking wooden box. "A young boy brought it to the gate, and insisted that it was to be delivered directly to you. I've had all the usual checks done."
"A young boy, you say?" Marianne took the box. "Someone's page?"
"I presume so," replied Cornelia, but her brow was furrowed as if in thought or confusion. "I've never seen him around, and he was odd to look at. Blonde hair right down past his waist, and a very strange outfit."
That in itself was nothing unusual. Royalty and nobles could dress their servants as they liked, and Queen-Consorts could get away with almost anything. Alexander had seen it himself; some of them had unique tastes.
"I wonder what it could be." Marianne opened the box, and paused. Alexander stared up at her, feeling a twinge in his stomach as he saw the look that flashed momentarily across her face.
"Alexander," she said, closing the box, her cheerfulness returning in an instant. "Would you be a dear and see how the children are doing? Cornelia and I need to discuss something in private."
"Of course, your Majesty."
Alexander bowed, almost in reflex, and strode away into the garden.
The gardens were as glorious as ever. Spring was moving into summer, and all the flowers were blooming. In the bright sunlight, with that familiar smell of rosemary in the air, it could not have been more perfect.
But for all that, Alexander was troubled. Why had the Empress sent him away like that? What was in that box to trouble her so?
He was reminded, uncomfortably, of that day three years ago, when she had gotten that phone call from her old friend, Reuben Ashford. He had never been able to find out much about what had happened, beyond a persistent rumour that something had happened in Krugis.
Something about a raid on an isolated army base, and the theft of an Ashford Foundation knightmare prototype. The raid was public knowledge, but there was nothing official about the knightmare.
Yet he remembered the anger and fear in Marianne's tone, the way she had ordered her old benefactor around over the phone. Whatever he had done, whatever error of judgement he had made, it had rattled her quite badly.
A familiar sound drew him from his thoughts. He came to a halt, near a large ornamental fountain surrounded by paths and flower beds; the sort of place where courtiers might meet and socialize, or have what Marianne called assignations with a twinkle in her eye. He looked around, knowing who had made the noise, but unable to see her.
"Princess Nunnally?" he called out. "Are you here?"
That sound again, her familiar giggle. A moment passed, and Nunnally emerged from between two bushes. She was only five, going on six, but she had grown a lot from the toddler he had first seen three years earlier. Her honey-coloured hair hung mostly down her back, but for a pair of pigtails, tied in teal ribbons that matched her dress. Her purple eyes were big and bright, twinkling like her mother's as she saw him.
"I know something you don't know!" she declared as she stopped in front of him, grinning in obvious delight. "You're getting married!"
Alexander almost jumped at her words, then remembered what Marianne had said.
"That…hasn't been arranged, Princess."
"You are! You're getting married to Monica!" Nunnally bounced on her little feet in excitement. "Her Mama and Papa came to visit and asked Mama!"
"Nunnally!" Now it was Lelouch's term to emerge. He had grown too, but he was still a complete mother hen around his little sister. "I'm sorry about this Alexander! Lord and Lady Krushevsky were asking about it, and Nunnally's been overexcited ever since!"
"Her Majesty just told me a moment ago," replied Alexander, sighing inwardly. A part of him wanted to tell them about what she had said, what she had promised, but he didn't know how.
"Anyway, we can't find Anya anywhere!" Lelouch complained. He was puffing and blowing, though Nunnally seemed completely fresh. "Who'd have thought she'd be so good at hiding?"
"I hope Gabriella hasn't captured her," Nunnally commented.
"She hasn't changed?" Alexander asked, dreading the answer.
"Changed?" Lelouch was incredulous. "Last week, she tried to steal Nunnally's new doll!"
"She only tries it when you're not here!" added Nunnally, in a grumpy sort of tone.
"But mother came and stopped them!" Lelouch went on, brightening. "She drove the Ganymede right into the gardens! The looks on their faces!"
"They were really scared!" Nunnally cut in, beaming at the memory. "Even her nasty pages were scared!"
Alexander found himself smiling at the tale. But for all that he was glad to be back. He wasn't due to go away to school until next September, so he could help protect them until then.
"Anyway, we've already checked the outer gardens," Lelouch said, taking charge. "Alexander, if you please, will you check the west side near the house?
"Yes, your Highness."
As the siblings went off on their way, Alexander headed off on his assigned task. He took his time, carefully checking the bushes and flowerbeds, but he could find no sign of the little pink-haired girl who had arrived that morning.
He was starting to wonder just how long this was going to take when he rounded a corner and saw Cornelia standing there, looking a little disgruntled.
"Princess?" he asked, hurrying up to her. "Is something wrong?"
"Oh, Alexander." Cornelia looked momentarily flustered, as though her thoughts had been elsewhere. It was most unlike her, or so Alexander thought.
"Princess, you seemed distracted."
"Yes, I was." Cornelia's countenance darkened slightly. "Lady Marianne gave me an order, and a strange one."
"What was it?"
"She ordered me to dismiss the guards and delay the replacements."
Alexander's brow furrowed as he thought this through, then looked around and saw that there were indeed no guards present. He felt slightly foolish for not having noticed, for they should have been changing at around that time. He checked his watch. 12:19.
"Isn't that dangerous, Princess?"
"Not really," Cornelia said, her mood seeming to lighten. "There hasn't been an actual killing in years. But I'd prefer not to tempt fate."
Alexander was inclined to agree. He knew that St Darwin Boulevard was a hive of treachery and backbiting, but he had never heard of anyone being killed. What was more, he knew of no one willing, or for that matter able, to harm Lady Marianne. Nonetheless, a part of Alexander wanted to hurry straight to her side.
"Have you had any luck finding little Anya?"
"I'm afraid not, Princess," Alexander admitted, some of the tension easing. "She's very small, and very good at hiding. We've…"
A sudden noise tore through the tranquillity of the gardens. Both of them knew the sound, the harsh staccato chatter, like fast-beating drums. Both of them felt their hearts turn to ice.
"Call out the Guard!" Cornelia shrieked into her comm-earpiece. "Seal all exits!"
Then they were running. Along beside the wall of the west wing, heading for the main entrance hall. Alexander was smaller and younger than Cornelia, but he kept up. Though his lungs burned and his legs ached, he would not stop.
Round the corner, through a side door, and into the main atrium, where the grand staircase was located. Alexander was a few metres behind Cornelia, and saw her come to a sudden halt. He ran on, broken glass crunching under his booted feet.
"No!" she screamed, throwing out an arm to stop him. "Don't look!"
But he saw.
She was dead.
It was all Alexander could do to stand up straight, to maintain the dignity his father had taught him, as he stood next to Andreas Darlton. Around them, the throne room was full of richly-dressed courtiers; nobles, dignitaries, members of the Imperial family. All were gathered to see the Emperor give audience, to watch as he sat on his throne and dispensed his judgement to those favoured to recieve it.
She was dead.
The current plaintiff was some minor noble from Denver, in a dispute with a neighbour over control of a certain river and its water. The Emperor listened, stone-faced, moving so little that he might have been a statue, he seeming to give the plaintiff his full and complete attention.
Lady Marianne was dead.
How could he do it? How could he sit up there and dispense justice when his wife, the wife he supposedly so loved, was less than forty-eight hours dead? Gunned down by unknown assassins? Was it Imperial dignity? Or had he a heart of stone?
He wished his father was there. There had been no one else those past two days. Aries Villa had been sealed while the killing was investigated, and Alexander had been transferred to his father's rooms in the Imperial palace while it was decided what to do with him. Lelouch was staying at the Imperial clinic, to be close to Nunnally. Cornelia had been too busy, working night and day on the investigation, almost tearing St Darwin Boulevard apart in search of the slightest clue. Euphemia had seemed to be in shock, her friends hovering and worrying, none of them paying him the slightest attention.
And why should they have done? He wasn't one of them, not part of their family, their world. He was just Marianne's page, and now she was dead, and he was just the Viscount of San Clemente. He doubted he would be staying at court much longer; there was little point. Next September he would be off to Valmont Academy, there to spend five years learning how to be a noble. Why even bother?
In any case, his father was not there. With several of his fellow Round Table knights having taken the reins in Drakenland, he had been taking the slow route home via the three protectorates; Luzon, New Zealand, and then Hawaii. He had been at Pearl Harbour when he finally called his son.
"The Emperor is grieving, but he dares not show it. His crown is a heavy weight, and it permits him no respite, not even for a wife or child. He dares not show weakness, lest his enemies take heart, or his subjects lose it. He must be the rock upon whom all others can stand."
He knew that. He understood it. But even so...it was hard to take.
"His Imperial Highness, Lelouch vi Britannia, 17th Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire!"
Alexander blinked in surprise. Had he been so lost in his reverie that he didn't notice what was going on? He hoped no one had noticed.
Lelouch advanced along the red carpet, striding along with his arms by his sides, his bearing proud and princely, as his mother had taught him. Alexander watched, heart clenching, as he saw the look in his purple eyes.
Fire. Fury. A blazing, all-consuming rage.
Alexander felt sick, for a part of him knew what was coming. He had known it ever since he had seen Nunnally, lying in her bed at the Imperial clinic. The same bullets that had killed her mother had crippled her, beyond anything even the Imperial surgeons could repair. But the strangest part was her eyes, which she could not be persuaded to open.
Lelouch had rarely left her side. And if Nunnally were to notice his absence, she became utterly inconsolable. No word of his, or Euphemia's, or Marybelle's or anyone elses could calm her. She would scream and thrash, crying for her mother, for her brother, forcing the attending nurse to sedate her lest she harm herself.
And he had seen that fire in Lelouch's eyes, as he saw his little sister in that state. He had seen it, as two days passed and still the Emperor did not come to visit.
The courtiers were watching Lelouch too, whispering among themselves.
"Poor child..."
"...so strong..."
"...never be Emperor now..."
"...the Ashfords are finished..."
"...and his sister..."
"...no one will marry her now..."
Alexander felt Darlton squeeze his shoulder, and realised that he had been gritting his teeth. Couldn't they keep their mouths shut, just this once?
"No decency, these folks," muttered Darlton. Alexander glanced up, and saw sympathy in the scarred man's eyes. He looked back, just as Lelouch strode past, his right eye flicking sideways to meet his gaze before returning to the Emperor.
Rattled, Alexander looked away. He could not remember anyone looking at him quite so coldly.
"Your Majesty!" declared Lelouch, standing to attention before the dais. "My mother is dead."
There was a short pause. If the Emperor felt anything at all, he made no show of it.
"And what of it?" he asked, in a sour tone. Lelouch gaped, and it was all Alexander could do not to imitate him.
"Did you request audience to tell me what I already know?" the Emperor went on. "What all the world knows? Send in the next one! I have no time to entertain children!"
"Father!"
Lelouch's shock turned to fury, and he ran towards the throne. All the courtiers froze as the two guardsmen flanking the throne leapt into action, stepping to bar his away and levelling their rifles to fire, glittering bayonets aimed straight at Lelouch's heart.
Lelouch froze, horrified. Alexander's heart hammered in his chest, and the moments stretched into what felt like eternity.
Would they have fired on him?
The Emperor's face did not so much as twitch, as he flapped a white-gloved hand. The two guardsmen snapped back into position like iron puppets.
"Why didn't you protect Mother?" shrieked Lelouch, all poise and dignity gone. "Are you not the Emperor? Are you not the greatest man in all the world?"
The Emperor closed his eyes, and made no answer.
"Please stop..." Alexander silently pleaded. "Lelouch, I know you're angry, but..."
"You had the power to protect her yet you didn't! At the very least you could have visited Nunnally!"
His words echoed through the silent, frigid hall. The Emperor opened his eyes, and spoke.
"The weak are of no use to me."
"The weak?" Lelouch was incredulous.
"That is the nature of the Imperial Family," the Emperor went on, his voice deep and sonours. "It is the law of nature itself."
Lelouch was shivering with rage, and Alexander felt as if his soul was being torn in two.
He knew, from his lessons, from his father's teachings, that the Emperor was right. Lelouch had been born to power and privilege that few in the world could dream of. With such privilege came responsibility; the responsibility to be strong, to conceal one's true feelings, to do what was right regardless of the cost to oneself. It also brought with it the reality of power, that to have power was to be feared, resented, and hated. And there would always be someone willing to risk all, even an agonizing death, to destroy that which they hated.
He could not speak against the Emperor. The Emperor was the Emperor, who by his sovereign power had turned a filthy, half-starved orphan into a nobleman's son, who become a page to the Empress, and a friend to royal children. The Emperor, who had granted him everything he had, made him everything he was.
And yet...it was Lelouch. There was Marianne's son, the boy he had helped her to care for, the boy he was almost beginning to think of as his brother. The boy who had been so cold and resentful at first, who had mocked his ignorance and made his life difficult. The boy who had wept when he went away with Cornelia, and had run to embrace him the first time he came back. The boy who had taught him how to bow, how to dance, and so many other things.
It was Lelouch. And Lelouch needed him. Lelouch needed him to speak, to step forward, to act.
"Then... I don't need you.. or this family... I don't need the right to succeed the throne!"
And the crowd of nobles began to break out with murmurs and chatter, and Alexander's jaw dropped.
'My prince...'
"Stop..." He begged with a whisper.
"I'm done! I won't succeed you, or be involved in your petty squabbles!"
"No my prince!" begged Alexander's near-broken heart. "Don't do this!"
"Then you are dead."
The Emperor's words echoed around the chamber, like the ringing of a funerary bell.
"You have been dead the moment you have been born. Who gave you those clothes that you wear on your back? Your home, your food, your title."
Lelouch stepped back, intimidated. The Emperor stood up, his voice rising to a roar.
"I am the one who gave all of that to you! And yet, you show such insolence!?"
Lelouch gasped, and fell down. Alexander felt Andreas's hands digging into his shoulders, keeping him in place. And he saw Charles' eyes as they bore down hard on his own son.
He had never seen such cold... apathetic...disdainful eyes. As if he was gazing upon a cockroach.
He had to speak, but he could not.
He had to act, but he could not.
He had to do something...but he could not.
"The dead have no rights." The Emperor's voice was lower now, more controlled. "But they have uses, and I have a use for you and your sister. Japan requires hostages, and to Japan you will go. There you will live, your lives in the balance, until these matters are concluded, and I see fit to forgive your insolence. Now...begone!"
Lelouch stood up, turned on his heel, and strode back the way he had come. His teeth were gritted, his eyes narrowed into a venemous, almost murderous glare. None dared meet his gaze, or stand in his way, as he strode out through the door.
He didn't even look at Alexander.
After a brief pause, the Emperor stood up. All bowed as he strode out through the side door, the guards following after. A few moments passed, and then the nobles began to leave, chattering among themselves.
As if nothing had happened.
"Come on Alex... your father is here. Let's go see him."
Alexander looked up, seeing the sympathy in those old, kind eyes. As the nobles filed out into the sunlight, he allowed himself to be led away; through the crowds of nobles and courtiers, and into the gardens.
There Darlton left him, bidding a fond farewell before hurrying away. Alexander paused in the wide corridor, his soul a cold, empty void.
He could have done something, but he did not.
He could have said something, but he did not.
And Lelouch and Nunnally, his brother and sister, would be sent away. Away, to a faraway land, to be hostages in some dispute he knew nothing about. And he might never see them again.
Unless...
"Alexander..."
Alexander forced himself to look up. It was his father, looking somewhat weary after his long journey. Bismark Waldstein gazed down at him, his face expressionless, his good eye full of pain.
"Come, Alexander," he said, his tone strangely kind. He put a hand on Alexander's back, and led him away.
Alexander sat in the great over-stuffed chair, trying to control his nerves.
Today was the day, his last chance. For that very night, Lelouch and Nunnally would set off on their journey to Japan, to become hostages in a dispute over the Sakuradite trade. This was his last chance to intervene, to make things right.
To atone for his betrayal.
He had only seen them once since that terrible day. Nunnally was well enough to sit in a wheelchair, and had seemed happy that he had come. But her eyes had still not opened, and the doctor outside had explained that the cause was psychological. The horror, the trauma, was just too great.
"Is Alexander coming too?"
"No Nunnally. You know it's not allowed."
It could not be true. He could not believe it. Yet Lelouch had told him plainly. They were to go by themselves, with no servants, attendants, or companions of any kind. Lelouch had seemed to relish it, as if it were some kind of great adventure.
"I can handle this. I'll take care of Nunnally."
"My Lord San Clemente?"
Alexander looked up. It was the Imperial Chamberlain, in his elaborate wig and long coat, standing in the doorway of the waiting room. In his hand was his long staff of office.
"His Majesty will see you now, my lord," said the chamberlain primly. "If you would care to follow me."
He waited just long enough for Alexander to stand up, then turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor. Alexander fell in behind him, having to stride quite hard to keep up.
As they passed another door, a pair of guards matched the chamberlain's pace, and Alexander heard two more fall in behind. He knew it was only a ritual, but it was still intimidating.
Deeper and deeper into the palace they went, into places Alexander had never seen, nor ever imagined. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they reached a long corridor, and a set of tall double-doors. The two guards flanking the door snapped to attention as they approached. Ignoring them, the chamberlain rapped his staff three times on the floor, then opened the door.
The chamber beyond was large and airy, lit by sunlight from a great, wide window directly opposite the door; through which the distant mountain peaks were visible. Paintings hung from the walls, and between them stood bookcases of finely-carved wood, stuffed with books of every shape and size.
But the chamber's main feature was the enormous desk, big enough that a grown man could comfortably lie on it. Behind it, in a high-backed chair, sat Charles zi Britannia, 98th Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire. At his right stood his father, clad in his formal cloak and white suit, his face expressionless.
This was the Emperor's private office. Few in all the empire even knew what it looked like, let alone dreamed of setting foot inside. To recieve audience in such a place, with only the First Knight as witness, was no small distinction. It was as his father had said, when he had told him to come today, at this very time.
The chamberlain halted in the middle of the floor, Alexander doing likewise.
"His lordship the Viscount of San Clemente has arrived, your Majesty," he declared. "To beg your Majesty's gracious intercession."
"Let him come forward."
The chamberlain stepped aside. Remembering what his father had told him, Alexander strode forward to the appropriate spot, then dropped to one knee. This done, the chamberlain turned on his heel and left, the click of the door like a cannon shot in the cavernous chamber.
All was silent.
"Alexander Waldstein, Viscount of San Clemente." The Emperor regarded him with cold eyes. "What would you have of me?"
Alexander gulped down the lump in his throat. He had to get this right.
"Your Imperial Majesty." He forced himself to speak clearly and nobly, as Marianne had taught him. "I have to come to plead for the children of her late Majesty, the Empress Marianne. I do beseech your Majesty to lift the dread sentence of banishment, and permit them to remain."
The Emperor did not reply. He did not reply for what might have been a full minute.
"And why, my lord, should I do that?"
Why?
He was asking why?
"Your Majesty..." Alexander forced himself to remain calm, respectful. "Prince Lelouch is only a boy, a boy who has lost his mother, and his seen his sister cruelly crippled and blinded. His insolence was born of grief, not of malice. I beg your Majesty to forgive his misdeeds, and treat them as they should be; the cries of a child."
One white eyebrow rose just a little.
"You call him a Prince, my lord," he said. "Yet you say his were the actions of a child. Which is he, my lord? Prince or boy? He cannot be both."
Alexander wanted to reply, but didn't know what to say.
"You are a child, my lord," he went on. "Yet you kneel before me and beg my favour with all the grace and dignity of a grown man. What excuse can Lelouch offer in the face of this, my lord? Has he not had twice your advantages? Has he not had the finest tutors to train and prepare him? Why is it that Lord Bismark's son behaves like a young lord and a true subject, while my own son behaves like a spoiled, mewling brat?"
He let his words hang in the air.
"No, my lord. Lelouch has become spoiled and self-important. He must learn that his actions have consquences, and that those who love him must suffer for his sins. He must learn that he cannot escape from who and what he is."
Alexander's heart sank.
"Your Majesty..." he pleaded. "Have mercy!"
"Mercy?" The word came out as a roar. Alexander's blood ran cold, and he saw his father jump. The Emperor loomed over him, eyes blazing with that same terrible fury he had seen before.
He pointed at a painting. Alexander glanced, and saw that it was Empress Claire, sitting with her two children, Prince Lothar and Princess Victoria. The scene reminded him a little of Marianne, with Lelouch and Nunnally.
"Where was mercy when Princess Victoria was tortured to death by her mother's incompetent physicians?" demanded the Emperor.
He jabbed a finger at another painting, this time of a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in riding clothes, whose manner reminded Alexander of Cornelia.
"Where was mercy when Princess Marlene was betrayed and murdered by her own brother, the false Emperor Maximilian?"
Another painting, this one of a beautiful, gentle-looking woman with red hair.
"Where was mercy when Princess Amelia, my sister, was dragged from the palace and murdered by the false Emperor Darien, our brother?"
He lowered his arm, having seemingly made his point.
"Do not speak to me of mercy, my lord. For the House of Britannia, it comes at a premium. I think myself merciful not to have simply cut off his head."
Alexander cleared his throat. There was only one thing left to try.
"Then I beg your Majesty, if they must go, then allow me to go with them! Let me protect them and...!"
"Oh you would, would you?" roared the Emperor, rising from his chair. Bismark's eyes widened in fear, and it was all Alexander could do not to cry out as the Emperor loomed over him.
"Are you of a mind to go into exile too, my lord? Do you wish to share in Lelouch's fate that badly? Shall I strip you of all that is yours, my lord? Your title, your honour, your very name? The very name that has given you reason, being, life?"
Alexander could only stare up at him in terrified silence, like a mouse before a lion. All his darkest fears were coming true, every instinct screaming at him to beg forgiveness, to escape from this situation.
"And what of Cornelia?" the Emperor went on, his voice a cold snarl. "What of the good service you did her, and how she values you? What of Euphemia, and Marybelle? What of the kind friendship you have shown them? Would you toss all that away? Would you hurt them so, my lord?"
Alexander was confused. Why would he say this? Why would any of them care if he was gone?
"I would not presume..."
"But you did presume!" snapped the Emperor. "You presumed to show them kindness, friendship, loyalty. You made them love you, my lord. Do you somehow suppose you can just take it back? Do you think they are so heartless that they will not be hurt by your ruin? Are you no better than Lelouch?"
Alexander felt tears prick at his eyes. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to say.
"Your Majesty," he croaked, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I have been presumptuous, it is true. But without her Majesty, without Lady Marianne, I could not have done any of it. I never had a mother, or a brother or sister, until she took me into her home, and treated me as her own son. My father has taught me strength, honour, dignity, and duty. But if I was kind, then she taught me kindness. If I was a friend, then she taught me friendship. If there is love or compassion in me, then all these things she taught me."
He sniffed, trying to master himself as his vision blurred.
"If your Majesty wishes, then take my title and name from me," he went on. "My title, my name, all my achievements, all the friends I have made, and all those who have done me good. If I cannot repay Lady Marianne, then I am not worthy of any of them. If I cannot save her children, then all that I am, all that she taught me, will have been for nothing."
He lowered his head, awaiting his fate. He was ashamed of himself, and yet at the same time relieved. At least he could say he had been honest. At least he could say he had been true.
The Emperor sat down in his chair, and Alexander braced himself.
"I can see why Marianne had such confidence in you."
Alexander opened his eyes, amazed. The fury was gone, the Emperor's former countenance restored. It was as if his tirade, his rage, had never happened.
"I could hold you to your words, my lord," Charles went on. "But that would be unsporting. You would get no further into Japan than Haneda airport."
Alexander blinked in surprise, glancing at his father; who just looked relieved.
"It is not I who insist on sending those two without servants or companions," insisted Charles mildly. "When I put it to Ambassador Daidouji he was rather embarrassed, but he insisted that the Kururugi administration will not be swayed."
All of a sudden he smirked.
"Yes my lord. They seem to think that a boy such as yourself could be a security risk. They think that you, an eleven-year-old, could defeat their finest agents and assassinate the Prime Minister, or spirit those two away and leave them with nothing. They're quite paranoid these days."
His smirk faded. Alexander did not find any of it funny.
"Will they at least be treated kindly, your Majesty?"
"The Japanese have assured us of it," replied Charles. He stood up, and stepped around his chair to stare out of the window. "Prime Minister Genbu Kururugi will be hosting them at his private residence, and he promises that they will want for nothing. He has a son of about Lelouch's age, by the name of Suzaku. Perhaps they'll be friends."
He did not sound entirely convinced.
"We cannot manage without sakuradite, without superconductors" he mused in a grim tone. "Our economy, and our military, are dependent on these technologies. Seventy per cent of what remains is in Japan. The greed of the Kyoto Six, the sakuradite barons, drives all policy. Even the Europeans grow weary of them, but not enough so to let us do as we please. If things go wrong, there will be war."
He let the silence hang for a while, then returned to his seat, his face grave.
"My lord, I am sorry to dash your hopes. But the situation is too serious to allow for personal considerations. Japan must have hostages, and those two are available. With any luck these matters will be resolved peacefully, and Lelouch and Nunnally will return home. Until that day, I fear, you must be patient."
Alexander forced himself not to sigh.
"I am your majesty's humble servant," he said. "And I am grateful beyond measure for your kind consideration."
"It is of no consquence," replied Charles mildly. "In the meantime, the Queen-consort Victoria has requested that you join her household until you go to school next year. I would deem it a great favour if you would, my lord. Euphemia would doubtless enjoy your company, as would her sister."
"I am glad to be of service, your Majesty."
"Very good. Do not let me detain you."
Alexander stood up, bowed, and strode out of the chamber.
Charles and Bismark watched him go, remaining silent until the door clicked shut.
"Did you seriously think I would banish him, Bismark?" Charles asked, almost smirking again.
"I did consider the possibility, your Majesty," replied Bismark.
"I could never do that," insisted Charles. "He is too good for that. You've raised him well."
"It was Marianne who raised him, really," said Bismark sadly. "I have little time for him as it is."
"Fear not, old friend." Charles smiled, a smile Bismark had not seen in some time. "All will be resolved, soon enough."
"When death is defeated, and the lies banished," Bismark intoned.
"When all masks are stripped away forever," added Charles. "All that you yearned for will be yours."
Yes it would, Bismark knew. Alexander as his son, and Marianne as his wife. The mother of his children. A dream he had briefly known, and then it ended.
"Speaking of that," Charles went on. "How are things in Africa?"
"Drakenland is under control for the moment, your Majesty," Bismark replied, falling back into his accustomed routine. "The OSI is preparing their scenario on the Angolan border. My brother and sister knights have matters in hand."
"Good, good," mused Charles. "In the meantime I want you to take charge of matters in Indochina. The Vietnamese government is proving too stubborn to bend. I trust the Grand Eunuchs accepted our evidence regarding the incidents in Luzon?"
"They accepted it quite happily, your Majesty. The bribes were also much appreciated."
"They never change, that lot." Charles sighed. "Can you handle this one?"
"Perfectly, your Majesty."
The night was cold, and the glow of the floodlights even colder.
The private airbase, manned by the Imperial Guard for the Imperial family's use, was a bare and desolate place, set amid the arid mountains that surrounded Pendragon. It was the sort of place one moved in and out of as quickly as possible.
But tonight, for once, it was the venue for family drama; the scene of a sad farewell.
The small group stood on the tarmac, before the enormous shape of an Albatross transport plane. Its engines were switched off, so as not to deafen those present. Beside the passenger ramp stood six Imperial Guardsmen in their service uniforms, led by Andreas Darlton. Perpendicular to them on either side stood ranks of Imperial Guardsmen, clad in their formal uniforms.
Alexander stood among the small group, forcing himself not to shiver, or to let his unhappiness show on his face. Around him were the handful of Royalty, nobles, and others who had bothered to come and see Lelouch and Nunnally off.
He stood in the second line, with the royalty in front. Beside him was Nonette Enneagram - who had taken time out of her furlough to come along, apparently for Cornelia's sake - and Oldrin Zevon.
Most of the Royalty in front of him he knew to some degree. Cornelia was there in front of him, as was Euphemia. Marybelle was there too, and so was Prince Clovis; who had spent the day red-eyed and miserable. Clinging to his hand, and looking warily at the proceedings, was his sister Laila, whom Alexander did not know well. Next to Marybelle in turn was Carline, who was about the same age as Nunnally. Alexander did not know her well either.
Before them, standing before the ramp, were Lelouch and Nunnally, still clad in their mourning black. Nunnally sat in her wheelchair, her eyes still closed, her head down. She had improved somewhat since that terrible day, but she still could not stand to be separated from her brother, and none of her previous liveliness had returned. She seemed subdued, drained, almost lifeless, more like a doll than a child.
Lelouch looked little better. He had kept his dignity all day long, and even found it in himself to thank everyone for coming to his mother's funeral. But there had been no time to speak to him alone, not the day of his banishing. No time for Alexander to say what he yearned to say, nor to hear what Lelouch or Nunnally had to say, if they had anything to say at all.
Lelouch regarded them all with cold, brooding eyes. Euphemia stepped forward, reaching out a hand. But Cornelia caught her gently by the shoulder, shaking her head. Euphemia's shoulders hunched, and Alexander silently pleaded with her not to start crying. Being young and a girl she could get away with it, but if she did, he might not be able to contain himself.
For an instant, he thought he saw something flash across Lelouch's cold face. Was it sorrow? Pity?
Lelouch stepped behind Nunnally's wheelchair, and turned it towards the ramp. Darlton saluted, as did his fellow officers, and the guardsmen. One of them looked like he was about to start weeping himself, and only then did Alexander recognise him as Jeremiah Gottwald.
He felt a twinge of sorrow, and of guilt. Jeremiah had joined Marianne's guard contingent only days before her death. He had not found opportunity to speak to him since then, and was not sure what comfort he could offer in any case.
Alexander could only watch, crushing his aching heart, as the hatch closed on his Prince and Princess. As the hatches were closed, the Albatross began its journey, rolling away towards the runway, its engines thundering as they came online.
He watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as the mighty plane took its place at the end of the runway, paused a few moments, and then began to accelerate. Faster and faster it went, seeming to tug at his heart all the harder as it raced down the runway. The engines blazed, and it lifted into the sky, and turned away to the west. Two fighters, the new Hawks, fell into place at its wingtips, accepting guardianship of its precious cargo.
He watched, tears pricking at his eyes, as they vanished into the clouds.
Another chapter done. The dreaded moment. I hope this meets with your satisfaction.
Next up is a brief interlude, with Lelouch and Nunnally in Japan.