Chapter 1
The Metric of Progression
The Prince Clovis, Viceroy of Area 11, looked on with a sense of deep unease as he watched the plane taxiing to a stop on the monitor in his office. The particular model on display was a specialized design, intended for use by high ranking imperial dignitaries and officials when they needed to be ferried about the Empire's vast domain on official business. One such plane had borne Clovis himself to Area 11 when he was appointed as the region's governor-general. Back then the prince had been looking forward to his new responsibilities, the opportunity to show that he was just as capable as his older siblings, and possessed of as much potential as his younger ones.
But the stubborn persistence of the Eleven resistance movements, the ever-escalating costs of trying to restore the area's infrastructure and industry, and the continued passage of time without much visible progress had ground away his initial enthusiasm and spirit. Now, as he watched that plane come to a halt, Clovis could not help but feel as if it was bearing his replacement. No, not his replacement, though close enough. The Emperor did not send out a personal envoy on a whim, indicating Charles' own patience with the situation in Area 11 was wearing thin. Clovis could recall vividly the conversation he had had with his brother, the Prince Schneizel, when the latter informed him of the envoy's dispatchment.
"Is all this fuss truly necessary, Brother?" Clovis had tried to effect a weary tone. "I will certainly agree that the state of Area 11 has progressed less than we'd hoped for, but such drama seems excessive."
"The decision to dispatch the envoy was not made by me or Parliament, Clovis," Schneizel stated firmly. "His Majesty was the one whom elected to do so."
His Majesty. Not Father. Clovis was enough a child of the imperial court that he could infer the meanings hidden behind word choice as subtle as that. A meaning that caused Clovis' expression to tighten in genuine concern.
"I see," he said, then forcibly relaxed his face. "If His Majesty is indeed so concerned, then I have certainly been wanting in fulfilling my duties. Whomever this envoy is, I will ensure that they have my full cooperation so that they may see firsthand the difficulties that arise when trying to restrain such a restive populace."
"No doubt," Schneizel said with a slight quirk of his lips, but his expression flattened out with nary a moment's notice. "The envoy selected by His Majesty is a cardinal of Eden Vital, one whom you know, albeit from years past."
Clovis tilted his head. "Oh? Why would His Majesty elect a member of the Order for such a task instead of someone from the ministries? Or even one of his own personal agents?"
The answer for the former was fairly obvious, as despite Clovis' nominal bungling of Area 11 he remained an imperial prince, and it took an especially brave bureaucrat or politician to stand up to such a personage. While Clovis might not have been able to completely divert such a person, he could still have exerted some pressure to keep the eventual conclusions that were submitted from reaching the level of censure. A direct agent of the Emperor on the other hand would not be browbeaten so easily, especially if Charles' attention was sufficiently aroused to have seen him dispatch one in the first place, so that was the actual question Clovis wanted answered. Or rather, it veiled the real question, which was what was so special about this cardinal?
"I can only speculate," Schneizel said, in a tone that caused Clovis to actually narrow his eyes. "I suspect however that His Majesty places considerable trust and confidence in this particular cardinal, new to that post though he may be."
"And this cardinal would be?" Clovis said, with just a hint of impatience. "Don't keep me in suspense for too long, dear Brother."
A hint of a smile touched Schneizel's lips again, though the expression did not reach his eyes. "The Cardinal Lelouch Lamperouge is His Majesty's appointed envoy."
It took a few moments for the prince to put the pieces together, as his initial surprise gave way to mild confusion at the unexpected last name. But then familiarity asserted itself as he recalled just whom else once carried the name of Lamperouge, and the surprise reasserted itself full force. Even had Clovis been as practiced in controlling his demeanor as Schneizel, it was doubtful the Third Prince could have kept the surprise from showing. That he ended up outright blurting out his next thoughts should also not be held against the man, considering how this revelation had come with so little warning.
"Lelouch is a cardinal!?"
"I myself was also taken aback when I learned this," Schneizel said, a subtle cautionary reminder to Clovis, and the younger man clamped his mouth shut. "I only learned of Lelouch's appointment about a month ago, when I saw him again for the first time in, near on seven years. He has grown much in that time."
"I can well imagine," Clovis said, his mind racing as he tried to discern what this sudden development meant.
The last memory Clovis had of his half-brother was, like Schneizel, about seven years ago. He had just suffered another resounding thumping at chess at Lelouch's hands, and Clovis recalled vowing to avenge himself the next day like he usually did. That rematch never happened however, as the next day the Empress Marianne was murdered. Shortly thereafter, both Lelouch and Nunnally, the latter of whom was confirmed to have survived the assassination attempt that claimed their mother, disappeared from public sight. All inquires as to where they had gone was met with either stony silence or the utterly uninformative response that they were with Eden Vital now. What that actually meant in practice, no one seemed able to discern. Attempts to contact the two also went unanswered, and Clovis was not alone in fearing the worst. To hear that Lelouch was alive and well, and of apparently high station at that, should have come as a relief.
"Well, it is certainly good to hear that he seems to be in rude health," Clovis said, exerting considerable effort to keep his tone level. "And a cardinal at that. I suppose one should expect nothing less, considering his prodigal intellect even as a child. Indeed, I even look forward to becoming reacquainted with my dear brother."
"In many regards I would think the same," Schneizel said. "But a word of caution, Clovis. The Lelouch, the brother that we knew, was a mere child. The Cardinal Lamperouge is no longer of the Britannian imperial family, and is a man of Eden Vital."
That conversation occurred place nearly a week ago, and Clovis had spent the intervening time mulling over its ramifications. Schneizel obviously thought Lelouch had changed a great deal over the years. That arguably was no surprise, who wouldn't change after seven years? The bit about Lelouch no longer being a part of their family though, Clovis doubted his brother was trying to be overly melodramatic. It was not just seven years that had passed after all, it was seven years in which Lelouch had had no contact with the rest of his family while being raised in an environment that none of them had any clue about. So Schneizel was certainly right, that the Lelouch arriving this day was not the same Lelouch that Clovis used to play chess with. But could he have so changed that he would hold no sympathy for his dear old brother? Clovis' lips thinned. Then again, sympathy would only go so far, considering the other matter that he had found himself engaged in.
"You are certain, General Asprius," Clovis said to the rotund officer standing before his desk, "that there are no traces of Code-R to be found?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Bartley Asprius, the ranking military officer of the Britannian occupational forces, affirmed. "I have gone through the records personally to ensure that no gaps are present that would indicate the project's existence."
"For both our sake's, General, I hope you are correct," Clovis said, with a touch of frostiness in his tone. "Were you to be mistaken, it would be both our heads on the chopping block."
"I assure you, Highness," Bartley said. "The cardinal will discover nothing of our plans." A hint of a smile touched the general's lips. "Indeed, his arrival may even serve as the opportunity we have been waiting for."
Clovis raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Your Highness, we know His Eminence is likely to want to conduct personal inspections of the Concessions and the surrounding ghettos," Bartley began. "If he were to bear witness to a, ah, terrorist attack of the proper magnitude, then his personal testimony could go quite some ways to convincing His Majesty of the seriousness of the situation here in Area 11, that our current difficulties are indeed due to a lack of sufficient resources being initially committed."
Raised eyebrow turned into widened eyes. "You want me to risk my father's personal envoy being caught in an attack using Code-R? An envoy that that happens to be my own brother!?"
Whatever the years that had separated to two, whatever warnings Schneizel might have alluded, a part of Clovis still instinctively thought of Lelouch as his younger brother and cared for him as such. That spoke well of the man, at least as far as family went. But there were many, many people outside of the definition of family.
"There is no need for His Eminence to bear firsthand witness to the attack, Your Highness," Bartley quickly tried to placate his superior. "Letting him see the aftereffects should be more than adequate. Convincing His Eminence, Your Highness' own brother, of the nature of the threat should come as a matter of course."
Clovis leaned back into his seat, his flash of anger having abated enough for him to consider Bartley's suggestion more critically.
"Eden Vital has always publicly disagreed with the heavy hand by which we've exercised our control over Area 11," the prince pointed out. "That my father dispatched one of their cardinals as his envoy suggests he may be coming around to their viewpoint."
"All the more reason why we need a sufficiently dramatic incident," Bartley pressed on. "If even one of their cardinals is forced to admit the Elevens are so intransient, opposition to a final solution to the Eleven problem should evaporate."
Clovis did not share Bartley's confidence in that, but the prince recognized the merit in the general's argument. And the Elevens were being so tediously intransient. So few seemed willing to accept the carrot dangled before them. If a big stick was what it took to finally break their will, then so be it. Clovis' own patience was about run out.
"You believe you can pull off this subterfuge without any traces leading back to us, General?" Clovis asked.
"Yes, Your Highness," Bartley answered with full confidence.
The prince tilted his head in consideration for a few seconds longer, before finally giving a single nod.
"Very well, General. Make it so. And pray that your confidence is not misplaced, for if any others catch wind of what we intend, know that my father will not hesitate to order my execution for such failure, and yours as well."
Bartley bowed deeply. "It will be done, Your Highness. I promise."
And took his leave at the implicit dismissal. Standing outside awaiting Bartley was a fair-haired captain with clear blue eyes and a red winged pin attached to his lapel. As the general walked down the corridor, he fell in step next to him.
"His Highness has granted leave to enact the plan," Bartley spoke obliquely. "I trust you and your men are ready, Captain Soresi?"
"We are, sir," Kewell assured his fellow Pureblood. "Once public learns of the Eleven terrorist plot, and of the incompetence of the Elevens staining our ranks that allowed the plot to succeed, they will wholeheartedly support dismantling this ridiculous Honorary farce."
Like all members of the Purist political faction, Kewell Soresi and Bartley Asprius disdained the Honorary Britannian system that granted persons of mixed or non-Britannian heritage greater standing within society, even if that standing was far short of total equality. As far as men like them were concerned, such dredges should know their proper place and be thankful for what scraps their betters deigned to spare, not be granted any allusions about their worth. The fact that Honorary Britannians were even allowed to serve in the military was especially galling for the two officers. To have such individuals within their ranks could only serve to weaken their glorious military.
"Do not count your chickens before the eggs hatch, Captain," Bartley cautioned his subordinate. "We have after all a rather large wrinkle on our hands now."
Kewell openly grimaced at that. "You mean the cardinal that is arriving."
"Indeed."
Unfortunately for the Purists, there were other factions at court that did not agree with the Pureblood ideology, not least of which was the Order of Eden Vital. The Order preached an entirely different doctrine, one that even if it did not espouse outright equality, still emphasized the ability of all peoples to self-improve. Even worse, a large portion of Eden Vital's rank and file were those very impure subjects, who had flocked to the Order in search of hope and succor. That made the Order automatically suspect in the eyes of the Purists, but the Order possessed enough sponsors and supporters at court that it could not be lightly dismissed. There were even members of the military that were adherents of Eden Vital's doctrine, something that Kewell found utterly incomprehensible.
"His Highness is convinced that His Eminence can be swayed, if given sufficient cause," Bartley said. "That may well be the case. But if His Eminence demonstrates that he is resistant to arriving at the proper conclusions despite all evidence to the contrary, more direction action may be necessary."
To that Kewell narrowed his eyes speculatively. "Are you sure, sir?"
"It is but a contingency," Bartley said, "and as professional officers it is our duty to always prepare for eventualities. After all, it would certainly be tragic if these Eleven terrorists, in their zeal to inflict harm upon their betters, were to also bring harm to one that would have otherwise advocated them."
Kewell felt a chill run down his back. On the one hand, Bartley was talking about potentially harming an imperial scion, even one officially removed from the family due to taking on vestments. For someone so invested in the imperial system like Kewell, that felt almost a bridge too far. On the other hand, the captain could not help but admire the ruthlessness Bartley was prepared to resort to in order to advance the Purist agenda. Sacrifices were inevitable, after all, so one may as well try to take as full advantage of them as possible.
A frown crossed Kewell's face. "What of Colonel Gottwald, sir? He is unlikely to recognize the, necessity, of such action, especially considering his personal history with His Eminence."
"The good colonel was kept insulated from Code-R because his sense of personal pride has always had a tendency to blind him to such necessities," Bartley said. "It matters not however. His zeal is undeniable, and so long as he remains properly compartmentalized he will be ready to carry out his duties when the time comes."
To that Kewell found no disagreement with. Much as the Purists needed those willing to dirty their hands, they also needed those whom could serve as public exemplars. For all Jeremiah Gottwald's immense pride, the margrave did engender a great deal of admiration amongst those whom were ever met by his intense fervor. Kewell himself was no such exception. That was why the captain was content to be the hatchet man, so that the margrave could stand unsullied before the masses to galvanize them when the time came. With any luck, that time was even now drawing near.
Jeremiah was not one to be given to fidget much. On this day however, as he stood on the tarmac waiting to greet the passengers of the plane taxied before him, the margrave found himself uncharacteristically apprehensive. Perhaps it was because this was a day he had never expected to see, that the person he was about to greet someone he never expected to meet again. The anticipation had been building within him ever since the Prince Clovis informed Jeremiah just whom the emperor's envoy was, and that the margrave was to head the honor guard greeting him. For this envoy was no mere bureaucrat or noble, this envoy was the Prince Lelouch, returned after all these years after the murder of his mother, the Empress Marianne. An empress whom Jeremiah was supposed to have protected, with his life if it came to it, as a member of her royal guard. That they failed, that he failed, was a scar upon Jeremiah's psyche that to this day had yet to fade. And now, he was given the chance to see to Marianne's dear son.
Despite his anticipation, despite his trepidation, Jeremiah was still able to think clearly enough to mull over what that meant. The most pertinent point was that he was not technically greeting the Prince Lelouch vi Britannia. Instead, the arriving envoy was the Cardinal Lamperouge, of the Order of Eden Vital. Lamperouge, the Empress Marianne's maiden name before she wed the Emperor Charles. That the former prince had taken it on as his own was not entirely surprising, he needed to be called something after renouncing his secular ties after joining the Order. And as for Eden Vital, Jeremiah had known from his days in Marianne's guard that the empress herself used to be a member. Indeed she had done effectively the opposite of her son, discarding the shawl in order to wed and assume her position at court. Even so, Marianne's strong piety was clear to all those within orbit of her proximity, as her guard obviously were. The empress might even be proud that her son would rise to such lofty ranks within Eden Vital himself. For Jeremiah, he could not help but think what a shame it was that Marianne's son was not still a member of the imperial court. If Lelouch could rise to become a cardinal, one could only imagine what he could have achieved as a prince.
The plane door opened, and Jeremiah took a deep breath to brace himself. The first to emerge, was a blond-haired adolescent girl, one whom wore the black vestments of a lay sister of Eden Vital. Jeremiah blinked a few times to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. Following after was another girl of similar age, though this one had a tanned complexion akin to the woman standing at Jeremiah's side, and whose hair was kept shorter at neck length. Next came a petite girl with pink hair tied into a split polytail. Only after those three emerged did a young man step forth, a young man with neatly trimmed black hair and piercing violet eyes. Even at this distance, Jeremiah could feel the intensity of that gaze, such that he barely even registered the final two women, of taller and more mature physique than the first three, that trailed after. There was no doubt, the young man before him was indeed the son of Marianne, Lelouch Lamperouge. Jeremiah resisted at great effort the instinctive urge to kneel. That would have been fitting for greeting a prince. He would have to settle for the deep bow accorded a cardinal instead.
"Your Eminence, welcome to Area 11," Jeremiah greeted. "It is a tremendous honor to have you with us."
The cardinal regarded Jeremiah with a careful, neutral expression, one that the margrave found betrayed absolutely no hints as to what the younger man might be thinking. The contrast with the Prince Clovis, whom often had trouble keeping his feelings from being reflected on his face, was striking.
"I am Colonel Gottwald of the Tokyo occupational garrison," Jeremiah continued, "and this is my able second, Captain Nu."
Villetta clicked her heels together and bowed her head slightly at being introduced and Lelouch glancing over at her.
"I trust that your flight over was as pleasant as it could be?"
"Sufficiently so," Lelouch said, looking back at Jeremiah. "Shall we, Colonel?"
"Of course," Jeremiah said, then looked at the women holding positions around Lelouch. "Is this the entirety of your party, Your Eminence?"
"That will be presently accompanying me to the viceroy's palace, yes," Lelouch said.
It was a perfectly legitimate question on Jeremiah's part, seeing as an additional three planes had accompanied the one bearing Lelouch himself. Off in the distance, the margrave could actually see the others parked at the cargo terminal with their ramps lowered to disgorge their cargo. A cargo that included knightmare frames. Jeremiah's eyes widened at the sight.
"Is something the matter, Colonel?" Lelouch's voice rousing Jeremiah from his momentary stupor.
"Apologies, Your Eminence," the margrave recovered gracefully. "I was simply not expecting a shipment of knightmares to have accompanied you."
"Hmm?" Lelouch glanced over nonchalantly. "Ah, yes, those. While the Order aspires to bring about a better world, we do not avert our eyes from the imperfections of the present one, and the necessity of appropriate instruments to defend ourselves and our flock."
That might have been so, but as Jeremiah understood it Eden Vital was a private religious denomination, not some institute of the Britannian state, even with its close association with the court. Knightmares on the other hand were definitely within the realm of military grade equipment, access to which any sensible government, which included His Majesty's of course, carefully regulated and controlled. What about Eden Vital could have possibly earned them the necessary dispensation to possess and deploy knightmares, Jeremiah could not begin to fathom.
"Forgive my impertinence, Your Eminence," Jeremiah said, "but a knightmare is an instrument of war, not of defense. Surely Eden Vital has no cause to resort to such, extremis?"
A thin smile crossed Lelouch's face, the first real change in his expression since his arrival. Jeremiah felt a shiver run down his spine.
"We but employ the same level of force as any potential challenger," Lelouch stated. "Anything less would be inadequate in deterring the more adventurous, or foolish, from chancing a direct confrontation."
Jeremiah regarded the cardinal carefully as he considered the response. True, Eden Vital did have many powerful enemies at court, including arguably the Purist faction that Jeremiah himself was a member of. But the sort of bloodletting that happened in Britannia's political realm tended to be the more metaphorical kind, and even the literal kind was usually done discretely, not with giant multi-ton war machines. The margrave's own lips thinned. Then again, as the blatant nature of the Empress Marianne's assassination demonstrated, there were always exceptions to the rule, so perhaps Eden Vital was not remiss in wanting as visible and blunt a deterrent as possible. This particular cardinal certainly could not be blamed for it.
"I think I see, Your Eminence," Jeremiah thus said, then took a deep breath. "My apologies for causing us to dally overlong. Please, this way."
Three of the women accompanying Lelouch positioned themselves about the party, clearing denoting themselves as the cardinal's protective detail. That was another oddity, as far as Jeremiah was concerned, seeing as they were more girls than women. Could they truly be as proficient as proper soldiers? Was it even proper to employ girls of such age in such a role? For that matter, why were all of the cardinal's immediate party women? Surely Marianne's son would not be so crass as to have laid his hands on them, even if he was also his father's son.
The margrave shoved such thoughts aside as they passed the honor guard. Lelouch spared them a single glance, but otherwise paid them little heed. The cardinal was apparently not one for ceremony and proceeded to the waiting vehicles with all due haste. As Jeremiah climbed into his own vehicle, the margrave found himself in a contemplative mood. He had not known what to expect upon meeting Lelouch, and thus far the cardinal gave no indication of even remembering Jeremiah. While that was mildly disappointing, it was also not entirely surprising. Jeremiah had joined the Empress Marianne's guard only a short while before her murder, so there may not have been time for Lelouch to have grown familiar with him.
What struck Jeremiah the most however was, despite the cardinal's guarded nature, a certain intensity lay behind Lelouch's eyes. Wherever Lelouch's gaze fell, it was as if he could look past the outer shell and see the true fullness that lay within, whether the object be a person or an inanimate thing. Attempts to hide or obfuscate seemed futile, and should the cardinal's attention be drawn, it seemed a surety Lelouch would find whatever it was he sought. A most appropriate quality for one dispatched as the emperor's personal envoy to assess the state of Area 11.
Jeremiah grimaced slightly. In some ways the cardinal's presence was indicative of failure on the part of the Britannian administration in Area 11. If the situation had not so degenerated, there would have been no need for Lelouch to come. And as one of the ranking officers of the army units stationed in the area, Jeremiah shared in that failure. The margrave's jaw tightened. If that was so, then he would need to make it right. Whatever Lelouch ultimately determined to be the necessary corrective measures, he would see that it was carried out posthaste. As a pureblooded Britannian, and in honor of the cardinal's late mother, that was the least he could do.
When Milly received a summons from her grandfather, it was with some degree of wary resignation that she trod over to his office. Such calls usually portended yet another interview with yet another scion of some noble house or another to see if they might be a worthwhile match for the girl herself. Just why her grandfather felt this urge to play matchmaker was beyond Milly, seeing as she had yet to complete her secondary much less university studies. It was not as if there was any rush for her to find a special someone to carry on the family line. The need to do that was something that Milly was at least willing to acknowledge, however irksome a duty it was, but that was part and parcel of being a noble herself, and the Ashford marquessate was a rather lofty dignity at that.
Milly personally would have been fine without all this rigmarole. The girl was very much a free spirit, one that desired to enjoy all the pleasantries that life had to offer than be tied down by the weight of duty. That did not mean Milly was in any way irresponsible, one did not become head girl by being anything but a scholastic achiever and possessed of genuine competency. That the school itself bore her family's name played only the smallest of considerations in Milly's appointment, the girl was proud to say. Even so, it was not for nothing that Milly was gaining a reputation amongst polite society for being a bit, mischievous. Maybe even a bit of a prankster. At least that was how most people tended to treat her sabotaging every attempt to court her as. Others seemed to treat Milly's actions as some sort of test the girl was laying upon her courters. They were free to believe what they wanted, Milly just wasn't in the mood to be wooed by some noble twit before she even had a chance to enjoy her adulthood. As such when she arrived at her grandfather's office, she knocked once before simply showing herself in.
"You called, Grandfather?" Milly called out.
Ruben looked up and gave his granddaughter a chiding look. "One knocks to await an invitation, Millicent. Not to announce one's entrance."
Milly shrugged, her golden locks bouncing slightly with the motion. "Sorry."
The old man let out a sigh, knowing his granddaughter was not contrite in the least. But admonishing her on her manners would have to wait.
"Have a seat, Milly," he instructed.
The girl obeyed, starting to slouch before a reproachful eye saw her straighten. Satisfied that she was taking this at least somewhat seriously, Ruben began once more.
"Our family has received an invitation to a ball that the Prince Clovis is holding tomorrow night. The purpose of the ball is to welcome His Highness' brother, the Cardinal Lamperouge, to Area 11."
Milly stared blankly at her grandfather. Invitations to such events were fairly common, and the girl had had her fair share of experience representing her family at them. Why then did her grandfather sound so wary when speaking of it?
"You may not realize this, Milly, but you and His Eminence were acquainted as children, back when we lived in Pendragon. Back then however, you knew him as Lelouch vi Britannia."
Milly blinked once. Then twice. Then she jerked. "Lulu's a what now!?"
"A cardinal of the Order of Eden Vital," Ruben answered gravely. "And it would behoove you to not use such a nickname in public."
The girl spent a few moments processing this revelation, and somewhere in the background of those thoughts she acknowledged her grandfather's warning about the nickname, but the focus of her attention was on Lulu's, Lelouch's, position in Eden Vital. Milly knew of the religious order of course, it was practically impossible not to. No one in her immediate family were adherents to Eden Vital's tenets, but there were enough believers at school and amongst high society that Milly had at least a faint idea of what they were. Of the Order's more mundane activities, like its charities offering a safety net for the destitute and downtrodden, Milly herself even thought well of, at an abstract level at least. But she had never had cause to think about the wider organization of Eden Vital, or of its leadership.
Then there was Lelouch himself. Milly still remembered vividly the little boy that she played with back when she lived in Pendragon. While Lelouch was possessed of the same haughty confidence so common to noble scions, she also recalled the depths of his love for his family, be they his mother or full-sister to his countless half-siblings, and to a surprising extent even his oft-absent father. So while Lelouch's proud demeanor made him the perfect target for Milly's antics, she nonetheless found him to be quite endearing. Love at that age was precocious at best, but if the seeds were to be sown for a genuine romance later in life, this would have been it, as was likely the intent of their parents when they began socializing the two. All this of course was abruptly torn asunder when the Empress Marianne was murdered, and Lelouch's sister, Nunnally, crippled.
Lelouch had actually been at the Ashford residence when the attack occurred, on a play date with Milly herself and his half-sister Euphemia, another childhood friend of the Ashford girl. Indeed Milly could remember the exact moment that the two imperial siblings' guards became aware of the attack on the Empress Marianne. She and Euphie had been teasing Lelouch about his attempt at a serious, studious demeanor, when a dozen or so armsmen had charged into the room, closed the curtains, and shepherded all three children deeper into the estate away from any outside windows. Young Milly had not possessed the awareness to truly understand what was going on, only that something very bad had happened. Only in the passing days did she learn just bad that thing was, and by then Lelouch was long gone, returned to his familial estate for his safety. She never saw him again, him or Nunnally. And now he was returned, a young man in his own right, and apparently a cardinal.
For all the confusion that washed over her, the uncertainty as to how she should react, that last bit was almost reassuring in the mundanity of its mystery. Assuming the title was not purely decorative, a cardinal should be someone fairly high ranking in the ecclesiastic hierarchy of t he Order. Lelouch was actually a year younger than Milly herself, so it seemed mildly absurd that he would be appointed like that. Granted he was still an imperial scion, and it would not be the first time some prince or princess was given a post that he or she might be less than totally qualified for. And to give credit where it was due, for every Prince Clovis or Prince Adonis, there was a Prince Schneizel or Princess Cornelia. Even Prince Odysseus, considered fairly mediocre compared to the standards set by some of his younger siblings, was at least just that instead of outright incompetent or venal.
"So, you wish for me to use my old friendship to rekindle a connection with Lelouch?" Milly finally said aloud.
That certainly seemed the most reasonable purpose for her grandfather's summons. Noble relations were as much personal relationships, after all, and even if any thought of a romantic entanglement was absent, establishing friendly ties with a high ranking official in Eden Vital was worthwhile for the Ashford family in and of itself. Hence why Milly received her second, or third depending on how one counted, surprise of the day when Ruben shook his head.
"You will exchange whatever greetings are necessary for courtesy, but you are otherwise to refrain from further socialization with the cardinal."
Milly tilted her head in more than a little puzzlement. "What?"
Ruben snorted. "The Cardinal Lamperouge is not the Prince Lelouch you might remember, Milly. Seven years is enough to change anyone, and Lelouch would not have been elevated to his present station on a whim. The Order, and likely His Majesty as well, have plans for Lelouch, and I do not want you to become entangled with them."
A frown creased Milly's face. "You're really worried about this, aren't you, Grandfather?"
"Eminently, Millicent."
The frown turned contemplative. "Is that because you actually know something?"
Ruben quirked an eyebrow. That was a very probing question from his granddaughter, a reminder that for all Milly's lackadaisical irreverence, she was far from stupid.
"I know many things, Millicent. I remain head of the family after all, as you will be one day. But that day is not yet here."
Meaning whatever tidbits Ruben had that fueled his concern he would not be divulging to his granddaughter just yet. Milly's lips thinned. She was by nature a curious person and it gnawed at her to know a secret existed but not what that secret was. But there was a difference between being curious and being reckless, and unlike a cat satisfaction would not be bringing her back.
"Aright, Grandfather," Milly said. "I understand." Her eyes hardened slightly. "But if you're going to keep me from reconnecting with an old childhood friend I cared greatly about, I'm going to be asking for more than just a bump to club funds for the next term."
Ruben allowed himself a slight smile. Despite the somewhat facetious attitude, his granddaughter was clearly showing the sort of spine she would need once she inherited the title. She would go far, given some more time to grow and learn. And it was Ruben's responsibility that she have the chance to do just that, while he was still around to shield her from the more dangerous aspects of their station. Even if those dangers wore familiar faces.
"This isn't good," Ohgi pronounced.
The others gathered in the room grimaced and snorted in agreement.
"I'd say that's something of an understatement," a bespectacled man said. "Considering the number of people going in and out of that place, they're definitely planning something."
"Minami's right," a woman with darkly tinted hair said. "Considering how much precursor we've spotted the Britannians taking delivery of, they'd be able to make enough poison to flood a good chunk of the ghettos."
The location being discussed was, based on what intel Ohgi's resistance group had been able to discover, a secret Britannian chemical weapons plant. The specific chemical weapon being manufactured there was Sarin, an insidious toxin that attacked the nervous system and effectively asphyxiated its victims by destroying their ability to control the muscles necessary to breathe. It was certainly one of the less pleasant ways to go, and the Britannians seemed to be manufacturing it on an industrial scale. There was only one possible target for them to employ it against in Japan, against the people that they were already grinding under the heel of occupation.
"We're not going to let that happen," Ohgi stated firmly, then grimaced. "I wish we had more time to prepare, but we can't wait any longer." He looked back at the woman. "Inoue, how are we looking for antidotes?"
"I've got enough atropine for one injection each," Inoue responded, "but that's about it. Even with Kuroba-sensei letting me draw on the stockpiles they have at Keio, I can't exactly just take more, since the hospital is going to need every last milliliter they have, especially if the Britannians manage to actually deploy the gas." She in turn looked to another young woman present. "And unfortunately, the order that Kallen put in with her credentials isn't expected to arrive for another week."
In contrast to the dark hair atop everyone else's head, Kallen's was a bright red. Combined with her high cheekbones, the girl looked decidedly out of place amongst the Japanese resistance fighters gathered. But despite her favoring her Britannian heritage, Japanese blood did flow through Kallen's veins, and the girl was fiercely proud of that heritage, no matter what the Empire's propaganda might espouse.
"I can't get it shipped any faster," Kallen said. "Apparently there's a big government order that's taking priority over everyone else, so short of us raiding their stockpile, there's none left anywhere else."
"That makes it sound like they're definitely planning something," Ohgi said unhappily. "I wonder if the arrival of this cardinal is what's causing them to rush."
"That Eden Vital cardinal?" Inoue said. "Could be. If he's anything like the lay brothers and sisters that help supply Keio, he would probably be horrified if he found out about this Sarin stockpile."
Ohgi looked over at Kallen. "Maybe. Any progress on that front, Kallen?"
While she was known as Kallen Kouzuki amongst her fellow resistance fighters, under her Britannian persona she was Kallen Stadtfeld, the only daughter of a viscount and thus his presumed heir. That position accorded her a great deal of privilege and authority, which Kallen employed more often than not to help her friends acquire things normally denied to the conquered Japanese populace. Sometimes that could be as mundane as ration tickets or medicine. Other times, it was information.
"I've poked around a bit at school," Kallen said. "There's been plenty of gossip about this cardinal since it was announced that he would be coming. But that's sort of the problem, most of it is just that, gossip and hearsay. No one seems to know who exactly he is, and they barely know what he is to begin with."
Ohgi regarded Kallen quizzically. "What do you mean?"
Kallen shrugged. "He's a cardinal of Eden Vital, that much is public knowledge. But no one seems to have a clear idea of what being a cardinal actually means."
"That tracks with what I've heard," Inoue said, nodding along. "The Eden Vital members I've spoken with all sound enthused about this cardinal's arrival. They seem to think he'll take one look at the situation in the ghettos and help set it straight, but none of them can really say what the cardinal's job is, besides being some sort of leader for the Order."
"Right," Kallen affirmed. "So, Eden Vital doesn't exactly hide who their cardinals are. They even list them on their website. But they don't talk about what they do, that you have to figure out from other sources. Like, Cardinal Angelica Lyon is a prominent member of the imperial court, and people often call her the Empire's spiritual advisor. And Cardinal Katarina Veloce is the public face of the Order's charitable efforts. But then there are cardinals like this Lelouch Lamperouge. He's so new to his post that there's been no time for him to crop up in the news beyond the announcement of his appointment and the retirement of his predecessor. And while you might have been able to figure out what Lamperouge's job is based on what his predecessor did, but there's almost nothing on Cardinal Octavian Zevon in the public media either."
Brows furrowed all about.
"That sounds mildly ominous," Ohgi said for all of them.
"Tell me about it," Kallen said somewhat irritably. "So while I'd like to think this cardinal actually shares the views Eden Vital publicly preaches, I can't be certain, not enough to chance him doing the right thing if he were told about the Sarin."
"Agreed," Ohgi said. "And it's not like you'd be able to get ahold of him that easily to try telling him in the first place."
"Oh, that I probably could do," Kallen said, allowing a sly smile to creep across her face. "The Prince Clovis has announced a ball to welcome his dear brother to Japan. As the daughter of the Viscount Stadtfeld, I have received an invitation to attend."
More than a few jaws were dangling as the others gaped at Kallen. The girl gave a wry chuckle.
"I don't know how close I'd actually be able to get to the cardinal, he's likely to get swamped by all the other eligible bachelorettes attending, but being in the same room as him would at least give me a shot."
Ohgi's jaw tightened. "Don't chance it, Kallen. If your cover gets blown and the authorities are able to trace you back to us, then there's not going to be anyone that knows about the Sarin and is in a position to try to do something about it."
"I'm not going to walk up to him and accuse his brother of being a wannabe mass murderer," Kallen rolled her eyes. "But I can at least try to chat him up a bit, see if he's someone that can be approached, even as a desperate last resort."
Ohgi still did not look happy, but the Japanese man at least conceded the caution Kallen was displaying.
"Bah," a somewhat disheveled man said, drawing the others' attention to him. "Why should we trust any Brit on this? They're the ones making the poison in the first place. And this cardinal, ain't he the viceroy's brother or something?"
Which was exactly what Kallen had said a few moments ago, but Tamaki did tend to have a pretty thick skull, so it took a bit for him to pick up on those sorts of things.
"Half-brother, actually," Kallen said, "and Lelouch isn't a member of the Britannian imperial family. Not anymore at least, not since his mother was murdered."
That actually saw Tamaki's jaw clamp shut. As brusque and belligerent as he could be towards Britannians, as really all of them could be for their justified grievances for the harm the Empire had done to their home, all of them were still capable of empathy and sympathy towards such a personal tragedy.
"That unfortunately still doesn't tell us which way he'd jump," Inoue finally broke the silence. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd love to finally run into a Britannian authority that's actually reasonable so I don't have to go on a suicide mission."
A few nervous chuckles sounded at that and even Kallen allowed a mirthless smile. Charging into a chemical weapons factory manufacturing Sarin was never going to be a good idea, but simply trying to blow it up risked spreading the poison instead of neutralizing it. They needed to get in, properly flush any stockpiles they found, and also neutralize any delivery mechanisms that were already armed and loaded. All of that was going to take time, and the longer they were forced to hunker down in the location the greater the chance of them getting exposed to the poison or getting overrun by the inevitable Britannian response. For that matter they might even get killed without achieving their primary objective. But if they didn't at least try, then a lot more people than just them would die if the Britannians actually deployed the Sarin. And that none of them were willing to contemplate. If stopping that meant sacrificing their lives, then so be it. There were certainly worse things to die for, after all.
End of Chapter 1
The pieces are set, let the games begin.
This chapter pretty much was all setup, introducing a bunch of bit characters and getting their perspectives on what Lelouch's arrival means. There were only three scenes, but each of them was very dense to pack in as much information as I could, while still being suitably vague. I very deliberately did not include Lelouch's own perspective in this chapter, so at present Lelouch's own thoughts and motives remain intentionally opaque.
One thing I will state now is that Code-R actually is a chemical weapon in my rendition. Sarin, specifically, as Kallen's little group noted, or RS-Propan-2-yl methylphosphonofluoridate, for where I'm claiming the R bit came from. Very nasty stuff. It's going to play a rather pivotal role in setting up the chain of events that follow, kind of like how C.C. did in the original. C.C. herself is still back at Eden Vital in her role as grandmaster.
Readers of A Cold Calculus will notice that I'm reusing a few things from that story. That is not an indication that we're actually going to retread the same plot threads here, I'm just using it for the sake of convenience and laziness.
So, my email went a bit ballistic after I uploaded the prologue. I suppose that's a good thing, since it indicates there's a ready audience for the story. Why so many people jumped on the bandwagon I'm a bit less clear on, though I suspect it might have something to do with the dearth of actual variation between Code Geass fanfics. In general I don't really follow the overall Code Geass fanfic community. The most I do is glean over some story summaries when I go to upload a new chapter of mine. That's usually been enough to give me a basic pulse of the active or new stories, and I see a lot of repetition in themes and the like. A few common patterns are retread almost constantly, and even in these retreads the coherence by which changes to the canon are integrated tends to be, spotty.
Case in point are the stories in which Lelouch remains an imperial prince or otherwise stay with Britannia. The tendency I see with a lot of those stories is this change is made not because the writer is necessarily interested in exploring the divergence that such a change should cause. Instead most seem to use the change as a blunt instrument to knock off whatever it was that they were dissatisfied about in canon, to make things the way they think it should be, usually relating to character relationships. A certain degree of personal wish fulfillment is inevitable in any story one writes, but centering the entirety of your premise on how to make that fulfillment happen does not make for interesting reading for other people.
My retelling of the overall story obviously will have some pretty major divergences. One obvious but perhaps less than clear-cut change was the fact that the Ashfords did not lose their nobility after Marianne's assassination in my storyline. In the canon their fall from grace was a result of the coverup and general reshuffling of court politics after Marianne's death. In my story, Charles' reaction to Marianne's death is markedly different in that he very publicly was not happy about losing his wife. As such the sort of openings needed to move against the Ashfords did not exist. That is not to say there still weren't consequences, the prose makes that clear enough, but the Ashfords are in a much stronger position than they were in canon.
I have what looks to be three or four chapters worth of material sketched out, covering basically my equivalent of the Shinjuku Incident. That's about as far as I'm prepared to commit to getting out in the short term, as I still need to get Vengeance progressed further than it currently is. And some of my Vengeance readers are getting a bit twitchy about the possibility that I'd divert attention to this story. We'll have to see what happens. I wonder if I'll get another tvtropes recommendation for this story.
Nunnally's status will be dealt with in a future chapter. Lelouch is being intentionally vague in his conversation with Milly. Information on Eden Vital will also be divulged as it becomes relevant to the plot. Indeed quite a bit of surface information has already been revealed, and then some if one knows how to read between the lines.
I've been recovering from what I sincerely hope was just a very unfortunately timed cold. I'm sure all of my readers understand in full just why I worded it that way.
I've been asked a few times now by readers how I'm as skilled at writing as I am, and whether I have any advice for people who want to get into writing. Since it's a fairly lengthy answer, I'm going to dump it here.
From my experience there are generally two broad categories that come together to make a good writer. The first is being good at the technical aspects of writing. This involves things like basic spelling and grammar and the ability to craft a variety of phrases. Being good at this is very much a skill, as even a cursory glance through this very site will reveal a litany of fics with bad spelling or poor grammar (how the former is even possible these days with built-in spellcheck everywhere is a bit beyond me), to monotonous or repetitive wording. The former is mainly down to practice, and mistakes can often be caught by just rereading what one writes, either in your head or aloud. If what you read back sounds weird, there's probably something that can be fixed to make it better. Some writers will eventually be able to ensure a high degree of accuracy when transcribing what was in their head to the text on the screen that they don't need to reread the text as often, but this is very much not a given, and even then it's still useful to take the time to go back over old work. The unevenness in my own writing is often the difference between me taking the time to review a chapter after I wrote it to give it an editing pass and me being lazy or not having the time to do that reread.
Wordsmithing to construct smooth sentences for better or worse has no such nice tricks, it is a skill that takes a lot of practice to build up. Part of it entails just writing a lot, don't hesitate from writing just because you think your writing isn't up to par to convey some idea, if you don't write at all you'll never improve. If one looks at some of my earliest works, not only were my plots pretty stupid, but my writing style itself was atrocious. That's where I started however, and this is where I am after many years of practice, so don't despair, there is certainly hope for improvement.
Another big part of becoming a better wordsmith entails also reading other people's works, or rather reading the works of good authors and writers. My own personal library includes the likes of David Weber, Timothy Zahn, Harry Turtledove, Tom Clancy, and Robert Jordan, and much of my writing style is based on a blending of their styles, with a heavier emphasis on Zahn and Weber than the others. In general, find authors whose writing you feel flows very naturally when you read, and read lots and lots. By doing so, you expose yourself to countless examples of how to craft phrases for various situations. A simple thing like trying to say, "he looked puzzled," could be refashioned into, "he tilted his head quizzically," or, "an eyebrow arched upward in befuddlement," or, "his expression gave way to puzzlement," stuff like that. But you won't magically know what your options are unless you've run into them before, and the more you read the more examples you'll encounter.
Reading a lot also helps with the second big category that I alluded to at the start, which is to build up a catalog of ideas to help expand your imagination and develop your creativity. By exposing yourself to the ideas that other people come up with, you are given examples of what can spring from imagination. All these ideas then become part of a toolbox that you can pull from and experiment with putting them together in different ways. Furthermore, the stories that you read also can help serve as rough guides of how each piece can be used. There's no obligation to copy something wholesale, but from the template they provide, you have a base to build upon with your own personal twists and combinations. The more ideas you've been exposed to, the more possibilities there are to explore and play with.
That being said, it's not as if all ideas are equal in usefulness. If you are intending to write in a certain genre, then usually other works in that genre will provide better references. Using myself as an example, I tend to write a lot of sci-fi/military fiction, with a dab of politics for flavoring. A lot of the authors I referenced above do the same to a greater or lesser degree, hence why they're listed in the first place. They're obviously not the only authors I read, I'm quite partial to the earlier Halo novels like Fall of Reach and First Strike, and I've also dabbled in the classics from the likes of Isaac Asimov or even older, Jules Verne. I would also recommend Lois McMaster Bujold, not just because she is an excellent writer, but because the mindset she presents has a distinct flavor to it that can help fill in gaps that the other listed authors above might leave. Even if some of the ideas are not readily usable for my particular style of writing, having to consider just how an author even came up with some idea or another helps exercise the mental muscle, which is the entire point.
Now, while getting the necessary bits and pieces for worldbuilding can generally be done by staying within the genre you yourself intend to write in, this is not the case when it comes to character building, and indeed constructing character interactions. Characters within genres tend to emphasize only specific aspects of a person based on what that genre needs. Characters in romances will emphasize their amorous aspects, characters in military fiction their soldierly aspects, so on and so forth. But just because an aspect isn't emphasized doesn't mean it still isn't part of a person. A complete person, which means a complete character, needs to have all those aspects at least sketched out so that you know how they will respond to various stimuli. Some of that stimulus may never happen, especially if you decide you don't want romance in your story, or whatever. But readers are very perceptive people, and they can sense gaps in a character if you aren't careful. To that end, knowing how writers in other genres craft reactions or expressions of personalities is very important to being able to create whole characters of your own. And from time to time you may even find that a particular trait that would be very useful for a character of your own was written with great skill in an entirely different genre. Some traits are after all universal in their applicability. I'm personally quite partial to Charlotte Bronte, with Jane Eyre being an all-time personal favorite, and the willful determination demonstrated by the titular character was something I employed extensively when writing A Cold Calulus in Euphemia. Funny aside, my interest in Jane Eyre very pleasantly surprised my high school English teacher, who despaired at my otherwise narrow focus on sci-fi and fantasy. Another good book/books would be Kristin Lavransdatter, which despite its bleakness in various places still serves as a good reference work for being in a different frame of mind.
So that covers being widely read in fiction, both in and outside of a genre. To be able to do good worldbuilding however you also need to be very well read in non-fiction, history especially. Why? Because the world you build has to at least be recognizable to the audience, as otherwise they'd be too confused to even get into your story. And there's that whole suspension of disbelief bit. Reality may be unrealistic, but an unrealistic fantasy is even harder for people to swallow. And history also helps you to identify when the fiction authors you read are taking liberties with reality in order to advance their story. That is a given, since sticking rigidly to reality just handicaps your imagination. But knowing when and how to break with reality is crucial to preserving a reader's immersion. Furthermore, knowing history also helps provide ideas, much like reading fiction does. History is after all arguably one really big story, so that should come as no surprise, and there are plenty of insane bits that feel like they really should be made up stories but which actually happened.
A word of caution here though, there has been a recent trend amongst newer published "history" texts that try to offer quick and simple explanations about why things turn out the way they do. I tend to treat such texts with a great deal of skepticism, since they often make presumptions or oversimplifications in order to make the information fit the conclusion when it should be the other way around.
It is probably not surprising that I also have a large collection of history books. Much of it is WWII focused, since that was the last major open conflict between great powers. Amongst the writers in that library are the likes of John Keegan (his WWII book is an excellent general overview), Len Deighton (more famous for his spy novels and cookery guides), William Shirer (technically a journalist, but he did do good history books), and Correlli Barnett (I rather enjoyed his never missing an opportunity to point out incompetence on the part of the British establishment). Note that all save for one is British. Indeed many of the fiction writers that I first listed earlier are themselves either historians or did some work with history. So that should tell all of you how important knowing your bloody history is. Familiarity with any of the hard sciences or engineering is a bonus, if only so that your technobabble won't sound like complete bull to anyone with even a passing familiarity with the topic or field.
Note that I have continuously emphasized being well-read. I do not consider having watched lots of TV shows or anime or history documentaries to be a substitute for being well-read, since the goal is to gain a wide breadth of how to craft worlds and characters in text. That you can only achieve by doing the actual reading. I also don't count graphic novels, comics, or manga either, because they again move the narrative prose from text to imagery, so you end up losing a good chunk of material that would otherwise have served as a good reference. Consuming lots of audio/visual media might help with one's imagination, but it is by definition less helpful for acquiring the technical skill of actual writing.
The above sums up the bulk of what I consider to be necessary skills to be a good writer. In terms of writing process, I can explain mine, but I expect it to be mostly useless to everyone else, since such processes are highly dependent on how each person's thought processes work. Initial ideas for a story usually result from my own mental fantasies, wherein I think about how things might be different if I adjust this here or change that there, or I consider some aspect of a character or plot device and work through some basic reasoning to see if I can push it a bit further than how it was used in canon. Generally these are thought experiments that I do when I get bored or am idling about. I can't explain how to perform such experiments, since, you know, that's just the way I think.
Once an idea has reached a point where I think there's an actual credible plot, I'll sketch out, again mentally, a rough outline of how to start it and the initial bit of story. Kind of like how I mentioned above I have this story mentally mapped out through the Shinjuku Incident. I will also usually try to have a general ending conceptualized, even if the details are hazy, so that I know at least the general direction I want to take. From there, I will, again mentally, mark a few major plot events that I think should be present, but I rarely flesh these events out until I start actually getting close to them as I write. It is very rare for me to actually organize all these mental notes into an actual document, though I do jot down brief summaries about future scenes as a long running TODO list in my stories. I don't do formal outlines though, I don't actually need them.
As for the writing itself, my writing is pretty much all stream of consciousness. What you get is pretty much completely unfiltered straight from my thoughts, which is actually one reason for some of the idiosyncratic punctuation that drives some of my readers nuts. And yes, this does mean I'm able to basically simulate conversations between multiple people in my head, so I really don't have much advice to give about coming up with dialogue, I'm able to construct it pretty much instinctually. I attribute that to just lots of practice writing, and ultimately to get better at writing, you just have to write.
But anyway, yeah, all straight from my head and onto the computer screen. It usually translates without too many problems, but there will be times when a word gets dropped or a phrasing comes out mangled because I can't type as fast as I think and my brain outpaces my hands. Those technically would get caught if I did a proper editing pass, but I generally can't be bothered so most of what you guys get amounts to first draft quality material from me.
Again, I highly doubt the above to be of much practical use to other writers, since there's not really any appliable methods that doesn't require you to basically be able to think like I do. And I definitely do not recommend trying to force yourself to mimic my approach, that's just liable to give you a headache. But the question was asked, so I answered.
Anyway, since I just gave a big dump of less than useful information, let's wrap this up with some more practical advice. The following are all just general suggestions and gotchas that those of you wanting to get into writing might find useful.
Make ample use of a thesaurus. It is really handy for coming up with words that mean the same thing but are different so you avoid being overly repetitive in your writing.
Do some basic research beforehand for anything you are thinking of including in your story. If you're going to give your character a profession for example, at least get the titles and hierarchy of that profession right. A nurse is not called Dr., and a sergeant is not addressed as Sir.
Don't succumb to the temptation of giving your character everything they need to solve any problem right away. And if them giving some overpowered ability is some integral part of the plot *cough*Lelouch's geass*cough* then at least try to be subtle about the drawbacks that prevent them from overusing it and solving every problem right away.
In general try to avoid making your antagonist a complete hate sink. Making someone completely despicable may be an easy way to make readers want them taken down, but it's actually pretty boring to read.
Don't turn the story into a giant author tract. While it is certainly true that you as the author have the freedom to make your world and your characters work the way you want, it is a very poor writer indeed that thinks an audience exists only to serve as an outlet for the writer's personal fixations. While no writer should ever expect to be able to one hundred percent satisfy all their readers, remember that you are telling a story to people who are not you and therefore will have differing tastes, different needs, and different tolerances for where their suspension of disbelief breaks down.
A personal pet peeve of mine, but excessive humility in a character is not endearing in the least. I don't mean in the sense that they always try to avoid claiming credit or claim they're not deserving of praise, though that can also get really tiresome. I mean in the sense where a character always automatically equates the morally or ethnically "good" choice to be the "natural" choice. Some people may interpret that as that person having a strong moral or ethical compass. My personal, considerably less charitable interpretation, is that the author has hobbled the character in a very narrow way such that opportunities for the character to surprise you have been lessened, making the character less interesting.
Be careful when using dialogue to explain in-universe things. Depending on the topic, it can sound very weird if someone is explaining something to your character that your character should damn well already know since they 'live' in that world.
When writing fanfiction, know the limits of your source material. I really can't stress this one enough. Fiction by definition is going to have certain breaks from reality, and more importantly, certain simplifications. Unless a particular piece of work is by a writer that is widely known for their rigor on the subject that is being used in the story, you CANNOT count on having actually learned anything factual from the story. As an example. If you read a Tom Clancy military fiction book, you can generally be assured that his depiction of the military branches and intelligence organizations are pretty accurate, barring any personal prejudices that might leak in or things he intentionally changed to avoid breaking classification. Indeed if you yourself then went to write some military fiction of your own, modeling your portrayal of a military or intelligence agency after Clancy's will get you about 90-95% of the way there, you just might need to look up some things if they just never showed up in any of his books. With the obvious caveat that Clancy wrote about things as they were in the late 80s and early 90s.
As an example on the opposite side of the spectrum, Code Geass. If you tried to model a military force in a piece of military fiction using Code Geass as your reference, you would be going into the negative range as far as realism is concerned if you were trying to make it a selling point of your story. Not only did the original Japanese writers not do a very good job, but the localizers didn't bother trying to smooth out any of the rougher edges either. This was fine in the original anime, since the whole military action was just a backdrop for the characters to act on and all the mecha action was pseudo-marketing to sell knightmare kits, but if you're going to write a story focused on the military exploits of Code Geass characters, you need to go do extra legwork to research things so you don't end up inadvertently making your characters look like complete amateurs (or outright idiots) instead of skilled professionals. The same could be said of the politics, but again, the target audience of Code Geass being what it was, it was fine for the anime. In R1 at least. R2 just kind of went off the rails.
The final piece of advice I can offer is, just write. Writer's block, problems coming up with dialogue, all these things are generally a consequence of not being able to come up with ways to put words together in your head. The only way to improve upon this skill is lots and lots of practice, ie writing. It really does not matter if what you write comes out as complete gibberish, there's no reason to be disheartened if you go back and reread whatever came out and it's completely unusable. The point is to get used to getting your thoughts from inside your head out onto the screen. The more you do that, the easier it becomes. Even if the only thing you do is to write the random thoughts that stray into your head instead of a chapter to your story, that still counts. As you get better at it, you'll find that you're better able to capture in text whatever idea popped up in your head, and once you can do that consistently and accurately, you're well on your way to becoming a competent writer. Note that personally achieving my current level of skill took me years, so it's not going to be a quick and readily apparent improvement. But if you look at my past works and compare them to my current output, the sheer difference in quality becomes very, very obvious. And ultimately, if you persist, one day you can look back at your oldest works and cringe at just how godawful it was, just like me.