Recap: Lelouch has decided to make his Sergeant Major, James Gill, the Viceroy of Area Fifteen. Charles was displeased. Kaguya and him both ate poisoned sweets.
Chapter 2: A Knee for Thee
Among the sea of legal and illegal migrants within Britannia, few works have paid attention to how Numbers moved within Areas and between them. In contrast, much work has been dedicated to how Honorary Britannian settlements were deliberately constructed outside of their native Area to isolate and indoctrinate residents. Honorary Britannians were an incredibly mobile group, but their movements were always monitored by the State for signs of seditious activity. In effect, this limited their ability to network and create a unified political block. The notable change in this dynamic in the early 21st century is the subject of much inquiry. This study, though, is interested in their brethren, the Numbers who never assimilated into the legal system. Contrary to popular perception, they were not an immobile class constrained to their native Area, nor were they an unorganized class without means of expression. An elaborate underground network, hinging on sympathetic Britannians and Honorary Britannians, facilitated acquiring fake papers and smuggling people as well as contraband goods. With fake IDs, they appear as legal citizens in Britannian documents. Their purpose was not to assimilate, but to subvert.
—The Mobile Number by Lewis Grant, 2238
Imperial Palace, New Pendragon
Ten minutes until they would begin landing. Twenty minutes until Lelouch would disembark and face his father. It was time to face the consequences of his actions. His performance as the ideal Britannian prince would be judged, most likely already had been.
Had he gone far enough? Or would he leave the throne room a stranger?
A stranger would not wake with sobs in their throat.
"Lelouch," Jim groaned. "I know how to bow. We already went over this."
His eyes snapped back to him, and he paused in his pacing. "Your arm is too low. It has to be perfect."
Grudgingly, Jim corrected his posture. "I am swearing my loyalty to him, not asking him for your hand in marriage. Relax. The viceroy was yours to decide."
"He agreed to that, but—" Lelouch pulled out his knife, letting the cold blade tumble over his fingers. His father was going to be pissed. A viceroy was always a noble or a royal. If Lelouch was the son his father wanted, he would've chosen a pliant noble and bent them to his will. Instead, he picked one of his loyal men, a first generation Britannian and married them to a fresh Number. "It has to be perfect."
Had he made the right decision?
"Or what?" asked Nimra quietly. She had barely spoken since her wedding to Jim; her eyes could barely contain the hate she held for both of them.
For his part, Jim tried to accommodate her as best he could, recognizing the importance of their partnership. His efforts were mostly fruitless although her assassination attempts had fallen off. It was good practice for Jim. The nobility would try to remove him by any means possible.
"Worst case, you two suffer a slow and agonizing death," Lelouch answered, careful to not mirror her own hostility in his tone. She needed to fear him more than she hated him. "Would you care to practice your etiquette again?"
"No."
From the end of the cabin, Henry took a half-step forward, his face twisted in an ugly scowl.
Lelouch bit his tongue and glared at Henry before he could escalate the situation. Her chronic lack of deference was a problem, especially for Britannian society.
If only Kallen or Frederick were here to explain things, but Lelouch wanted neither of them anywhere near his father after the last time.
Both of them needed a break anyway, especially Kallen.
He took a deep breath, forcing a polite smile. "In a private setting, I can let disrespect slide. In public, especially when I am acting in an official capacity, an insult against me is an insult against Britannia. Henry is not the only one who would act on their own authority to enforce justice. I have to punish you because their justice would most likely end with you dead. Do you understand?"
It was a miracle that his mother had yet to kill one of his own men who slipped into more familiar mannerisms. That courtesy didn't extend to the civilians, the Numbers. They died slow and agonizing deaths because he neglected to extract justice himself.
"Yes, Your Highness," Nimra spat. She didn't understand at all.
"Just…" He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. He was making the best of a hopeless hand, but if it fell apart now? There was no path forward he could bear to walk. "Keep quiet and keep your head down. If you disrespect him—"
Then she would be just another prisoner in the endless cells beneath Pendragon, which his father would call upon for his own amusement or to test the limits of a geass. Clovis had been guilty of human experimentation. That wasn't why their father ordered his death.
How many were even down there?
The intercom chimed, and Lelouch stopped toying with the knife. In the reflection of the blade, his purple eyes bore back at him with judging contempt. There wasn't a hint of fatigue, concealer hiding the dark circles beneath his eyes.
He would undoubtedly have the opportunity to be alone with his father again. If not, mentioning the strange green-haired immortal who haunted his mothers' steps as a supposed lady-in-waiting would guarantee him the opportunity.
A knife was easy to hide. The guards only relieved him of his gun, neglecting to perform a thorough search, if they bothered at all. He would be alone with his father's loathsome eyes. Five minutes. Less than that.
Hands shaking, he slid the knife into his sleeve and pretended that he hadn't noticed Nimra's far too inquisitive gaze. All knives were always accounted for when she left a room.
The plane landed with a slight jolt, and the familiar spires of the palace loomed over him from the window. Jim grabbed Nimra's arm, the perfect image of a noble escorting his wife. The lessons were paying off.
"Your Highness," one of his father's guards greeted him. "The Emperor requests your presence."
"We will make with utmost haste after—"
"Immediately."
Lelouch glanced at guards slowly surrounding them. "Of course."
His father was pissed and didn't care if Lelouch knew.
Silently, they followed the guards through the winding passages. They had doubled back twice, but Jim and Nimra's expression had morphed into hopeless and anxious confusion. At the great redwood doors, they came to a stop.
"Arms up," the guard ordered as another stepped forward with a wand.
Jim dutifully handed over his set of keys when the wand beeped and closed his eyes as they patted him down. On Nimra, they discovered a fork which earned her a far more rough and needlessly thorough search.
Then the guards turned to him. "You may wait for the Emperor inside."
As he knelt before the empty throne, Lelouch stared at the carpet in confusion. The guards should've searched him, even if it was a perfunctory search. That was the protocol. With his father in ill temper, the search should've been brutish to remind him of his place.
They hadn't even asked for his gun.
Only his mother could enter the Emperor's presence without some security theater. That right definitely did not extend to any of the royal children, except maybe Odysseus.
Had his father ordered the guards to skip a search and simply demanded his immediate presence due to an urgent matter? But if that was the case, then surely they wouldn't be waiting before an empty throne.
The minutes ticked by in agony with no satisfactory explanation presenting itself. What could possibly explain such a change?
"Is this normal?" Nimra whispered as Jim hurriedly hushed her.
Lelouch shifted his weight slightly, trying to relieve the incredible strain on his knees. "Don't talk and keep kneeling."
"But he's not here," she hissed. "This is stupid."
"Use 'His Majesty'," Lelouch corrected. His father had never made him wait for so long before. He should've reached out to him before the endless reports that landed on the Emperor's desk had time to simmer.
His heart beat loudly in his ears. His skills were still far too useful to discard; his personality and beliefs were the problem.
"Should we be worried?" Jim asked quietly, his voice a lifeline in his panicked thoughts.
"No," Lelouch lied. "He is displeased with me. I will handle it."
Five minutes to bleed out. If he failed, he wouldn't live to remember. If he succeeded… What then?
His eyes closed, exhaustion beckoning to him. All he had to do was keep kneeling. There was no knife at his throat like with the Count. He could do this easily enough.
"I need to move," Nimra whispered.
"Lelouch… Do we check with anyone?"
"Just wait," he answered. "It's less painful than being turned over to the OSI for suspected treason due to a lack of respect."
There, they would peel the skin off a man. Hang him by his thumbs. Press a burning Britannian brand into the skin until the prisoner passed out from the stench of their own burnt flesh.
He couldn't feel his legs anymore.
The side door banged open, and Lelouch painfully fixed his posture. Weakness was not allowed. He had to be strong. Protect the two behind him from his father's rage.
His father's robes brushed over the ground before him. The throne remained empty, and Lelouch wished he could look up and judge his father's expression, but with him already in a mood, breaking protocol would result in dire consequences.
"Your Majesty," Lelouch said respectfully when it became apparent that the Emperor was not going to sit on his throne. Two halfhearted echoes followed behind him.
"Your name," the Emperor demanded, moving past him.
"James Gill, Your Majesty. It would be my honor—"
"Your oath."
Lelouch exhaled slowly in relief. It was going through.
"I, James Gill, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Britannia and His Majesty Charles zi Britannia, 98th Emperor of the Realm, and his heirs and successors, according to law. So help me God."
"Do you swear to uphold and obey my will?"
"I do."
"Do you swear to defend Britannia at all costs?"
"I do."
"Do you swear to raise loyal subjects and ensure a prosperous line who will serve and defend the Empire?"
Was his father…
"I do."
"Then you shall be from now on James Gill, Baron of Elko, Viceroy of Area Fifteen. You are dismissed."
A noble. That was the easiest way to reconcile the viceroyship with Jim's lowly rank. Cornelia could've done the same as the Viceroy of Area Eleven, but she refused to upset the nobility. Jim hadn't proven himself exceptional on the battlefield with victories credited to him.
The nobility would be pissed at the slight, yet now, their ire would be directed at the Emperor.
Hesitantly, Lelouch rose, staggering slightly after waiting for so long on his knees. The pressure of his gun had left his right leg a mess of pins and needles.
Jim and Nimra followed his lead. With another bow, they backed away, careful to never turn their back on the Emperor and commit a serious faux-pas.
"Not you, Lelouch."
Lelouch froze, slightly shaking his head at Jim as his concerned gaze landed on him. They were lucky that his father's ire was apparently concentrated on him. He hadn't even bothered interrogating Nimra which could've easily been disastrous.
With a wave of his hand, his father dismissed the remaining guards.
Training his eyes on the floor, Lelouch waited. "Your Majesty?"
"Come," his father ordered after a slight pause.
Lelouch stumbled, his legs stiff and uncooperative. His father caught him by the arm.
"Lelouch, careful," he chided. His fingers were crossed. They were truly alone. "It is pleasant to see you again."
That was the truth, enforced by geass.
"I thought you were angry with me."
"Why would I be angry with you?"
He swallowed. "I was too lenient. The generals sent you petitions, and mother complained I was too soft-hearted."
"The press celebrated your triumphs," his father answered. "I asked you to subdue the Area in accordance with Britannian customs, and to the public, you have succeeded. That is all that matters."
"But—"
"While I wish you would make choices more politically astute, I cannot fault you for such mistakes when it is your mother's and mine fault for not teaching you better."
Had his father just admitted to a mistake?
"You are adept at holding men's loyalty and playing the battlefield. What you have not learned is to rule the internal court of public opinion, where an enemy cannot merely be vanquished. Your brief stint governing Area Eleven left rather noticeable scars that have raised the nobles' hackles. Assassinating and blackmailing all your opponents is only effective in the short-term. With your performance on the battlefield, the nobles no longer hold any delusions that you are an unambitious fool."
Lelouch slouched. He had known his position in court would have to change, but his childish mask had been a comfortable one. "Yet you elevated Gill?"
"I was angry," his father admitted. "I still believe it is a fool's move when you could've ingratiated yourself among the nobility, yet you consistently have let such opportunities slip by. Still, I gave you my word, which makes me as much of a fool."
"I need to appoint—"
"You want protectorates. They would never be proper Areas under such a philosophy."
"They do not need to be! As long as military objectives are—"
"And what of the Areas already conquered, boy? It will not work. Has the last century not shown you the folly of such efforts as the E.U.'s grand experiment imploded? The people do eventually realize the government is composed of foreign stooges."
Lelouch scoffed. "Britannia is hardly comparable to the E.U. Nor would their colonies have ever had a chance at success if our own agents, along with the Russians and Chinese, weren't running amok within. We have wasted so many lives on establishing an endless occupation, spilling Number blood by the millions. So what if they eventually rebel? The Count seized control in Area Two! An Area filled with proper Brittannians, not Numbers. We still put her down. Other options are worth exploring."
His father took a deep breath, suddenly incredibly aged. He rubbed his temples and gazed down at him with bone deep weariness. "You are focused on problems decades in the making. The nobility meanwhile will riot if you continue steamrolling ahead with such reckless abandon."
"That's why I'm taking the lead, not Odysseus."
Inexplicably, his father looked disappointed, as if Lelouch wasn't being the filial son supporting the rightful heir. "It seems I must take a far more active role in your education."
Lelouch froze, his heart thundering in his ears. Where had he gone wrong? His eyes focused on the hem of his father's robes, feeling the burning gaze bore into him. His efforts had been for naught. He wasn't the son his father wanted, and all it would take was one look into his father's eyes to fix him.
"I apologize," Lelouch whispered. "That's why you were angry with me, right? I am not learning correctly—"
"Lelouch." His father's hand settled on his shoulder, eliciting a harsh flinch. His tone became soft. "Why in the world are you so convinced I am angry with you?"
"You made us wait for hours."
"I…" His father sighed. "I forgot to rescind orders I made in the heat of the moment."
"You wouldn't forget," Lelouch accused.
"Normally, no." His voice was so tired, lacking its usual strong edge. Lelouch, too embroiled in his own anxieties, hadn't noticed. "The physician had ordered me on bed rest—"
"What? Why?" Lelouch's gaze snapped upwards, meeting his father's shadowed eyes.
"A poisoning attempt caught myself and young Kaguya—"
Lelouch turned, stepping forward, blood roaring in his ears. Kaguya. The physician had ordered bed rest. Death's cold touch had come dangerously close.
His father wrenched him back by the shoulder, his fingers digging into his skin. "She is alive."
Not fine.
He needed to find her.
"Lelouch…Lelouch…Lelouch… Oh for—"
A sharp pain erupted on his ear, and Lelouch turned, abashed.
His father was distinctly unamused. "Were you planning on spending the next few hours running around like an undignified street rat, considering you do not know where she is?"
"No?" Was she not then in the general hospital ward? Was her situation too precarious? Had she been flown out to the real hospital?
"You are clearly useless in this state. Follow me."
"What—"
"Do you want to verify her health for yourself or not?"
Cheeks burning, Lelouch rushed after his father.
New York, Homeland
The intercity train plunged into darkness as it entered the dark underbelly of the city. The harsh fluorescent lights turned on a few seconds later, illuminating miles of stale concrete with the intermittent painted Britannian sigil.
Juan Fernandez ignored the snake of anxiety curling around his chest and climbing up to his throat. He wiped his palms off on his dark trousers and grabbed his luggage from the overhead bin. Thousands of other passengers exited their seats to do the same: some anxious, others eager.
The train lurched to a stop, eliciting a surprised yelp from an older woman. She glanced around furtively and lowered the brim of her hat as disproving gazes met her.
"I have to pee," a little girl whined. "Ma, I have to go."
"I asked ya thirty minutes ago, Mary," her mother reprimanded. "It's too late now."
The doors opened, spitting them out onto the depressing station partitioned by wire fences. Bored soldiers waited by the exit, gesturing for folks to join the line. One of them slowly blew a bubble of gum. Another polished his rifle barrel.
Juan took a deep breath, and another, and another. His heart slowed, his mind focusing on the situation at hand. This was always the most dangerous part.
"Please, I have them here somewhere," an old man begged at the front of the line. "Give me just a moment!"
"No papers, no entry."
"Please! I served my time!"
A soldier struck him on the back, sending him sprawling to the ground. "Bag 'em."
Honorary Britannians, Juan thought dismissively. Soldiers were the worst lot, stationed far from home and always so eager to dish out their daily dose of state sanctioned violence.
The Britannians around him scowled and rumbled with discontent; the sight of rifles kept them meek and obedient. Most were here for employment, already barely making ends meet. Once they got up to the city, they could vent their anger with fists and cruel words at whatever Number had the misfortune to pass them.
It was only here in the transit center for intercity travel that such indignities had to be borne. Such experience, one shared by nearly all Britannians, kept their hatred for Numbers fresh.
Juan scowled at the bootlickers as his fingers brushed over his fake papers in his jacket pocket. The only good thing about these lots was that they were picked for their cattle-like obedience. They lacked the wits to notice anything awry in his papers.
Not that they would find something awry in his papers; he had paid excellent money for them. According to them, Juan Fernandez was the grandson of a Honorary Britannian and a Britannian who had graduated from a religious seminary. Really, a respectable Britannian, even if one from poor breeding.
While logic dictated he would be fine, his anxiety continued to simmer.
In the corner, a young boy in a uniform half-heartedly scrubbed the walls. Someone had vandalized the wall with a purple "V". Personally, Juan suspected the soldiers. Civilians never could have reached that wall without being shot.
"Papers," the soldier demanded, three hours later. His eyes wearily scanned the paper, past the splotches of sweat, and raised an eyebrow at the numerous stamps on the verification page. "Travel a lot?"
"Work unfortunately has me running all about the continent," Juan answered truthfully.
Blue eyes pinned him in place. "What ya do?"
"Reporter," Juan answered, his tongue running ahead of his mouth. "I actually just got hired by the Britannian Beacon. It's the first day of the job tomorrow. I was working at the Imperial Blessing before and—"
"That trash?" The soldier snorted. "Write up religious proverbs to sell to old ladies?" He flipped back to his biography page. "Huh. I guess ya did. I better not be reading any of that trash next week."
"Of course not," Juan assured nervously. The problem with check-points was that occasionally you would get an idiot who was just too bored. If Juan answered wrongly, nothing would stop him from throwing him in a cell with trumped up charges and a few dozen bruises on top.
Juan was just a lowly commoner on paper. He didn't have the connections or funds to make a soldier's life miserable. He wiped his hands off on his trousers.
"The Britannian Beacon is the only paper the old fart allows us to read. Something about reformatory properties," the soldier continued seriously. "I like the cartoons. You better not fuck that up."
The soldier half asleep in his chair perked up. "Brah, think you can get them to write something more interesting than the price of bread and which of the old titties is weaning the next honored babe?"
How did Juan have such terrible luck to be working for the only newspaper these soldiers read? The boot lickers weren't even supposed to have newspapers!
"What ya writing anyway? Better not sudoku or the cartoons."
"Or the 'Ask Beth' column," his neighbor chimed.
Juan lifted his hands appeasingly. Traitors didn't deserve such humility. "My focus is interviews. That's why I travel a lot. Ask actors their favorite food and sponsorship deal, ask farmers their most beloved festival, and ask petty priests where their tithe is going to. I guess I'll be interviewing more famous people now."
The soldier's brow furrowed as he stared at him in contemplative silence. "You should interview Prince Lelouch."
Juan gaped. His eyes drifted to the graffitied "V". That almost felt like a political opinion… from an Honorary Britannian. They not did have political opinions beyond licking the boot of the oppressor.
"Yeah, you should," his neighbor chimed in. "It would be finally something worth reading in the paper."
"Like you can read," jibed one of the soldiers by the fence. "We can all 'ear you sounding out ya letters."
"At least I try!" the man fired back hotly. He glared at his comrade before settling back down in his seat. "He'd be begging us to read 'im the interview anyway."
Juan closed his mouth. Why were Honorary Britannians so interested in another Brit conqueror?
"What do you want to ask him?" Juan dared to ask.
"He could be a spy," the one whispered.
"Does it matter? We're curious about a prince. That's how things should be." He nodded to himself. "We wanna know if it's real."
"If what's real?" Juan asked.
The soldiers smiled enigmatically and finally waved him through the checkpoint.
The sky was a rusted orange when he finally escaped the concrete coffin. A light rain glazed the street, reflecting the bright neon signs. Pulling out his worn map, he oriented himself in the maze of buildings. Taxis lined the street, eager to take the new arrivals where they wanted to be.
Juan didn't have the spare cash for such a luxury.
Was the office even opened this late? Or should he just head straight to the bar?
Unsure, he wandered past the street vendors and budget eateries drawing the largest crowd. A familiar graffitied symbol caught his eye.
"V" for vengeance, vendetta, victory, villain, violence, volunteer… or for vi Britannia.
Irritated at the ambivalence, he snatched a newspaper with the young prince's face plastered across from it. Grudgingly, he handed over a handful of coins from his dinner budget.
Nothing within explained why a group of Honorary Britannian soldiers had taken an interest. The boy was a Brit, razing rebellious cities to the ground. Apparently, his mother, the Butcher, had decided to follow him on his campaign. She was undoubtedly wrecking her own unique brand of destruction in her wake.
More graffiti decorated the next alleyway, again irritatingly ambiguous. He could taste a story here. Maybe even an opportunity to exploit.
Twenty minutes later, he was deep in the bowels of the city where natural light not ever reached. Water poured down the steps, and he splashed through the flooded streets as he hurried to his new employer.
He kept his hand in his pocket, curled around the switchblade. Soldiers rarely patrolled down here, letting crime rot and fester. The land of order spread only under the sun's gentle caress, a sanctuary for nobles and those of wealth.
"Fernandez, right?" the middle aged woman exclaimed from the steps of the Britannian Beacon with a dripping bucket.
"Ah yes. I wasn't sure if you were expecting…"
"Don't be shy, son." She hurled the excess water to the side and gestured him inside. "Best not try to use the bathroom right now. Wasn't sure if you'd show. Your train arrived quite a few hours ago."
"Were you waiting for me?"
"Course not. I'm seeking higher ground. My apartment is flooded. Again. I really need to move. We've got mold crawling up the walls." She shook her head exaggeratedly and pointed at the drenched pizza box. "Pie? You won't meet the others tonight; they headed home. Well, Jasmine to her posh upstairs boyfriend, thinking she be masking. I recommend crashing here tonight. All the hostels are packed to the brim with those fleeing the tide."
"It didn't seem like it rained that much."
"Oh, this ain't nothing. When it rains, you'll be standing knee deep here 'till your skivvies are soaked. That's why all the important stuff is kept on the top floor." She tapped her head. "They never tell you this part about old glamorous New York. It's a problem for almost all the big cities. You can only have so many miles of concrete with water nowhere to go before it floods."
Awkwardly, Juan set down his bag.
She froze, her brow furrowing and jutted out her hand. "Virginia Gellhorn. We spoke briefly on the phone. Inter-Area call fees are a nuisance."
"Juan," he answered, shaking her hand with some relief. She was one of those eccentric Britannians who had a tendency to look the other way when discrepancies arose, if only because her own circumstances were so dire.
"So any idea where you'll be staying?"
"A friend told me he could set me up by Marianne Square."
She nodded. "Might need to ask your friend to set me up. They almost never flood although it's a rather big turf. Bet your friend suggested meeting outside first."
"Yes…"
"Wait for him so my new hire doesn't get shanked within his first week in the Big Apple. Now, I'm sure you know your friend well enough to know if he be murdering people for a living. I'm not saying he is, but—"
"I get it. Marianne Square is dangerous."
"Yeah." She leaned against the desk with a contemplative frown. "Have ya given any thought to your proposal."
He blanked. The carefully curated list that he had spent days working on to make the best impression on his sponsor slipped through his grasp like smoke. "Prince Lelouch. I want to interview Prince Lelouch."
She threw back her head and laughed. "You mad?"
"No?"
"You're gonna die, son. By your age, you should know to fight in your own weight class. You better have a hell of a good reason."
He licked his lips. His life was punching out of his weight class. "The soldiers at the checkpoint were curious about him. It's strange for a bunch of Honorary Britannians." Then the graffiti… Was this unique to New York or a cross-city phenomena? If only he hadn't spent the last few years traveling through the countryside where secrets were far rarer and buried ten feet below the ground. "They didn't want to tell me why either, but they were all interested. It wasn't a passing fancy. There's nothing that should tie some Honorary Britannians to a royal, much less to the son of Marianne vi Britannia."
"Who despises the Numbers, you mean," she answered. Her brown ringlets cascaded down her neck as she pulled a red pen free from her hair bun. Absently, she twirled it between her fingers. "Do you make a habit of interrogating border soldiers? Because if so, I havta wonder how you survived this long in our profession."
"They were interrogating me," Juan rushed to explain. He not was getting fired for being a liability. "Apparently their officer is a fan of your paper. They read it too."
Her face spasmed.
"Look, just give me a few days to put together a proper proposal and see if there's anything worth looking into here. I barely know anything about him. I have other ideas, I swear. It's just— Can you imagine a prince gaining a following among Honorary Britannians? What would that even mean?"
What would it mean for the cause if a notoriously apolitical faction had entered the playing field?
Imperial Palace, New Pendragon
Lelouch froze halfway through the door as he caught sight of Kaguya's limp body laying in the hospital bed and ensnared between tubes and wires. Was she actually alive?
A gentle shove drew him out of his shocked reverie, and he glanced back at his father who waited patiently in the doorway. "Go, I will give you a few minutes."
Lelouch shouldn't have shown him such an obvious weakness of his, but—
Kaguya…
He stumbled towards her and knelt by her side.
"Lelouch," she whispered. Her chest raised and lowered, weak as a shocked sparrow. "You're here."
He grabbed her hand, pressing his lips together. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Help me sit up," she demanded, her fingers sifting through the various cords.
The bed whirred as she finally found the controls and raised the headrest. The action seemed to have exhausted her as she watched him limply with a ghost of a smile.
He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "What happened?"
She blinked slowly. "Poison. The Emperor invited me for tea."
"Did he?" Lelouch lowered his voice, his shoulders tensing.
"It was a Japanese variation of the poison."
"Your allies or a framing?"
"I'm tired," she moaned. She rubbed her eyes before meeting his gaze again. "They hid it in the sweets. Framing or chance, I think."
"You almost died." His grip on her hand tightened, as if that could prevent her from slipping through his grasp.
"The doctor says I'll be fine. There's no antidote; they just need to keep me stable as it works its way through." She smiled bravely, fighting through her tiredness to force a serene expression.
"Somewhere else, you would've died," Lelouch hissed. His father had brought her inside his inner sanctum, given her access to his own private medical rooms, and called his own physicians to her aid.
He had saved her life. He had treated her like a royal, a member of the family, better even.
"They can't kill me that easily."
He scowled. "That's not the point. Who did it?"
She wilted under his harsh gaze. "I don't know."
"I'm sorry." Leaning down, he felt her rapid heart beat as he hugged her. "You need to rest."
She nodded sleepily, tugging on his arm.
"Kaguya?"
Blinking wearily, her emerald eyes focused on him.
"Do you—" He swallowed. Did it matter? This was the only way to protect her from her own folly, her treason. "Do you still want to marry me?"
"It hasn't been a year… Right?"
"No…" His thumb traced over her slender fingers.
Through half-lidded eyes she regarded him. "Will you marry me?"
"Even after what I've done? You weren't talking to me."
"Still mad," she mumbled.
"I didn't plan on stealing their names," Lelouch admitted. "But Father took notice of them and—"
"I forgive you."
He straightened his back and pushed his tumultuous emotions down. "With your permission, I am going to ask Father for your hand… officially."
Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at him with a suddenly clear gaze. "Of course."
His father cleared his throat from behind him, and Lelouch flinched backwards, dropping Kaguya's hand as if it were a hot coal.
"Survive," he whispered before facing his father with his back straight and chin held high. "Who did it?"
"We apprehended a few suspects but they have been rather unwilling to talk."
Did they think they could hide from justice behind petty excuses? Kaguya nearly died because of them. His fingers pressed against the cold edge of the knife hidden in his sleeve.
"I want them to pay," Lelouch growled.
His father's smile was full of sympathy. "Of course, they must. They are in the dungeons."
His geass burned, begging to be used. For once, Lelouch had no desire to reign in the impulse.
Rif Mountains, Morocco, United West Africa
Pebbles tumbled down the side of the mountain as Katsuro Ban made his way down to the dorms. The small cubic buildings sat nestled in the folds of the mountains. The architecture was alien to him, so different from home yet far too modest to resemble anything Britannian.
They provided a rustic atmosphere which stood at odds with the marching drills of soldiers. Or the steady thunder of excavating the bunkers. Somehow, that was the most familiar part of this expedition. The life of a soldier returned to him easily.
He ducked his head as a few Arab men passed by with a drunken wobble. Their hateful gazes chased him down into the village and into the safety of the claustrophobic alleyways.
Anyone who knew how to look saw the signs of his stint as a Britannian soldier. He was far too at ease with military duties to be a new recruit. He lacked the chaotic and undisciplined manner of former resistance fighters.
At best, they saw him as an E.U. deserter who had come to join the cause. Few made that mistake, not when he defaulted to crisp English instead of French.
Maybe he should learn French. He would better fit into the nameless masses of displaced Japanese citizens finally seeking home.
As he entered the barracks, he wrinkled his nose at the overbearing stench of piss. His bed was disheveled. Someone had ripped off the sheets. A yellow stain marked the center.
He fixed the stool and sat down. This was also familiar.
On his nightstand someone had spray painted in bloody red, "Pig."
He unlocked the drawer half-heartedly, checking that it was all secure. The photo of his family lay untouched inside. His late daughters' innocent smile brought tears to his eyes.
"I'm going to avenge you," he whispered. His words sounded hollow to even his own ears.
His fingers hung over the photo, and a foreign paper caught his eye. He picked it up.
He dropped it immediately.
Slowly, the paper sashayed to the ground, this time with the picture right side up.
A goose.
His heart racing, he scanned the barracks for any intruders—spies. The back of his neck prickled, and he half expected to turn and find Lamperouge—Prince Lelouch behind him with his soft, calculating smile. Or worse, General Tohdoh ordering his execution.
He was alone; somehow, that made it worse.
Who had broken into his things to leave such a message?
Did they know who he had truly served? That the prince they were all preparing to fight in the name of vengeance had been his commander.
A warning.
His hands skimmed across the dirt floor, grabbing it by the edge. He pulled out his lighter and cupped his hand around the tip. He dropped it. He picked it up again. His hands were trembling so badly that it took three tries to finally light the damn paper.
The glowing edges of the paper curled in on itself before the incriminating evidence vanished into ash.
"Ban-san," General Tohdoh interrupted from the door of the barracks. He stepped inside, raising an eyebrow at the mess that was his section. "Who did this?"
"Nobody of concern, General," Katsuro answered. He brushed the ash off his pants and stood to give a proper salute. "How may I help you, sir?"
General Tohdoh's smile, darkened by fatigue, felt incredibly sad. "I was wondering if you could spare a few minutes to walk with me."
"Yes, sir." Did he know about the drawing?
"You can advocate for yourself and file a complaint," General Tohdoh said gently. "This is not the Britannian army."
"I would never make that mistake, sir."
The harsh summer sun pounded down on their backs. "I have heard the stories."
"Are you asking if I am loyal, sir?"
"No, merely considering that you have arrived here through considerably different circumstances. You are not the only Honorary Britannian to defect here."
"But I did not surrender."
General Tohdoh frowned. "Yes, your position is unusual, but for months, you have diligently completed your tasks without a word of protest, even as your comrades heaped abuse onto you. Every evening, you check on Suzaku. You see him, not the title forced upon him."
"He is just a kid." Gosling had been a kid as well.
"I never did thank you for looking after Suzaku and aiding him while I was unavailable. I know you would have stayed in Japan if circumstances had played out differently."
Katsuro shifted self-consciously. "I did what seemed right."
"Then why did you oppose the various resistance groups and the JLF?"
"Because… I know what happens when things grow too big." Even now, it remained true. Mogadishu had rebelled against Britannian occupation, and Gosling had razed the city for it. "We would've taken astronomical losses, without even victory as a consolation prize."
"Yet we have won against Britannian troops."
"Clovis was incompetent." Zero had killed him; Gosling had killed him; Prince Lelouch had killed him; the kid killed his own brother. "Britannia is not bothered by some minor upset. Our victories are inconsequential to them, but were they to take the threat seriously, we would all lose."
"You are rather certain of our defeat for someone who decided to accompany us into exile."
To stay would've meant looking into Brigadier Fadiman's eyes once more. Not only had he been recognized, but they knew he had organized the ghettos. Intelligence would have filled the rest of the holes in his background within a few months.
He might have left on amicable terms, but would they really trust him to keep his mouth shut when he knew all these dangerous secrets?
"I could not stay," Katsuro answered truthfully. "And Suzaku… He needed someone in his corner."
All roads lead back home to the division. Suzaku was the dear childhood friend Gosling has spoken of.
As they stopped under a tree, Katsuro searched the general's eyes. They were cunning and kind. He should confess the truth. The longer he waited, the worse the consequences would be when the truth finally did come out.
His courage failed him.
General Tohdoh nodded at the fields where hundreds of platoons engaged in drills. "You have an advantage over them. You are professionally trained, even if it has been years. More importantly, you are intimately familiar with Britannian methods. I could use you."
"I'm not qualified."
"You said you did accounting work," he said.
"Yes. A desk jockey is hardly a professional soldier."
"You know Britannian supply lines, where the stressors are. Britannia is fighting on this continent, far away from their supply depots."
"Every division is different," Katsuro protested. "Their generals have much flexibility in deciding how things should be run or how supplies are allocated."
He knew exactly how Prince Lelouch had run his division and what he emphasized. Prince Lelouch would be their enemy commander.
"I understand. You are not ready."
"Ready?"
"To fight Britannia."
"I'm—I'm not—I'm not a traitor, sir. You have to believe me. I—"
General Tohdoh raised a hand. "Like I said, this is not the Britannian Army. I am not going to tie you to a post because I have not yet earned your heart. I would only take action if you actually took steps to commit treason."
Treasonous thoughts were treason. The last time he confessed to treason, Lelouch had let him go.
Somehow, that action tied him so close to the boy—young man. He had treasured the memory, such a rare example of Britannian kindness. It shackled him.
Gosling was a lie; he was a prince.
"I am reassigning you. Your mind is too valuable to risk on a simple charge. I want you to protect Suzaku."
"Sir?" Katsuro asked. "I'm hardly qualified. He is to be our emperor, and conflicted loyalties are hardly—"
"You protected him when there was no reason to. You protected his secrets." Tohdoh gestured for him to step up to the ledge. Below, Suzaku sparred with half-a-dozen young men, all pulling their punches. "You see Suzaku, not Kururugi-heika. That has become a trait hard to find."
"You cannot possibly trust me."
"Truthfully, no. I do trust that your misplaced loyalty to Britannia will not allow you to let Suzaku be delivered into Kusukabe's clutches."
"Kusakabe? But I thought the Blood of the Samurai were in China?"
"He may have split from the JLF, but he left many of his loyalists behind. There were many reasons why I hid him from my own people. Protect him, please."
Katsuro snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!"
"And maybe it will help you learn how to relax," General Tohdoh added with a chuckle as he left.
That evening, Katsuro left the exclusive mess hall with a smile on his face as Suzaku regaled him with tales from his training. Soldiers, handpicked by Tohdoh and sworn to Suzaku, eagerly congratulated him as they passed by. He truly was a phenomenal knightmare pilot.
"It's good to have you," Suzaku whispered as he hugged him tightly before his new private dorm room.
"Take care of yourself, kid."
"Will do!"
Ban chuckled as he entered his simple room. On the desk lay a piece of paper.
His amusement died.
Congratulations, the note read. There was a small goose in the corner.
Imperial Palace, New Pendragon
Age and regrets weighed down his bones like shackles, yet somehow Taizo found the strength each morning to grab his cane and see the sun rise. Today, there was no sun, only the sterile confines of a holding cell.
He stared up at the ceiling, wondering at the lone crack and at his next play. His back ached, and a sharp throbbing pain radiated from the bottom of his mouth. Maybe the guard fractured his jaw in his rough handling. Or maybe it was the stale bread.
The fluorescent ceiling light stared back at him, asking what he was doing, lazing about when Kaguya was in the Emperor's custody.
With a groan, he rolled over and staggered to his knee. Wobbly steps took him to the shielded cell wall where the guards were commencing a shift change.
"The Number is still here?" asked the familiar young guard. "Shouldn't we have dealt with him or thrown him in the pit already?"
"I demand an audience," Taizo croaked, eliciting uproarious laughter. "My ward was taken, and I have a right to know her condition."
"Just give it up, crazy old man. You need to be someone special to see the Emperor."
"Please pass on my request," he said through gritted teeth. For Kaguya, he would bear this indignity and grasp the last strands of his fleeting life.
He would know what the Emperor had done to her, and he would lay down his life to save her. She deserved that much for the lousy hand he dealt her.
Was she even alive? It had been days since her violent arrest. They hadn't received a single word from her.
Of course the cowards of the Kyoto House would continue to insist that she was a turncoat. Threading this needle of a political quagmire was drawing on his decades of hard earned experience.
If she didn't actually like Prince Lelouch, everything would be much easier.
Not for the last time, he silently cursed Tohdoh for encouraging her down this path. Then he cursed his younger, ambitious self who had only seen people as pieces, not realizing the human toll he would incur.
Kirihara the Traitor, his people called him: the correct title for the wrong reasons.
The soft jibing of the guards cut off, and Taizo raised his head to observe the newcomer. The Unspeakable, obscured by the heavy cloak, raised an expectant hand, gesturing to his cell.
The guards rushed to obey, not a word exchanged between them.
If the JLF ever had the opportunity to infiltrate the palace, they should don the cloak of an Unspeakable.
Taizo stepped out of his cell, collecting his cane. "Where are we going?"
He could feel the weight of the Unspeakable's gaze, but no answer came. Instead, he strode out of the door, his steps quiet as a fox over the cold stone floor.
Kirihara's cane struck the ground, filling the hallway with echoes and announcing their presence as they moved along. The few servants curiously peeked around door frames and scurried away when they realized who—what was accompanying him.
"Please," Taizo whispered as the hallways grew more deserted, silent as a tomb. "Let me see her."
The man gave no hint of having heard. Why would he? Unspeakables were the Emperor's most loyal servants, slaves to his command. It was rare to see one roaming beyond the Emperor's shadow. The only reason would be to execute a direct command from the Emperor.
Taizo's hand curled around his cane, his thumb settling on a groove, which with enough pressure, would release a dose of fatal poison.
The Emperor undoubtedly knew of his treasonous connections to the JLF. If he thought that he could use him against Kaguya, torture him to implicate her, he was mistaken.
They stopped before a door. The Unspeakable spread his feet apart and stood upright with his hands behind his back.
The silence was unnatural. Humans were not meant to be such quiet creatures.
They didn't wait for long. Heavy footsteps announced the Emperor's presence, and Taizo diligently knelt, his knees protesting at the abuse.
"Kirihara," the Emperor acknowledged. "You announced yourself at the palace without being summoned."
Taizo pressed his cane against the marble floor and pushed himself upright. "You arrested my ward. What sort of guardian would I be if I did not follow?"
"One who understood their duties to the Empire."
"Protecting family is expected in Britannia."
"Family?" The Emperor chuckled cruelly. "That is a strange way to frame your relationship, given what you schemed."
Taizo met the man's eyes defiantly. "I have made many, many mistakes, but age brings wisdom. She is my ward, making me the only family she has left."
"Yet she does not bear the name Kirihara. If you were a proper guardian, you would prevent her from making the same mistakes as you. The temptation was simply too great, a child in your hands to mold and turn into a weapon that will strike at the heart of the royal family."
He scowled furiously. "That is not what—"
"You did? I know, because you failed. She will never bear your name. Her old name will be lost to time. She will be part of the royal family."
His fingers relaxed and shifted away from the lethal dose of poison. The Emperor was not going to execute her. "Why arrest her then?"
"I summoned her," the Emperor said.
"Then she would have messaged us," Taizo barked. "I have heard nothing from her, suggesting she is your prisoner. That was no summons."
"Mind your tone."
Taizo bit down on the furious reply. "Apologies, Your Majesty. I thought you would be more gentle with your daughter-in-law-to-be. Or am I wrong in mistaking Prince Lelouch hovering around her as protectiveness? He may be playing the dutiful son, but estrangement is not so easily resolved, is it?"
"I wonder, does she know?" the Emperor asked contemplatively, staring at him with narrow accusing eyes.
Was he trying to gauge her involvement with the JLF? Why now?
The Emperor smirked, towering over him. "What you and your ilk proposed before she was born."
"Pardon?" Taizo heard himself at the end of a tunnel. His tongue rested like lead in his mouth.
"Do you not remember? Japan was still licking its wounds at the beating it took from the E.U. You were all so displeased with the National Diet, the democratic impediment on your rights. You wanted Britannian support in re-establishing your sacred Emperor."
"We were desperate," Taizo whispered.
"You arranged for clandestine sakuradite exports a few months later."
They had been fools, making deals with demons.
The Emperor's smile shone with wicked delight. "But it did not end there, did it?"
"We came to you to restore our country; you destroyed it. None of that matters now."
"Sumeragi only followed the deal you and he outlined: sell his daughter to tie your dynasty to ours. I imagine he thought he would have a boy. Unfortunately, his wife was not so keen to lose her precious child and never had the chance to have another."
A piece fell into place. "You assassinated her."
She had been a dignified woman, who with a slight smile could light up the world. He had loved her once, before accepting that she had to do her duty to the blood which flowed through her veins.
"You killed her," he whispered. She had fallen ill so suddenly, but such was life. "You expect Kaguya to marry kin slayers?"
"She will," the Emperor said. "Without an Empire, she was just a relic of a defeated era. Now, her cousin has resurrected what was better left dead."
Sumeragi, his old friend, had been such a fool. They had both been such greedy, opportunistic fools.
"Fate is amusing isn't it? Sumeragi reneged on his promise, betrothing her to her cousin. You assured me it was of no consequence, merely a way to keep your prime minister under control and suggested a betrothal between her and the son of Marianne the Flash. By the time they met, all that remained were forgotten, broken promises. Yet, Kaguya… She fulfilled an age-old debt that she never knew of out of childish desperation and ambition."
"We were not the ones to break our promises," Kirihara said. "You demanded from us more than we could give. We should have never consorted with you nor sold young lives for our ambition. That was a mistake which I will spend the rest of my life rectifying."
"So that is why you support the nuisance of the JLF so desperately."
Taizo gritted his teeth as a phantom noose settled around his neck. If he told Kaguya the truth… "What do you want?"
"Extradite her from your affairs," the Emperor demanded. "As adept as she is covering her own tracks, the rest of your comrades have been almost advertising her involvement. At best, they are even worse fools than I imagined."
If he thought it was so simple, then he did not know the depth of her involvement. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"She is in there, recovering from a poisoning attempt. You will keep your head until her marriage, so you can watch the last of your dreams crumble."
Taizo rubbed the back of his neck as he watched the Emperor depart. His mouth was parched. His eyes burned.
He pushed open the door, stared at Kaguya nestled in her white sheets amidst the monitoring devices. Oh, the Emperor would keep her alive. His own pride demanded it now that he had decided on this path.
Lelouch…
He had fond memories of the boy. He also remembered the terror of watching his intellect unravel traps and concoct plans. How he sabotaged a diplomat who had been rude to Suzaku. How unbothered he was by death.
That boy had been unformed, broiling with hate, passion, and love. The boy in Area Fifteen was a well honed beast that the Emperor had perfected over years. He was a Britannian prince.
"Kaguya," Taizo whispered, the bed sinking slightly beneath his weight.
She looked at him in confusion, her eyes clouded with fatigue. "Kirihara-sama?" A blinding smile warmed his troubled heart. "You're here."
"I'm here," he whispered, leaning down to hug her. He switched to Japanese. "What happened to you?"
"The Emperor was angry with Lelouch, but he calmed down. It is alright."
For a grown man to take out his anger on a young child was despicable.
"But…" She frowned. "The food was poisoned, a Japanese poison. I think… They may have tried to frame me."
"Kaguya," he whispered.
"It's fine. He doesn't think I did it."
"I'm glad. Kaguya—You—I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"That I failed to protect you. The situation with our colleagues is too tumultuous. I know you are fond of Prince Lelouch—"
"He stopped by," she said fondly. "He was so worried."
Taizo wished he could share his ward's optimism, but what he knew of Prince Lelouch painted him as a ruthless, competent, and duplicitous young man. He was not madly in love with her, and without that assurance, those scraps of affection would not be enough for Prince Lelouch to oppose his father when the time came.
"But—" Her lower lip wobbled. "He was scared and angry."
Maybe he cared for her more than they had thought. "You look like you're on death's door, Kaguya."
"The Emperor looked so pleased when he called Lelouch away. Lelouch... He wasn't himself."
He felt guilty for feeling so relieved. "War changes people in ways we cannot understand or predict. Maybe it would be best to give yourselves some space. It would help ease the minds of our friends."
"But they saw me dragged out—" She shook her head. "We had months of space because he was busy! I'm not—"
"I know, I know. We'll figure something out."
"The poison was from the kyaraboku."
Were their own people behind the attempt, seeking to eliminate Kururugi's competition?
He stroked her hair. "We'll figure it out. Give me some time."
Somehow, he would extradite her from the consequences of his own mistake. He would save her from the Britannian court and being the royal family's plaything. Somehow, he would chart a path to her happiness, away from the mercurial whims of a Britannian prince.
"Your marriage... It is dangerous right now," he clarified.
Her face scrunched up.
"What is it?".
"Lelouch asked me to marry him. I told him yes."
Hey, it's been a while. My long time readers may have noticed that in the past 12 months my update rate tanked. When I posted ch. 1, I thought for sure things would be getting better finally. Life took that as a challenge. Then to top it off, I had a funeral to attend to right before my finals. Anyway, life sucked. Things are getting better, and hopefully for everyone's sake, I haven't just jinxed myself, again.
Besides that: I am currently pursuing a rather befuddling research rabbit hole. If you know French/German or have a passion for history, you might be able to help me. This is consuming a decent chunk of my time atm.
Anyway, I discovered a memoir, supposedly written by Robespierre. It's titled: Robespierre: Erinnerungen von ihm selbst. The problem is that it's in German, no translator listed, and for the life of me, I don't think there's a French copy (but my French is so terrible I cannot say that conclusively). The true author may be Konrad Merling, but he's supposedly the editor and I've yet to track him down. The book was published in 1924 and in 1925 by two separate publishers. I cannot find any papers citing this book, except maybe one paper in German, which I am trying to track down at the moment. There's a decent chance it's a hoax, but then I have even more questions.
...I am currently going insane. Any nuggets of insight would be appreciated.
Thank you Nektry, Gabriel, Lily, Dark, and Jarod for all your hard work with betaing.
Chat with me on discord: discord . gg / 4ePSTdRWTg