He was the son of a powerful family. Again. He was raised in a palace. Again.
The change this time around was parents who actually gave a damn. Well, before they died young, leaving him and a sister four years his junior: Cordelia.
They were the Gi Randgriz family, supposed scions of a proud and ancient dynasty. They were rulers of an archduchy called Gallia, which was caught between two mighty states. And they were bold-faced liars.
He supposed a big change from his old world was that he was technically on the losing end of the power structure. While he was royalty, he and Cordelia had to be very sure to keep their hair hidden; that distinctive blackish-blue looked quite Darcsen, and this entire continent was not a pleasant place to be when you were Darcsen.
A privileged position as royalty saved him and Cordelia from a miserable fate as miners or processors of this world's particular wonder material, Ragnite; however, said position didn't come with sufficient power. There was a regency, and Lelouch had a bad feeling that his regent did not have the country's best interests at heart.
(That, and von Borg looked a little too much like Lelouch's old father for him to be remotely comfortable with the situation.)
Lelouch was, proudly, a snake. A plotter, a schemer, however you would like to say it. It was necessary unless you could smack an opponent around with sheer, overwhelming strength, and his Gallia was no mighty state. Considering that Lelouch was a child sans Geass, he needed all the guile he could if he wanted power.
The first step was showing himself to be unusually competent for his age: he raced through basic classes occasionally dropping some nugget of wisdom from modern science that had the tutors awestruck. The local chess variant was simple to pick up, and gave him a window: Gallia was unusually comfortable with the young serving in the military, enough that a barely-teenage royal could get himself involved.
Unfortunately, the military proved itself to be full of the same sort of idiotic nobility that filled up the capital. Bumbling incompetents, leading a frankly bizarre military: infantry was divided into classes with well-defined roles: a sort of general scout-rifleman role, shock infantry, pioneer, sharpshooter, and anti-tank. The anti-tank infantry were especially notable for the heavy combat lances they carried around, which just seemed… impossible.
(And then there were mortarmen and the occasional armor-tech. Teenage girls could lift dozens of kilos of metal like nothing. Was it something in the food?)
And then there was the armor. Big, glowing radiators that would severely damage the tanks when destroyed? Come on. Admittedly, they weren't totally brain-damaged about it, with tactics focusing on protecting said radiator, but a properly executed flanking maneuver could turn a swath of tanks into slag.
Naval power was about as he expected for the time, although ship design was a bit strange. Sure, there were fairly normal destroyers (still referred to as torpedo boat destroyers, curiously) and cruisers, but Gallia also boasted a sort of mongrel battlecruiser and pre-dreadnought combination. Technology panned out differently, and not just because there was this Ragnite stuff instead of Sakuradite. Different worlds, different advancements in different orders.
And that was the really interesting part. There was fair development of balloons for scouting and even limited bombing, but there were no airplanes.
That was… insanity. Admittedly, in his Zero days, he couldn't make much use of them, and the rise of flying Knightmares caused some issues during his later campaigns, but the utility of air superiority was blindingly obvious. It was the scouting that held a proper blitz together, it provided the precision striking power to hit crucial points, and it impeded the ability of the enemy to assemble unharassed. Not to mention what strategic bombing could do.
If he could develop an air arm before anyone else did… Gallia would be in a much better position. The problem was getting the capital for it. In the political sense, that was, although he didn't feel confident about the nobility's handling of the economy, either.
"Lelouch, are you sure we should be here?" Cordelia squeaked, looking out for anyone who might be wandering the dark halls of the palace.
"Yes. I'm the prince, aren't I?"
She responded with a pout, but it could only make Lelouch smile. His new little sister was adorable. She didn't evoke the same complex tangle of feelings that Nunnally did, but sometimes that was a good thing. At the very least, Cordelia deserved a brother who wouldn't dump Britannian baggage on her.
Said adorable-ness was also useful in that it made Lelouch look less guilty just by being near her. The things he could pull by saying he was on an adventure with Cordelia…
He could do things like rummaging through Borg's office while the lion's share of the servants were distracted by a spectacular mess Lelouch had arranged near the kitchens. Such an old building… really, a revamp of the piping was probably necessary. The last thing Lelouch wanted was his darling little sister getting lead poisoning.
Speaking of… you could learn a lot about assassination when you were the reviled emperor of the whole world. Would finding some incriminating paperwork or something else interesting be nice? Yes, although he knew his new sister would be disturbed if the man died, even if she realized was a reprehensible snake.
If nothing else, this was a fun little adventure they could have together, where Cordelia would learn that authority figures were not to be trusted blindly.
"Do you think there might be a hidden compartment here, Cordelia?" He asked, feeling the bottom of a desk drawer for any sort of switch.
"I'm not sure…" Cordelia was practicing her reading with a sheaf of documents, quickly tossing them aside when she realized they were mostly just boring records of business with the Empire. Trade deals were all well and good, but he couldn't help but be a bit cynical about the way the man cozied up with their bellicose neighbor.
And in all honesty, this was where pride came in, plain and simple. Lelouch wouldn't let his people suffer under some chauvinist empire for no greater crime than being born in an inconvenient place.
Ideally, a scheme to get Borg out of the picture would go off without any hitches. No arrested or executed staff for Cordelia to cry over, no suspicious records that could be traced back to Lelouch.
… Funnily enough, the same Ragnite that powered tanks and industry could release its energy for healing. Fortunately, that hadn't stopped the development of germ theory or coherent medical practice, but it did mean several medicines and chemicals that were mainstays back home weren't well known at all.
And Borg wasn't exactly a spring chicken, either, not helped by the stress of running a country. Excuses could be made, especially if Lelouch succeeded him gracefully.
What wasn't graceful was a dose of poison large enough to kill a horse.
(Tsk tsk, indulging in foreign luxury goods. Not even a patriot.)
One of the first things he did upon gaining power was strengthen Gallia's research departments. A bit more money for laboratories and universities was nice, but he really pushed for a 'Ducal Scholar' program. Britannia had something like it, loath as he was to borrow from them: a system where the best students, the fittest, would be given a chance to really prove themselves.
At the very least, he had a public schooling system to build off of, with a roughly standardized grading system. Thank… well, he supposed the common man might thank the Valkyrur, but Lelouch thanked the almighty power of liberalization and gradual social reform.
(Speaking of liberalization and social reform… he favored the parliament and elected bodies as much as he could. Anything to make the nobility lose out. There was grumbling, and he had a feeling he'd have to trim the ranks eventually… but for now, he was popular with the people.)
So Lelouch wrote out a survey to be sent to schools and universities all across the country, to be given to particularly talented students. He had a feeling this plot wouldn't help Darcsen (mysteriously!) but it would get him some of the intellectual capital they needed. What areas of study are you interested in? Are there certain facilities you believe need more funding?
The last question on the survey was perhaps a bit fantastical. Playful. If you could build anything, make anything, what would it be? It was interesting, seeing what a different world imagined the future to be like. No one dreamt up anything quite like the internet– although a few seemed interested in mechanical computing– and some were just waiting for disappointment. Modern people in Lelouch's original world struggled with automatic apple picking, the ones trying for it here wouldn't have much luck.
However, that question wasn't meant to just get an idea of people's hopes for the future. It was, in a roundabout sense, talent scouting, searching for someone who believed…
Isara Gunther believed that human flight might be possible, she had a relation to a dead engineer of remarkable skill (perhaps access to his notes?), and she had test scores to make her claims more than hot air. Was she a little young? Perhaps, but Lelouch remembered Nina Einstein, and he knew that young geniuses were possible. If not, she had solid mechanic skills that could be fostered and put to use fulfilling her father's designs.
(Was it perhaps a bit cruel to think that way? Yes. But Lelouch knew how people ticked. Figured that a daughter of an overlooked Darcsen engineer might become exceedingly loyal to someone who could make her father's dreams a reality.)
Lelouch decided to give it a shot. He would need every last bit of talent this country had.
Isara read the letter. Read it again, just to be sure. Passed it off to Miss Alicia in the town watch, just to make sure she wasn't seeing things. The fine paper, the fancy seal on broken wax– who used wax anymore?– and the signature in flowing calligraphy…
The Archduke himself had sent for her after reading her application for the Ducal Society. She was invited to Randgriz, she had two weeks to prepare and get to the big city, where she would meet with royalty.
She listened to the phone ring and really hoped her brother wasn't on one of his prolonged nature trips. Thankfully, he picked up: "Hello? Who is this?"
"It's Isara, Welks. And I need to meet you."
"Really? I missed you too, Is, but can you really–"
"I'm meeting with the Archduke, Welks!"
"The Archduke Lelouch?" Welkin asked.
"The Archduke Lelouch," Isara confirmed. "The letter has the royal seal and everything."
"You're certain?"
"Yes! I need you to show me around, alright?"
"Can you send me that letter before you come?" Welkin asked. "I just want to be certain…"
"Alright," she sighed, "Love you, Welks."
Welkin had been skeptical about the whole affair, but when he went up to the palace to check a guard confirmed. So she and her brother stood before the palace, about an hour early. That nearly got them in serious trouble, because of course Welkin started making suspicious sketches in his journal while waiting.
(She loved her brother very much, but she wished he'd pick up a bit of common sense during his education.)
Thankfully, they were eventually escorted in, although Welkin had his journal confiscated as they entered. They were led down long hallways of brilliant white and blue, through a complex large enough to hold their entire village and some change.
Instead of some stuffy office or even the throne room, they were led outside, to a broad courtyard. The grass and carefully manicured flowers remained untouched, but in the shade of an arcade there were desks and tools… getting closer, she could see there were pieces of wood carved into shapes. Profiles like elongated teardrops or apostrophes. Airfoils.
Her breath caught in her throat. "Isara?" Welkin whispered.
"I'm fine." She squeaked.
They approached a young man with silver hair, one who could only be… he looked up at them, smiling gently. Violet eyes. She had never seen anything like them.
"Ah, you must be Isara and Welkin Gunther. I'm glad you came to visit."
"It's our privilege, your majesty," Welkin said.
The Archduke smiled. "It's an honor to meet the children of the esteemed Hero of Gallia."
"You've heard of my father?" Welkin asked.
"Many men fought for the safety of this country. Your father was a particularly incredible example. His death was a tragedy. As was the death of your birth father, Miss Isara."
Isara fiddled with her shawl. "I'm glad to know you've heard of my father…"
"How could I have not? His work was exemplary, and the lack of follow-up on his work on heavier than air flight…" the Archduke shook his head. "It's a crying shame to think such an enchanting field wasn't investigated because one of its pioneers was Darcsen."
"You think heavier than air flight is possible?" Isara asked, some of that shyness being overshadowed by excitement.
"The birds can do it, can they not? My hope is that Gallia will stand as masters of the air." The Archduke said. "I will be honest: considering the current political situation, I wish to develop flight as a tool of war. But my earnest hope is that every Gallian might see flight as both the means of their defense… and something they can do."
Isara was totally on board. It was like Welkin and his bugs – completely irrecoverable.
Alicia couldn't find words. She was certain her expression really showed the shock she was feeling, but that couldn't really be transmitted over the telephone, could it?
After a moment, she finally managed to speak: "You mean to tell me you have a tank in your house, Isara?"
"Yes, and I need you to take care of it for me – the Archduke's hired me!"
Bleeding Valkyrur, what the hell?
Welkin came to check in on his sister as frequently as he possibly could. When he couldn't manage that himself, he asked friends or school acquaintances to visit his sister. He didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but something about the scenario felt… strange.
It did seem, in some sense, like the Archduke was genuinely patronizing his sister for her apparent aviation expertise, but the protective big brother in him couldn't help but read it as some sort of nefarious interest. His sister was cute, the Archduke was an older teen who was showering her with funding for her wildest dreams.
There were nice parts, certainly. The Archduke would mercilessly boot anyone who disparaged Isara for her Darcsen heritage, but building a commissioning a wind tunnel for Isara's testing a mere fortnight after their meeting… it felt uncomfortably like attempting to buy her favor.
Welkin came up to the palace – strange to think he was practically allowed to walk in now – and went to find his sister sans the presence of the Archduke. Instead, she was in the august presence of another royal. A smaller one.
Lady Cordelia shared her brother's silver hair, although her eyes were a milder blue-grey color. "Hello. You must be Mr. Welkin Gunther. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Welkin bowed. "It's my privilege, your Highness."
"Oh, Isara, would you show him the…" she trailed off, her cheeks heating. "The thing."
"Yes!" Isara beamed. "Look at this, Welkin!" She showed him a design for one of the aircraft she had been working so hard on. There was a Ragnite engine at the front, wings for lift, but with a continuous, smooth body. Isara's previous designs – Theimer's previous designs – called for canvas.
"What material is it going to be?"
"Aluminum alloy." Isara grinned.
Welkin wasn't unfamiliar with the material. It was very popular – he'd bet his classmate Juno had aluminum frames now – but to use it for the construction of a plane…
"It's brilliant, Isara."
Isara seemed very glad to show off to a girl around her own age. The little models she used for wind tunnel testing were almost like toys, and Cordelia marveled at the fine detail.
"Your Highness, do you know where your brother is?" Welkin asked.
"Oh, I believe he was going on a tour of the country's military bases. Did you need him? It will be several weeks, I fear."
"It might be enough time for a prototype if I'm quick," Isara said.
Fortunately for Isara's sleep schedule, the Archduke's grand tour stretched overlong. He seemed to find serious issues at every base and academy he stopped at, and he was merciless. If his fury wasn't bad enough, he had some correspondent from the GBS he favored (Irene Ellet?) and he loved to loose her on military corruption cases.
Some militia officers were given temporary roles overseeing the operation of military bases… several struggled with the burden, but it was a good public relations move. It showed a willingness to forego the nepotistic system of the nobility, and in those cases where he did appoint noble officers, they found themselves being watched very closely.
It would be pretty great to hear about if Welkin thought he could trust the media's spin on the matter. Welkin had already seen how he spun the scholarship program: lots of photogenic teens and young adults photographed in front of steam engines or inside great factories. The new future of Gallian industry… hell, Lelouch had asked Welkin about a run of propaganda posters with Isara for primarily Darcsen areas.
(That seemed like it would court reactionary backlash… but Welkin had resolved himself to never be just some bystander in the Darcsen's fight.)
The really famous incident of the tour was probably the visit to Lanseal. There was a small magazine's worth of photographs right there, focusing on the Archduke participating in wargames. One photograph showed him laughing despite a vicious bruise from a blank on his cheek (the offending cadet had received a pardon and praise for fine shooting) and another showed him talking with the civilian contractors who helped keep the training areas running.
Perhaps that was why he was running so late. He and his retinue puttered into the capital several days behind schedule, thoroughly exhausted… but with time for Isara, despite that.
There was no press, no big show. This was a weapon of war they were developing, and that was being treated with the gravity it deserved.
(Welkin had a serious sit down with Isara about that. "You are aware this might kill a lot of people, Isara?"
"Of course, Welks. Do you think I maintained our tank for fun?")
The aircraft was tentatively titled White Lance, calling to mind the great weapons of Valkyrian fame. Silver and white with spiral patterns painted down the length of the nose…
The Archduke spoke a little with Isara before the brave volunteer pilot climbed inside the plane and started it up. The engine roared and the propeller began to spin so that the plane was straining against the chocks that kept it in place. There was murmuring among the small collection of loyal military officers and engineers who had been summoned for the test.
The propeller reached a good speed and the chocks were yanked away, so the White Lance could shoot down a hastily cleared dirt runway. It got closer to the end than Welkin would like before the nose pulled up and the plane rose into the sky.
It rose in the air, it shot across the sky, and it turned, handily doing most everything Isara claimed it could, but there was one final test, the one that would see how it fared as a weapon of war. The Archduke had done much of the work in this department…
After rising terribly high in the air, the plane began to dive. Looking through binoculars, Welkin could see hints of flaps at the tail end of the wings. Or rather, they were brakes. Grilles of metal slowed the plane in its descent, controlling speed and giving the pilot a few moments to line things up. They pulled a lever, and a carefully designed arm under the plane's belly let a block of concrete drop.
The plane pulled up, and Isara watched with trembling. If it was going to break, it would be at this moment of intense structural loading… but the plane pulled out of the dive without falling into pieces. The concrete block slammed into the ground, hitting the inside of a painted circle. A broad one, admittedly, but Welkin could imagine the military application. That was practically a pinhead compared to a creeping barrage.
Dropping bombs on tanks or enemy command posts, or even strategically sabotaging bridges or logistics hubs were just some of the uses he could think up. There was too much strategic utility there.
Lelouch walked a fine line, trying to flood their new aviation industry without completely giving up the game. The longer they could develop their air arm before the Empire or Federation realized they needed one, the better position they would have.
They managed to get two sorts of plane out: the White Lance dive-bomber he had helped design, and the greater Theimer. The Theimer was two-man and designed for range. It let one person operate a camera while the other flew. Both craft had radio capabilities.
Those were the crown jewels of his new military program, but they were paired with other things he forced through, citing the political climate. Widespread use of radio for fluidity, a preponderance of squad automatic weapons, and the creation of flying columns…
The problem was that he didn't have too much depth if he wanted to try some defense-in-depth scheme. Gallia was a dreadfully small country, and their best shot would come from only having to fight a sliver of any enemy force's full strength.
(Still, if he absolutely had to lose terrain… he made sure that his most troublesome nobles were near the worst of it.)
His sister took on more and more responsibility in the capital as he tightened his control over the military…. And the Empire still hit like a train. Maybe Borg's Gallia would have buckled under that pressure, maybe the snake would have sold them out then and there.
But Lelouch's Gallia fought. The White Lances put the fear of the Valkyrur into the hearts of Imperial Officers, with both the army and the militia benefitting from aerial scouting of the enemy. It was a fighting retreat, admittedly, but the Empire paid in blood and brass. Too many officers thought themselves invincible in their tanks.
The flying columns and the militia made an impressive showing in the southern forest, at least when they weren't being commanded by clowns who thought that the best thing to do with a mobile unit was to stand and fight.
Gallia's new flying aces won the country worldwide renown… and earned them no small amount of envy. The Federation made hamfisted requests for the blueprints in exchange for foreign aid… Lelouch gave them early work on the Theimer and hinted at the power it would have with a bombing bay down the middle.
(Lelouch gave Isara a great pile of freshly printed war funds and told her to work on an interceptor.)
Mysteriously, many of his dumbest nobles – or those with questionable sympathies – ended up getting shot. It was a real tragedy that Lelouch made sure to mourn in his speeches over the radio. Those were a good way to help bind the country a little closer together, egging them on as the Gallian invasion proved itself to be no quick, won-and-done theater.
Without getting too caught up in his old life… it felt good. Some sort of atonement for him not being capable of helping Japan during the initial invasion. He knew that was a silly thought because he was a child at the time, but without some great revenge scheme to worry about, Lelouch could focus on two things: his sister and their people.
There was a problem, though. Lelouch accepted Ragnite fairly easily, helped by memories of Sakuradite… but he began to think of this world as fundamentally normal. The Valkyria were some vague, Ragnite-steeped myth.
And then five feet and nine inches of absolute hell descended on the battlefield and knocked a plane out of the air immediately after turning a column of tanks into dross.
Selvaria Bles. Damn that woman.
He almost understood how frustrating it would be to fight Suzaku, or to go up against the old Lelouch with his Geass. A supernatural trump card was such utter...
He would have to deal with it, though. One of the few tactics that seemed to work at the moment was nailing her with artillery or tank munitions. She wasn't invincible, she could be tired out, but her supporting units recognized the strategic importance of bailing her out should be grow exhausted.
So all Lelouch had to do was knock out a human superweapon and spirit her away from her loyal troops – who saw her as their ticket to continental domination – and find some way to control her powers.
He'd think on it. Defeating a goddess… didn't that have a nice ring to it?