Six more months. That was how long the ruse of being a somewhat ordinary child lasted. Lelouch gave himself a pat on the back when it was over for lasting that long. It could be amusing at times in an odd way but he was glad to see the end of it. His navigation to making himself an unusually erudite little boy?

He read the dictionary. Supposedly over the course of two months. In no time at all his mother was praising him as her little genius and all of that sort of thing that he... Well, in actual fact there wasn't that much of that in his first life. The Emperor's children were all expected to be exceptional at minimum. It was why poor Odysseus was often ridiculed. Perfectly acceptable in every way and thus utterly unacceptable for the imperial family.

So the doting wasn't exactly something he was used to. And therefore he continued to struggle with how nice it felt to be mothered. He could feel uncomfortable about it. Having only lived to be a teenager in fact made it a natural response. But to have someone be there for him, who talked with him, who was genuinely happy to spend time with him. It felt nostalgic. It reminded him of the simpler times before he began his revolution. When he would come home and spend time with Nunnally. The time when he lived to see her happy. And so as the years went by and it became clear to both him and his mother that he didn't really need the kind of mothering she was eager to provide, he still found himself spending a fair amount of his free time with her. In fact, it was split rather evenly between her and Sairaorg.

Sairaorg. That was a whole other experience. One might expect Lelouch would see Sairaorg like the other younger brother he once had. However, Sairaorg was not Rolo. Not in any way. Rolo's false personality was shy and considerate. Sairaorg was abrasive and brash. Rolo's true personality was cold and calculating. Sairaorg was cheerful and passionate, terrifyingly passionate. And worst of all...

"Come on, Lulu! Round sixteen!" Sairaorg demanded, bouncing around excitedly as he threw punches at the air.

Worst of all, Sairaorg was passionate about being strong. That urge to be strong that Lelouch experienced, that he tried to ignore? Sairaorg felt that same urge and embraced it with everything he had. More and more as he got older the wild-haired boy stopped wanting to play and instead wanted to train. And Lelouch couldn't deny his younger sibling anything so...

"Just... Give me... Get my... Breath back..." Lelouch panted, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He was quite proud of himself for lasting even this long.

It had been fairly easy to keep up with Sairaorg when this had all started. He was only very young so Lelouch had an overwhelming advantage in size and strength just by age. But by a combination of natural growth and Sairaorg's dissatisfaction with constantly losing (or even worse, being allowed to win), the gap swiftly closed. Soon after, it became a contest of wits. The two brothers being more or less even physically instead competed with skill and tactics. Here once again, Lelouch started with the advantage thanks to having much greater capacity for quick analysis. Turning that gift towards hand-to-hand combat wasn't within his experience but needs must when devils have a punch-up.

It didn't keep Sairaorg down for long. He wasn't a genius. Not particularly gifted in any way. He just possessed a spirit of unending diligence. Without any other gifts to call upon, Sairaorg relied on the most basic. A strong heart to build a stronger body. Once again Lelouch found himself matched by his younger brother. It didn't matter if he could predict the punch, see the path the fight would take before it even started. Even with foreknowledge, if he wasn't strong enough to break a grapple, fast enough to evade it, he would lose. It was that simple. Like playing chess with only his pawns, superior tactics could only do so much to make up for the gulf in capability.

"Hah..." he panted, straightening up to stare at his younger brother who just got done kicking his butt. "Okay. Let's go."

There was no hesitation from Sairaorg, rushing in with a big, toothy grin. He went low first, aiming fists for Lelouch's abdomen. He had long since learned that going for the head early on was a bad idea, their difference in height leaving him overextended even if he hit. Anything else would leave him vulnerable for too long. Sairaorg was not a genius but he wasn't an idiot either. He learned from these fights just as Lelouch did, natural instincts working in his favour.

Still, having only one viable opening move just gave Lelouch more time to respond, ungracefully twisting around the incoming fist to grab at Sairaorg's shoulder and sweep his younger brother's favoured leg, pitching him backward. The younger boy's grin didn't fade for an instant, however. As he fell he made sure to bring Lelouch down with him, snaring the leg he exposed with both of his own. The brothers went tumbling to the ground, rolling across the floor, Sairaorg taking the initiative to rain down blows on his brother from any angle he could find.

Lelouch, who really was not as ready to go again as he pretended to be, quickly gave in. "Ta–Guh!" he gasped as a punch to his gut drove the breath out of him. "Tap out! I submit!"

Sairaorg's smile shifted down from eager to satisfied as he stood, offering his brother a hand up.

"No thanks," Lelouch wheezed, "I'll just stay here for now. The floor is comfortable."

"Kay," Sairaorg shrugged, sitting down with him. "Why'd you go for my leg?"

"Wanted to... Limit your options..." the elder brother panted, wiping sweat from his eyes.

"Why not just hit me?" the wild-haired boy asked. "You're bigger."

"Being bigger doesn't guarantee victory."

"Neither did limniting my options."

Lelouch's laugh was a weak, wheezing thing at Sairaorg making a good point yet not managing the word 'limiting'.

Sairaorg frowned in thought at his brother. "You like that game too much," he finally said. "You fight like you play. Try to... To make me lose instead of trying to win."

"That sounds like the same thing to me."

"Nuh-uh!" the younger denied, petulantly folding his arms. "Every time you try stopping me from doing anything instead of trying to beat me! It's lame!"

Well, that was true enough, Lelouch supposed. Much as he indulged Sairaorg in this, he had trouble with the idea of inflicting real harm on his brother. "It works pretty often though, doesn't it?"

"It's lame!"

"Well," Lelouch chuckled at his brother's obstinance, "I suppose I just don't have the kind of mindset for hard fighting that you do, Sai."

"You could if you trained with me more instead of spending all your time with Father," Sairaorg moped, looking away.

With herculean effort, Lelouch picked himself up to put his hands on Sairaorg's shoulders, bringing the young boy to look at him from the corner of his eye. "Sai, you know I'd spend more time with you if I had the choice. Especially if it were a choice between you and Father."

"That is rather self-evident," a low, impatient voice interrupted. Both boys looked over to see their father, Lord Bael, standing in the doorway. "Lelouch, you are late for your lessons."

The heir to the house of Bael's hands gripped his brother's shoulders just a little tighter for a moment. "I'm sorry, Father," Lelouch responded, not feeling sorry in the slightest. "I'll be right there."

It was meant as a dismissal. Lord Bael did not take it as one, continuing to loom in the doorway until his son headed his way. Without a word he turned and led the boy out into the hallway, expecting, knowing Lelouch would follow. "You waste your time with him."

"Time spent with my family is not wasted time."

"Do you expect your doting on him will allow him to demonstrate the Power of Destruction?" Lord Bael asked sharply.

It had been a point of contention within the family in recent days. Lelouch had first demonstrated the power not long after turning five years old, which was considered rather early. Most gifts appeared within a year or two of that age.

Sairaorg was approaching eight years old.

"I don't care whether he shows it or not. He's my brother."

"If he does not demonstrate the power then he might as well not be," Lord Bael proclaimed. "Without the power, he is nothing."

Lelouch's fists clenched tightly but he forced himself to calm down. He had enough experience with ruthless men like Lord Bael that he knew any emotional refutation would be ignored at best, a reason for chastisement at worst. Something which would only make Lelouch angrier. So instead he sought a practical argument. "The Gremory are not nothing or Aunt Venelana wouldn't have married into them. The Vapula aren't nothing or you wouldn't have married Mother."

"Political matches and nothing more. Whatever lesser power another Pillar House might claim, they all pale in comparison to ours. We are the House of Bael, boy. We stand at the top of devil society. Weaknesses are not to be tolerated."

"Of course, Father," Lelouch agreed coolly, "Weakness should be eradicated where possible. Weaknesses like excessive insecurity."

A sharp eye regarded Lelouch from over Lord Bael's shoulder. "Do not test me, boy. I am responsible for the safety and prosperity of this house, a burden you will understand all too well one day," he warned, flinging open the doors to the training room. The walls lined with stone so dark it appeared to absorb the light from the magical torches lining the walls. Hardened obsidian coating deep stone. A magic absorbent material coating an absurdly sturdy wall. An ideal training room for magic, especially the absurdly dangerous pride of the House of Bael. "Now, demonstrate your progress."

Lelouch sighed lightly as he approached the centre of the room. Another day, another example of the argument left unresolved. Lelouch knew where he stood, and he knew where he would stand if pushed. But for the time being he raised his left hand, index-finger extended, an orb of blackish-red power swelling on the tip.

-(-)-

A family trip. It was something Lelouch had expected would happen eventually. Devil society seemed fairly conservative compared to humans, especially with children. He and Sairaorg were barely allowed off of the Bael grounds and even then only when escorted by multiple members of their parents' peerages. When Lord and Lady Bael went to socialise, whether political or personal (which, most of the time was also political), they did so alone. The children left in the care of the house staff.

This was the first time the four of them would be travelling anywhere together. And even then, it wasn't really travelling. They were simply going to see their extended family, Zeoticus and Venelana Gremory. Usually children of high society were kept separated from the political side of things until their debut at ten years old, by custom rather than rule. However, exceptions were made for fairly close family. Otherwise Sairaorg and the Gremory's daughter Rias would be kept far away from any situation like this.

Devil children were too precious to put at any kind of risk. Which was what led the family to one particular room in their castle. "We're going to teleport?!" Sairaorg asked excitedly.

"That's right!" Misla confirmed, smiling down at her younger son as she guided him toward the Bael's sigil painted on the floor. "Now remember, best behaviour from you boys in front of the Gremorys."

"Uh huh!" "Yes, Mother."

With a longer look at Sairaorg just to let him know she was watching him, the four entered the teleportation circle. The light of the circle flared a golden yellow before depositing them in a rather similar room in a clearly different place.

Taking in the space, Lelouch saw and dismissed the Queens of Lord and Lady Bael's peerages bowing to either side, the two having arrived early as a precaution. His father's on the left a powerfully built man in servant's garb. His mother's on the right a passive-looking woman in a dark pantsuit. On the far side of the room stood another small family. A woman with the striking violet eyes of the Bael, a man with the resplendent red hair of the Gremory, and a small girl both adults hovered over protectively. The youngest child present, she looked rather nervous to be there as she hugged a small toy. A stuffed camel.

"Lord and Lady Bael," the woman spoke first, curtsying lightly, "Dearest brother, sister in law, nephews, welcome to the Gremory Estate."

"Lady Gremory, Lord Gremory," Lord Bael answered, addressing the lady of the house first, "We thank you for your hospitality and welcoming us into your home."

The air was stiff, the atmosphere austere and far too tense. It seemed about right for a high-society meet and greet from what Lelouch remembered.

"... So... Formality done with then?" the red-haired man asked his wife quietly, either not aware or entirely aware that the silent room meant all could hear him.

His wife sighed resignedly. "Yes dear, we can dispense with the formalities now."

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, beaming a smile as he took a knee in front of the two boys. "Hello there! I'm your uncle Zeoticus! Sorry about that before but your lovely aunt thought your father might appreciate the pomp and circumstance."

Venelana sighed again. "He did, until you abandoned it at the first opportunity."

The cheerful man ignored her. "You must be Lelouch!" he declared as he shook the young boy's hand. "That serious expression is all your father. Your mother tells me you're a very sharp young man!"

"I try," Lelouch deferred, not seeing Lord Bael's chin rise approvingly.

"And you must be Sairaorg!" Zeoticus addressed the younger, "I've been told all sorts of stories about you, looking to be a big strong man like your pops!"

"Yeah!" came the typically exuberant answer.

"Oh, listen to that roar! He's well on his way, isn't he darling?"

His wife didn't answer. "Come on, honey." Instead she led the small girl to the small gathering, the little girl's gaze flicking from the reassuring look of her father to the measuring looks from the two boys.

"Boys, this is your cousin Rias," her father introduced, "Do you wanna say hi, Rias?"

"... Hello," she murmurs, hugging her stuffed animal all the tighter.

"Now I don't know if your mother or father have taught you this yet. There's a very special thing between boys and girls when it comes to family. Do you know what that is?" Sairaorg dutifully shook his head, Lelouch simply watched and waited. "Boys should never make girls cry, and anything that does they should smash to bits."

"Oh, Zeo," his wife lamented with a palm to her forehead.

"Can you do that, boys?"

Sairaorg's affirmative was immediate and unthinking. Lelouch took a moment to take in the wide-eyed figure of his cousin. Even then she flinched away from his gaze. The comment of how similar he looked to Lord Bael came back to him. It stung.

She was.. .So small. So skittish. So unprepared for the world. His eyes softened as he let his controlled expression slip to allow a gentle smile to cross his lips. The little redheaded girl with the sparkling eyes felt reassured enough to smile back.

He answered Zeoticus question with firmness and resolve. "Of course."