In his day-to-day life, Lelouch Bael could most often be found in one of three places. The first was the martial training hall, only occasionally of his own volition, most often dragged there by his brother wanting a sparring partner. The second, the magic training hall, either as part of the lessons with his father or on his own honing his skills with the family power with which his father was so obsessed. The third, of course, was the castle library, his current location.

The close of his debut celebration taught him something important. Something he had overlooked until now, something he should have realised but was blinded by his human origins. His father had been telling him. His studies of devil history had been telling him. Even Sairaorg had been telling him in some indirect way. But in truth, only seeing it in action made clear the single cardinal rule of devil society.

Strength is power.

It seemed a pointless tautology. Of course strength is power. As are many other things. Money. Status. Influence. Leverage. Resources. All of these and more can be a source of power. But for devils, nothing held anything close to the same level of power as personal strength. Lord Phenex had started an altercation at a formal function. He had attacked another guest. Lord Shax had attempted to defend himself. In most human societies, Lord Phenex would have lost a great deal of face for the unprovoked assault at a formal function. Not so in devil society.

To devils, the most important thing was that Lord Phenex won. Even after starting the altercation he only had a stronger image. Certainly witnesses agreed he had a legitimate grievance but in reality a scuffed shoe would likely have been enough to claim that. That was how much devils valued the rule of 'might makes right'. Neither lords' reputation would be broken by the exchange. Instead it resembled the transient reputational shift of a schoolboy bloodying another boy's nose. But it aptly demonstrated the rule for devils. If you were personally strong, recriminations for your actions would be few.

It certainly put Lord Bael's actions and attitude into a more understandable perspective. Lelouch was born in one of the most enviable positions of devil society. Only the families of the Satans were even comparable. As a result, Lelouch would need to be powerful not as a matter of pride but a matter of survival. If he were weak, other houses would use him as a respect piñata. Beating him and breaking him down to diminish the Bael and elevate themselves.

Well, Lelouch understood that part now at least. Though he still worried for his father's tunnel vision regarding the power of destruction. It was potent, Lelouch had to admit. The power to unmake anything could not be overstated. Sirzechs was the only example anyone would ever need to prove that. But he knew with a broader education in magic he could be capable of so much more, whether regarding his innate heritage or not.

Lelouch looked up from his book as he heard the library doors opening. Where he expected to see Sairaorg charging at him, or on the outside his mother coming to fetch him, instead he saw the imposing figure of his father's Queen. "Young master Lelouch," he intoned, "Lord Bael awaits you in his study."

Lelouch frowned. "Another training session?" he asked, though quickly discarded the notion. Herodotus had not long gotten back from his trip. He wouldn't rush to train with his son when he probably had a hundred and one other things that needed doing.

"No. He has an important matter to discuss with you."

The boy let out a hum from the back of his throat, "Very well," he agreed, hopping out of his chair and following his father's adjutant. It would be a good opportunity to discuss his studies at least.

His father's second was as taciturn as ever on the walk over. All the accompaniment did was make the trip feel awkward and uncomfortable under the tense silence. Perhaps that was intentional. His father's primary social tactic was to make every encounter as stiff, formal and tense as possible. It would not surprise Lelouch at all if the man trained his servants to act in a similar manner.

Herodotus Bael was standing when Lelouch entered the study, seemingly lost in thought, staring at a bookshelf yet not seeing it. He glanced over at the opening of the door. "Lelouch. Come. Sit." It was rather more of an offer than Lelouch usually expected from his father. The discrepancy instantly set the boy on edge. Still, even were it more of an offer, that made it no less of an order so he took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the ebony desk. The chairs were comfortable. The Bael didn't deal in petty insults by forcing guests to sit in discomfort. Quite the contrary. Anyone worthy of visiting was treated as though such a thing was a privilege. The experience made a comfortable one, something they would wish to repeat, a reason to keep favour with the Bael who treat their closest confidants with such hospitality.

"There was something you wished to discuss, Father?" Lelouch asked, settling comfortably into the too large chair. Oh to not be a preteen anymore. "I was myself considering requesting a broader instruction in the magical arts–"

"Tomorrow, I will be banishing Sairaorg from this estate."

The words silenced Lelouch for far longer than it took to say them, the boy sitting there in bafflement. "Pardon?"

The reply wasn't immediate, a fresh silence stretching long enough for the son to examine the father. The statuesque, unmoving stance. The way he continued to stare at the bookshelves, not even looking at his son as he spoke. The clenching of his fists. "He is eight years old and has failed to demonstrate the prized power of this house. His existence is a weakness for our rivals to exploit, both as a failure of mine and a sentimental attachment of yours."

It had been a long time since the first time. Lelouch had thought he was beginning to understand his second father. See the man as more than a twisted simulacrum of Charles. But in this moment, as the dark-haired devil spoke such familiar words, Lelouch once again saw in his mind's eye that hair turn a regal white. "You...! How dare you!" he demanded, leaping to his feat, tossing an arm out to the side, "You think it's acceptable to speak of your own children as disposable tools?! That you can just toss us away if we aren't useful to you?! I refuse! I won't let you!" Just like all those years ago at this same age in another world, his temper got the best of him. But the circumstances were not at all the same. His life did not begin and end at this man's whim!

Herodotus' eyes blazed as he rounded on his heir, "Do not presume to render judgement upon me as though your indignation is all that matters! Do you believe this was an easy decision for me?! He may be your brother but he is also my son! But being of my blood will not protect him from those who would wish him harm, no, it would put him at greater danger from those who wish us harm!"

Excuses! Excuses excuses excuses! He was lying, he had to be! Just like Charles! Just saying whatever he had to say for the sake of his own interests!

… His eyes. Lelouch was looking him in the eye. And in that moment, unseen by Herodotus, the wings of a crane flashed in his son's eye.

It would be easy.

The work of a single moment. A single command. To treat Sairaorg as his beloved son, to allow him to stay. That was all it would take.

It had worked on Sara, even though he hadn't known who she was at the time, just thinking her another servant. He had given her an order that seemed inconsequential at the time to protect him. And from then on she had, constantly finding ways to be near him, requesting it of her King, his mother. He had accidentally stolen part of the loyalty of one of his mother's closest friends.

So easy. Just twist his father's mind just this once. Protect his brother. It was right. It was right. It was right.

"Excuse me, would you help me kill all the Japanese?"

"Even though you made me forget everything... I still fell in love with you."

"You're a demon, Lelouch! I'll never forgive you!"

And so, the moment passed. The opportunity passed. His father turned his back on him again, his voice softer. "You have until tomorrow. And then... Sairaorg will be expelled from this castle. He will be allowed to keep his name and I will see he is well taken care of. But he cannot stay here. Merely being of our blood is no longer enough."

It was a dismissal. Slowly, with unsteady steps, Lelouch left his father's study, heart racing. Again. It was happening again. He couldn't do it again! Not again! He could feel it, the old hatred burning in his chest, the one he thought extinguished with the Zero Requiem. If Sairaorg was sent away it would burn forever. He had to use his geass again but that too, that would also send him down the same path he had walked before! He didn't want to be that again! He had already plunged one world into the flames of war!

But what choice did he have?

And in that moment of desperation, a third option appeared in his mind.

"Merely being of our blood is no longer enough."

And if those words were anything to go by, it might have been his father's intention from the very start. Something appeared to be forcing his hand, perhaps this wasn't just Lelouch's third option.

It would keep their family together. It would make them appear strong, united, rather than weak. It would make the proposal of separating him and Sairaorg ludicrous.

And so, Lelouch returned briefly to his room, retrieving something from a small, ornate box.

Sairaorg was not hard to find. The younger son of Bael could often be found in one of two places. The training hall or his own room to study. He didn't like the boring, stuffy library like Lelouch did, preferring to learn in privacy and comfort. "Stupid Renaissance. Who cares what happened like five hundred years ago! Pfft, bunch of smart humans being smart together. Lame," Lelouch heard his brother's frustrated mutterings through the open bedroom door.

"Sai?" Lelouch called, rapping his knuckles on the open door.

The boy's head snapped up from where it was buried in a book, a smile spreading across his face. "Lulu! Quick! What are the important parts of the Renaissance?!"

"Humanity's renewed interest in studying antiquity to rediscover lost inventions, the invention of the printing press reducing the cost of books and making it more affordable for the lower classes to learn to read and write, as well as allowing the quicker dissemination of ideas for widespread adoption of new inventions. The greater focus of the merchant classes on acquiring knowledge both mundane and forbidden was made great use of by us, while the widespread distribution of the Bible led to a short-term increase in power for the church factions. The escalation of tensions between devils and angels poured water on our civil war for a time but–"

"Hold on, hold on! I need to write all this down!" his brother complained.

As Lelouch looked over his shoulder to read Sairaorg's work, he felt the shortcut taken would backfire. Especially with how the first sentence talked about 'the discovery of the ancient printing press'. Oh well. "Sai, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Huh?" Purple eyes look up into purple eyes, revealing another sentence on the page regarding 'quicker adoptions in the merchant classes'.

"There's something I wanted to ask you." Pulling up a chair next to the writing desk, Lelouch sat, fishing an object out of his pocket and setting it on the desk with a click.

Sairaorg's eyes laser-focused on the small Queen piece, immediately knowing what it really was. He opened his mouth to speak, only for Lelouch to pre-empt him, pulling out another piece and placing it on the desk between the two brothers. "Lulu, I don't understand."

"I want you to join my peerage."

The younger brother had received all the same education about the peerage system that Lelouch had. He knew asking such a thing wasn't done on a whim. It wasn't something he had expected when Lelouch had shown him the set while getting ready for his celebration. "Why me?"

Lelouch swallowed. There was no way in hell he would tell his little brother that their father wanted to abandon him. If he had the option, even if he lived the ten-thousand years devil lifespans afforded, he would take that knowledge to the grave. But still, there was no reason to lie. "Something Father said to me, right after getting my pieces, he said for these ones I should only choose people I trust. There's no one I trust more than you."

Lelouch meant every word, and by Sairaorg's small, embarrassed smile he understood that. "But, I still don't understand. They're different pieces. That's not how that works."

"These are the only pieces I could give you," Lelouch admitted. It was a strange thing to understand someone's piece-determined value on a whim. "If you accept, you can choose which piece. They have different obligations." With thumb and forefinger, he picked up the Queen piece. "If you chose this one, it would make you stronger in every way–"

"I know," Sairaorg moaned at hearing the familiar words of the lecture.

"But, it would also make you my right hand," Lelouch pressed on. It was important, Sairaorg needed to hear this. "For everything. You'd be with me nearly all of the time. I would rely on you for everything." The image of a beautiful red-haired girl flashed into his mind for just a moment before he shook it away. "By intent or by the nature of the position, a Queen's life revolves around their King."

"This one," Lelouch continued, fingering the misshapen, shining Rook piece, "This one would make you stronger, tougher. It means you would fight for me. You would be my bodyguard. I would rely on you to keep me safe. But you would have a life outside of me."

He set both pieces down on the desk a distance apart. "Or you could choose neither, which would also be fine. I don't want to pressure you into this. If you join my peerage, I want it to be your choice." And he meant it. If Sairaorg refused, he would march right back to his father's office and overwrite his mind, consequences be damned.

Lelouch was proud of his brother for how long he just sat there, contemplating the decision. For all that Lelouch was the calmer, more rational of the two, that clearly didn't mean Sairaorg was incapable of thinking things through. Several minutes later, the younger brother took the Rook piece in his hand. "This would... Make me stronger, like Miss Sara, right?"

"That's right."

"And... I could use it to protect you."

"... Yes."

The boy's fingers closed around the piece. "I want this one," he said finally, nodding resolutely. "With how often I kick your butt you need someone to keep you safe, big brother!"

The ritual took only a moment as Lelouch pressed the mutated Rook piece to Sairaorg's chest, the piece sinking below his flesh, binding him into service.

"Is that it? Am I your servant now?" Rolo– Sairaorg! Sairaorg asked.

Lelouch's arms wrapped around his little brother, doing his level best to crush him in the tightest hug he was capable of. "Never! You're my brother! Before anything else you'll always be my brother!"

Lelouch stayed in that room for far longer after that, helping his less academically inclined brother understand his history studies. That and hopefully help him understand why such things were important as context for the modern day. It was convenient that he was studying the Renaissance since that period was all about the important lessons learned from the past.

Only when he was ready did the Bael heir return to his father's study to inform him of Sairaorg's change in circumstances.

"Should I congratulate you on the first member of your peerage?"

Something his father, evidently, already knew. "It doesn't seem like something for which you in particular would congratulate me."

"It is the first step toward becoming a true King," his father countered. It was only at this moment that Lelouch noted how weary and... unsteady his father looked. "Which piece did you use?"

"A Rook."

Herodotus snorted. "I find myself unsurprised. That boy only knows how to think with his fists– Wait." The man's listless expression gained a little more focus for a moment. "Which Rook?" Lelouch remained silent. "Lelouch, please tell me you did not use arguably your most valuable piece merely to spite me."

It was the heir's turn to snort. "You have a high opinion of your impact on my decisions. Sairaorg has a value of seven pawns, not bad at all for someone you are so convinced is worthless. It was the Rook or the Queen. I let him choose."

"I see." The lord of the most powerful pillar house slumped behind his desk, nursing a glass of brandy. "For what it may be worth, I am sorry it had to be this way, Lelouch. It was a lesson you needed to learn. Weakness is a luxury. One paid for with sacrifice, willingly or not."

The boy's fists clenched. Games. Games to teach lessons he had already learned the hard way. "You still would have done it, wouldn't you?" he asked coldly. "If I didn't make Sairaorg part of my peerage. You would have sent him away. Abandoned him."

The man who until this very moment dedicated himself to poise, control and decorum, he took a slug of his drink, swallowing it harshly. "... Yes. I would. You may hate me as you like, but it is my duty to uphold the strength of this house. You will understand one day."

"I'll be proud to never understand a man who would discard his own children!" Lelouch retorted coldly.

"... It's time you met your grandfather."