> By all accounts, Emperor Charles was a harsh man, devoid of any compassion. His marriages were lifeless, tools to create and maintain political alliances—except for Marianne. A commoner by birth, Marianne rose to prominence as a knight and pilot of the experimental knightmare frame. To many, she was his favored wife and their rumored relationship is the basis for many love dramas. She warmed his heart, and so he favored their two children above all others.
—Chesterton, Charles and Marianne: A Couple that Changed the World, 2112
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ARIES VILLA, NEW PENDRAGON, AREA THREE
[MARCH 17, 2009]
In the eerie silence of the Aries Villa, Princess Cornelia, fourth in line to the throne and captain of Consort Marianne's personal royal guard, finished her final round of inspections. In truth, she should already be long gone. Lady Marianne had dismissed her entire security detail an hour ago, insisting on her privacy for the night, yet no matter how increasingly common such an occurrence had become, Cornelia’s protective instincts rankled in protest.
The decades of internecine bloodshed might have passed with her father’s ascendance to the throne, but how was she to forget the terror of waking up to a knife pressed against her throat? How a well trusted servant—a reliable and diligent friend as long as she could remember—turned traitor for thirty pieces of proverbial silver?
It was rampant paranoia, especially here, deep within the Palace District. No enemy could breach so deep, and if they did, Lady Marianne was a deft hand at the blade and perfectly capable of defending herself—a commoner had to be, to survive among royalty.
Annoyed at her lingering weakness—at nineteen, she should be above half-remembered childhood terrors—she spun around and marched down the polished halls which gleamed under the dim electrical night lights. It was high time she left before Lady Marianne discovered her loitering and grew displeased. Still, checking on her two younger half-siblings first wouldn't hurt, just in case.
Besides, if she didn’t, Lelouch and Nunnally would take the guard’s absence as an opportunity to pull another prank.
An unusually candid photo of her father enraptured by a book beneath a tree bid Cornelia to pause. It was a picture she hadn’t seen before. The Emperor guarded his likeness zealously, and Cornelia knew the photo would mysteriously vanish after his next visit.
The carousel of photos was a game between him and Lady Marianne. Undoubtedly, she would replace the photo once he left and their scavenger hunt would recommence. Eventually, he would retaliate by taking her favorite book or movie hostage, and she would either apologize or steadfastly ignore him.
None of his other wives had the courage to snub him. Not even Cornelia’s mother.
A loud creak brought her out of her musings. She had the feeling she knew who it was; nevertheless, Cornelia held her spear at the ready as she turned. If she was wrong and it was an actual attacker, a gun would be far more effective, but the spear was the customary weapon of the royal guard.
One day, they would be free of such ridiculous traditions.
It was Nunnally in a pale night dress, as expected.
“Why aren’t you in bed, sweetie?”
Rocking back and forth on bare feet, Nunnally hid her hands behind her back. “Nothing.”
The moon light caught on her pale, blonde hair, giving her an almost ethereal glow which made her pouting eyes all the more potent. Sighing, Cornelia steeled her heart and pulled Nunnally’s hands forward and examined them in amusement.
“Is the frosting nothing too?” Her own full-blooded sister, sweet Euphemia, often did the same, sneaking into the kitchen for a little extra dessert. The servants loved to spoil her, much to her mother's ire.
“Please don’t tell Mommy, Nellie. Please?”
That manipulative little angel. Cornelia’s shoulders shook as she suppressed the chuckle that sought to escape. Nunnally and Euphemia were really kindred souls, except...
“Is Lelouch behind your little escapade?”
“Don’t use big words, Nellie! It’s not fair. And don’t tell Lulu.”
She looked so innocent staring down at the floor, but Cornelia knew the spiel after all these months. “You little rascals are up to something. Now, off to bed before I tell your mother.”
Brief dissatisfaction passed over Nunnally’s face before being expertly hidden away. Five years old, and already beginning to master a courtly mask. Cornelia’s own emotions burned too bright and hot for her to contain.
Hopefully, this wasn’t a distraction so Lelouch could change her shampoo—again.
Suddenly, Nunnally tilted her head, listening to what could not be heard. The corridor was empty, bereft of customary statues. Even the wind was silent.
“No!” Nunnally screamed; then, she was off, the red carpet bunching beneath her feet as she burst into a sprint. “Mommy!”
Shit. Cornelia’s spear clattered to the ground, discarded in favor of her gun as she gave chase. With her other hand, she activated her radio. “This is Valkyrie, there is a situation in the upper east quadrant. Moving in to investigate. Requesting backup. Out.”
Nunnally didn’t slow down, hurtling towards the atrium, as if possessed by a demon. Cornelia desperately hoped that this was nothing. A child overreacting to the shadows. Her hand dropped to her belt and the emergency button, regardless.
If anything had happened—
The guards had already left. It was doubtful that anybody had heard her request. It would take critical minutes for the security detachment from the main palace to respond to the threat.
Please, she silently begged. Lady Marianne was far too precious to risk losing.
Rapid gun fire, muffled by the massive redwood doors, resounded through the still air. Cornelia snatched Nunnally's wrists and frantically swung her backwards, away from the threat, before pushing her way into the atrium.
On the staircase below, her mentor looked up with panicked despair and collapsed.
A small figure fell back into the darkness, and Cornelia fired, her bullets flying wide. Unacceptable.
Her boots squelched in the slowly growing pool of blood as she hurried after the assassin. They would pay! She would rend them limb from limb. She would capture them and flay them alive as all of Britannia watched them meet their just punishment.
There was no one there.
She turned around, at the blood running down the steps, so reminiscent of the times of old.
No. This could not be happening. Not again.
Orders. Training. Deep breath. Panic button.
“This is Valkyrie—“ Her throat clogged, and she clenched the useless radio. “The vi Britannia family is under attack… Is anyone there?”
Silence. Nunnally was screaming, sitting in her mother’s blood as Cornelia stood uselessly to the side, clutching a useless radio.
She was a failure.
“Valkyrie, this is Hound, alerting the perimeter forces now. Over.”
Hands trembling, she pressed the button. Familiar orders spilled from her lips naturally as her mind wailed. “Establish a perimeter and ensure no one leaves. Then secure the building. I require backup in the atrium to ensure the safety of the prince and princess. Consort Marianne needs a medevac. Urgent medical attention required. Over.”
“Lieutenant Aldfeld is taking command of the perimeter. Coming in to help secure your position. Out.”
Cornelia crouched down by her mentor, who thankfully was still breathing—if slowly and painfully. This was supposed to be in the past. The nightmare was supposed to be over.
Her father had promised.
“Lady Marianne, just hold on there, you’re going to be fine.”
“No, she’s not! Only bad men are red on the outside!” Nunnally screamed, her little fists striking Cornelia ineffectually.
Blood welled up from bullet holes and Cornelia helplessly tried to apply pressure. So much blood. The simple brown work dress that Marianne favored grew dark. Like a rotting wound. What was she supposed to do?
Lord Jeremiah burst into the room, his mouth forming silent words as he stared at the scene. After a frozen moment, he picked Nunnally up, shielding her eyes. Her delicate bloodstained feet swung aimlessly as she struggled against his grip.
Good. No child should see this. Another mistake on Cornelia’s part.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Poor Nunnally and Lelouch. If their mother died—
This was the terror of her childhood, what she always feared would happen but had failed to transpire. She wanted to make sure no child ever felt that kind of fear. That was why she was a soldier. But she failed.
“You must survive,” she whispered.
Blood soaked into the carpet and dripped down the stairs. Lady Marianne was silent except for her shallow breaths which grew quieter and quieter.
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PENDRAGON NATIONAL HOSPITAL
[MARCH 18, 2009]
Lady Marianne would survive. She had to. She was a knight and her father’s favorite consort. There was no way she would allow herself to die.
Cornelia’s eyes trailed up the paneled walls to the clock. It had been too long. She glared at the guards standing along the walls. There was nothing she could do but wait...
Wait and hope for the best.
Wait, like she waited for the medical team. Like she waited for the helicopter to arrive at the hospital. Wait...
She was the captain of Consort Marianne’s royal guard… and all she could do was wait.
The door swung open to reveal Lord Jeremiah escorting Nunnally and Lelouch inside; dried tears shimmered on their cheeks and their nightgowns only served to make them look smaller and more pitiful. With gentle touches and soft words, Lord Jeremiah guided them to the worn couch.
Lelouch scowled, his deep purple eyes far too alert for the late hours and his face deathly pale under his unkempt ebony hair. She had failed him, turned his youthful and normally exuberant expression into one of sorrow. He was only nine, far too young to face the fact of his mother’s mortality.
Finally taking a seat, Lelouch observed the room, poised and upright, while Nunnally buried her face in his lap.
“Any news, Captain?” Lord Jeremiah asked. Just the two of them had been able to respond, both fresh out of the Imperial Colchester Institute and, if she was honest, entirely unprepared. The assassin had chosen their night well.
She shook her head. The clock's second hand reached its peak; another minute had passed. “Consort Marianne is still in surgery.”
He relaxed marginally before dropping to his knee and bowing his head in shame. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I failed to protect her.”
What? He failed to protect her? Lady Marianne was only alive because of Nunnally’s keen ears. Chance. Simple. Stupid. Chance.
What was Lord Jeremiah supposed to have done?
Cornelia was the one to order the royal guard to withdraw, per Lady Marianne’s request. She had not argued and insisted on leaving someone with her. She had failed to take her job seriously, too eager to please Lady Marianne instead of doing right by her.
It shouldn’t have mattered. The Emblem of Blood was over. Royals weren’t supposed to fear assassins in the dark anymore. No one dared to risk the Emperor’s wrath. Not after he executed his own wife for trying to assassinate Guinevere.
The royal guard was supposed to be ceremonial.
Foolish. Their enemies had let them grow complacent in peace. Her father was no fool. His guard never lowered. He knew the truth she had forgotten—a royal could never know peace.
For her mistake, Lady Marianne’s life hung in the balance.
Surprisingly, Lelouch snapped at them both, “You both failed to protect my mother. Because of your negligence, she might die." His voice cracked, and he stared down at his lap. "Nothing you can do now will help her. Be of some use and find the assassin who betrayed my mother’s trust.”
Lord Jeremiah gulped before standing guard in the corner, radiating shame with every breath he took.
Glancing at the young prince, Cornelia marveled at his stone cold face. Right now, he held himself like an adult—only his arm, protectively curled around Nunnally, betrayed his unease.
Cornelia steadfastly ignored the tempting clock in the corner. Instead, she pulled out her phone. She wasn't a doctor; she was a soldier. "Report," she muttered into her radio.
Lieutenant Aldfeld spoke clearly although she could hear the stress in his voice. “We’ve combed the house and the surrounding area without success. There is a witness, though: the little noble girl sent as a lady-in-waiting, Anya Alstreim. She is in shock at the moment, keeps saying she saw the Consort fall.”
Another failure of hers. She had forgotten to secure the room in her panic. Mistake after mistake. How could she ever atone? “What of the security footage?”
A moment of hesitation. “All recording devices were disabled.”
Cornelia frowned. Nobody should have been able to do that. “Keep searching. Interview all the staff members. One of them may be our assassin. Any chance it was Alstreim? Or that she conspired with the attackers?”
“Maybe... But, I don’t think so. I doubt she would be able to handle the recoil from a machine gun. If she had anything to do with it, I believe it would unwittingly. She is far too distressed.”
She hated this. “Detain her and question her again. We have to be sure. Additionally, have a canine unit sweep the grounds. There are a lot of hiding places there.”
She snapped the phone shut and avoided Lelouch’s harsh gaze. He had every right to hate her.
The door swung open and she pulled out her gun without thinking. She would protect them with her life.
The Emperor stared at her for a second, waiting for her to lower her gun, before striding past them without a word. Sir Bismarck Waldstein followed behind him, and together, they entered the ward, heading to Lady Marianne like Cornelia dearly wished to.
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What was her father doing here? He had been negotiating with the E.U. in Iceland last she heard. Lord Jeremiah stared at her in confusion, and she shrugged half-heartedly, unsure of what to make of the Emperor’s actions.
Finally, the surgeon stepped into the waiting room. He glanced at them nervously, causing trepidation to rise within Cornelia. Bad news? He shifted again and looked between her, Lord Jeremiah, and the two children.
“Well?” Cornelia snapped, having enough.
“H-Her—Her Majesty survived the surgery... The next few days will be critical to see if she will survive. An infection… Anyway, there is some unfo—”
“When can we see her?”
He winced. “His Majesty doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Excuse me?”
The doctor wasn’t even a noble, and he dared to oppose her when he had potentially failed at his job?
The man swallowed and studied the floor. “His Majesty has forbidden anyone from entering the room... including the doctors. Another surgeon will arrive in a few hours. No one is allowed to see Consort Marianne; the Emperor has decreed it so.”
Was it because she failed?
The side table next to the couch teetered precariously as Lelouch leapt to his feet and dragged his sister behind him. Furious eyes rounded on the hapless physician, He began softly, almost too quiet to hear, but with every word, he grew louder. “You mean to tell me that my father, the Emperor, is forbidding my sister from seeing her mother? My sister, who heard her getting shot? Saw my mother bleeding out? Is that what you are telling me? Well?”
Lelouch advanced, his face ruined by an ugly snarl. The doctor stuttered uselessly, his excuses unable to leap from his tongue in face of the vicious onslaught.
“My sister and I will see our mother,” he declared and the doctor quailed.
“Lelouch,” Cornelia hissed. He couldn’t do that. The Emperor would not tolerate such insubordination, not even from his own children. Lelouch took a stubborn step forward, firmly holding Nunnally’s hand. “Sit down, Lelouch, or I swear, I will tie you down.”
“But—”
“My job is to protect your family, even if it means protecting you from your own stupidity. I nearly lost your mother because of it. I won’t lose you as well because you decide to fight our father. Yes, it is unfair. Yes, I hate it. But the Emperor does not tolerate disrespect. So. You. Are. Going. To. Sit. Down... Now!”
Lelouch sat; the cowardly doctor fled.
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MARIANNE’S HOSPITAL ROOM
[MARCH 18, 2009]
Charles zi Britannia grasped his wife’s hand the second he sat down beside her. He heard the door closing behind him and knew Bismarck would keep everyone out. It had been so long since he felt genuine terror. His heart was still pounding from when the aide slipped into the conference room to tell him the news.
He had nearly lost her tonight. Like he lost Annabeth.
Gingerly, he pushed a limp piece of hair out of her face. Her skin was pasty, and her hand remained ice cold in his grip. Marianne was supposed to be an unrelenting inferno. She was the one who actually dared to beat him in a duel. The one who forcibly dragged him out of his office because the weather was too good to waste. And when he pushed too far, she was the one to ride a horse into a ballroom to make a point.
When he considered the word “alive,” Marianne was who he thought of. Now, she was barely clinging to life. Someone had taken that from her. They would be obliterated; their body, desecrated; their family, destroyed.
Lifting the thick blanket, he gazed at the bandages wrapped around her torso and legs. The doctors hadn’t removed every bullet yet, too preoccupied with keeping her from bleeding out on the operating table. His own medical team should be arriving soon, and they would make sure she returned to her former glory.
In a way, he was lucky that whoever shot his beloved wife hated her so passionately. They had sought to give her a slow, miserable death instead of ending her life with clinical precision.
He would punish the assassin slowly and methodically in return. When they finally begged for his mercy, he would give them the death intended for Marianne. Fitting.
Marianne shifted and Charles repositioned the blanket. She was too cold. Her lovely violet eyes wearily opened before she closed them again. It seemed the anesthesia had finally begun to wear off. Her fingers curled around his hand as a grimace crossed her face.
He scowled. She would be in great pain when she woke, but he had to know.
“Marianne,” he whispered. “It’s time to wake up, my love.”
She mumbled and opened her eyes slowly, squinting at him.
“Should I turn off the lights?”
“Ch-Charles? What are you doing here?” Marianne slurred.
He shifted closer to her bed. “You were attacked, my love.”
“But you have an important conference. You shouldn’t be here.”
Smiling, Charles kissed her gently. “No, Marianne. I’m here for you. Who dared to attack you?”
Her eyes narrowed, and after a minute, she let out a small sigh. “V.V. He thinks I’m messing up your plan.” Her brow furrowed and she met his gaze desperately. “Am I?”
Seething at the thought of his treacherous brother, Charles shook his head. “Of course not. We are partners and we will make a better world together.”
“But what about V.V.?”
“I will take care of him. He went too far this time.” How could his own brother have turned against him? After everything they went through?
Marianne chuckled weakly. “He did it out of love. Don’t be too harsh on him, dear. I would also do anything to protect you.” Charles nodded and Marianne narrowed her eyes as she looked around the room. “Why aren’t Nunnally and Lelouch here? If he hurt them, you will not be able to stop me from taking my vengeance.”
Nunnally? Lelouch? His aide hadn’t mentioned them, so they were probably fine. He was forgetting something. What was it? Oh. “They are in the waiting room.”
“You forgot about them, didn’t you, Charles? Whatever am I going to do with you? Tell Bismarck to fetch them at once.”
He complied and his knight escorted his two children—wide awake despite the hour—into the room. Lelouch refused to look at him or acknowledge his presence at all while Nunnally slipped free of the knight’s hold and threw herself at Marianne, burying her face in the hospital blankets.
“Mommy! You okay?” Nunnally asked.
Charles pulled her off as his wife grimaced in pain. “Careful, girl. Your mother is still injured.”
Her eyes widened, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Did I give you an ouchie?”
Marianne simply smiled and slowly reached out to grab Nunnally’s hand. “We’re going to be just fine, sweetie. I’m only a little sore from the attack.”
Nunnally burst into loud, awkward sobs, and Charles forced himself to not move. He did not understand children. They were weak and pathetic creatures, constantly needing to be protected. He had thought his brother was an exception, but in the end, V.V. was like all other children: self-centered, prone to anger, and deceitful.
Lelouch watched Nunnally protectively, keeping her in his sights as his mother beckoned to him. The boy hadn’t relaxed his guard yet—a good trait for a prince. “I am glad to see you are alright, Mother. Who dared to attack you? Did you kill them? Will you kill him?”
Marianne laughed weakly, it coming more across like a gasp, and grabbed her son’s hands. “It's nothing to concern yourself with. Your father and I are taking care of everything. You two have been very brave, but there is no reason to worry. Now, you both look tired. It’s far too late, and I’m sure the staff can find a spare bed for you.”
“Can I sleep with Lelouch?” Nunnally asked quietly.
“Of course.” Marianne’s smile was thinner than it should be. She had been trying to wean Nunnally off her brother so she would sleep in her own room for the past year. Tonight had probably undone all the progress she made.
Lelouch didn’t protest, simply grabbing his sister’s hands. “Will we see you tomorrow? The doctor said we were not allowed to.”
“I will make sure the doctors let you see me whenever you wish.” For a moment, her eyes flicked to Charles with obvious irritation. “Now, off you two go. Sleep is important for young princes and princesses.”
Lelouch gave a short bow to Charles, snubbing him as the emperor, and walked out of the room with his head held high and his other arm protectively wrapped around his sister. The impertinent little brat.
Marianne chuckled as the door closed behind them. “Admit it, Charles. You like Lelouch.”
He crossed his arms. “He is disrespectful and proud. You spoil him too much.”
“Like you didn’t spoil Odysseus? I think your son had a crush on me for the longest while, too,” Marianne teased. Her eyes locked on the clock. “I was out for quite a while. What is the prognosis?”
Why did she have to ask? But he loved her because she had the courage to stand up. “I have my medical team flying in. They will be landing within the hour. My personal surgeon is very skilled.”
“Charles... Please, don’t start lying now.”
“Some of the bullets came close to your spinal cord. The surgeon here is of the opinion that you will never walk again. We will fix this.” And he had already arrested the surgeon for his failure.
The white hospital room felt stifling as Marianne remained silent, her eyes focused on the freshly painted ceiling. “I’m never going to ride a horse again.”
“My surgeon is extremely skilled.” He hoped that would be enough. Unfortunately, there was no geass that could aid her. He had the power of kings yet was completely helpless in saving his beloved.
“Get me Reuben.” At his confused look, she rolled her eyes. “Lord Ashford, dear.”
“Marianne...” She should be resting. Not talking of her knightmare, the Ganymede, and the development of the top-secret Glasgow. For once, military affairs could wait.
“I will be piloting my knightmare when we invade Japan, Charles. I refuse to waste away as a cripple for the rest of my life.”
That was his empress. That was the knight he fell in love with. As the morning sun burst through the window, he smiled.
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ROYAL WING, IMPERIAL PALACE
[MARCH 23, 2009]
Lelouch guessed he should be thankful that they were allowed to stay at the Imperial Palace while security measures were revamped at the Aries Villa, but he wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
The only reason they were here was because his mother had insisted. The Emperor had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t care for them. Intellectually, he had known that. All the royal children knew it, but emotionally, he still clung to his father.
He hated himself for expecting something more of the man who had looked past him, as if he wasn’t there. It would have been better if the Emperor hadn’t shown up at the hospital and revealed his callousness. Lelouch preferred his ignorance.
Nunnally, at least, hadn’t realized. She still adored their father. Her heart remained safe despite the casual disregard the Emperor handled it with.
The attack had shaken both of them. They were supposed to be safe, but evidently weren’t. Their paranoia was shamefully apparent. Nunnally didn’t run anymore and snuck into his bed every night, despite them already sharing a room. Lelouch himself wasn’t immune; he could hardly keep his eyes off her. With Mother still recovering in the hospital, it was his job to protect his little sister. If the cruel words he had overhead were true, his mother might no longer be capable of protecting them—and according to the cruelest of them all, she would not be an empress for much longer.
“Lulu, do you like it?” Nunnally pushed a finger painting right in front of his face, too close for him to make out any shapes.
“Yes, I love it.”
She pulled the piece of abstract art back. “Clovis is better.”
“Well, he is ten years older than you, Nunnally.”
She nodded and sat down in front of his chair. “I’m going to be just as good. You’ll see.”
Lelouch laughed and knelt beside her. “What do you want to draw next?”
She grabbed the yellow paint and dipped her finger in, splattering it across the maroon carpet. “Sister Nelly!”
Lelouch scowled slightly before grabbing the silver paint and gingerly dipping his finger in. “I’ll draw her sword.”
“It needs to be super, super big. Because she is awe-sauce.”
“Awesome, Nunnally, awesome.”
The painting was hideous—Cornelia would burn it if she ever knew of such a crass depiction—but Nunnally laughed and chattered excitedly, so Lelouch didn’t mind. It almost felt like nothing happened as they continued to paint. It was probably a good thing that Clovis was in Europe, otherwise he would have fainted at the artistic monstrosities they were creating. Lelouch smirked.
The door jingled as a servant entered with a covered tray of fresh food. Pursing her lips, she observed the paint splatters with anger in her eyes, yet she did not voice any protests. The servants here were much more well behaved than those in the Aries Villa.
Glad that Nunnally was too occupied trying to draw Euphie to notice his actions, Lelouch carefully removed the covers and tasted the content. Then he returned them and marked the time before resuming to distract his sister.
An hour later, the food cold, Lelouch decided it probably wasn’t poisoned, as he felt no debilitating pain, and dragged Nunnally away from her artistic endeavors to sit down and eat. She scowled, pouted, then complied. “Thank you, Lulu.”
“Everything for you, Nunnally. As long as we’re together, we will be fine.”
“I’m going to be an artist, Lulu! Like big brother Clovis... And then I will go all over the world. And you are going to be my knight.”
Knight? That meant... exercise. “Nunnally!”
She laughed. She had known exactly what she implied. As Lelouch retreated to the other side of the room, she kept snickering. If she treated him like that, he would ignore her in turn. It wasn’t fair. She was supposed to respect him, and he was never going to be a knight. He would be a chess player instead, and one day he would win against Schneizel. That would be the day.
His mother was a most exemplary knight—had been. Her dueling days seemed to be behind her. His father loved his mother far too much to cast her aside, right?
He picked up an ornamental sword with an atrociously long white tassel and tested the weight. If his mother never recovered, would he have to become a knight to protect his sister?
Of course, these days knights didn’t have to be good with the sword. They needed to be excellent at marksmanship or piloting a knightmare—a giant humanoid robot. Lord Ashford was developing them, and sometimes when he visited to talk to his mother, he would have tea with Lelouch and teach him about his work… and how to make explosions.
A bright spot of light danced across the ceiling, derailing his thoughts completely. He twisted the blade, watching the light flick across the room, bouncing off the various mirrors and jeweled ornaments in an almost predictable manner. Smirking, he tried to corral the spot across the room to Nunnally, who was aligning her numerous drawings under the stained glass window.
Would she be more annoyed if it danced across her silly pictures or her face?
The bright spot stubbornly avoided her. Not to be defeated by a beam of light, Lelouch grabbed the cover for the food. He would simply have to bounce the light towards her.
Now, where should he stand?
The window shattered.
“Nunnally!” he screamed, throwing himself toward his sister.
His body felt like lead, and his eyes locked onto Nunnally as bullets shredded the ceiling, raining plaster and shattered glass down on them. Nunnally’s terrified gaze bore into him as he fell to the ground and glass tore through his skin. The cabinet, filled with precious china, wobbled.
“Move!” She had to move. She didn’t, and it began to fall. The china broke through the glass door first, and Nunnally crumpled to the ground when a teapot struck her. His hand grabbed her arm, leaving red trails along her petticoat, and he pulled her towards him. The cabinet crashed to the ground, trapping his right arm and her legs.
Pain exploded through him. Broken arm.
The room was absolutely silent except for the footsteps leisurely crunching down on the shards of glass and porcelain.
“Still alive?”
Groaning, Lelouch tried to raise his head.
“Really don’t like finishing off kids. Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.”
A feeling of calmness and clarity settled over him. There was no need to hurry. Relax.
The tip of his fingers brushed against a tassel, and Lelouch pulled it closer. He knew what he had to do. The hilt rested in his hand as glass crunched beneath steady steps near him. The pain in his arm didn’t matter, his life didn’t matter, he could just relax and protect Nunnally. He had plenty of time. He lifted his left arm up.
His arm trembled as he met resistance, but he kept pushing.
A gasp. “How?” Then a gurgle.
The man crumpled, and suddenly he could smell copper mixed with an acidic stench. His eyes watered from the dust hanging in the air and everything hurt. He couldn’t get enough air and his stomach was curling into a tight ball. People were shouting—was that his father?—their voices echoing painfully in his skull.
Nunnally? Was she alright? His eyes ignored the screaming commands running through his brain. Trapped.
Nun—
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PRIVATE MEDICAL WING
[MARCH 23, 2009]
Lelouch awoke to a soft beeping and the whirring of air conditioning fans. Above him, thin cracks stretched through white paint like a spiderweb. The wallpaper depicted teddy bears in warm, subtle hues. Blinds covered the single window, letting in a sliver of sunlight and shielding him from any prying eyes.
He slowly pushed himself up, noting the cast on his right arm and an IV in the crook of his left elbow. He was alive.
A brief knock. The nurse strode in, smiling. “How are you, Your Highness?”
There was a flash of anger. They should have been safe in the imperial palace; instead, an assassin managed to attack them in broad daylight. “I’m fine, thank you. How’s Nunnally?”
“I heard the surgeon managed to set her legs. She is going to be fine.”
Relief swept over him. Nunnally was alive. “And my mother?”
“She wasn’t attacked, although His Majesty moved her. I am afraid you won’t be able to see her just yet.” Her pen tapped the end of the clipboard, and she slipped into a more professional tone. “Any nausea? Headache? Or dizziness? No? Well you’re quite a lucky little prince. It seems you will make a complete recovery.”
He nodded. “When can I see Nunnally?”
“I’ll check with the doctor, although she came out of surgery later than you, so it will take some time before she wakes up. The call button is on your left if you need anything and I will be back in an hour with your painkillers. Is there anything else I can do for you in the meanwhile?”
He sighed. “No, thank you...” He glanced at her name tag. “Mildred.”
She dropped into a small curtsy before leaving him alone in the room and at the mercy of his thoughts. Sleep beckoned him and he let himself drift away, vaguely aware of the nurse returning and injecting something into his IV bag.
His dreams consisted of screams, funerals, and a pile of luggage.
Something crashed to the ground outside, jarring him awake. He was half-way out of bed when the Emperor strode through the door.
Muscles tense, Lelouch clambered back into his bed and furiously tried to banish the burning heat in his cheeks. “What do you want?”
The Emperor’s gaze was harsh, urging the primal part of him to cower and beg for forgiveness. “I hope you will display manners more befitting of a Britannian prince when you are in Japan.”
“Japan!” He didn’t understand. Why? What? This didn’t make sense. Everyone knew they were going to go to war with Japan...
They would be political hostages. What had he or Nunnally done to deserve such treatment? The rumors were right. His mother was now useless, and he and Nunnally—commoner spawn—were thus being disposed of.
Tongue heavy, he confirmed their fate, “And Nunnally?”
“She will be joining you, Lelouch, although—” The Emperor paused. “The trauma to her head caused nerve damage, and the doctors say it is unlikely she will regain her sight. Her legs are merely broken and will heal in time.”
The Emperor said no more, and Lelouch couldn’t find the words to express his outrage as the man walked away. They weren’t even being given the opportunity to heal before facing the enemy. His mother had to get better, or—
She would. She had to.
The next morning, he was using his left hand to push Nunnally’s wheelchair up the ramp to board the plane... The plane that would take them far from their home, from their mother, and deliver them to Japan.