Disclaimer: I don't own Code Geass, and I make no profit writing this fanfiction about it.

(AN): All these Code Geass fics be eating at me.

Transitus;

[A] Passage, Crossing, Transition.

Lelouch was thirteen years old when Schneizel el Britannia became the Prime Minister of the Holy Britannian Empire.

Unlike the democratic European Union, the Holy Britannian Empire was an unapologetic autocracy. Hence, succession to the office of Prime Minister was governed not by election, but by appointment at the whim of its sovereign. Bloodline, money, status, and political alliances mattered more than the will of a commoner majority.

Though not even Charles zi Britannia was enough of a fool to appoint someone universally loathed by the people to be the face of his bureaucracy.

The inevitable squabbling over ascension to the prestigious office began before the body of the Earl of Galveston was even cold. As soon as word broke out in the halls of power half an hour after the 77-year-old nobleman died of cerebral hemorrhage, Schneizel had abandoned his government office to flee home and immediately begin leaning on the allies he'd collected over the years.

The new Earl of Stadfeld. The Viceroy of Area 10, Henry Rosenblad. The prodigiously genius Earl of Asplund. The Witch of Britannia. The former Knight of Two, Michele Manfredi. The famously unambitious Crown Prince of Britannia himself. And other names both great and small.

Schneizel had also taken the chance to smear the reputations of a few of the Emperor's old guard. The Lord Treasurer had found himself in a sudden and persistent scandal involving drug trafficking. High Court Judge de Valady became embroiled in controversy as her deviant pedophiliac sexual predilections were smattered across the internet, earning a deep and ongoing legal investigation.

The results were inevitable after Schneizel put his mind to it. With his reputation spotlessly pristine, the Lord Privy Seal had easily become the frontrunner in the court of public opinion among the commoners. Schneizel's name was mentioned more and more often in the ranks of the aristocracy as a young but promising statesman.

One month after the death of Earl of Galveston, the Second Prince had been summoned before the Emperor, leaving Lelouch anxious and impatient for his elder brother to return.

Three hours later Schneizel had swept back into his study, Kanon at his heels and a jubilant smirk over his handsome face.

"Well?" Lelouch snapped out, crossing his legs and lounging back into the crisp leather of his older brother's couch. "Good news or bad news?"

Stroking his chin in mock thought, Schneizel swaggered over to his desk and threw himself down into the chair behind it before propping his feet up on the wooden surface. "Well. Good news or bad news? I suppose that depends on how you feel about the fact that you're looking at the new Prime Minister of the Holy Britannian Empire?"

The Second Prince ignored the snort his younger brother gave to snap his fingers imperiously at his assistant. "Get us some snifters and brandy, Kanon. The good vintage. Some of the Seventeenth century Armagnac, if you will. None of the cheap Cyprus swill."

Raising an eyebrow, Lelouch rolled lavender eyes as the rose-gold haired assistant bowed and crisply left the room. "Need I remind you that I'm only thirteen years old, Schneizel? You had best be careful, otherwise you might find yourself in the same type of sticky situation as de Valady."

"Oh please, you're a Prince of the Empire. If you're not willing to break a rule here and there, you'll never make it to twenty. That being said, my preferences don't run to skinny prepubescent sticks anyway."

"Don't let Kanon hear you say that."

"I have you know that Kanon is more than a touch fit beneath all that started velvet." Schneizel retorted as the door swung back inward. Winking as Kanon stumbled at the embarrassing implication, the new Prime Minister gestured grandly at the desk his feet were propped on. "Don't let us hold you up, Kanon."

Rolling his eyes, Kanon set the glasses and brandy down with a scowl. "Yes sir, no sir. Say more embarrassing things about me, sir. Just let me strip for your entertainment, sir. Should I show my birthmarks to your underage brother, sir?"

"We are not quite Romans yet, Kanon."

"Hush, you degenerate."

"I think your public image would be rather tarnished if they could witness exchanges like these." Lelouch commented, accepting the snifter of Armagnac with a dubious look. "Perhaps I should start recording them for posterity, so I can topple you with a well-timed leak and take your position for myself."

"You're welcome to try." Schneizel chuckled, swallowing down a sip of the brandy and smirking as Lelouch reluctantly attempted the same. The chuckles became full-blown laughter as Lelouch visibly choked on the burning alcohol, his younger brother's eyes filling with the shimmer of tears. "Though I think you'll have to learn to hold your liquor before you even have a chance at me."

"Getting absolutely intoxicated and pretending to be genteel is a national sport for Britiannia's aristocracy." Kanon commented idly as he swirled the dark spirit in his own glass. "You'll also want to learn to choke down the most disgusting foreign cuisine and claim it as utterly scrumptious. As they say - when in doubt, always bring your doggie bag."

Lelouch coughed wetly into his fist. "If that's the case, maybe I should take the Cornelia route and spend my time in the trenches. It can't be any worse than choking on a snail or having to swallow down frog legs."

Pouring himself a second glass, Schneizel smiled winningly. "It's good to see you finally coming around to my point of view, dear brother. How does Field Marshal vi Britannia sound?"

"It was a joke, Schneizel." Lelouch growled, pressing a hand to his temple to try and stave off the beginnings of drunk dizziness. Despite his royal station, it was the first time the young teen had actually tried alcohol. "I wish you would just get off my back about it. I have absolutely no intention of becoming another one of Britannia's hired killers. If it matters that much to you, then you become Field Marshal. I can easily content myself with the Prime Minister's office."

Schneizel pulled his legs down, settling his feet on the floor to lean over the desk and frown at the Eleventh Prince. "You're going to have to come to terms with the fact that our alliance and goals mean that you're going to have to make some sacrifices, Lelouch. Even ignoring my own decade or so of work to establish myself as a statesman rather than a soldier, you simply don't have the necessary breeding to get the automatic support I do for government positions. Further, you don't have the temperament to perform the necessary ass-kissing to succeed in the political world."

Laying his forearm over his eyes, Lelouch sunk back into the couch. "I didn't expect you to have such a vulgar phrase as part of your vocabulary, my dear properly bred brother." he sneered.

The blonde prince sighed, sipping another mouthful of brandy and enjoying the smoky flavour. "You know just as I do that birthright is irrelevant compared to potential. But to rise, we have to work within the system we're given. You would be hampered in the political system, but within the military your mother's reputation would only do you favours, and your strategic acumen would see you quickly climb the ranks. Achieve some miraculous victories, and you can easily become as famous and popular as Cornelia."

Plucking the snifter from Lelouch's limp fingers, Kanon frowned down at the boy with a modicum of concern. "Remember Lelouch that you cannot simply coast along on Schneizel's reputation forever. If you intend to contribute to your shared plans, then at some point you'll need to step out of your brother's shadow and create your own independent value."

"... I'll think about it."

"Your tea, your highnesses."

"Thank you, Jeremiah."

Bowing in reply, the turquoise haired Margrave retreated to the edge of earshot distance and took up guard. He automatically scanned the water gardens of Aquarius Villa, lingering on the dark corners at the opposite end of the raised pools before turning back to his mistress.

Nunnally just smiled softly, closed eyes scrunching at a light-hearted comment from her pink-haired older sister. Though the wild gesticulations Euphemia went through were lost on the blind girl, she picked up enough on the excitement in the Third Princess' voice to listen attentively.

More and more Jeremiah found himself guarding Empress Marianne's younger child as her older one locked himself away in the estate's library, pouring over history books with a ferocious scowl. As much as the knight longed to make himself useful to Prince Lelouch in whatever new endeavour had seized his master's fancy, there was truly little Jeremiah could do to contribute.

It was not that Jeremiah didn't enjoy watching over Princess Nunnally, because as long as he was fulfilling the oaths he'd sworn, the man was satisfied. But rather that there was something about Prince Lelouch that inspired Jeremiah. A caged steel ferocity that reminded the Margrave of the few times he'd seen Charles zi Britannia up close. Not that Jeremiah's lord was likely to accept any similarities between himself and the Emperor considering the eternal grudge the Eleventh Prince had sworn against the man.

"I wish Lelouch didn't spend so much time buried in dusty old books or hiding around with Schneizel." Euphemia pouted, twirling a lock of pink hair around her forefinger. "It's not like we have cooties or anything. It's been two weeks since I've said more than three sentences to him."

Sipping daintily at her Earl Grey, Nunnally shrugged one shoulder. "I don't think it's his intent to avoid us. He's just the type that gets caught up in his work. Sooner or later he'll finish up, after which we can guilt trip him into arranging a few days out of Pendragon. I hear that the beaches in Hawaii are nice this time of the year." The Sixth Princess grinned mischievously.

Looking positively un-cheered-up, Euphemia slouched forward and rested her chin on her crossed arms. "That works less and less every time you try it, Nunna. It was the same thing with Nelly when she was thinking about joining the military. She eventually just... stopped worrying about not spending time with me anymore. I know she loves me, but I want more from my sister than a five-minute video call once-a-week!"

Nunnally took in Euphemia's rant with a frown, tightening her blind grip around the porcelain teacup with the beginnings of a frown. The Sixth Princess struggled to string together the right words to say. The automatic response that bubbled up from what her mother had taught her about adulthood was something like 'people grow apart as they grow up' or 'grown-ups just tend to keep certain things private'.

The automatic response was a cop-out. Nunnally vi Britannia might be an eleven-year-old blind and crippled girl in a wheelchair, but she wasn't stupid. Many close and intimate adult friendships were spawned out of childhood. Age did not automatically translate distance. Lelouch was drifting – had been drifting ever since the Second Pacific War – but it wasn't because her older brother was going through 'growing pains'.

"I don't know, Euphy. I want to say that you should talk to Nelly? Just tell her how you feel. I'm sure she's not blocking you out of her life on purpose." Nunnally strung together the platitude almost unconsciously. She didn't really know what to say to Euphy about Cornelia. Nelly was twenty-three years old and mature enough to know what she wanted, so if she didn't feel like talking to Euphy...

Well, either way Nunnally couldn't just leave her older sister hanging in the breeze.

Lelouch coughed, wafting away the cloud of dust that blew in his face after opening A Historie of Britannia, Volume VII. Violet orbs scanned over the paragraphs of archaic text, skimming over references and descriptions of the Hundred Years' War. So very much had changed about the world in the interim, but at their most fundamental military tactics had remained the same.

Maintaining morale. Misinformation. Control of terrain. Superior armaments. Placement of specialized troop formation. Use of unorthodox burst of genius to create unexpected military assets.

Rubbing his temples with his fingers, Lelouch stamped down on the headache that was slowly but surely building between his ears. Truthfully, though the Eleventh Prince enjoyed exercising his intellect, he preferred games of strategy or human study rather than pure academics.

"Is there a problem, Master Lelouch?" Sayoko queried, stepping forward from her silent post with an expression of concern. "Would you like me to get a painkiller for you?"

"It's fine, Sayoko." Lelouch grunted, turning a page with a grimace. He honestly had no idea where Schneizel had dug up the woman. Unlike Nunnally, Lelouch was entirely aware that her guise of maid was a front for her true assassin's skill set. So it begged the question of where and how the Second Prince had managed to discover and hire the Thirty-Seventh Successor to the Shinozaki School of Martial Arts.

Even after Japan had been conquered and renamed Area Eleven, the heir to one of Japan's most famous shinobi clans had no business working as a mere maid. It was baffling. Lelouch had long since learned not to trust anyone, yet it seemed as if the woman was entirely squeaky clean and loyal. One time he'd been frustrated enough to order Sayoko to jump, and she'd asked "How high?" for God's sake.

It was frustrating because Lelouch wanted to trust her. Sayoko was kind and efficient and Nunnally loved her in the fragile hopeful way his sister loved everyone since their mother had been murdered. Lelouch himself was so damnably tired of being eternally vigilant against everyone in the world except his only true sibling.

"Just a bit of a headache. Would you fetch Jeremiah for me? Just send him to me while you stay and watch Nunnally."

"As you command."

Sayoko bowed and departed, leaving Lelouch alone with the shelves upon shelves that contained the thousands of books that had collected within Aquarius Villa since it had been constructed. Swallowing down the sudden rush of loneliness, the Eleventh Prince turned back down to flip another yellowed page, only to have the book yanked out of his hands.

"What the hell –" he began, snapping furious violet orbs up in the beginning of a tirade. The words died in Lelouch's throat as Cornelia stared back down at him with an utterly unimpressed look on her face.

Silence hung thick and heavy between them until Cornelia reached out a calloused hand and gave Lelouch's forehead a sharp flick.

"You're an imbecile."

Lelouch scowled, reaching out to try and grab the book back. "I don't have time for games, Cornelia. Speak your business or leave."

Another flick. "Imbecile."

"Cornelia-"

"Imbecile."

"Would you just-"

"Imbecile."

"What is wrong with you, you –"

"Imbecile."

"Cornelia!"

"Imbecile."

A throbbing red mark adorned the center of Lelouch's pale forehead, rounded in the precise shape of his older sister's fingernail. A fierce glare knotted the Eleventh Prince's brows together, but he subsided with ill grace and ceased trying to yank his borrowed text back.

"Stop making Euphy sad."

Lelouch bit the inside of his cheek, turning away to stare stubbornly at the book stacks. He was hurting Euphy – and Nunnally even – with his distance. But what else could he do?

It was all Lelouch could manage at times to simply contain all the rage and despair at the injustice of their lives. How their father had stolen their futures, exiled them like disposable pawns, and then decided to scoop them back up and shove them onto the board again at the Emperor's whim.

Euphy had never woken up to the sight of her mother's bloody corpse, and Nunnally couldn't recall anything at all from that day. All of his mother's guards had been off-duty or dead, save the ever-eager Gottwald that had arrived for his shift early. It had been Jeremiah that had bundled his mother's corpse up in a sheet and called for help, while all Lelouch could do was scream and scream and scream.

Those memories cloaked the Eleventh Prince in everything he did. A constant insistent malady that riddled him through with fears and weaknesses. He couldn't connect to the innocence his younger sisters had stubbornly clung to. Lelouch simply didn't belong in that world any longer.

Cornelia's fingers tangled through the dark strands Lelouch had inherited from his mother, forcing the young teen to meet her softened gaze. "The stronger you try act the more brittle you'll become, Lelouch. It's not weakness to love and be loved. Otherwise, what are we struggling for?"

"Just think about it." The Second Princess sighed after watching her younger brother struggle silently for a long moment. Ruffling Lelouch's hair, she straightened back, bringing out the sharp lines of her figure with the crispness of her crimson uniform. "So, what's this Schneizel is telling me about you looking to climb up the military? Careful now," she winked. "You might be my brother, but you're out of your mind if you think I'll ever let you be my boss."

"I have no desire to become another killer-for-hire in the Britannian military." Lelouch snarked viciously, choosing to redirect his inner conflict into anger. "Why anyone would want to join that gang of bloodthirsty murderers is beyond me!"

Cornelia's warm eyes had descended into frigid chips of purple ice as Lelouch spat his mouthful of vitriol. Unease sparked along his spine as the princess stared silently at him. Cornelia might have been his sister, but Lelouch was acutely aware in that moment that she'd killed people with her bare hands before.

Finally, the woman snorted and shook her head ruefully. "Schneizel won't shut up about what a genius you are, but you're still just a child, Lulu." Cornelia dismissed, tossing the text she'd pilfered from him back in his lap and turning away.

Stung, Lelouch bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the first tang of copper. "That's just an excuse adults come up with when they're asked uncomfortable questions." he accused spitefully, watching with satisfaction as his sister's spine straightened and she came to a stop. "You have no defence for the atrocities you or this country have committed, so you run away!"

"The history of humanity is a history of atrocities!" Cornelia snapped back, spinning to glare at him with hands on her hips. "Whatever crimes Britannia has committed has been committed a thousand times by a thousand different peoples. There is nothing that sets this nation apart in terms of the suffering it has created besides your own personal biases, Lelouch vi Britannia! You are an idiot savant if you fail to recognize the basic greed of humanity!"

"Cornelia-"

"Go toddle about with your chessboard and sit secure in your little ivory tower, you self-righteous infant. I will be here in the real world, where the conflict between states is just as complex as the conflict between individuals, and where it is up to the people like me to make sure people like you have the luxury of an industrialized society to complain in."

"But don't worry your pretty little head, brother dear." Cornelia cut him off crossly when the Eleventh Prince tried to open his mouth. "Big sister will take care of everything. You just sit back, relax, and enjoy some good old-fashioned pissing and moaning."

The slam of the door behind Cornelia was shockingly loud in the stunned silence.

Kaguya refused to cry. It didn't matter that her mother had died raped and tortured in the fog of war, or that it was her father's body currently burning down to cinders on the pyre. It certainly didn't matter that she was ten years old and an orphan. She was the Sumeragi, head of one of the Six Houses of Kyoto.

Weakness was a luxury that she'd never be afforded again.

Accepting the clay urn that contained her father's still warm ashes as it was pressed into her hands, Kaguya steadied the tremble in her limbs with sheer willpower. At the least the members of the branch houses had done the solemn duty of picking out the remnants of Sumeragi Daichi's bones.

If she'd had to do that, it might have dashed her into mad glittering pieces.

A subtle cough behind her prodded Kaguya into action, and with a respectful bow she turned silently away and drifted past Kirihara-dono. The elderly male was her new guardian, and would be responsible for managing Sumeragi Corporation until she was of age. It was a load off her small shoulders, as the head of the Six Houses would make sure her inheritance was both well-managed and carefully committed to support the Japanese Resistance.

If only her father had managed to live long enough to see Japan free instead of wasting away with grief at the loss of his spouse. At least then her father would have died a hero instead of having his name universally reviled as an opportunistic traitor.

The funeral process moved in a silent, orderly manner to the crypt where Kaguya's father would be placed for his final rest. The red ink that stained his name had been washed away days ago, marking the man's death and grave beside his beloved wife.

Kaguya moved numbly through the motions of interring the urn and stepping away from the graveyard. She'd likely shamed her father's spirit by refusing to outwardly take part in the extended mourning period their people traditionally would have taken. But even as young as she was, Kaguya was aware of the importance of acting as Britannian as possible.

It was simply another concession to the nation that conquered her people.

Such was the life of an Honourary Britannian.

Suzaku's first instinct was to cross through the dispersing crowd to his cousin's side and attempt to offer her comfort for her losses. But they didn't live in Japan any longer and the steel expression Kaguya wore warned away all emotional weaknesses.

Besides, it was better for her to be kept away from him. Suzaku was a filthy beast. A disgusting animal in human skin that shouldn't even be part of a funeral service. Kaguya deserved someone better as her kin than a boy who had murdered his own father.

His uncle was probably troubled in his grave already. If not from the shortened service than surely for the fact that a kinslayer was present. Daichi's spirit could no doubt see through all the masks and lies Suzaku had constructed to hide his dirty little secret.

The successor to the Kururugi House dreaded the day his mother would pass into the next world and find out what sort of monster she'd truly birthed. Until that moment he could hide the fact that he'd killed his father and let her love someone that didn't actually exist – someone he could pretend was him.

Turning away, Suzaku took a shuddering breath and deliberately stepped away. With every step the patricide could feel the bonds that tied him down to his family stretching and stretching until they finally gave way with a snap that cut right to his heart as he stepped out of the graveyard.

Suzaku had no right to call those people his family. The hundreds of years of proud traditions were no longer his own. The love and affection that had been his right as a boy were forfeit as part of the cost of his sins. The only penance he could make was to take up the purpose he'd been taught he was born with.

To empty himself out of all personal ambitions and desires, and act solely as a vessel for the hope and betterment of the Japanese. It had been for the Japanese that he murdered his own father to end Genbu's policy of do-or-die warfare, and thus killed Japan. And it would be for the Japanese that he continued to struggle.

Suzaku had a new goal now. To become the Knight of One, and take back the reins of Japan and end the divide that separated the Elevens from their conquerors. The Kururugi family had finally been quietly taken off the kill-on-sight list, which meant there would be nothing stopping him from joining the Britannian military at sixteen and climbing the ladder with his own blood and sweat.

Nothing but the horror and disappointment of the family he didn't deserve to have anyway.

Twin crimson Geass symbols blazed in the dark as Charles zi Britannia stalked through the corridors of Aquarius Villa. His Field of Absolute Rescription strained to its capacity as the Emperor instantly rewrote the memories of everyone who glimpsed him to forget his presence. The constant dissonance between recognition and forgetfulness froze anyone's mental processes until Charles had passed by, and provided him a pseudo cloak of invisibility.

Bismarck had already infiltrated Schneizel's security center and knocked out all soldiers watching the monitors with a cloud of anaesthetic. His Knight of One would erase all recordings of the sovereign's presence.

Snorting at the way Schneizel stared with a gaping mouth as Charles pushed by, the Emperor shut his second son's mouth with an absent flick, only to watch as the relaxed muscles of the boy's jaw drooped it back open. If the press caught a photo of the newly minted Prime Minister with such an unattractive expression, the popularity the boy enjoyed would surely take a hit.

Perhaps he ought to arrange it just to teach Schneizel a little bit of humility. But alas, Charles wasn't wandering Aquarius Villa for the sake of his own amusement. He'd caved to the vague flickers of guilt, and had a mission to complete. Nunnally would never walk again, but once Charles used his Geass on her once more the girl would at least see again.

Hopefully the gift would defang Marianne for a few weeks. His wife was having a bit of a fit that he hadn't given her the go ahead to participate in the conquest of Cambodia. The woman had always been an adrenaline junkie, but the Emperor hadn't thought she'd be salivating at what was going to turn out to be no more than a week-long war stomping through jungles and rice paddies. It wasn't like he had told her she couldn't fight in the eventual war against China.

Alas, rationality never had much place in tempering Marianne. The woman was a spitfire. It was why he'd married her in the first place.

Charles stepped into Nunnally room gingerly, curling in his broad shoulders to avoid the door frame. The Sixth Princess lay slumbering beneath his violet gaze like a statuesque little angel. One hand was curled under Nunnally's chin while the other hung tangled loosely in her lavender bed sheets. She was innocent and broken, and the sight of her tugged faintly at the stiff cockles of Charles' heart.

So many of his children had been ill used by the world, but what was an Emperor to do? Contrary to his image, Charles was not an all-powerful autocrat. Life as a monarch was a struggle to balance the concerns of a hundred different factions while projecting an air of majesty that demanded homage. Darwinism was a creed he'd inherited, not one that Charles had created; and one that had grown ever more dominant after the Emblem of Blood.

Not even the royal family was immune to the thirst for perfection that was preached in the streets of Britannia. If his children weren't strong enough to stand on their own, then they had to fall on their own. A weak Emperor led to civil war and foreign invasion, and Charles couldn't place the Empire on a scale and let concern for a child or two outweigh the millions of lives at stake.

Sometimes one had to be cruel to be kind, and Charles was fully prepared to be cruel when he had to be. There was no other way to be a monarch. But here at least, with his presence unknown and without the spectre of Vincent weighing down his choices, Charles could pretend to be a father for a few moments.

Reaching out and cupping his daughter's face in his large hands, Charles let the Geass sigil flare in his eyes even as Nunnally fluttered awake looking confused and alarmed.

"Charles zi Britannia commands you…"

Sweat poured down his back, and after pounding out another lap around the villa Lelouch let himself collapse to the ground in a boneless heap. Every breath he drew in smelt of the grass pressing into his cheek, burning through his lungs as the prince let his eyes flutter closed in exhaustion.

Years ago in Japan Lelouch had made fun of Suzaku and called the Japanese boy an 'exercise nut'. If he'd known the kind of sweet oblivion that working out could give him back then, the Eleventh Prince never would have used the term as an insult. When he gave everything in him over to a purely physical work out, Lelouch simply didn't have any energy to spare on dark thoughts and recrimination.

"You're improving, Your Highness."

"Laugh all you want, Jeremiah." Lelouch puffed, cracking open one violet orb to blearily glare at his knight. "One day I'll outrun you."

The lack of reply that the Margrave offered was just as damning as an overt scoff would be. The Prince might have taken up exercise in an attempt to improve his fitness and occupy his time, but he was no trained soldier. Perhaps if he made it through Basic then Lelouch might have a shot at outperforming his servant.

"Prince Schneizel has departed for Cambodia while you were out running." Jeremiah offered conversationally when a few minutes passed and it became clear Lelouch had no more spiteful barbs to offer. The knight shuffled a little closer when his prince gave a gusty sigh of exasperation.

"Well I suppose I ought not to get in the way of important men." Lelouch commented with a touch of bitterness. Jeremiah just held his tongue at another display of venom on his master's part.

Truthfully it wasn't fair for him to be irate with Schneizel. His brother was the Prime Minister, and that came with more duties than catering to his orphaned siblings. Stepping in to ease the transition from direct military rule to civilian bureaucracy in the newly established Area 13 was little more than what might be expected from the Second Prince.

In the end, it wasn't Schneizel's fault that Lelouch was increasingly weighed down by a sense of uselessness. Schneizel was the Prime Minister and spent his time ruling the Empire. Cornelia was a Brigadier General and had helped to conquer Cambodia. Even Clovis had flown off to Montreal to take part in a grand meeting of the Empire's most talented artists.

All the while Lelouch was just sitting at home playing nursemaid to Nunnally and Euphemia. Maybe if Nunnally was still blind he might feel truly needed, or maybe if he had real friends in Pendragon he might feel content whiling his time away in the capitol. But he had neither of those things, and the grounds of Aquarius Villa felt more and more like a cage to the fourteen-year-old prince.

Lelouch wanted to be doing something to advance his plans for revenge and pave the way for Schneizel to take the throne. His brain would drip out of his ears otherwise. And while Lelouch knew exactly what Schneizel wanted him to do, the thought of joining the military still burnt like acid in his throat. But then again, lately he'd found Cornelia's sharp-edged goading rolling around in the back of his mind.

Imbecile.

"Jeremiah." Lelouch began heavily, rolling on his back and throwing his sweaty forearm over his eyes to blot out the midday sun. "What sort of contacts do you have in the Imperial Colchester Institute?"

The Cambodian Royal Palace had a distinctly French air that Schneizel couldn't help but notice as he weaved through marble pillars and into the Throne Hall. Europe's flirtation with colonialism had left its mark, even if the Old World had declined and lost their overseas possessions.

Europe's failures lay the foundations for Britannia's successes, because to a subjugated people one conqueror was much the same as another, and in the view of the newly minted Thirteens the Britannians were just restoring the old order.

"Schneizel." Cornelia greeted tersely as he entered the hall. Dark shadows ringed her eyes, and despite her victory the Second Prince knew she had to be exhausted. No matter how short a war ended up, it would still take its toll in sleepless nights and the cycle of adrenaline rushes.

The two royals moved in a pair deeper into the home of Cambodia's former royal family. "The OSI has finished their cleanup, I assume?" Schneizel prodded, ignoring the pounding in his temples and the grittiness at the corners of his eyes. Jet lag was… inconvenient, but he wouldn't allow it to rule over him.

Curling her lip slightly, Cornelia gave a vague wave at their surroundings. Despite the opulence of the palatial residence, it was marked by the scars of war. Broken statues and bullet scars marred what would otherwise be a stunning example of French and Buddhist influenced architecture. "What do you think?"

Schneizel thought that the former King and all of his relatives in the sixth degree were lined up in body bags, but it seemed crass to just out and say so. Instead he just hummed thoughtfully as they turned down a corridor.

The sound of voices chattering in English prickled at their ears as they drew closer to the mishmash command center-slash-center of government that had been hastily set up in the palace. Given the choice Schneizel would have picked almost anywhere else to administer Britannia's newest Area from. It seemed rather gauche to be governing from the home of the country's former rulers before their bodies were even could, but alas, it was Britannian policy.

Destroy and assimilate all the symbols of the former regime and leave the people with none of their history to look back on and hold dear.

"Has His Majesty decided what's to be done long term?" Cornelia questioned, running a hand through her mussed purple mane. She'd been without the attendants to craft her typically picture-perfect appearance for a week, and it showed. A pair of braids wrapped around to the back of her head and kept her hair out of her eyes, but it was her only concession to vanity.

Schneizel sighed and waved away a group of soldiers that just seemed to realize royals were among the common folk. They were safe at the time and had no need for anxious guards hovering about. Especially since Kanon had already made sure the grounds were clear of any enemies before Schneizel had even touched down in the country. "I attempted to persuade him that the best option would be to simply annex it to Area Ten."

"But?"

"But he seems content to dangle it before the nobility and encourage them to squabble amongst themselves in hopes of a new personal fiefdom. Even that oaf Henry is getting involved." Schneizel's tone remained cheery and polite, but Cornelia knew from the slight narrowing of his eyes that he was less than sanguine about the whole affair.

Not that she could blame him. Henry ne Britannia might be their brother, but the Fourth Prince was a ham-fisted fool that was even worse than Guinevere. The idea that he might be the first Viceroy of the country her men had just bled and died to conquer didn't sit well with the Witch of Britannia. "I see."

The conversation lapsed into silence as Schneizel moved across the crowded conference room to more intently study a real-time map of the current deployment of the Eight Army of Britannia. The array of troops was more defensive than either of them would have liked, concentrated too thickly in the most important cities and giving up too much control of the jungled countryside, but Darlton was a cautious general. In his opinion, it was better to ensure security over the most strategic assets than take the risk to hold the whole battle theatre firmly in hand.

One day the Eight Army's tactics would change, but that would have to wait until Cornelia was the man's superior, rather than the other way around.

"How is Euphy?" Cornelia prodded once it became clear that her brother was lost in thought. Schneizel was an effective politician and one of her dearest siblings, but the man had a tendency to let his mind drift into ridiculously complex strategizing and daydreaming when the opportunity came up. She should have known that exposing him to troop layouts would lead to him doing something absurd like piecing together exactly the way he would have commanded the invasion.

Shaken out of his daze, the Second Prince flashed a swift smile for the benefit of a trio of staring communications officers that wandered by before returning his attention to his sister. "She and Nunnally are well. It seems Clovis has inspired them to try their hand at painting now that Nunnally can see again. Their results are certainly… enthusiastic."

Enthusiastic and likely utter horrors to the world of art, Cornelia inferred with an amused quirk of her lips. "And Lelouch? How is he… developing?" Developing was such a clinical and roundabout way to refer to the little joint project she had going on with Schneizel to wear down the Eleventh Prince's prejudice against their country.

Lelouch could do great things for Britannia and the world at large, but only once he was forced to let go of his unreasonable prejudice against all things Britannian. Joining the military would force him to do both. He'd be expanding the nation's borders on one hand and be forced to confront the fact that Britannian soldiers weren't the monsters of his nightmares on the other. Two birds with one stone.

"Slower than I'd hoped, but better than I'd feared." Schneizel confessed, folding his arms over his chest and frowning down at the white sleeves of his noble attire. "Perhaps another visit from you wouldn't be amiss."

"Absolutely not." Cornelia denied instantly. She and Lelouch had been at loggerheads since their confrontation in the library, and both stubborn royals had a way of getting under each others' skin when they argued. If she tried to push, Lelouch would just double down. Cornelia had the last word in their scuffle, and she intended to keep it that way until her bratty brother came around. Trying to shift that détente would just lead to disaster.

The look Schneizel gave her was less than impressed. Maybe there was a point to her reluctance, but that didn't make the blond man blind to her flaws. If Cornelia was willing to swallow some of her own pride and approach him more calmly, she might find that she had a greater hold on Lelouch than she assumed. But it wouldn't do him any good to accuse her of being spiteful to her face. He had no desire to alienate one of his closest allies just for the sake of playing family counselor.

"He took up an exercise regimen last month, and he hadn't quit it before I left." The Prime Minister offered instead of a condemnation. "He's also been studying military strategy and history for years. If I had to make a gamble, I'd say his mouth is saying one thing and his behaviour is saying another. Give him a year or two and you may find that Britannia has another prince signing up for service."

"We can only hope."

The knock on her door startled Villetta out of her slightly drunken haze. Setting her nearly empty glass of full-bodied red wine on the counter, the knight ran a lazy hand through her unbound silvery locks and tousled them into a half-neat tumble.

It was a Saturday night and she'd been rotated off duty for a week, so Villetta doubted it was anyone too important. One of the neighbors most likely, and not really worth the effort of making herself prim and pristine.

"Coming." Villetta called out half-heartedly, irritation already prickling as she stepped around her second-hand kitchen table so that she could reach the door. Maybe it was uncharitable for her to get so annoyed by the interruption to her weekend, but Villetta Nu was no hereditary noble. Chivalry and generosity was expected from bluebloods, not commoners.

The face she found on the other end of the door was the last one Villetta would have expected.

"Jeremiah?"

"Villetta." The Margrave returned evenly, orange eyes giving a cursory sweep over her appearance that had Villetta flushing. Tatty flannel plaid was comfortable, but it was not in any way sexy, and she was acutely aware of how unflattering her pajamas were.

"May I come in?"

Swallowing dryly, Villetta wordlessly stepped aside and let her childhood friend step inside. The door shut with a click behind Jeremiah, and after steadying herself with a fortifying breath she turned to study the man she hadn't seen in nearly five years.

Jeremiah's hair was shorter than she remembered, and his shoulders seemed to be a little broader, but he still looked like the man she remembered from their days at Colchester. It made her feel more nostalgic than all the distant letters and emails they'd exchanged through the years since graduation put together.

"Wine?" she offered when the silence seemed to grow even more stifling. Without waiting for a reply, Villetta crossed over to her kitchenette in search of another glass. It gave her an excuse to delay having to look Jeremiah in the face again. She didn't want to see his judgement of her tacky middle class commoner apartment, or see an acknowledgement that her drinking alone seemed like the habit of an addict, or even an appreciation of the fact that her previously coltish figure had grown voluptuous.

They hadn't been lovers for years, and the emotions Jeremiah seemed to effortlessly instill in her belonged in the grave. He'd made his choices, and she'd made hers.

"What brings you to Honolulu?" Villetta prodded conversationally after picking a glass that didn't seem too tacky. "I would have thought you'd still be in Pendragon."

"I was." Jeremiah agreed neutrally, shifting his gaze from the framed picture of Villetta's deceased parents hanging on the wall so he could study the woman's tan face directly. Accepting the glass of wine from his once-lover, he lifted the rim to his lips and took a small sip.

"Bordeaux, Villetta?"

"The French do know their wine." The silver-haired woman mused as she sampled her own drink. "Let's hope that when the Emperor turns them into Fifteens or Twenty-Threes or whatever they'll be that the winemakers aren't too disrupted, shall we?"

Smirking faintly as the nobleman gave an indelicate snort, Villetta swirled her glass before fixing Jeremiah with a sharp yellow stare. "But as delightful as it is, I doubt you came to see me to discuss my wine preferences, Lord Gottwald."

A reflexive grimace pulled the corners of Jeremiah's mouth at the formal address. It was a sign of the distance between them, because even as children together growing up in Hawaii she'd never addressed him by title. It hadn't mattered that he was the pureblood descendent of Britannian conquerors while she was a commoner of uncertain ancestry when they were young. It hadn't mattered when they'd enlisted in the military together either.

Apparently, it mattered now.

"You're right." Jeremiah confirmed slowly, setting his mostly full glass aside. "Even though it's long overdue, I didn't come here for a social call. I came with an offer."

Villetta cocked an eyebrow, curiosity climbing into incredulity as she considered the few details of Jeremiah's life that had found their way to her ears one way or another. "An offer? From Lelouch vi Britannia?" It boggled her mind that some distant royal prince she'd never even seen much less spoken to would have any interest in her. Jeremiah might have made suggestions, but if she was really being approached like Jeremiah had been all those years ago then he must have greater influence over the Prince than she'd have ever guessed.

Turquoise brows drew together as Jeremiah's gaze skittered away for a brief instant before finding its way back. "An offer from me." He clarified, voice heavy with meaning and orange orbs flaring with intent.

The light in Jeremiah's eyes was sharp as a blade and as hot as the sun. It was an achingly familiar look that he had no business giving her, but against her will Villetta felt her stomach clench in memory of what once was. The feeling might have been pleasant if it wasn't accompanied by the taste of her own bitter abandonment like ashes in her mouth.

"What kind of offer?"

"Lieutenant Colonel - under me – in His Highness' Royal Guard."

Villetta rocked back on her heels, threading her hands together and setting them on the countertop so she could study the white knuckling of her hands.

So, the Eleventh Prince had decided to finally grow some teeth. Villetta supposed it was inevitable, since he couldn't live under the protection of Prince Schneizel's Royal Guards forever. Eventually he would have to return to his own estate.

But still, leading a Royal Guard wasn't a paltry bodyguard appointment. Any Prince or Princess could hire guardsmen. The Royal Guard was more. It was the personal regiment of the royal in question. It was both sword and shield, and they swore personal loyalty rather than the loyalty a soldier was supposed to have for the royal family in general.

"Do you even have the right to make that kind of offer?" She stalled.

"His Highness trusts my judgement in this matter."

So there were no easy denials if she wanted to offer them. Villetta supposed Jeremiah may have thought he was doing her a favour, since there was more prestige and fame in joining a Royal Guard than in all but the highest-ranking appointments. But he'd also quite thoroughly fucked her. She was essentially no one, and had neither the power nor the privilege to spurn the offer of a Prince of the Empire.

"Well there's not much of a choice, now is there?"

"Villetta." Jeremiah reached out to wrap his hand around her wrist as she moved to drink her frustration away. "I told you the offer comes from me. Not him. There's no penalty if you want to refuse. Just say no and it'll be like this meeting never occurred."

The contact of skin-on-skin burned like a brand.

"Why?"

Why was he coming to her? Why now, after so long? Why had he taken the time and the energy to convince his Prince that a total stranger would be a good choice to serve him? Villetta was angry and flattered all at once. The chance to hitch her boat to his and rise with a royal prince was a once in a lifetime opportunity that was only offered to truly exceptional soldiers out of the millions serving in Britannia's military.

But the flush of pride wasn't enough to blunt the sting of old heartbreak. Villetta had loved Jeremiah. She'd loved him with an ardent passion she hadn't felt for anyone else before and after, and no amount of trying had been able to strip the memory of him out of her bones. She'd secretly hungered for a noble title ever since she was a child because no nobleman would ever marry a commoner. She'd followed him to Colchester. She would have followed him anywhere.

Apparently she was the only one that felt that way, because despite all their history and confessions Jeremiah had jumped when Empress Marianne told him to and apparently never looked back. It had been a betrayal of the highest order to Villetta, and it had taken her a long time to distance herself from the poisoned wounds Jeremiah had left her with.

She'd been relatively content until he'd taken it upon himself to step back into her life once more. So why? Was the position he'd arranged for her supposed to be some kind of apology? Or did he just think that he could step back into her life after so long like nothing had happened?

"Because I never forgot you, and I don't think you've forgotten me either."

Very slowly and deliberately, Schneizel exhaled. He was the Prime Minister of the Holy Britannian Empire. The people loved him as their smiling unflappable White Prince. Several of his many siblings mockingly called him the Cold-Blooded Strategist. And he would not break out into a screaming fit simply because Lelouch had decided to spring new life choices on him the day he returned after a month of creating a new colonial government in a third world country.

No.

"Lelouch." Schneizel said instead, shucking off his white and gold overcoat and tossing the thing over the back of the parlour's leather couch; leaving him in hiw purple waistcoat. "Shouldn't you be familiar with the fruits of recklessness already?" The barb was delivered in a deceptively gentle tone, but it was enough to have the Eleventh Prince glaring.

"That was low of you." Lelouch mumbled. The day that Lelouch vi Britannia had come before the Emperor in a fit of rage and been sent off to play hostage for it had turned into a lesson among the nobility. He'd lost control of himself and paid for it dearly, and the weight of that mistake would loom over Lelouch for the rest of his days. "Regardless, it wasn't a reckless choice."

Smiling faintly at his brother, Schneizel crooked at finger at Kanon. "No?"

The blue-eyed assistant looked from one prince to the other before sighing and handing over the folder he'd pilfered from the office the Second Prince had given the Eleventh in the halls of Aquarius Villa.

Paper rustled as Schneizel flipped through the dossier. "Julius Kingsley. Born in Pendragon December 5, 1997 a.t.b. Violet eyes and red hair. Only child of Oliver and Mary Kingsley. Lived in Pendragon on a consistent basis but accompanied his father on business trips to Japan both before and after the invasion. Achieved high marks at 's Academy, but did not qualify for academic awards. Nor did he join any clubs. By all accounts a good but very quiet student. The sort that did well for himself but passed under the radar as thoroughly unremarkable otherwise. Just another everyman with a bit of family background to justify a touch of ambition."

"The OSI does good work." Schneizel admitted, flipping the folder closed and passing it back to Kanon so he could give his unrepentant ward his full attention. "But that doesn't change the fact that you've gone behind my back to submit yourself for military training. There's no doubt the Emperor knows by now, and if you're not on a military base somewhere within a few months questions will be asked."

"Questions were already being asked." Lelouch pointed out coolly, folding his thin arms over his chest and lifting his chin. "You were right when you said I can't hide away on your estate forever, and this is no more than you've been planning for me for years. There was no reason to wait, and at least this way it's on my terms."

Cloth rustled, and neither prince offered a comment as Kanon slipped from the room and left them to their quiet confrontation. The Second Prince's assistant could play a dozen roles from spy to secretary to assassin, but family mediator wasn't one of them.

Turning away from his suddenly defiant younger sibling, Schneizel drifted over to the great panel windows that afforded him a view of the sprawling water gardens that filled his estate. Part of him was ready to agree with Lelouch. Despite being the boy's guardian for years, he wasn't Lelouch's father. He was there to provide resources and help his brother, not coddle the boy or try to control him. Lelouch needed to stand up and guide his own destiny eventually.

Lelouch was just reminding Schneizel of that, along with himself. A bit petulant and pig-headed, but it got the point across. They'd both forgotten through the years that Lelouch wasn't a pawn, but a king in his own right. They'd lost sight of that fact, what with Schneizel caught up in his own schemes and Lelouch allowing himself to drown to the lethargy of old routine and the steadying presence of his younger sisters.

"Cornelia and I would have liked more time." Schneizel pointed out without censure. Lelouch already knew more about the military than some professional soldiers likely did, but theory wasn't practice. With a year or two they could have had Lelouch instructed privately so that once he took up an alias to officially enter training he'd end up at the top of the class, both mentally and physically.

"If I'm not strong enough to survive a little adversity now, there's no possibility I'd manage to do anything when the real trouble starts."

Which was a fair point, but that didn't make Lelouch any less tempestuous. If his younger brother wanted to assert his independence, there were other ways it could have been done. Failing out of basic training would be a black mark on Lelouch's record if it ever got out. A year or two could have shaped the Eleventh Prince into a soldier before he made the official go at it.

The ideal General was one that planned in advance, and while most of the time Lelouch did so – on top of his intuitive grasp of real time tactics – once a fire had been lit under Lelouch the boy jumped in head first despite conventional wisdom and rationality. One day that flaw would come back and take its pound of flesh.

Sighing, Schneizel rubbed his forehead with two fingers before turning back to smirk at Lelouch. "Well, what's done is done. But let me warn you in advance – you're the one that's going to have to explain this to your sisters. I'm washing my hands of the whole situation."

Lelouch just rolled his eyes.

The warmth of the bath nearly scalded his skin as Lelouch shoved his head under the water and let his hair soak up the heat and soap. No matter how many times he scrubbed his body from head to toe, Lelouch couldn't help but feel a little dirty.

He could tell himself that he was only doing what he needed to do to get revenge. He could even say that he was doing it for the sake of the Japanese. But no excuse could dull the sharp ache that came with acknowledging the reality that he'd swallowed his pride and bowed his head to Britannia.

At first the possibility seemed like no more than a distant nightmare. Ally with Schneizel or not, there were other roles he could have ended up playing. Lelouch could almost see it. In another life perhaps, he'd have been a masked revolutionary shaking the foundations of the empire. He'd even conjured up a name for those fantasies.

Zero. Oblivion. The one thing that Britannians had to be afraid of. Because what would frighten a people so obsessed with possessing everything but the concept of possessing nothing?

Hell, rebelling against his own nation as Zero might have even been able to fit into Schneizel's plans. They could have been two puppet masters jerking the strings around in a grand theatre. The Revolutionary could stir the masses up and then the Prince could push through reforms to settle them back down. The end product might even be a country worth living in, and if Charles zi Britannia ended up on the wrong end of a sniper rifle – well, such was the reality of rebellion.

But Lelouch had smothered the chance of a world like that when he'd submitted a request to the Office of Secret Intelligence for the standard package given to any royal that wanted to earn their stripes in the military. The thought of standing shoulder to shoulder with a pack of bloodthirsty killers was enough to turn Lelouch's stomach, but what choice did he have?

Pulling up, Lelouch gasped for air and wiped the water from his face with a rough swipe. Contrary to what they seemed to think, Lelouch wasn't blind. He'd already noticed how Schneizel and Cornelia had formed up a strategy to try and railroad him into joining the military. He would have merrily told his pair of meddling overbearing siblings where to shove it if not for one factor.

As much as Lelouch didn't want to admit it, their arguments made sense.

Britannia might have been built on blood and terror, but trying to outright destroy it would only lead to dozens of squabbling successor states and generations of conflict.

War might be the greatest expression of human cruelty, but it was still human, and so long as separate states existed so would war.

Lelouch might be partial to the Japanese people, but rationally Britannians weren't inherently monstrous and it was unfair to try and flame some sort of vendetta against them.

When Schneizel had first articulated his support for one global government, Lelouch had thought his older brother a touch mad. But after years of impassioned debates, he had to admit that it made sense. It was a cold form of calculus, but the theory added up.

If only getting there didn't require massacre and sacrifice. The whole proposal put Lelouch in mind of something his mother had once said. It was along the lines of 'nothing worth having came free' and the old adage of if he wanted something done Lelouch had better damn well do it himself.

There was always the choice to trying to keep his hands clean. Lelouch could just spend his days huddled away with his sisters as the world turned on without them. They'd want for nothing as far as creature comforts went, and if evil was done then at least it hadn't been done by him. All he'd have to do would be to smile and pretend he didn't notice as his own soul rotted away.

No. Lelouch couldn't accept that. If the world was going to change, he had to be one of the ones doing the changing. His own pride would accept no less.

Heaving himself out of the bath, Lelouch frowned at the stick-thin muscles of his limbs. He looked pale and weak and like he'd never known a hard day's work in his life. Not exactly ideal soldier material. He had two months at most before he'd be shipped off somewhere for basic training. Enough time to get a little meat on his bones and try to not make an utter fool of himself.

It would be difficult enough for Lelouch to compete considering he was technically two years too young to be recruited if he were a commoner and adhered to the laws. The last thing he needed was to have to call in favours from Schneizel and Cornelia to avoid being thrown out on his ear. The shame of failure would haunt him if he were, not to mention the Emperor would get a good laugh at the spectacle of it.

Lelouch snorted, toweling himself off and blowing a few wet black strands out of his eyes. Two months to try and transform himself from the nerd that would get picked last in gym class to something resembling an athlete. If he avoided resorted to steroids it would be a miracle.

Though not as much of a miracle as telling Nunnally and Euphy about his new career without getting murdered in his bed.

What joy.

(AN): 10000 words again. Just slogged the last 6000 the last few days because of all the fics I've been reading. Anyway, a few worldbuilding notes.

Royal Guards – Sometimes this gets ignored in fics, and sometimes it gets turned into some elite squad. A royal guard is neither. In the real world it's a regiment commanded by a colonel, and a regiment contains anywhere from 2000 to 4000 people. They're exclusive, but not as limited as some fics would suggest. Just think private army.

Succession Law – Seems to be Male Preference Primogeniture. Carine is the Fifth Princess and is the same age as Nunnally. But Nunnally is 87th in line while Lelouch is 17th. This would mean that between Lelouch and Nunnally's births, Charles would have to have 80 sons in a row (minus a few grandchildren from his oldest children) if succession treats the genders equally. The probability of only sons that often is absurd.

But if sons inherit over daughters and daughters inherit over uncles, then Nunnally can be that far down the line of succession. Any younger brothers she has pushes her further down the line, and any nieces or nephews she has from her older siblings also pushes her down the line.

The only other system that makes the math work is if the line of succession is arbitrary. The Emperor just fiddles around with it based on who impresses him. Which fits the whole Saint Darwin thing, but is an utter fallacy politically. You'd have a succession crisis on the death of the Emperor every single time, and the Empire would never get off the ground.