The thick carpet strangled the sounds of his every footfall, ensuring that nothing would pierce the oppression of silence that was presently suffocating the throne room of His Majesty, Emperor Charles zi Britannia. He had been dismissed, and no other person dared to move. No person at all dared to speak.

"Hold."

Save, of course, for the Emperor himself.

He turned to face his father. A passing glance might seem to show him nothing more than a slab of fat and dyed fabrics that somebody threw a gaudy powdered wig on top of. A more thorough look might reveal a mountain of muscle alongside the flesh, and that he was altogether draped in vibrant silks. But to truly see Charles zi Britannia, one must look into his gaze.

It is a hard gaze; solid and strong. Moreover, it carries the Emporer's monstrous will. The will that had captured the throne he sat in from the scheming clutches of almost one hundred siblings. The will that had forced power to flow from all corners of the globe to that selfsame throne. The will that daily brought a third of the earth's land and a quarter of her people to heel. And that will was now focused on Lelouch vi Britannia in a single unspoken command.

And so he knelt.

The courtiers stood. The Emperor sat. The prince kneeled. So it was for a full minute before the Emperor's voice rang out through the room like gunfire.

"Send in the next petitioner."

Lelouch brought his gaze up to meet his father's. The Emperor's head tilted almost imperceptibly forward, and then back. A nod. Lelouch stood. His body tilted forward at the hips, he walked backwards out of the throne room. After he had exited, the next petitioner passed through the door in front of him, but he didn't care to look and see who it was. The doors to the throne room—deep red obelisks of mahogany—closed with a resounding bang.

It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that Lelouch realized he was still bowing. He straightened his back and looked to his left to see the familiar form of Ruben Ashford. The older man was looking down at him with a sad smile. Lelouch turned his gaze to the ground, but he did not cry.

Ruben guided him out of the Imperial Palace, where a car was waiting for them. The driver opened the door for them, and, at Ruben's motion, Lelouch entered the car. The old man followed.

Ruben's voice, while not a whisper, was quiet: "Aries Villa."

They were quiet at first, but in time, Ruben spoke. "You handled yourself well," he said, "that could very well have been a disaster if not for your quick thinking." Lelouch said nothing. Eventually, Ruben spoke again. "It was dangerous to challenge him like that, but you did not insult him. That is the key." Lelouch said nothing. "I would suggest you stay out of his way for a time; keep your head down, as it were. He won't do anything to either of you now, but he may still be angry." Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the drive.

When they arrived at Aries Villa, the driver let them out. When Lelouch had stepped out of the car. "Milly should still be inside. If you'll have–" But he didn't finish speaking.

"Please." Lelouch's voice was also quiet—a squeaking rasp just on the threshold of a whisper. Ruben turned to the driver and nodded. As the two of them walked up to the doors of the villa, he could hear the car start as the driver set off in the direction of the garage. The doormen opened the way into the foyer of Aries Villa. Lelouch and Ruben both pointedly, in gaze and in step, avoided the main stairs.

Their path led them by the garden. Ruben looked out, gazing upon the grass and the shrubs, the flowers on the trees, perhaps reflecting. Lelouch looked only at the ground; he knew his way.

Neither of them spoke the entire way, but Lelouch knew Ruben was there. He could feel him, an ever-present slow-burning warmth. Empathy, but not pity. Pity is for those who have no investment. Ruben may not have lost something so irrevocably vital as a mother, but he had lost a dear friend.

So they walked the winding ways of Aries Villa. Lelouch with his head turned down, his eyes turned from the walls and the doors and the windows. Ruben behind him, his eyes drifting across vases and busts and paintings. Ruben's presence was warm and soft. The air was cold and dry.

In time, they reached a particular door. Lelouch stopped in front of it, hesitating for the first time that day. Thinking that, perhaps, in the time he had been gone, something might have happened. That she might have been moved too soon. That–

Lelouch felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to his left to see Ruben looking down at him with a sad smile.

"If something had happened," he said, "I would have been called."

Lelouch looked back to the door. Slowly, he opened it.

"Lelouch, Grandfather."

"Hello Millicent."

Lelouch said nothing. He walked across the room, to a seat next to Milly, and looked up. There, lying in bed, swaddled in blankets and wreathed in pillows, was Nunnally.

"I am going to be getting the servants in order. If any of you need anything, just ring the bell." Lelouch looked to his right. On the nightstand beside the bed, surrounded by pale yellow roses, soft violet tulips, and weeping white orchids, was a single crystal bell with a polished wooden handle. The doors closed softly as Ruben left.

Milly sat beside him, warm and soft. They both looked at Nunnally. For a while, they were silent, but then Milly spoke. "While you were at the Palace, the doctors said that she should wake up in a week or so." Lelouch said nothing. Milly said nothing more. She did not know what to say—she wanted, more than anything, to say something, but could not find the words.

Milly leaned towards Lelouch and wrapped he arms around him. At first, she was worried that he wouldn't react. Then, he made a noise. It was quiet and she wasn't sure what it was. Then he did it again, a little louder: a sob. Slowly, he turned toward her, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he began to cry. He reached his arms up around her and squeezed tightly. She squeezed back, and cried with him.