This was initially an idea that was floated on the Code Geass Reddit Discord by a fellow member of it. Somehow it gained traction in my head to where it eventually became something viable and I was excited about. It's all based upon a few simple differences between the actions leading up to what we consider the Series (not OVA) timeline.

Chapter 1

The Great Game

Whoever said that the road to hell was paved with good intentions was a liar, it is paved in paperwork, Emperor Charles zi Britannia of the Holy Britannian Empire thought to himself as he closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, attempting and failing to ward away the headache that was kind enough to remind him that he had been sitting here staring at these damnable white sheets of paper for the better part of the evening.

If he had been told when he began down the path of killing his father and becoming Emperor would see him spend the better part of the last two decades of his life thumbing through report after report detailing everything from the critically important to the most mind-numbingly inane of minutiae he would have quite honestly laughed in the man's face. An Emperor did not pore over reports, his younger self would have retorted, he led his nation to greater and greater heights, heights that his father had neglected in his singular purpose of satisfying his personal interests. They would most certainly not be an administrator.

Alas, if only he could only go back and smack some sense into his younger self, he thought with a chuckle.

Oh, he wouldn't change anything he had done. Far from it, what he had done had been necessary. But he would most certainly have handled some of those decisions much differently.

Like his brother.

And like a light switching off, his mirth faded away, replaced only with the solemn focus that had become his only constant companion over the years, bringing him back once again to the accused paperwork that haunted his daily life. Though, if he were to be honest, the report before him did threaten to put a smile on his face.

When he had become aware that his impudent fop of a son, Clovis, had been conspiring behind his back with his brother, he had been quite frankly enraged. Not at his waste of a son, heavens no, he had assigned him the viceroyship of Area 11 in the hopes that he would fuck it up so magnificently that it would bait the Chinese Federation into giving him an excuse to go to war and use the war to wipe out his brother's personal little fiefdom in the Taklamakan Desert. If it got him killed in the process, well then it was no skin off his nose. In fact, it would make his pathetic life actually worth all of the waste that had gone into it.

No, what had almost incensed him enough to fly over there and strangle the little shit himself had been that his brother had given Clovis the one thing he had been searching for the last seven years with no success. He knew if he made any overt moves towards his son, V.V. would rabbit C.C. into whatever hole he had been keeping her, likely never to be seen again.

No, he had only one chance at retrieving C.C., and that was why he had sent his one of his most trusted subordinates to retrieve C.C., knowing that if anyone would be able to do it, it would be the man who had earned the moniker of 'War'.

Which brought him back to the report sitting before him. The Code-R problem had been dealt with, not necessarily how he had originally intended, but maybe it was for the best as it had borne an unexpected fruit. His estranged son, Lelouch, had somehow gotten mixed up in it all, partnering with the resistance group that War had leaked to in order to extract C.C. from captivity, and had even took it a step further in disposal of Clovis. The report further outlined how the battle had been a one-sided massacre up until Schneizel's little toy had gotten involved and turned the tide.

Sighing, he closed the folder containing the report and lightly drummed his fingers upon the manila cover, digesting the report and what he should do with what he had learned.

A colder, more calculating part of him considered the merits of just doing nothing. Every report he had indicated that Lelouch was resourceful and intelligent enough to immediately hit the ground running, and considering the deep-seated hatred his son had for him, would no doubt use his Geass to foment a rebellion against him. Which would still work out in his favor, considering any rebellion his erstwhile son executed would entice those impotent Eunuchs into action, thereby giving him the excuse he had hoped Clovis would provide him. All the while, he could imagine Vincent would be foaming at the mouth at the unintended slight against him made by the spawn of the woman he so hated.

In fact, that would be the most wise course of action, compounded by C.C. now back on the board and firmly invested in the safety of her new contractor, it would provide him a wedge to keep his brother distracted and wasting assets on something he could ill afford to be preoccupied with. The time bought by his brother's single-minded preoccupation could be used to gain an advantage that he would otherwise be hard-pressed to earn.

Oh, he knew Marianne would likely try and geld him for leaving their son and daughter to the wolves, but it was the least risky option available. He could ill afford open warfare with his brother, there were just too many variables and unknowns for him to confront his brother and be comfortable that the end result would be his victory. It was better to play upon V.V.'s fixation with Marianne's children, and use it to buy time he so desperately needed.

But therein laid the crux of the problem that stayed his hand from immediately committing to this stratagem, Marianne's likely threat of gelding otherwise. Time was most certainly no ally of his, and any time that he did earn was more pyrrhic than any sort of advantage.

After all, that was one of the difficulties when your enemy was an immortal trapped in the body of an eleven year old, they could simply wait until you died and that would be it. And at sixty-two years of age, he was no longer the young buck that he had once been, and Vincent knew it. It was why, despite his advantage with his little tykebomb factory of disposal geass agents, he had been quite happy maintaining a cold war between the two of them.

No, maybe twenty years ago he would have been content to pursue that strategy, but he could no longer afford to be cautious and bide his time. He had to take decisive action, and sooner rather than later.

It was with this thought in mind that he reached to page Bismarck, only for the door to burst open and a short pinkette rushed into the looking like a kid who had just been handed the keys to their favorite candy store.

"Charles. Charles! Did you read the report War made? Look at our little boy, taking Clovis to the cleaners like that!"

It took all of his effort not to sigh and massage his brow again at the interruption. He loved Marianne vi Britannia. He truly did. However, there times when when even she could try his prodigious patience.

"Yes dear. In fact, I just finished reading it," he responded, allowing the host for his wife's essence plop down and drape herself over the ornate chair, legs swinging over one of the arms.

"So what are you going to do about it," she demanded, checking her nails, "according to War Lelouch not only has Geass, but a very powerful one at that. I sincerely doubt V.V.'s going to sit in his high chair and leave him alone."

"Why don't you just say what you really want, Marianne, you want to bring our son into the game."

The resulting pout was worth it, he mused, finding at least some amusement in denying his love's playful and irreverence and going straight to the point. Then again, that was what had drawn him to her in the first place. That lack of deference and willingness to treat him like a fellow commoner was a refreshing (if at times annoying) breath of fresh air in a world of scraping and kowtowing.

"Fine," she groaned, obviously realizing that it was no longer time for playing around, as she swiveled in the chair and looked him straight in the eye, "since it seems our son is finally done pretending to live a normal life in spite of all the makings he has for greatness, I want him working with us instead of against us. You know that hubristic hobgoblin would find a sick sense of irony in pointing our son at you, implying that it was you that killed me and crippled Nunnally."

With a grunt of agreement, he steepled his fingers.

"Then you will be interested to know, before you decided to grace me with your presence, that I was about to contact Bismarck to begin preparations for a trip to Area 11 to retrieve our estranged children."

This drew a blink from the possessed teenage host of his wife.

"You usually are not this decisive, Charles," she finally stated, her expression contemplative, as if trying to decode the riddle that was before her, "I mean, it is our son, but even that wouldn't have this dramatic of an influence. I'm missing something here, what is it?"

"We're losing, Marianne," came an admission he was loathe to give to anyone else, but Marianne deserved to know, "I hate to admit this, but it is no less the truth. Vincent doesn't have any of the distractions that you and I have. He doesn't have to maintain an Empire, nor is he surrounded by those of questionable loyalties. Vincent was always the cunning one of the two of us, and he has slowly whittled down what options we have. Frankly, we need a miracle, or a wild card."

"And you think Lelouch—?"

"Would be a spanner in the works. Something Vincent would not expect us to do. I have always kept my children at a distance, stoking their resentment of me in the hopes that maybe one of them would actually be a chip off the block and do what is best for everyone. Alas, it seems I have failed in this regard as none of my spawn have satisfied me. Now, I'm going to force the matter, and Vincent will have no other option but to respond in kind and expose himself in his single-minded hatred of all things you."

"Well, if you intend to use Lelouch as bait, then we better make sure he has the best of knights to protect him."

"I was considering appointing the Margrave Gottwald as Lelouch's knight."

"Absolutely not! If I wanted Lelouch to have a loyal dog, I'd get him a puppy. Gottwald's braggadocio and inability to think outside the box will only hinder our son, and more than likely get one or both of them killed. Lelouch needs someone who will challenge him and be willing to say 'no' when he tries something stupid. And, god forbid, has to yank him feet from the fire when he inevitably bites off more than he can chew."

"Then who do you suggest, love. There are not a lot of options and it will be a cold day in hell before I personally choose a Number to be a Knight for any of my children."

"Don't be so dramatic, Charles," she chided him, getting up and leaning over the desk to open up the file again, placing her finger on a photo of a redhead, "I think she would make the perfect knight for our son."

He raised an eyebrow before looking at her, "The Earl Stadtfeld's daughter? You do realize that you are suggesting that I make a young woman who has been actively committing treason against the crown as our son's knight."

"And you think Lelouch wouldn't if we had left him alone," she retorted archly, "Charles, I can count on one hand the number of devicers excluding myself who can take an obsolete, cobbled together, pre-invasion Glasgow and give up-to-date Sutherland piloted by seasoned devicers a run for their money. All of them happen to be Knights of the Round, by the way. It would be incredibly stupid of us not to take advantage of what has landed right in our laps."

"That's not your only reason is it, Marianne? Trying to play matchmaker for our son?"

Her sniff alone would have been a declaration that he had been right, but she didn't leave it to that, "I'll admit that I am a bit partial to the Stadtfeld heiress, take away her nobility, she reminds me a bit of myself when I was younger, if a bit more reckless. Give her a bit of polishing and a knightmare to match her skills," there was a shrug, "I'm not selfish enough to admit we could likely be looking at the next Flash. Her hair is already red, think of how beautiful she would be covered in the blood of our son's enemies."

And there it is, he mused, recognizing the part of Marianne's persona that had earned her the nickname "The Flash". While the public narrative behind her sobriquet was one focused upon her combat prowess, the truth was actually far, far darker. It was a truth that revolved around Marianne's innate bloodthirstiness, and the fact that she had cut a swath through the halls of Pendragon, painting them in the blood of their enemies. 'The Flash' was about much more than her speed, it was an acknowledgment of the fact that for many of her victims, the flash of light reflecting off her rapier was the last thing they ever saw.

No, beneath that veneer of a cheerful, playful woman was a high-functioning psychopath whose taste for bloodshed was kept on a tenuous leash. He had a feeling that when V.V. had attempted to kill Marianne, it hadn't just been out of spite, but actual fear of what would happen if she had been unleashed upon him when he had betrayed them.

Yes, that likely was it.

"I see," he offered neutrally, considering her proposal. While he was no expert on knightmare combat, even he could see the skill that the Stadtfeld heiress that was evidenced in the Shinjuku Ghetto. The issue was that he was loathe to stack too many complications to the plan, ignoring the fact that hesitant to add a variable that would provide his son with the means to backstab him. Another Marianne in his pocket would be something to worry for.

Yet, on the other hand, Marianne was right. They needed to provide Lelouch with every possible means to be successful in achieving the objectives that were going to be put before him…

"Very well," came his endorsement, "the Stadtfeld heiress will become our son's knight. However," he focused upon her, "she will be your responsibility, Marianne. I do not want her becoming a problem for the plan."

The beaming smile that lit up her face made it worth it, despite his misgivings. A happy Marianne was one that was not like to be an annoyance.

"Of course, Charles. You won't regret this. I'll mold her into the perfect knight for our son. And the grandbabies," she gushed, "the grandbabies~..."

And we come to the actual reason for all of this, Charles thought to himself as Marianne continued talking about grandchildren and what they would be like, reaching over to page Bismarck. At least one of them had to actually spend their time constructively.