Queen Bee ; R - drama/romance/angst - Lelouch x Euphemia

At the end of dreams you often do not find what you are looking for. At least at the end of Lelouch’s dreams this has never been the case, like hitting your head into a wall at the corner of the corridor. You didn’t see it but there it was.

This wasn’t how this dream was, and wind carries his steps in this hated empire, in this hated castle, in this hated fortress that his blood carries a right to. Ages old, millenniums young, the pounding sensation in his breast isn’t new but it’s an entirely different experience from the one before. He has liberated Japan, the China Federation is his ally, the EU is silent from the contemplation that the Black Knight’s will take over Britannia completely by the night’s end.

Each step is neither heavy nor light, he does not think how the light blue of the vest he wears is contrasting to the dark of Zero’s clothes, and mask discarded, stray bullet having found it in the frenzy to go up. Why is the castle near empty? Where are the people? Where were its defender’s? Its ruler? Where? he wants to ask Britannia, and breaking through to the tallest tower, the building, stairs out in the open air (and petals of the cherry blossoms are caught, lingering from the destruction of a garden falters and falls in the final movement of its life, but Lelouch thinks that is too Japanese, too unlike this hypocrite country, empire, blood soaked-) it is fitting after all.

It matches her fluttering hair perfectly, a white hand held about a white face, fair skin, to press those locks from obscuring her view (of him, his entrance, exit, departure to be all one word), eyes that are like his own and the heart (stops) pounds. Her lips split into a smile, a greeting.

“Lelouch!” she hails him over and the dream is a nightmare (blood, all over) his hurried steps, a pant to catch his lost breath, sweat covering across his brow. One hand is heavy, one hand is empty. The future liberator is actually the future ruler and she calls further over the ceasing wind (destiny you called my name and I did not hear you), warmly, too warmly for the dead.

“But,” her hands folding before her as he reaches (two, a foot separating, breath and distance and the afterlife separating them) “I should call you Zero now right?”

And there are no words in his throat, words that could be excuses, reason, and apologies, and what he could not do before he does now. A whisper of dark glove (her white skin) and lash a different shade of light, her lips are light, are soft, and he has never really kissed any one like this before (only he has been kissed, only has his lips skimmed against Nunally’s gentle brow and mourned that the world of peace he was creating for her-) it is not a soft kiss, gorging, devouring into her mouth, the able and willing and silent and screaming (-is a world created from the womb of bloodshed and deceit, violence.)

Instead, “I’m sorry.”

Is not really said.

And even to the very end she is still his most formidable foe and she has won.

--

“What are you showing him?”

C.C.’s eyes waver, her gaze caught on the opponent before her, such a power to scope into the mind of another and convince them of anything, limitless (the Geass, your power is only based on the limits your heart has set for yourself and Lelouch has had so many limitations that the unbeatable power he has devised to have is actually weak and-) beatable. Her legs do not move, half step on the red carpet leading to the throne…

Karen’s voice cuts across her quiet and shaking (acquisition) “Zero!”

In the presence of others, their forces, though Britannia is falling there is but one figure to defeat, should he be defeated Britannia itself… C.C.’s question is answered, “All that he desires.’

--

When her lips part from his (he has pulled away and does not remember when his arm has reached hers. Holding, gripping, lying.)

“You should have been the Emperor.”

It comes sketched, static through his ears (he had ran, ran, sword in hand, a gun would not due, a knightmare would not due. For a victory such as for the rise of a new era one needed to take it by-) her words, and the sword of the present is not pressed through (the enemy) but her heart and he tastes blood from before (not having bitten her lip but rather it comes from deeper, the inside, the heart) bursting in flavour and vibrancy and his slick stained hands cups her face, the sword only titling from the absence of his hand in the slightest. “No, you should have been the Empress and then…” gaze not wavering from hers, holding obstructing, wishing (Nunnally had once asked him what he wished for, he hadn’t an answer then) “I would not need to destroy Britannia at all.”

--

He wakes and the sword rushed through, pulls back.

The mask still in place and those that follow him know his name is

Zero.

The man who liberated Japan and destroyed Britannia.

(And that was all.)